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Maybe…Maybe if he didn’t cry when he was born, things would have been different.
But isn’t that just silly? Trying to tell a newborn infant not to open its mouth and take in its first breath of the new world, practicing its fresh vocal chords by wailing into the sky?
It’s practically impossible, if one were to think about it, unless you were desperate enough to resort to the option of smothering the child to silence it.
Can a baby remember the feeling of coarse linens pressed roughly against its mouth, muffling sounds of life? Can it remember the frantic hushes that filled the air by figures that moved with haste and paranoia? Perhaps it could even remember the soft sob of its mother, her pain and agony evident in the very first sound the child heard from her, pressed against her breast.
Silence was a virtue, he learned, years after.
You could not be incriminated for things you did not say.
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Tsukishima lowered his head in a submissive manner, eyes downcast and mouth pressed into a thin line. There was a buzz in his ears that he recognized as words and voices but he couldn’t bring himself to comprehend any of them. They were all the same, anyway. It was the same routine, same process, same jerk of the chains around his neck, dragging him to his new fate.
A fate well-deserved and much detested, if you asked him.
He was a slave, not by nature or birth, but by unfortunate circumstance. Born to a perfectly normal family yet in the midst of terrible times within their country, they were found by soldiers who were taking all young children under the pretense of ‘custody of the king and queen.’ The label was that they’d be groomed into soldiers, fighting on the front lines in other countries for the sake of their homeland but the truth was far from that.
The truth was the scrape of Tsukishima’s knees as his bare skin scratched against the cold, grainy floor. The truth was the bruises that formed around his wrists and neck, black, blue and permanent, due to years of entrapment. The truth was that even though he had been alive for more than twenty-three years, the only sound that had ever left his mouth was his cries as a child that ultimately resulted in this hell of a life he called his own.
“-very fit, he’s in perfect shape for any heavy lifting or hard labor done around the place! Look at these muscles, honed from years of work!”
Tsukishima tuned the words out once more; it was the exact same service spiel everywhere they went. He wondered if the seller still read from his script or if he had it memorized by now.
See, physically, he was an admirable slave. At least, that’s what everyone said. He had the strength of an ox and very good stamina, something any slave owner would want for someone that was expected to wait on their hand and foot.
The only problem was that although Tsukishima’s silence made his reputation towards tyrannical prospective owners skyrocket, he portrayed his attitude through many different ways.
His first owner gave him back three days after he was bought because Tsukishima decided that ‘moving crates’ could also include ‘tossing them to their destination and hearing their contents shatter.’
His second was absolutely horrified when instead of kissing his hand like Tsukishima was ordered, the slave practically bit off his little finger.
His third was a slave driver, someone who thought that they could beat some sense into Tsukishima. The man was quickly proven wrong when instead of beating sense into the slave, he was the one being ‘accidentally’ pushed into a well when Tsukishima staggered into him after the lashings. He was as strong as an ox, right? So it wasn’t particularly his fault.
Owner after owner gave him a go but within a week he was returned hastily, his seller growing more aggravated by Tsukishima’s constant reappearances in his troupe. He had gone days without food, water or even movement when the man decided to beat him to near death as punishment but Tsukishima took it all in stride. In fact, he took it all without a word. That was his ‘virtue.’
Now, Tsukishima was relatively healed (aside from the ache deep in his stomach where his seller’s boot drove in). They were in a new town, far from Tsukishima’s hometown, and the murmur of people around him caught his ear in interest.
A little skill he attained while staying silent all his life was the ability to listen intently. He could hear every quirk in every tone of voice and he could read sounds better than he could faces. He didn’t even need to look up to see the wary expressions on the crowd’s occupants.
This town doesn’t take slaves.
A flutter of small hope that appeared every once in a while appeared in his chest, the hope that maybe they’ll just be on their way again which meant a stretch of time where Tsukishima could enjoy his solitude in quiet isolation before the next auction at the next town. Regardless, he still did not lift his head, knowing that even if he dared cast his gaze upon the audience, he’d probably look at them imploringly.
It was another thing Tsukishima was proud of, even though he was a slave. Unlike his companions, he was not so dead on the inside.
“Good for anything! Good for everything! Put him to use for whatever you’d like-“
“I’ll take him.”
A voice rang out in the crowd that made Tsukishima’s heart nearly stop. He didn’t move but he focused on the voice that silenced the crowd around him. It was firm and confident, as if it didn’t care that it was buying a slave within a town that probably condemned the practice. Tsukishima wondered what kind of man it would be this time. Would he have to grovel? Confident people usually wanted that of him. Perform? That’s what the bored ones wanted.
“Ohhh, yes, perfect, perfect! He’s a brilliant specimen, I assure you with all my heart. If you’re positive and no one else wants him…?” His seller’s tone lifted as it usually did when scoping out the area to see if anyone else could bid higher for Tsukishima.
“No. I’ll take him. Whatever your price is, I’ll pay double.”
Tsukishima’s blood ran cold.
He’ll use me. Those who paid more than necessary always had a reason.
“Oho! Then by all means, please! Please, he is all yours, my good sir. Here, let my men take him to your abode, so as not to dirty your-“
“Let me. It’s fine.”
Chains jingled and Tsukishima squeezed his eyes shut briefly, waiting for the harsh tug against his neck and wrists. His fate for the next few days always depended on just how hard they yanked.
But the pull never came.
Instead, a gentle hand was pressing against his upper forearm and Tsukishima nearly flinched in shock when he was being tugged upwards by what could only have been his buyer. “Come, slave,” the voice said, although it sounded wrong against his tongue. Shocked beyond comprehension and not even knowing what to do, Tsukishima kept his eyes downcast, not trusting the sight that would meet him if he looked up. Were these niceties only a façade for what was to come once they arrived back at the man’s home?
Money was exchanged and his seller seemed ecstatic and just like that, they were off. Tsukishima shuffled diligently behind his new master and the man in front of him didn’t seem eager to talk anytime soon either. No men followed them and as Tsukishima stared at the hem of his buyer’s clothes, he could only assume that he was not as rich and gaudy as the other people that have bought him once before.
They came to a small building, a home, and Tsukishima was guided in. Immediately, like he was taught to do, he dropped to his knees and lowered his head nearly to the ground in a show of utter submission. This was all a show, anyway. He’d show his snarky attitude once-
“Oh! Oh no! No, no please don’t do that!”
The once-confidence voice was now wavering in nervousness and Tsukishima jolted when a body practically flung itself onto the ground in front of him. Firm, calloused hands gripped his shoulders and began to urge him to straighten up. Startled, Tsukishima quickly complied.
The face he was met with was not a face he expected.
Soft brown eyes pinched in concern were wide as they peered at him, searching his face and all over his body. His buyer’s hair was a messy mop of chestnut, falling over his head in a haphazard manner. His bottom lip was all but being bitten bloody, the man’s anxiety quite obvious. Freckles that reminded Tsukishima of stars dotted the sun-tanned skin. In short, he was nothing like any other buyer Tsukishima had ever come across. “Are you hurt? You were limping when we got back. Do you need something for the pain?”
Tsukishima couldn’t even fathom a response in his head, much less use gestures to show his intentions.
Luckily, the man was already a flurry of activity. Fingers slid to hover worriedly over the metal around his neck. “Oh my, this is just completely unnecessary. You wait there, I think I might have some tools to remove it…” The man stood up so quickly that when he turned to shuffle hurriedly to a table, he nearly tripped on the hem of his robes. Tsukishima stared at him with wide eyes, still trying to register what had happened. Then, it clicked.
Remove the shackles?
He was about to stand up and back away, completely shaken, when his buyer came back immediately. There were tools Tsukishima didn’t recognize in his hands but his wariness must’ve been apparent in his eyes because the man paused, a soft smile on his face.
No one ever looked at me like that before.
“You don’t speak, right? That’s what your seller said. But I assume you can at least understand me. Right?”
They waited, waited until Tsukishima finally gave him a bare nod.
“Good. I’m not going to hurt you, in fact, that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.” The conviction in the man’s voice sounded so believable, Tsukishima couldn’t help but swallow. He held up the tools. “So I’d like to take off the things that are hurting you, if that’s alright.”
Another pause. Another period of waiting.
Then Tsukishima leaned forward ever so slightly.
His thoughts were a whir, he didn’t know what was going on, but he couldn’t bring himself to see it as a bad thing. His buyer’s hands were gentle against his neck, the bruises barely even paining him when soft fingers fluttered over them. The tools worked well and within seconds, the collar around his neck fell to the ground with a clang. Tsukishima nearly gasped at the sensation of cool air against the darkened patch of skin. Soon, his wrists were released as well.
How long has it been since these have been placed on my body? How many years have passed where all I’ve ever identified myself with were the weights on my neck and wrists? This man took them off in less than five minutes.
Five minutes versus my years spent chained.
“Here,” came the gentle voice and Tsukishima stared as a wet, warm cloth appeared in the hands of his buyer, pressing lightly against his bruises. What it was supposed to do for them, he had no clue, but the sensation was so pleasant his eyes fluttered shut. “Does that feel good?”
Tsukishima nodded. Already, a blooming sensation was unfolding within his chest. It alarmingly grew into a conscious thought. This is a man I could follow.
“We don’t own slaves here,” the man explained, folding his legs underneath him which urged Tsukishima to do the same, albeit his stiff movements. The cloth on his wrists did not cease their ministrations. “So it was a shock to see the caravan pull in. I wish I could buy every single one of you guys off that chain.” His voice sounded genuine and Tsukishima could only stare at his face in shock.
Why didn’t you? He wanted to ask, but there was nothing he could say aloud. He knew it might come off as bitter, and he wanted to suppress the years of resentment built up in him that naturally lashed out at any buyer. This one is different, he chided himself.
“But when I saw you, I knew that you had to be let go, immediately.”
Tsukishima’s shifting caused his buyer to glance up at him with a slight smile. It made his stomach do somersaults, seeing no malice within that face at all. His expression was so open – so pure.
“I have no intention of keeping you here and once that caravan leaves next week, you’re free to go. For now, I want to heal your wounds before I set you on your way.”
He’d never been cared for. Even during his ‘training,’ the caregivers barely gave any glance to the infant born into the slave world. What his buyer was offering was something unfathomable, unattainable. Yet it was just being given to him, as if it were easy as offering food on a plate.
“Are you hungry? I don’t own much but I can give you a meal. And I’m assuming you’re tired? How long have you guys walked? Ah, oops.” The buyer looked genuinely embarrassed at having asked a question he knew Tsukishima would not verbally respond to. His cheeks flushed and Tsukishima stared, wondering just how much colour could appear on one person alone. It was mesmerizing.
He stayed seated on the ground as his buyer got up, not before pressing the cloth into his hands. “You can go ahead and do it. I don’t want to hurt you.” Then he wandered to what looked like the kitchen, pulling foods from various places.
Hesitantly, Tsukishima put the cloth to his neck, exhaling softly when the comfort pressed against the numbness at his neck. His eyes flickered instinctively towards his new master, wondering if this action truly was alright. But the man didn’t do anything but glance at him and smile, nodding in encouragement.
Spurred on, Tsukishima proceeded to press the cloth to his face, neck, chest and any other area that screamed for touch. ‘Baths’ amongst the slaves was nothing more than a single bucket of questionable water dumped on their heads.
His eyes snapped open when the smell of food reached his nostrils and when he looked, his master was kneeling in front of him again with a small plate with cheeses and breads on it. Grapes were on the side and Tsukishima’s mouth watered but he pressed his lips thin. This was not his place.
But when the man pressed the plate into Tsukishima’s hands and his startled eyes flickered up to him in confusion, he simply got a shy smile in return.
“Please, eat. It’s the least I can offer.”
You gave me freedom. That’s more than you even needed to do.
“You can also rest on my bed. I bet it’s warmer than anything you’ve slept on before.”
Tsukishima only stared at him for a second longer before picking up the bread with trembling fingers. What he held was salvation, what he held was relief.
What was before him was hope.
“Tsukishima Kei is what your seller said. That’s your name, right?”
Tsukishima nodded. It was the only thing he kept with him since birth.
His master nodded, sticking out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Tsukishima. My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi.”
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The days flew by quickly and Tsukishima stayed as hesitant as ever. What felt like weeks were only hours spent sitting on Yamaguchi’s cushions and staring out of the window or eating his food, miniscule bites that caused the man to glance at him in slight worry.
Yamaguchi was an enigma, a mystery bundled together with tasteless clothes and sand-streaked hair. He was never again the confident man that once bought Tsukishima at the podium, a façade that the fair-haired man finally knew was only placed for the sake of looking strong enough to buy a slave. Yamaguchi was clumsy, talkative and cheerful.
Tsukishima found himself practicing mouthing words to himself in the darkness of his room.
Soon, the caravan found its way out of Yamaguchi’s town, no slaves having left its chain except for Tsukishima. The town seemed to visibly relax once they were gone. They even seemed to understand that Yamaguchi had bought Tsukishima for the sole reason of releasing him, because Yamaguchi came back with stories every day, apologizing that Tsukishima couldn’t step out quite yet.
But now it was the day that he was to go; a pack was being put together on Yamaguchi’s table. He had splurged for Tsukishima, filling his bag with foods and flasks, enough for him to survive until he found a place that he could settle.
Tsukishima watched this all with stoic eyes, words filling his mind that he wished would leave his lips.
“Alright,” Yamaguchi said in the late afternoon, slapping both hands on top of the bulging pack. It looked just like other cargo Tsukishima used to be forced to carry, but now it wasn’t a burden on his shoulders. “This should be the last of it. You should be alright for a while.”
Brown eyes turned towards him and Tsukishima could only maintain the eye contact for a brief second before he turned away, looking at the window, out into the vastness of the world that he was being set free to.
How was he supposed to say thank you? What could he even do? Yamaguchi had done more than enough for him and Tsukishima didn’t even have the means to buy him anything in return.
Without question, he lifted the pack onto his shoulder.
“Really, if you walk in any direction from here, you’ll hit another town. They’re just as good as here, if not much better. I’m sure you’ll find a life to your liking.”
I liked it here.
Yamaguchi held open the door, stepping out and stretching his arms into the sky, and Tsukishima’s eyes followed the movement. “Feel free to visit if you’re ever up to for it, alright? It was actually a pleasure having you here, Tsukishima.”
The ex-slave pressed his lips thin, stepping out into the dimming sunlight. He turned back to Yamaguchi who had a soft expression on his face, much like the one that he first saw when he laid eyes on Yamaguchi that day he was saved.
“Be safe, alright?”
Tsukishima nodded, turning away, hands tightening on the strap of the back.
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It was just hitting dusk when a knock on Yamaguchi’s door made him look up from the paper he was peering at, rubbing his eyes in surprise. Quickly, he hasted towards the door, pulling it open and widening his eyes when Tsukishima’s familiar face appeared in the doorway. Before he could say anything, however, the ex-slave’s mouth opened for the first time.
“I had nowhere to return to.”
The voice was coarse, raspy, unused for years. Yet for some reason, it still sounded like the most wonderful thing to Yamaguchi’s ears. Without hesitating, he stepped back and opened the door wider.
“No. I suppose you didn’t.”
Tsukishima stepped in, looking a bit hesitant and Yamaguchi watched as the muscles in his jaw moved once more. The words came out again, slow and low, as if the phrase was practiced for hours.
“But now I do.”
Yamaguchi smiled. “Yes. Yes you do.”