Welcome Home

    Jubei-chan the Ninja Girl is copyright a whole lot of people who live in Japan. In other words, it's not mine. Which is saddening, really; I could use a housecleaning samurai around the place....

    "Goodnight, Mama," I say, as she tucks me into my futon.

    She seems a little startled; isn't she used to her son wishing her goodnight? Have I slipped up?

    But no, she smiles down at me as she lifts her hand, displaying one of... my stuffed toys; a brown dog. "It's not like you to be so messy with your toys, Shiro," she tells me sternly. "I will put this away where it belongs."

    I watch her as she moves over to the cupboard, trying not to be obvious as I watch to see where the toy dog goes.

    A toy. I never had toys before.

    She pauses at the door of the bedroom. "I will be home later," she says. "Will you be all right by yourself?"

    "Yes, Mama," I reply. I don't say, 'I've never NOT been by myself.' After all, she doesn't know. Can't know.

    "Goodnight, Shiro," she says softly as she closes the door.

    I blink up at the ceiling as the last rays of dusk paint it in cinnamon and orange. Going to bed at this time of day is normal for a three-year-old. I'm not used to going to bed at this time, though. Grandfather would have me practicing at this hour. I hope Shiro is all right.

    I shake my head vigorously. No, he's Hajime. I'm Shiro, now.

    I never knew I had a brother.

    It was such a shock to me this morning. Grandfather had left me alone at the doujou, practicing my swing. I was startled by a sound from outside. I turned to look out the door, and I saw him.

    Is there any way to describe the feeling? Of looking and seeing your own face on another boy's head?

    And then he looked at me, and called me 'older brother'....

    What he told me still seems so strange, even as I feel the soft cloth of the futon. Grandfather always insisted on crisp linen. This cotton is soft with use, scented with soap and fresh air rather than sweet incense. But I like this better.

    I have a mother.

    Other boys had mothers, so I guess it isn't so strange. But I never have had one. My brother laughed when I was so startled.

    We had a father.

    I wonder what he was like?

    "He wore a suit and went out every day. Then he'd swing his shinai when he was home, and smile at Mother," my brother told me. I think I would have liked him.

    He asked me about the legacy. "It's stupid," I told him.

    "Tell me anyway," he said.

    "There's this man called Yagyu Jubei. Grandfather hates him. We all train so that one day, one of us will beat him." I shrugged. "It's stupid because we all have to be secret. If we're going to beat him, we'll be famous."

    "I think it's good," my twin brother said. "I wish I were training. I have a quiet life that is modest and boring."

    "I wish I had a life that was quiet and modest," I told him. "I wish I had your life."

    We looked at each other.

    "We're the same height," he said.

    "We look just like each other," I said.

    "If we swop places, nobody will know," he said. "I want to be Hajime."

    "Are you sure?" I asked. "I'm not going to give being Shiro back to you."

    "I'm sure," he said. "Please!"

    So we did it. I climbed into his hakama, while he scrambled into mine. He told me how to get to where he lived. I told him about the Ryujoji-Shikage School and the people there. Then he walked over to the shinai. And I walked out of the doujou, to here. To home.

    Life here is going to take some getting used to. Mama isn't as beautiful as some of the Ryujoji cousins, but I can see why Papa loved her. Even though my brother didn't describe her, I knew who she was. She's my mother.

    I helped her cook and clean up. I can't do much yet, but I'm going to get bigger and I'll help. I don't want to be a secret anymore.

    I have toys. I don't have to fight all the time. I can play. I never could when I was Hajime.

    I'm Shiro, I think, as sleep begins to close my eyes. I'm never, ever going to be Hajime ever again....

    She stood for a moment on the other side of the door, waiting as the breathing of the little boy on the other side slowed into sleep.

    He had tried so hard to seem to be familiar with everything, but how could anyone miss the freshness in his eyes? Or the way he turned to look at the geese at the farm next door?

    Shiro had been so resentful of his father and his father's decision. He had knelt in the small room her husband had used as his doujou for hours, and he had withdrawn from all contact.

    Then suddenly, he had come home from playing this afternoon, smiling cheerfully. He had tried to be helpful and had even washed his own plate - something Shiro never did.

    And he called her 'Mama'. Shiro always called her 'Mother'.

    She smiled painfully. It had hurt so much, three years ago, when she lost her firstborn to her father-in-law. But now -

    Shiro was safe, she knew. And one day he would come home. The proof of that lay sleeping in the room behind her.

    Tomorrow, and for the rest of her life, she would call him 'Shiro'. But tonight -

    "Welcome home, Hajime," she whispered.