Chapter 65
***
Standing there scratching my head and staring at the unexpected result of my actions. How many times had this happened to me already? Too many to count. They say wisdom comes with age — but apparently, in my case, only the age comes.
The car that the body I'd sent airborne had landed on turned out to be ours. That very same premium vehicle we'd arrived in. Right across the middle of its roof, spread out in a picturesque pose, lay the corpse of the Ruler of Madripoor, having caved it in and sent every tinted window shattering outward in a full circle — sixteenth floor, no laughing matter.
Standing beside me, scratching his own head in the exact same fashion, was the driver. And he looked remarkably like Clint Barton. Only very, very young. Barely more than a kid. Eighteen at the outside.
Around us, a crowd was starting to gather. Police sirens were already audible in the distance.
I lowered my hand from the back of my neck, cast a furtive glance around, shoved my hands in my pockets, did my best to look like a man who had absolutely nothing to do with any of this, and quietly moved away from there before Nicole could come downstairs.
Unhurried to the nearest corner, then very nearly at a run toward the nearest taxi stand — lifting a couple of wallets from the crowd of onlookers beginning to cluster around the car presented no great difficulty.
Well. What of it? My honest cash was back at the hotel. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd need physical money on this trip, and then there'd been this little complication — and the skill was there, and skills need occasional practice so the fingers don't forget, so…
***
I had been right. Rasputin took to Aikido like a flame takes to dry wood. He fell in love with it from his very first step onto the tatami. I could see it in his eyes — this was genuine passion. The kid had found himself.
And I had found the new Head of the Aikido Aikikai Federation of the Soviet Union. Never mind that he didn't have so much as a beginner's sixth kyu in the discipline. A detail that trivial carried absolutely no weight with me. What mattered was passion. And Petya had it. Which meant he would lead the Federation. The belts could sort themselves out — I'd leave him in Hombu Dojo for a year under direct orders from Command, and he'd better not dare show his face back in the Union after that year without a first dan.
***
I flew to Tanabe alone. Setting aside Natasha. Without her escort — hers and one other fellow from Japanese state security — I was not permitted to move about the country freely. This had been communicated to me on the evening of the day Kurohagi had failed to learn how to fly.
The case was closed, of course, since Shingen was yakuza, and the yakuza don't air their dirty laundry in public or cooperate with law enforcement. Every witness stated in one voice that poor Hideki had suffered a nervous episode which deteriorated into a temporary breakdown, culminating in him bursting into tears like a girl, working himself into a run, headbutting the window with his forehead, and plummeting from the sixteenth floor.
What had triggered the breakdown? His fiancée had broken off the engagement and left with another man. And he had loved her so very much, so very much. Poor, wretched Hideki. Such a sensitive, feeling soul.
But Natasha had told me she'd been asked to remain at my side at all times, to protect the nerves of such delicate natures. No new scandals involving me were needed — not by Japan, not by the Union. And the fact that my soulful, intellectual face, if left unsupervised, might drive another couple of sensitive souls to a "nervous breakdown" — somehow nobody had questioned this. It was almost hurtful, in a way. I wasn't some kind of animal, I didn't attack people unprovoked. Just…on occasion.
In any case, if Hideki had been a Japanese citizen, the matter might not have closed so quickly — but he wasn't. And the Ruler of Madripoor, of that pirate island-state, was someone both Japan and the Union couldn't care less about. One fewer criminal in the world. A new ruler had materialized there within half an hour of the incident: the very woman who had been present at the "matchmaking." Ophelia Sarkissian, if I had it right. The one they called Viper behind her back. Not especially relevant.
But I was still politely asked not to do that again. And to not go anywhere without an escort.
Though there was one person who did not take the incident lightly. And that person was Steve Rogers.
To his heavy, reproachful gaze, I returned mine and asked: "And what exactly do you know about Hideki Kurohagi? Or about Madripoor?" Judging by the slight shift in his expression and the thoughtfulness that appeared in his eyes, the answer was: nothing, about either one. I added: "Find out. Ask Fury." And that was where our conversation ended. On that day.
The next morning I flew to Tanabe on Stark's private plane, accompanied by Natasha and Tatsumi — that was the name of the escort from the Japanese side.
***
I went to Morihei's grave alone. I didn't need to persuade my escorts to give me space. One long, weighted look was enough for them to consult briefly with each other and arrive at the conclusion that there was really nobody to be alarmed about me on a cemetery, and that they would be better off waiting at the bottom of the hill.
I sat there until evening. Simply sat on a bench and said nothing. The truth was, I had nothing to say to the Teacher. I simply missed him. Being near him had felt so… peaceful? No. Peaceful wasn't quite right. That wasn't the word for what you felt beside O-Sensei. That grey-haired child of a man had a talent for upending anyone's equilibrium with his antics when he chose to. But near him, it was… bright. Yes — bright. That was perhaps the closest word.
Yes. With him, it was bright. And he himself was Light — vivid, spirited, impossible to be indifferent to, burning and warmly comforting all at once. I missed that.
Strange: the worlds are different, yet O-Sensei's grave is the same, and the aching feeling that fills you standing beside it — filling you with gentle sadness and drawing a smile from you at the same time — is the same too. I wondered: when I came back to this place in a hundred years, would that feeling have changed? In two hundred?
I walked back down quiet and silent. I'm not a talkative man at the best of times, and after that…
***
"Did you know him, Viktor Ivanovich?" Natasha finally asked me the next morning, on the plane flying to Okinawa. She was sitting in the seat beside mine, while Tatsumi had settled himself at the far end of the cabin and was gazing out the porthole.
"I did," I answered, and exhaled slowly. "Eighteen years. I knew him for eighteen years. Every second of that time is beyond price."
"Eighteen," Natasha repeated quietly. "And how old are you? How old are you, Viktor Ivanovich? If you don't mind my asking."
"You've seen my passport," I shrugged. "The date of birth there is accurate. Give or take a year. So — two hundred and seventeen, more or less. And you?"
"Twenty-nine," she said. Then she hesitated, but asked anyway. "What is it like to live… a long time?"
"A long time? I don't know. I'm only two hundred and seventeen," I smiled. Natasha exhaled with a trace of irritation. She was quiet for a moment.
"Seriously?" she decided not to let it go.
"I am serious. My wife is several thousand — now that is a long time. My two hundred… means nothing. Don't think about it. Just live." A silence followed.
"Then why did you do it, Viktor Ivanovich? Why did you make us… like this?" Romanova asked quietly. The question had clearly been sitting in her for a very long time.
"Do the others know?" I asked in return.
"No. They don't have clearance for it. Only I do — because I was at that meeting of yours."
"Why?" I repeated her question back and sighed. "I promised a friend. Before he died."
"A friend?"
"Abraham Erskine. My friend. He designed the serum and the diet." I gazed at the clouds drifting past below the porthole as I spoke. "He wanted very much to give his work to people. All people. Everywhere on earth. I gave it."
"But the Union isn't all the earth."Chapter 65
***
Standing there scratching my head and staring at the unexpected result of my actions. How many times had this happened to me already? Too many to count. They say wisdom comes with age — but apparently, in my case, only the age comes.
The car that the body I'd sent airborne had landed on turned out to be ours. That very same premium vehicle we'd arrived in. Right across the middle of its roof, spread out in a picturesque pose, lay the corpse of the Ruler of Madripoor, having caved it in and sent every tinted window shattering outward in a full circle — sixteenth floor, no laughing matter.
Standing beside me, scratching his own head in the exact same fashion, was the driver. And he looked remarkably like Clint Barton. Only very, very young. Barely more than a kid. Eighteen at the outside.
Around us, a crowd was starting to gather. Police sirens were already audible in the distance.
I lowered my hand from the back of my neck, cast a furtive glance around, shoved my hands in my pockets, did my best to look like a man who had absolutely nothing to do with any of this, and quietly moved away from there before Nicole could come downstairs.
Unhurried to the nearest corner, then very nearly at a run toward the nearest taxi stand — lifting a couple of wallets from the crowd of onlookers beginning to cluster around the car presented no great difficulty.
Well. What of it? My honest cash was back at the hotel. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd need physical money on this trip, and then there'd been this little complication — and the skill was there, and skills need occasional practice so the fingers don't forget, so…
***
I had been right. Rasputin took to Aikido like a flame takes to dry wood. He fell in love with it from his very first step onto the tatami. I could see it in his eyes — this was genuine passion. The kid had found himself.
And I had found the new Head of the Aikido Aikikai Federation of the Soviet Union. Never mind that he didn't have so much as a beginner's sixth kyu in the discipline. A detail that trivial carried absolutely no weight with me. What mattered was passion. And Petya had it. Which meant he would lead the Federation. The belts could sort themselves out — I'd leave him in Hombu Dojo for a year under direct orders from Command, and he'd better not dare show his face back in the Union after that year without a first dan.
***
I flew to Tanabe alone. Setting aside Natasha. Without her escort — hers and one other fellow from Japanese state security — I was not permitted to move about the country freely. This had been communicated to me on the evening of the day Kurohagi had failed to learn how to fly.
The case was closed, of course, since Shingen was yakuza, and the yakuza don't air their dirty laundry in public or cooperate with law enforcement. Every witness stated in one voice that poor Hideki had suffered a nervous episode which deteriorated into a temporary breakdown, culminating in him bursting into tears like a girl, working himself into a run, headbutting the window with his forehead, and plummeting from the sixteenth floor.
What had triggered the breakdown? His fiancée had broken off the engagement and left with another man. And he had loved her so very much, so very much. Poor, wretched Hideki. Such a sensitive, feeling soul.
But Natasha had told me she'd been asked to remain at my side at all times, to protect the nerves of such delicate natures. No new scandals involving me were needed — not by Japan, not by the Union. And the fact that my soulful, intellectual face, if left unsupervised, might drive another couple of sensitive souls to a "nervous breakdown" — somehow nobody had questioned this. It was almost hurtful, in a way. I wasn't some kind of animal, I didn't attack people unprovoked. Just…on occasion.
In any case, if Hideki had been a Japanese citizen, the matter might not have closed so quickly — but he wasn't. And the Ruler of Madripoor, of that pirate island-state, was someone both Japan and the Union couldn't care less about. One fewer criminal in the world. A new ruler had materialized there within half an hour of the incident: the very woman who had been present at the "matchmaking." Ophelia Sarkissian, if I had it right. The one they called Viper behind her back. Not especially relevant.
But I was still politely asked not to do that again. And to not go anywhere without an escort.
Though there was one person who did not take the incident lightly. And that person was Steve Rogers.
To his heavy, reproachful gaze, I returned mine and asked: "And what exactly do you know about Hideki Kurohagi? Or about Madripoor?" Judging by the slight shift in his expression and the thoughtfulness that appeared in his eyes, the answer was: nothing, about either one. I added: "Find out. Ask Fury." And that was where our conversation ended. On that day.
The next morning I flew to Tanabe on Stark's private plane, accompanied by Natasha and Tatsumi — that was the name of the escort from the Japanese side.
***
I went to Morihei's grave alone. I didn't need to persuade my escorts to give me space. One long, weighted look was enough for them to consult briefly with each other and arrive at the conclusion that there was really nobody to be alarmed about me on a cemetery, and that they would be better off waiting at the bottom of the hill.
I sat there until evening. Simply sat on a bench and said nothing. The truth was, I had nothing to say to the Teacher. I simply missed him. Being near him had felt so… peaceful? No. Peaceful wasn't quite right. That wasn't the word for what you felt beside O-Sensei. That grey-haired child of a man had a talent for upending anyone's equilibrium with his antics when he chose to. But near him, it was… bright. Yes — bright. That was perhaps the closest word.
Yes. With him, it was bright. And he himself was Light — vivid, spirited, impossible to be indifferent to, burning and warmly comforting all at once. I missed that.
Strange: the worlds are different, yet O-Sensei's grave is the same, and the aching feeling that fills you standing beside it — filling you with gentle sadness and drawing a smile from you at the same time — is the same too. I wondered: when I came back to this place in a hundred years, would that feeling have changed? In two hundred?
I walked back down quiet and silent. I'm not a talkative man at the best of times, and after that…
***
"Did you know him, Viktor Ivanovich?" Natasha finally asked me the next morning, on the plane flying to Okinawa. She was sitting in the seat beside mine, while Tatsumi had settled himself at the far end of the cabin and was gazing out the porthole.
"I did," I answered, and exhaled slowly. "Eighteen years. I knew him for eighteen years. Every second of that time is beyond price."
"Eighteen," Natasha repeated quietly. "And how old are you? How old are you, Viktor Ivanovich? If you don't mind my asking."
"You've seen my passport," I shrugged. "The date of birth there is accurate. Give or take a year. So — two hundred and seventeen, more or less. And you?"
"Twenty-nine," she said. Then she hesitated, but asked anyway. "What is it like to live… a long time?"
"A long time? I don't know. I'm only two hundred and seventeen," I smiled. Natasha exhaled with a trace of irritation. She was quiet for a moment.
"Seriously?" she decided not to let it go.
"I am serious. My wife is several thousand — now that is a long time. My two hundred… means nothing. Don't think about it. Just live." A silence followed.
"Then why did you do it, Viktor Ivanovich? Why did you make us… like this?" Romanova asked quietly. The question had clearly been sitting in her for a very long time.
"Do the others know?" I asked in return.
"No. They don't have clearance for it. Only I do — because I was at that meeting of yours."
"Why?" I repeated her question back and sighed. "I promised a friend. Before he died."
"A friend?"
"Abraham Erskine. My friend. He designed the serum and the diet." I gazed at the clouds drifting past below the porthole as I spoke. "He wanted very much to give his work to people. All people. Everywhere on earth. I gave it."
"But the Union isn't all the earth."
"The Union is the beginning. A year, two years — and Erskine's diet will spill past its borders. A secret like that can't be contained forever. Especially not after the Olympics."
"Is that the only reason?" she asked, with a particular inflection I couldn't quite place.
"Yes," I told her. "Only that. No grand designs. I'm a simple man. I made a promise, I kept it."
"But what about 'responsibility?' And Saint-Exupéry?" Natasha raised her eyebrows. "What you said to Iosif Vissarionovich?"
"You make a mess — you take responsibility for it," I shrugged again. "If you didn't manage to disappear in time."
"Just like that?" she asked, with that same unplaceable inflection.
"Yes," I told her. "I like when things are simple."
"And why are you going to Okinawa?" she asked, after ten minutes of silence.
"To a grave."
"But you were just…"
"I had more than one teacher," I said. "Over two hundred years, that tends to happen." And with that, the conversation wound down on its own. "Their graves are not all in the same place."
***
"The Union is the beginning. A year, two years — and Erskine's diet will spill past its borders. A secret like that can't be contained forever. Especially not after the Olympics."
"Is that the only reason?" she asked, with a particular inflection I couldn't quite place.
"Yes," I told her. "Only that. No grand designs. I'm a simple man. I made a promise, I kept it."
"But what about 'responsibility?' And Saint-Exupéry?" Natasha raised her eyebrows. "What you said to Iosif Vissarionovich?"
"You make a mess — you take responsibility for it," I shrugged again. "If you didn't manage to disappear in time."
"Just like that?" she asked, with that same unplaceable inflection.
"Yes," I told her. "I like when things are simple."
"And why are you going to Okinawa?" she asked, after ten minutes of silence.
"To a grave."
"But you were just…"
"I had more than one teacher," I said. "Over two hundred years, that tends to happen." And with that, the conversation wound down on its own. "Their graves are not all in the same place."
***
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