Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Third Era - Persistence
Some years passed. MacLeod had learned through villagers he traded with that the widow and her daughter had moved to the village only a decade after the war. They lived with the blacksmith- a relative, and helped with his business. The daughter; Kaoru, was responsible for keeping the furnace burning whilst her mother Yuri kept the premises tidy.
MacLeod once paid the blacksmith a visit for supplies. He watched as Kaoru worked behind the furnace. She piled in the firewood, her delicate arms yielding a heavy poker to stoke the flames. Bursts of convection roared into her face, which beamed orange in the glowing heat. Through the blurry mirage above the furnace, MacLeod thought he could see her smile. She obviously enjoyed her work, and was clearly good at it. She would pause occasionally to wipe the sweat off her brow and to fan herself. Her work clothes were torn, charred, her face flushed in warmth and sweat and her hair coiled into a bun under a sootened bandana - to MacLeod she couldn’t have been any more perfect. What he experienced then was a yearning most of us recognise - the hunger for contentment. The dream of being useful to those around you- especially to those who aren’t used to it. To finally reconcile ego with the simplicity of existence, and to forgive the self you had once forsaken.
Could it be that she really was happy?
MacLeod didn’t dare answer the question - it was just another selfish attempt to rid him of guilt. Despite this, he remembered her smile and felt the inertia lighten as he walked back home with his supplies.
Life resumed its familiar consistency. Months passed, but to MacLeod it felt like days. The blacksmith had asked for a painting in exchange for the supplies and he had nearly completed it.
He was brushing on the last touches when Kaoru walked in to his cabin. She hadn’t knocked, and her sudden presence surprised MacLeod. They paused as they noticed each other, their eyes taking in the person in front of them. A light breeze tempered the silence as it whistled through the open door. Both could feel an inexplicable charge in the air, like there was a palpable significance to the encounter. What they couldn’t tell was whether this feeling was reflected in the other.
Kaoru broke the silence, “Sorry for interrupting. I’ve come to collect the blacksmith’s painting”
She spoke hurriedly, her voice quivered. MacLeod sensed she was apprehensive. He cursed the blacksmith under his breath - how could he send her all alone to the cabin of a recluse, isolated in the woods? She stood by the open door, her hands clasped on her chest.
“Come in, I don’t bite. It’s nearly done. Help yourself to some fruit”. He turned his eyes back to the easel and continued painting.
From the corner of his eye he could see Kaoru hesitate, then walk slowly across the cabin to the bowl of berries in the corner. She didn’t made a sound, her bare feet glided effortlessly on the hardwood floor.
She stood there for some time. MacLeod refused to look away from the painting, trying to finish it as quickly as possible. He zoned out and only realised she was still there when she materialised behind him. She was leaning over his shoulder. He could feel her warmth radiating against his face, and heard her exhale slowly. She smelt of flowers.
“It’s beautiful - who is that supposed to be?” she whispered.
Kaoru was talking about the woman featured in the fore of the painting. It was vaguely impressionist, except for the woman in question who was painted with a crisp, renaissance feel. The contrast in style meant the woman stood out as though in focus, as if she didn’t belong in the scenery painted around her. She was dressed in a floral kimono, standing in a field of yellow rapeseed. Behind her was a cottage typical of rural Japan. It’s roof glared orange in the light of the setting sun as though on fire. She was facing MacLeod and Kaoru, her eyes intently looking at them.
“Not anyone important” replied MacLeod. He realised he was being a little abrupt. Her sudden familiarity with him had made him suspicious.
“She’s someone special, I’m sure of it. Look at how happy you’ve painted her!” insisted Kaoru.
She was right. The woman in the painting seemed at such ease with herself despite the contrasting surroundings. Her posture defined confidence. She was full bodied and emanated life. Her expression belied contentment, her smile cradling her rosy cheeks and doughy, sparkling eyes.
MacLeod turned towards Kaoru, his eyes narrowing. He wanted her to leave, but a smouldering part of him hungered for her to stay. He couldn’t explain why this conflict had erupted inside him, or why his heart skipped the occasional beat as he noticed the curve of her neck, or the mole on her right cheek. He became aware of his own shabbiness - his hair was wild, his beard unkempt and his clothing filthy. Why did his appearance matter all of a sudden? His question was answered by a deep shame which flooded his chest as Kaoru turned to look at him.
Their eyes met, both instantly looked away. She blushed and quickly stood upright, walking briskly across the room to look at The Great Wave. MacLeod quickly dipped his brush into black ink, dabbing a tiny mole onto the cheek of the woman in the painting whilst Kaoru wasn't looking.
He didn’t know why he did this.
“It’s finished” said MacLeod.
Kaoru didn’t answer at first. She was still looking at The Great Wave. She turned around slowly, her hands behind her back. She had a playful glare in her eyes.
“Has your Great Wave happened yet?” she asked.
MacLeod paused. “Not yet. It’s on the horizon. It’ll catch up the day I stop running from it”
“What a cliche!” she laughed. “A hermit living in denial! - fancy that”
MacLeod couldn’t help but laugh too. She was right. His decades-long marathon of denial seemed so pathetic all of a sudden. It felt liberating - laughing at his situation finally helped dampen the grandiosity he gifted it.
Silence followed their laughter. Kaoru glanced out of the window - it was getting late. MacLeod stood up, lifted the canvas and gestured to Kaoru to pick it up. As he handed it to her, he blurted out “When will I see you again?”
Where did that came from?! What was happening to him?
She smiled. “Your gate needs new hinges” she said suggestively as she took the painting.
He watched her as she disappeared into the trees. He became aware he was smiling. MacLeod was well over a hundred years old, but at that point in time he felt like he was 12 again. It was an unfamiliar warmth, but one he was happy to discover again.
He walked over to his gate to inspect the hinges.
They didn’t need replacing.
Third Era - Persistence
Some years passed. MacLeod had learned through villagers he traded with that the widow and her daughter had moved to the village only a decade after the war. They lived with the blacksmith- a relative, and helped with his business. The daughter; Kaoru, was responsible for keeping the furnace burning whilst her mother Yuri kept the premises tidy.
MacLeod once paid the blacksmith a visit for supplies. He watched as Kaoru worked behind the furnace. She piled in the firewood, her delicate arms yielding a heavy poker to stoke the flames. Bursts of convection roared into her face, which beamed orange in the glowing heat. Through the blurry mirage above the furnace, MacLeod thought he could see her smile. She obviously enjoyed her work, and was clearly good at it. She would pause occasionally to wipe the sweat off her brow and to fan herself. Her work clothes were torn, charred, her face flushed in warmth and sweat and her hair coiled into a bun under a sootened bandana - to MacLeod she couldn’t have been any more perfect. What he experienced then was a yearning most of us recognise - the hunger for contentment. The dream of being useful to those around you- especially to those who aren’t used to it. To finally reconcile ego with the simplicity of existence, and to forgive the self you had once forsaken.
Could it be that she really was happy?
MacLeod didn’t dare answer the question - it was just another selfish attempt to rid him of guilt. Despite this, he remembered her smile and felt the inertia lighten as he walked back home with his supplies.
Life resumed its familiar consistency. Months passed, but to MacLeod it felt like days. The blacksmith had asked for a painting in exchange for the supplies and he had nearly completed it.
He was brushing on the last touches when Kaoru walked in to his cabin. She hadn’t knocked, and her sudden presence surprised MacLeod. They paused as they noticed each other, their eyes taking in the person in front of them. A light breeze tempered the silence as it whistled through the open door. Both could feel an inexplicable charge in the air, like there was a palpable significance to the encounter. What they couldn’t tell was whether this feeling was reflected in the other.
Kaoru broke the silence, “Sorry for interrupting. I’ve come to collect the blacksmith’s painting”
She spoke hurriedly, her voice quivered. MacLeod sensed she was apprehensive. He cursed the blacksmith under his breath - how could he send her all alone to the cabin of a recluse, isolated in the woods? She stood by the open door, her hands clasped on her chest.
“Come in, I don’t bite. It’s nearly done. Help yourself to some fruit”. He turned his eyes back to the easel and continued painting.
From the corner of his eye he could see Kaoru hesitate, then walk slowly across the cabin to the bowl of berries in the corner. She didn’t made a sound, her bare feet glided effortlessly on the hardwood floor.
She stood there for some time. MacLeod refused to look away from the painting, trying to finish it as quickly as possible. He zoned out and only realised she was still there when she materialised behind him. She was leaning over his shoulder. He could feel her warmth radiating against his face, and heard her exhale slowly. She smelt of flowers.
“It’s beautiful - who is that supposed to be?” she whispered.
Kaoru was talking about the woman featured in the fore of the painting. It was vaguely impressionist, except for the woman in question who was painted with a crisp, renaissance feel. The contrast in style meant the woman stood out as though in focus, as if she didn’t belong in the scenery painted around her. She was dressed in a floral kimono, standing in a field of yellow rapeseed. Behind her was a cottage typical of rural Japan. It’s roof glared orange in the light of the setting sun as though on fire. She was facing MacLeod and Kaoru, her eyes intently looking at them.
“Not anyone important” replied MacLeod. He realised he was being a little abrupt. Her sudden familiarity with him had made him suspicious.
“She’s someone special, I’m sure of it. Look at how happy you’ve painted her!” insisted Kaoru.
She was right. The woman in the painting seemed at such ease with herself despite the contrasting surroundings. Her posture defined confidence. She was full bodied and emanated life. Her expression belied contentment, her smile cradling her rosy cheeks and doughy, sparkling eyes.
MacLeod turned towards Kaoru, his eyes narrowing. He wanted her to leave, but a smouldering part of him hungered for her to stay. He couldn’t explain why this conflict had erupted inside him, or why his heart skipped the occasional beat as he noticed the curve of her neck, or the mole on her right cheek. He became aware of his own shabbiness - his hair was wild, his beard unkempt and his clothing filthy. Why did his appearance matter all of a sudden? His question was answered by a deep shame which flooded his chest as Kaoru turned to look at him.
Their eyes met, both instantly looked away. She blushed and quickly stood upright, walking briskly across the room to look at The Great Wave. MacLeod quickly dipped his brush into black ink, dabbing a tiny mole onto the cheek of the woman in the painting whilst Kaoru wasn't looking.
He didn’t know why he did this.
“It’s finished” said MacLeod.
Kaoru didn’t answer at first. She was still looking at The Great Wave. She turned around slowly, her hands behind her back. She had a playful glare in her eyes.
“Has your Great Wave happened yet?” she asked.
MacLeod paused. “Not yet. It’s on the horizon. It’ll catch up the day I stop running from it”
“What a cliche!” she laughed. “A hermit living in denial! - fancy that”
MacLeod couldn’t help but laugh too. She was right. His decades-long marathon of denial seemed so pathetic all of a sudden. It felt liberating - laughing at his situation finally helped dampen the grandiosity he gifted it.
Silence followed their laughter. Kaoru glanced out of the window - it was getting late. MacLeod stood up, lifted the canvas and gestured to Kaoru to pick it up. As he handed it to her, he blurted out “When will I see you again?”
Where did that came from?! What was happening to him?
She smiled. “Your gate needs new hinges” she said suggestively as she took the painting.
He watched her as she disappeared into the trees. He became aware he was smiling. MacLeod was well over a hundred years old, but at that point in time he felt like he was 12 again. It was an unfamiliar warmth, but one he was happy to discover again.
He walked over to his gate to inspect the hinges.
They didn’t need replacing.
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