Red As Snow...(BWAM, Yakuza Romance, 18+)

Chapter Thirty Five

Now, the only source of light are the illuminations flooding from the lampshade. Outside, one droplet hits against the earth, then another, then another until the outer walls and high windows coat and dribble with the pounding rains. The winds whistle violently against the trees, swaying branches and caressing leaves.

And still, my fingers continue to thread softly through Tsumibito's locks of hairs, kneading smoothly his scalp till his breathes come out as shallow. 'He must have fallen into sleep,' I think to myself. I make attempts to stop with my soothing hand motions.

But it appears I am gravely mistaken. Tsumibito gently takes hold of my hand, brings my palm back atop his head in sluggish movements. I hesitate for short nanoseconds, I think, I ponder.
"Please, Rosa," comes the raspy voice of him.

And so, I submit to his will, massage his scalp as I would a child. The comforting quiet comes, and with it comes the numerous lingering thoughts I dare not speak out aloud.
"You remind of her, Rosa."
My brain grows wild with numerous thoughts. Who could she be? I even dare to question.

"Who is she, Tsumibito?" I raise the query that batters my mind mercilessly.
He keeps his calm, keeps a good grip on his quietness. For a while, I amquite convinced he shouldn't respond. But of course, time and time again, the man proves me mistaken.

"My mother. A good woman she was."
But I hear it clear as crystal. The melancholia that laces his voice. In a manner, it pains me, my heart bleeds for him at the mere thought that father permanently separated son from mother. It is a cruel world we leave in. Cruel is the hand that fate deals us against our wishes.

"What was...what was her name?" I inquire in a low voice, completely aware that I tread upon rocky grounds.
He chuckles a humourless chuckle, sighs a heavy sigh. Still, he is gracious enough to make a response.
"Her name was Rissah. Rissah Azzan."
"She had a beautiful name, unique one too. Tell me about her?"

Funny how this courage of mine continues to brew, to blossom.
"She was an Israeli woman. Loved to play the piano, loved to play the violin too. She loved to cook, she'd dance around in the kitchen arena whilst doing so. She would also knit, made my siblings and I sweaters during the coldest of seasons. She loved plants, animals, nature, planted flowers in her many gardens."

"That is why you hold so many gardens around the pagoda," a statement of realization, not a query.
"Yes, it is. Gives me a thing to recall, to reminisce about. You know, if not for the portrait of her in my chamber I should have forgotten her precious face."

His heart remains pained, his voice appears strained. Outside, the lightning cracks, flashing and illuminating every surface of the chamber momentarily. Thunder claps too, it booms so loudly my ears should have turned deaf. And the rains, they continue to sprinkle in heavy showers.

"She was a good woman, Rosa. She should be in the heavens, yes? You who believe in a heaven and a hell should be in a position to affirm this. She is in the heavens, yes, Rosa?"
My eyes sting a little. I draw the covers down to his neck, cup the back of his head, press a tender kiss atop his hairs as a simple response.

"You cannot answer because you do not know," he concludes, his voice so desperate for an answer.
"If she was with pure heart and mind and intentions and spirit then I truly believe she is with the angels, Tsumibito."
He utters not a single word in response. My statement does little to quench his thirst for truth. And again, I feel how my heart shatters. I choose to switch topics instead.

"Tsumibito, if you could would you have chosen a different path in life?"
As I inquire, I run the tips of my fingers against his scalp in tender repetitive motions.
"I would. Before it all begun, I thought I would become a police officer or an attorney. I wished for a life with a wife too. A child -maybe three. A dog -preferably a golden retriever. A pretty home with a large garden of lotuses and roses and carnations.

I yearned to travel across continents, to experience first-hand the diverse cultures of the earth, to comprehend the traditions of others far better. I gained my third wish but for all the wrong reasons. I cannot forsake what I have known all my life. A life that is akin to a second skin."

Ah yes, my heart sincerely overwhelms with melancholy at the thoughts he voices so brokenly.

"Well, change is a rather difficult thing. It comes with a lot of uncertainty. But change is far better than stagnation, Tsumibito. Even so, let yourself change and evolve because it is truly what you want and not because of some mere advice I gave. I have no control over your choices."

I choose to voice my thoughts with as much gentleness as I possibly can master. This is a volatile subject I have come to know. Again, I switch attention to a different topic. I attempt to loosen the knots of thickening tension.
"Aside from music, what else do you love to do, Tsumibito?"

His eyes remain shut. He appears to be in deep thought, in harsh contemplation.
"I...I guess I love artistic things and pieces. I mean, I may be terrible at drawing and painting but I absolutely love observing the skilled give rise to art with the simple swipe of the brush.

It still mesmerizes me how incredibly their minds work. To envision and bring to life whatever sits in the depths of one's mind onto paper is incredible. That large portrait of my mother that dangles by the walls is a clear testament to what I speak of."

It is how he speaks so eloquently, so fluidly, that causes a smile curve onto my lips. I have never heard anyone describe art so wonderfully. I have never witnessed him be so free, so less-guarded in my presence. I lower my head, bring my lips to his hairs once more.

Again, the lightning flashes white, the thunder roars mightily, the rains now slap softly.
"What of you, Rosa. What do you love?"
Nostalgia pierces my heart at those words spoken.
"Well, aside from playing the piano, I do paint."

My words cause his eyes to flutter open instantaneously. A genuine smile curves onto his lips.
"Is that the case? Well then, should I be your model? A source of inspiration? You could teach me one thing or the other about painting. I'd love to learn from you."

And just like that, my smile broadens, it widens at how he speaks with such enthusiasm, such genuineness as would a little boy. His smile drops as his eyes burrow into my own. He brings the side of his face down to my chest once more.
"Rosa, forgive me."

His words leave me dumbfounded, utterly consumed in perplexity.
"You suffer for the sins of another when you had a wonderful life before knowing me. You are a...a good woman with a gracious soul and an intelligent mind. I have never witnessed such aura of strength in all my living.

Forgive me for all the times I became a source of hurt to you. Every time I made you feel like a lesser human. You have a genuineness about you, a softness that would make even the toughest of men crumble and fall at your feet. And I don't just say this emptily in attempts to flatter you," comes the coolness of his voice.

I remain silent as a graveyard, simply listening. My eyes burn. They sting horribly. My throat constricts. My chest pangs. I swallow at the bitter trails of bile that scorch my oesophagus. I cannot comprehend what it is exactly I feel in this moment.
"You may never forget, maybe even never forgive, but know that I am deeply sorry for turning your world upside down, Rosa."

With every ounce of might, I numb the emotions that overwhelm. For long minutes, we lay there in the solace of silence, his arms firmly snaked around my waist, my one palm cupping the back of his head whilst the other lays upon his muscled back -softly feeling for the healing scars and slits that litter his flesh.

I have no clue what it is I should feel in this moment. To truly forgive his transgressions would mean to reverse back the hands of fate, would mean to return fully to my past life. I don't let myself ponder over the matter further. A thought settles in my mind, one that compels me to burst the bubble of quiet.

"Tsumibito, I have no right, no entitlement to ask this. But please, refrain from the self-harm. I know it may be a coping mechanism of sort but please."
His breathes are shallow and I am slightly convinced he should be asleep.

Then, his arms around me grow a tad bit firmer as though he fears I should escape or leave his presence. Still, he fails to respond. Maybe it is because he has knowledge that in the near future he would break this promise. And I too opt for the muteness, shutting my eyes and submerging wholly into the world of fantasy, dream and nightmare...

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