(ficlet) Taboo
Jun. 11th, 2007 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cicerRecently, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emungere has written some lovely Saiyuki fics examining what might have happened if things had gone a little differently for our favorite Ikkou when they were small. It got me to thinking about a particular incident, and this is what tumbled out.
Sheng hurried after Master Koumyou’s retreating back, trying not to snag his robes on the bramble. He privately admiring the way Koumyou drifted smoothly though the underbrush without stumbling or even dirtying his robes. It was as if even dirt refused to cling to such a holy being. Unfortunately, Sheng knew he did not share Master Koumyou’s majesty. His robes caught on a protruding tree branch and threatened to tear. He stopped to free himself, nearly losing sight of Koumyou.
He readjusted his robes and tried not to be frustrated. He reminded himself that Koumyou was the highest priest in this part of the land, one chosen directly by the gods. He was an enlightened man. Naturally, he could be forgiven occasional eccentricities. If he was a bit lax in tending to temple paperwork, clearly he had better things to do than allocate the distribution of ink and paper. And if he sometimes trailed off while in the middle of a conversation, stared into space, and then wandered off, it was not for Sheng to judge his behavior. Who knew what great matters his holy mind was contemplating? It was best that he remain undisturbed.
Of course, Master Koumyou was free to go wherever he pleased, and Sheng did not doubt his abilities to defend himself. However, the idea of Koumyou wandering outside the temple was worrying. Sheng knew all the other monks thought so too. It seemed disrespectful for him to be unescorted. If, heavens forbid, he was assaulted by bandits or some other thugs, he shouldn’t have to lower himself to fight such low-life creatures! The very idea made Sheng nearly tremble with rage. Keeping those thoughts in mind, when Master Koumyou has wandered off, Sheng had hastened after him. Sheng was sure Koumyou knew he was following, but did not object, which pleased Sheng immensely.
Staggering out of the woods, Sheng found himself standing in front of the river. Koumyou was standing near the banks, water rushing over his feet. He appeared to be waiting for something. Sheng looked around carefully. He wondered if something was supposed to be happening, or if Koumyou was simply meditating. Communing with the gods, perhaps. He turned back toward the river, but before he had a chance to look around properly he heard a thin shriek, like the cry of a child. Another high, indignant wail split the air seconds before a small bundle lazily rounded the river bend. After a moment, the misshaped bundle identified itself as a broken basket. The current washed it ashore, and Koumyou leaned over and pulled it to the muddy banks before taking a look inside. Sheng hurried over to join him.
The child inside was perhaps three or four months old and its face was flushed as red as its hair. It continued to scream, ignoring Koumyou’s gentle shushing, and only quieted once he had plucked the baby from the sodden basket and wrapped it carefully in the edge of his robes. “Yes, yes, you’ve had a difficult time, haven’t you?” Koumyou murmured, holding the child up. Cries subsiding, the child looked up and blinked at him, revealing eyes the same shade of its hair.
Sheng suppressed a gasp. Such a reaction would be unseemly in Koumyou’s presence, but he was of the opinion it was warranted. He fought against the urge to rip the filthy half-breed child from Koumyou’s arms and pitch it back in the river where it belonged. “Master Koumyou,” he stuttered, staggering back uncertainly.
Koumyou turned toward him and held the child up. “What do you think?” he asked. Sheng stared at the child. The robes Koumyou had wrapped around him had slipped to the side and Sheng saw that the child was a male. This discovery did not comfort him, and he continued to stare at the red hair and eyes. The child looked at him curiously. “Master…” he tried again uncertainly.
Koumyou did not appear to notice his distress and tilted his head, carefully studying the boy. “Taiping?” he pondered aloud. Sheng opened his mouth to say, no, master, my name is Sheng, but Koumyou continued, “No, he doesn’t look like a Taiping, does he? Zhong, maybe? Or Wang? I understand that’s a very popular name with the young men these days.” He paused contemplatively. Sheng opened and closed his mouth helplessly, utterly confused. “What do you think would be a good name for him?” Koumyou pressed.
Sheng tried not to sputter. He couldn’t imagine why Koumyou wanted to name such a creature. Surely he couldn’t be thinking of bringing the child back to the temple to have him raised as an initiate. The temple did take in orphans from time to time, it was true. Sheng had joined the temple himself after his father passed when he was nine. But to bring such an abomination onto the holy ground! Sheng remembered hearing that in the next province over they permitted the stoning of half-breed children. He thought that would be an appropriate method of disposal for the infant. Somehow, though, he couldn’t bring himself to utter such an opinion when Koumyou looked at him so expectantly. He looked, Sheng thought, as though he knew exactly what Sheng was thinking. He squirmed uncomfortably.
“My sister named her son Zhou,” he stuttered after a moment of hesitation in which he considered various responses. “Or, ah, Jiang might be appropriate,” he added dubiously.
“Gojyo,” Koumyou interrupted, suddenly and decisively. He seemed almost unaware that Sheng had spoken at all. “I think that’s the right name.” He held up the squirming baby and beamed at him. Sheng had been readying himself to make further protestations, but his mouth clamped shut when Koumyou smiled. He’d intended to hint unsubtly at the fact that often such half-breed children were put to death, and with good reason. Humans and youkai couldn’t be allowed to mingle, everyone knew that. The child himself was the product of an unclean and unholy act and shouldn’t be allowed to contaminate the rest of the world. He had intended to remind Master Koumyou of this.
But Koumyou settled the child against his chest, letting it drool on his robes, and turned to look at him with such patient understanding that the protestations died in his throat. He knew, suddenly, that Master Koumyou did intend to bring the child back to the temple, and nothing he said would change his mind. Nothing, not the scandalized murmurings of the other priests once they returned to the temple or the anxious and disapproving looks from all who saw the child’s coloring.
He watched Koumyou pat the child on the back as it sucked on a fist and stared around the woods with wide red eyes. It was true that the teachings said that a half-breed was an abomination. The gods were said to strike such creatures down. But the gods were far away in heaven, and Master Koumyou was here. And given the choice, Sheng would rather offend the gods. He could not imagine it was more difficult to look into their eyes while contemplating flinging a child into the river than it was to look into Master Koumyou’s.
“Gojyo,” he said finally, swallowing hard. “Yes, I think that’s a fine name.”
emungere has written some lovely Saiyuki fics examining what might have happened if things had gone a little differently for our favorite Ikkou when they were small. It got me to thinking about a particular incident, and this is what tumbled out. Sheng hurried after Master Koumyou’s retreating back, trying not to snag his robes on the bramble. He privately admiring the way Koumyou drifted smoothly though the underbrush without stumbling or even dirtying his robes. It was as if even dirt refused to cling to such a holy being. Unfortunately, Sheng knew he did not share Master Koumyou’s majesty. His robes caught on a protruding tree branch and threatened to tear. He stopped to free himself, nearly losing sight of Koumyou.
He readjusted his robes and tried not to be frustrated. He reminded himself that Koumyou was the highest priest in this part of the land, one chosen directly by the gods. He was an enlightened man. Naturally, he could be forgiven occasional eccentricities. If he was a bit lax in tending to temple paperwork, clearly he had better things to do than allocate the distribution of ink and paper. And if he sometimes trailed off while in the middle of a conversation, stared into space, and then wandered off, it was not for Sheng to judge his behavior. Who knew what great matters his holy mind was contemplating? It was best that he remain undisturbed.
Of course, Master Koumyou was free to go wherever he pleased, and Sheng did not doubt his abilities to defend himself. However, the idea of Koumyou wandering outside the temple was worrying. Sheng knew all the other monks thought so too. It seemed disrespectful for him to be unescorted. If, heavens forbid, he was assaulted by bandits or some other thugs, he shouldn’t have to lower himself to fight such low-life creatures! The very idea made Sheng nearly tremble with rage. Keeping those thoughts in mind, when Master Koumyou has wandered off, Sheng had hastened after him. Sheng was sure Koumyou knew he was following, but did not object, which pleased Sheng immensely.
Staggering out of the woods, Sheng found himself standing in front of the river. Koumyou was standing near the banks, water rushing over his feet. He appeared to be waiting for something. Sheng looked around carefully. He wondered if something was supposed to be happening, or if Koumyou was simply meditating. Communing with the gods, perhaps. He turned back toward the river, but before he had a chance to look around properly he heard a thin shriek, like the cry of a child. Another high, indignant wail split the air seconds before a small bundle lazily rounded the river bend. After a moment, the misshaped bundle identified itself as a broken basket. The current washed it ashore, and Koumyou leaned over and pulled it to the muddy banks before taking a look inside. Sheng hurried over to join him.
The child inside was perhaps three or four months old and its face was flushed as red as its hair. It continued to scream, ignoring Koumyou’s gentle shushing, and only quieted once he had plucked the baby from the sodden basket and wrapped it carefully in the edge of his robes. “Yes, yes, you’ve had a difficult time, haven’t you?” Koumyou murmured, holding the child up. Cries subsiding, the child looked up and blinked at him, revealing eyes the same shade of its hair.
Sheng suppressed a gasp. Such a reaction would be unseemly in Koumyou’s presence, but he was of the opinion it was warranted. He fought against the urge to rip the filthy half-breed child from Koumyou’s arms and pitch it back in the river where it belonged. “Master Koumyou,” he stuttered, staggering back uncertainly.
Koumyou turned toward him and held the child up. “What do you think?” he asked. Sheng stared at the child. The robes Koumyou had wrapped around him had slipped to the side and Sheng saw that the child was a male. This discovery did not comfort him, and he continued to stare at the red hair and eyes. The child looked at him curiously. “Master…” he tried again uncertainly.
Koumyou did not appear to notice his distress and tilted his head, carefully studying the boy. “Taiping?” he pondered aloud. Sheng opened his mouth to say, no, master, my name is Sheng, but Koumyou continued, “No, he doesn’t look like a Taiping, does he? Zhong, maybe? Or Wang? I understand that’s a very popular name with the young men these days.” He paused contemplatively. Sheng opened and closed his mouth helplessly, utterly confused. “What do you think would be a good name for him?” Koumyou pressed.
Sheng tried not to sputter. He couldn’t imagine why Koumyou wanted to name such a creature. Surely he couldn’t be thinking of bringing the child back to the temple to have him raised as an initiate. The temple did take in orphans from time to time, it was true. Sheng had joined the temple himself after his father passed when he was nine. But to bring such an abomination onto the holy ground! Sheng remembered hearing that in the next province over they permitted the stoning of half-breed children. He thought that would be an appropriate method of disposal for the infant. Somehow, though, he couldn’t bring himself to utter such an opinion when Koumyou looked at him so expectantly. He looked, Sheng thought, as though he knew exactly what Sheng was thinking. He squirmed uncomfortably.
“My sister named her son Zhou,” he stuttered after a moment of hesitation in which he considered various responses. “Or, ah, Jiang might be appropriate,” he added dubiously.
“Gojyo,” Koumyou interrupted, suddenly and decisively. He seemed almost unaware that Sheng had spoken at all. “I think that’s the right name.” He held up the squirming baby and beamed at him. Sheng had been readying himself to make further protestations, but his mouth clamped shut when Koumyou smiled. He’d intended to hint unsubtly at the fact that often such half-breed children were put to death, and with good reason. Humans and youkai couldn’t be allowed to mingle, everyone knew that. The child himself was the product of an unclean and unholy act and shouldn’t be allowed to contaminate the rest of the world. He had intended to remind Master Koumyou of this.
But Koumyou settled the child against his chest, letting it drool on his robes, and turned to look at him with such patient understanding that the protestations died in his throat. He knew, suddenly, that Master Koumyou did intend to bring the child back to the temple, and nothing he said would change his mind. Nothing, not the scandalized murmurings of the other priests once they returned to the temple or the anxious and disapproving looks from all who saw the child’s coloring.
He watched Koumyou pat the child on the back as it sucked on a fist and stared around the woods with wide red eyes. It was true that the teachings said that a half-breed was an abomination. The gods were said to strike such creatures down. But the gods were far away in heaven, and Master Koumyou was here. And given the choice, Sheng would rather offend the gods. He could not imagine it was more difficult to look into their eyes while contemplating flinging a child into the river than it was to look into Master Koumyou’s.
“Gojyo,” he said finally, swallowing hard. “Yes, I think that’s a fine name.”
