I will assume for sake of argument, that the woman, who has appeared in these mental apparitions of mine, is me.
Saitoh snorted; amused at how the woman’s demeanor had done a 180 in less than the time it had taken her to unload her list of questions. Gone was the trembling, wide eyed innocent who’d softly gasped when he’d brushed his lips against the crown of her head and clung to him like her life depended on it during the power outage. That Tokio had been sublimated by another, a woman whose eyes were defiant, the shade akin to tempered steel. She was direct in her communication and almost aggressive in her line of questioning. Saitoh was hard pressed to recall the last time a woman had been this direct with him in matters of a personal nature.
Strange thing was…he liked it.
(I only have myself to blame…) he thought, fascinated with the wildly different facets of this woman’s personality. (I told her to test this theory and test me, and by damn she’s doing just that…) While the modest and shy woman with beguiling perfume reminded him strongly of the woman in his memories, there were aspects of the sharp minded attorney, a degree of toughness and ruthless determination that also brought up echoes of the past in his mind.
The woman who had been his wife had kept a family safe and sound when he was gone (and his memories suggested that he’d been gone often and for long periods of time), faced down dangers and endured great hardships. She’d been no slouch where courage had been concerned.
Takagi was no slouch in her line of questioning either. His eyebrows lifted at a couple of the questions, wondering if the woman really wanted to hear the answers. A few of the questions, the one about him playing with her hair and the last two in particular would be especially difficult for him to answer.
“Gods, woman…do don’t do anything by half, do you?” he drawled, the side of his mouth curling slightly. He pulled away from her and motioned towards the bench on the back wall. He sat down beside her and leaned back against the cold wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him and thought carefully for a minute or two.
“I do have memories of having my hands on your shoulder. In many of them I am wearing white gloves, almost like the ones I wear when wearing my formal police uniform. “ Saitoh offered, glancing down at his large hands, then over at Takagi’s bandaged ones.
He thought about her comment about a child being feverish, scowling in with concentration. “I remember buying ice…blocks of ice that were packed tightly in sawdust….and bringing them home. You chipped the ice with a pick and made a compress. The boys, all three of them were sick, had some sort of red rash on their faces, chests and backs.” He frowned wondering what sort of disease had befallen their children, then had to remind himself that they didn’t have children together.
Saitoh turned slightly so he could face Takagi. “I find it interesting that you are able to associate a memory with a location or a title. I have no such talent.” What he could recall with perfect clarity however were minute details associated with the event.
“Yet, this is a memory I can recall well. Your kimono was dark blue, nearly black and soaked through with ice and snow.” His expression became stark as the recently recalled memory resurfaced. “The tips of your toes were white and waxy and when I tried to restore circulation you cried out in pain. I wrapped you in a threadbare blanket and my haori, but you were still so cold.” There was another sorrow associated with this memory, but one that was still hidden from him.
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Date: 2012-05-22 09:10 am (UTC)Saitoh snorted; amused at how the woman’s demeanor had done a 180 in less than the time it had taken her to unload her list of questions. Gone was the trembling, wide eyed innocent who’d softly gasped when he’d brushed his lips against the crown of her head and clung to him like her life depended on it during the power outage. That Tokio had been sublimated by another, a woman whose eyes were defiant, the shade akin to tempered steel. She was direct in her communication and almost aggressive in her line of questioning. Saitoh was hard pressed to recall the last time a woman had been this direct with him in matters of a personal nature.
Strange thing was…he liked it.
(I only have myself to blame…) he thought, fascinated with the wildly different facets of this woman’s personality. (I told her to test this theory and test me, and by damn she’s doing just that…) While the modest and shy woman with beguiling perfume reminded him strongly of the woman in his memories, there were aspects of the sharp minded attorney, a degree of toughness and ruthless determination that also brought up echoes of the past in his mind.
The woman who had been his wife had kept a family safe and sound when he was gone (and his memories suggested that he’d been gone often and for long periods of time), faced down dangers and endured great hardships. She’d been no slouch where courage had been concerned.
Takagi was no slouch in her line of questioning either. His eyebrows lifted at a couple of the questions, wondering if the woman really wanted to hear the answers. A few of the questions, the one about him playing with her hair and the last two in particular would be especially difficult for him to answer.
“Gods, woman…do don’t do anything by half, do you?” he drawled, the side of his mouth curling slightly. He pulled away from her and motioned towards the bench on the back wall. He sat down beside her and leaned back against the cold wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him and thought carefully for a minute or two.
“I do have memories of having my hands on your shoulder. In many of them I am wearing white gloves, almost like the ones I wear when wearing my formal police uniform. “ Saitoh offered, glancing down at his large hands, then over at Takagi’s bandaged ones.
He thought about her comment about a child being feverish, scowling in with concentration. “I remember buying ice…blocks of ice that were packed tightly in sawdust….and bringing them home. You chipped the ice with a pick and made a compress. The boys, all three of them were sick, had some sort of red rash on their faces, chests and backs.” He frowned wondering what sort of disease had befallen their children, then had to remind himself that they didn’t have children together.
Saitoh turned slightly so he could face Takagi. “I find it interesting that you are able to associate a memory with a location or a title. I have no such talent.” What he could recall with perfect clarity however were minute details associated with the event.
“Yet, this is a memory I can recall well. Your kimono was dark blue, nearly black and soaked through with ice and snow.” His expression became stark as the recently recalled memory resurfaced. “The tips of your toes were white and waxy and when I tried to restore circulation you cried out in pain. I wrapped you in a threadbare blanket and my haori, but you were still so cold.” There was another sorrow associated with this memory, but one that was still hidden from him.