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It kind of surprised Takamaru, it really did, that even after all these years, he could pick out the matcha green curtain of Komatsudaya from all the way down the street. But then, the last few months had been full of surprises. There were other familiar things about the storefront – the short curtains that lined the rafters, the worn and scrubbed wood that fit in the front window – but that green was what he’d always keep his eyes on when making his way through crowds, a bright little spot in between all those people he couldn’t see over. It was as bright as he’d remembered it. Maybe brighter? He was about to ask Shuusaku if they’d replaced the store curtains recently when another familiar sight caught his view.
Komatsuda Yuusaku was as bright as Takamaru had remembered, too. It was the way he carried himself, or how his hair seemed to shine sepia in the sunlight like it’d been woven and dyed. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun as he placed the wooden sign down outside the entrance. Shuusaku, who’d been walking at a leisurely pace all the way from Ninjutsu Academy, took off running. He rushed around the scattered knots of people and called out, “I’m home!”
Yuusaku’s eyes narrowed, squinting against the sun. Then they squinted with a smile as he held his arms open and Shuusaku ran into them. Yuusaku’s eyes flickered behind Shuusaku, catching Takamaru’s gaze. “My, my!” he said. “Here’s someone I hadn’t expected to see. It’s certainly been awhile.”
Takamaru raised a hand, each of his fingers giving a little yoo-hoo! “Ah, listen to this!” Shuusaku broke in. “Guess where Takamaru and I met.”
“Hmm? I wonder.”
“Come on, I told you to guess. Anyway, I’ll tell you: Ninjutsu Academy.”
“Oh? What sort of business took you to a place like that?”
“He’s a student there now,” Shuusaku answered. “Some stuff happened, something about his grandpa being a ninja and then forgetting about it. So he enrolled as a fourth-year and he’s learning to be a ninja.”
For a moment, Yuusaku’s expression went taut as a bow. It wasn’t quite the face Takamaru had expected to see on Yuusaku, the kind of troubled expression that made explanations and reassurances bubble up on Takamaru’s tongue. But Yuusaku’s face shot into a loose and warm smile and he said, “That’s quite the story. You’ll have to tell me more about it. You were going to stay a minute, yes? I insist. We can all talk over tea. Shuusaku, go in and get your things settled.”
“Okaaay,” Shuusaku said. He dropped Yuusaku’s hands and bounded through the store entrance, disappearing behind the curtain. He gave a hearty greeting to the employees inside, who returned the greeting with equal gusto.
After following Shuusaku with his eyes, Yuusaku returned his gaze to Takamaru. “I apologize,” Yuusaku said, giving a slight bow, “Shuusaku can take control of a conversation sometimes.”
“I was surprised when I saw him at the school, but he really hasn’t changed at all.”
“I suppose in some ways he hasn’t. And how are you?”
Takamaru placed a finger to his cheek and gazed up. “It’s been a little hectic with finding out about my family and enrolling at the academy, but,” and Takamaru met Yuusaku’s eyes again, “I’ve been doing my best.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And really, it’s great to see you again. How has your father been? Sometimes I hear our customers talking about him, so I assume business is still doing well.”
“Mmhmm, he’s keeping busy like always. How have your folks been?”
“They’ve passed,” Yuusaku said, then hurried his next sentence out: “But everyone at Komatsudaya is doing well.”
Oh! and Takamaru opened his mouth to speak, to support. “Yuusaku, I’m—”
“Are you two still out there?” Shuusaku’s voice came from inside.
“Yes, hold on a moment,” Yuusaku called back. He beckoned to Takamaru and said, “Please, come in.”
Yuusaku parted the curtain and held it up for Takamaru. Takamaru paused – the moment was gone, moved on from by Yuusaku – before he slipped in. The buzz and heat from the streets transformed into the controlled hush of the early morning display floor. Long fingers stroked the wooden ribs, hands folding and flattening and fiddling, busy people and busy colors. It was a different spectacle from the Saitou household – quieter – a grace of its own. Some part of him wanted to repeat the request he’d always made as a child, to try his hand at making a fan. But Yuusaku invited him further in, so he simply waved at the employees before turning down the hall.
The tea came out (“My big brother’s tea is the best!” Shuusaku said), then the snacks (“I couldn’t come here empty-handed,” Takamaru explained when he presented the box of manjuu). Then came conversation – the full story of Takamaru’s enrollment, the latest happenings at school, what they’d all be doing on break, and the three of them fell back into the old patterns of childhood easily. All at once it was eight years ago and the three of them were spending the afternoon in Komatsudaya’s backroom. Shuusaku’s hair would be tangled in Takamaru’s hands and Yuusaku would watch Takamaru’s fingers with rapt attention, always answering affirmatively when his little brother asked if his hair looked good. The smell of bamboo lived through the whole house, the aroma of earth came in from the backdoor, but neither could overwhelm the scent of the peaches or mandarins that the brothers’ mom had put out for them to eat. Eight years. Time sure flew.
Their light, carefree discussion flew by, too. Soon the snacks were gone, their cups empty, and the sun poured through the window. Shuusaku gathered the tea tray and everything that didn’t need the cleaning that Yuusaku was giving the bowls, the tea scoop, the whisk.
“Oh, Shuusaku,” Yuusaku said. Shuusaku, kneeling in front of the low, open cabinet, peered back at him. “I know you just got home, but could I ask you to run a quick errand? We need to pick up some paper from the Kawakami’s place, and they’ve been asking about you. Do you think you could go say hello to them and pick up our order?”
“Eh? Right now?”
“I’m sorry, your big brother promised that I’d send you to see them, and we need to pick the order up today. Please?”
“That’s fine,” Shuusaku said, abandoning the tray and utensils on the shelves above the cabinet. “Where are they?”
“They’re where they’ve always been, a few houses down. Look for the red curtain.”
Shuusaku was already down the hall, calling, “I’ll be back!” He said goodbye to the workers up front before the low hum of voices in the front room returned. Yuusaku picked up the items Shuusaku had left scattered, slowly putting each of them in the tea box or in the cabinet. With Shuusaku gone, the atmosphere had turned. Turned what? Turned to something different from the old patterns of childhood.
“It’s a nice day out,” Yuusaku said. “Would you like to sit out on the veranda? The garden looks wonderful this time of year.”
Yuusaku led the way with practiced movements. Vague memories of the Komatsuda family stirred as Takamaru watched Yuusaku: the grace of the brothers’ mom, the presence of their dad. The garden, tucked away in the middle of the building, had been the most uninteresting part of the house for Takamaru – children weren’t allowed to play in it, and why would they want to be in a boring place like that anyway? But now his eyes caught the flowering wisteria hanging low, the flat stepping stones ringing around the moss-covered water basin; it had a simple, mature appeal. Eight years, huh? They’d all grown up.
Yuusaku stopped them in front of a stone lantern. In the center of the garden was a towering white pine, its branches blanketing the ground with shade. Yuusaku took his seat, and Takamaru sat down next to him and hung his legs off the veranda.
“So,” Yuusaku said after a moment, “you’re aiming to be a ninja, too.”
“Too?”
“Along with Shuusaku.”
“Oh right, he told me something like that. It was a little strange at first, to suddenly hear I came from a family of ninja. But it’s been exciting, you know?”
Only the rustling of branches answered him. Takamaru glanced over. Yuusaku’s face was back in that expression from earlier. Like a bow drawn tight, almost to its breaking point. Ready to fly but something was holding it back. When he finally spoke, he didn’t look at Takamaru. “Seeing those wounds on your hand surprised me.”
Takamaru’s gaze darted down to his arms. Ugly yellow dots lined the sides of his hands. A thin, red line, like the ones he’d made on his knees, ran from knuckle to wrist. Both of them courtesy of practical lessons.
“I remember,” Yuusaku continued, “how you used to repeat what your father said. ‘A hairdresser’s hands are his most valuable tools; he must do all he can to take care of them.’”
Had he gone around saying something like that? He might have. It was definitely something that had been drilled into him. Whenever he watched his dad at work, he followed his dad’s well-groomed, spotless hands, and he’d made sure his own hands were the same. Now that Yuusaku brought it up, he could recall moments where he’d spot Yuusaku’s gaze on his hands. What’re you looking at? Takamaru would ask. Well, Yuusaku would say, he always had to make sure his younger brother cleaned his hands when he got home... and they’d both stare at Shuusaku’s hands and those dirty, sticky little fingers of his that he never seemed to notice. Now Yuusaku’s eyes were on Takamaru’s hands again, a different sort of curious; they narrowed.
“I’m sure my dad would yell at me if he saw my hands looking like this,” Takamaru said, folding and unfolding his hands. “But they look worse than they feel, really.”
“It makes me wonder,” Yuusaku said, “what it is about being a ninja that draws everyone to it. Shuusaku is always saying ninja are cool, but...”
“There’s something amazing about them, isn’t there?” Takamaru said. He swung his legs back and forth. “That’s what I end up thinking whenever I see a new jutsu.”
“Perhaps it’s because I’m so far removed from it all, but all I can see is danger, and I can’t understand the appeal of that. It just seems a little senseless.” Yuusaku cast his eyes down, away. He folded and unfolded his fingers in his lap. “I apologize, it probably sounds like I’m criticizing you. But I know it’s not my place to do so, especially when there’s extenuating circumstances. You’re honoring your family’s lineage and work.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Takamaru said, leaning back on his arms and tilting his head towards Yuusaku. “Don’t worry at all. I wasn’t sure about this whole ninja business at first either. You should’ve seen how surprised I was when my dad told me about it – I thought we’d always just been hairdressers. But I’m glad I came to Ninjutsu Academy. Even if it’s a little dangerous. I’m learning a lot from my classes and just from being around everyone.”
“You mentioned earlier that Shuusaku hasn’t really changed, didn’t you?” Yuusaku asked. “I thought maybe you would have changed so much that I wouldn’t recognize you when you started talking, but you’re just like you’ve always been. Oh, I don’t mean that in a bad way or anything; you’re sincere and do things your own way, just like Shuusaku. Maybe that’s why you two became friends so easily. Actually...” A slight smile flit over Yuusaku’s lips, the lids of his eyes meeting gently. “When we played together when we were children, it was sort of like you were both my younger brothers. Perhaps that’s a little embarrassing for you to hear.”
“Not at all!” Takamaru said, sitting upright. Modest and a little self-conscious, now this was more like the Yuusaku he remembered. “I felt the same way. That you were like my big brother.”
Yuusaku opened his eyes and fixed them on Takamaru. “Is that so? Though I suppose I’m not much of a big brother if I haven’t said a word to you all these years. I don’t have an excuse, since your house is so close.”
Modest and a little self-conscious and too much of a big brother for his own good sometimes. “And it looks like you’re the same as always, too. Trying to take responsibility for everything.”
“Do you think? I guess that just comes naturally to me.”
He went silent for a moment. It was a silence that demanded nothing, no answer, no reply. A lull, the kind Takamaru would fill with the sound of his scissors if he was working at home. Instead he gently played his fingers along the wood beneath.
“So,” Yuusaku said, “both of my younger brothers are going out in the world and forging their own paths.”
“Looks like it.”
“It really surprised me, when Shuusaku suddenly asked me if he could study to become a ninja.”
“He never talked about ninja when he was little.”
“No, he didn’t; I still wonder what got the idea in his head. I had thought that he’d be here at home with me, helping with the store for the rest of his life.” Yuusaku paused. He brought his gaze to the sky. “I wonder what would happen if I left the store to Shuusaku and followed my own path, too.”
“Yuusaku, you—”
“Sorry, sorry,” Yuusaku smoothly interrupted, “you shouldn’t have to sit here and listen to my unfunny jokes. I wouldn’t do that to Shuusaku, or to the store. Shuusaku’s skills... lie elsewhere.”
“But I think it’s fine to think like that, you know? There’s all sorts of stuff you could do if you want to.”
“Does your family’s hair salon still have that pair of fans above its entrance?”
“Hmm?” - of all things for Yuusaku to ask at that moment; Takamaru groped for the answer - “Aaah...”
Yes, they’d watched over the shop for years: two fans in lacquered gold with flowers and birds that seemed to leap off the folds. He couldn’t remember when they’d first appeared, or if they’d really ever “appeared” at all. As far as he could tell, they’d just always been there.
“Yeah,” Takamaru said, “there’s two fans you can see if you look up before you leave. Maybe... those are Komatsudaya originals?”
“They are. When I visited your salon when we were little, I always made a point of stepping inside and looking up at them. It was really something, to see my family’s wares displayed like a piece of art. I remember,” and Yuusaku’s grin grew, “if I saw someone even glance at those fans, I’d make sure to let them know who made them. I was proud to be a Komatsuda. I’m still proud. That’s why I’m glad I took over the store. I like that I’m able to contribute to something bigger than myself.”
“I think I know what you mean. I’m proud when I’m able to use the skills my dad taught me to style hair worthy of the Saitou name. But that doesn’t mean that’s all that I can do, right? I think the same goes for you.”
Again, silence.
“You really have started to grow into a fine young man,” Yuusaku said. Then he laughed softly. “Is it strange of me to say that to someone only four years my junior?”
Takamaru returned Yuusaku’s smile. Four years didn’t feel like something that could be described as “only.” Those four years seemed an endless length between them, an endless line; but there was an end, and at that end was Yuusaku’s steady eyes staring at him from a distance.
“I’m back!” Shuusaku called, and everything snapped back to its normal size. Shuusaku pattered across the veranda, easygoing, a bit of a skip in his step, the footsteps of someone unconcerned if others knew he was coming their way. Takamaru scratched his cheek; if Komatsuda wanted to be a ninja, he might want to think about working on how loud he could be. “What are you two talking about?”
“We were just doing a bit more catching up,” Yuusaku said. “Did your errand go well?”
“Yes! They said they were happy to see me.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“And I brought back the order. Is it some sort of special paper? There’s so little of it.”
“No, we ordered a few boxes. Shuusaku—Here, I’m coming to take a look. Go on ahead of me.” Yuusaku scrambled onto his feet, then faced Takamaru. “Please feel free to stay as long as you’d like – I just have to go check in with Shuusaku.”
Yuusaku’s eyes, his body began to turn away. “Hey,” Takamaru said, bringing Yuusaku to a stop, “what do you say about trying something new with your hair? Something unique, just for you, that screams ‘Yuusaku.’”
“Me? I’d be honored to get my hair styled by you, but...” His gaze drifted toward Shuusaku, who had reached the end of the hall. “Perhaps another time?”
“Awww.”
“There’s always the next school break.” Yuusaku’s eyes moved away from Shuusaku, to the floor, then up to Takamaru. “Since I already said something strange earlier, I hope you don’t mind if I make a strange request as well. I know he’s older than you, but could I ask you to look out for Shuusaku? He sends me letters, and I know the staff make sure to keep an eye on him, but I still worry sometimes.”
“Of course,” Takamaru said. “Leave it to me.”
“Thank you,” Yuusaku said. He turned his back to Takamaru. Then: “And can you promise me that you’ll take care of yourself as well? It would put your big brother’s mind at ease.”
“Yeah. I will.”
“...Thank you,” Yuusaku said. With easy, even steps, he took off after Shuusaku. Takamaru watched him – back straight, head bowed – until he turned the corner. Voices, Shuusaku’s carefree cadence and that warm tone Yuusaku only got with his brother. After a moment, the voices faded into the rest of the city’s sounds. Takamaru returned his eyes to the tree that dominated the garden, following it up from its winding roots to the tips of its branches. How long had this tree been here, to reach above the roof? Like the fans at his house, the tree had just always been here. Constrained by the walls that surrounded it, only able to grow up, until it could watch over everything below.
His dad had given his blessing for him to study ninjutsu; he hadn’t really had to make a hard choice, had he. He hadn’t had to think much of anyone else. When he saw Yuusaku emerge from the store, he’d thought, Yuusaku's the same as ever. It was the familiar curve of Yuusaku’s hair that had done it, and then those big, full-body movements. And when Takamaru watched Yuusaku walk down the hall, he’d thought, Yuusaku’s changed. It was those restless, searching eyes of Yuusaku’s, and those shoulders that lay flat like they had weight bearing down on them. The nearby temple bell sounded and Takamaru sat listening to each echo grow quieter until they finally shivered away completely.
Eight years, and they’d all grown up. But in front of Yuusaku, he was still a child.