JENZO

JENZO

A small man knelt in a large empty room. He called himself Jenzo, and lived in this simple space with polished wood panel floors and white walls, stark and empty. Empty but for two pictures painted in an old Japanese style that hung on either side of the only window. A cot and table hid in a far corner next to a stand with two swords. Jenzo's tilted eyes were shut, and his lips whispered a prayer with the easy cadence of long practice.

The pictures were of two women. One in the flower of her womanhood her hair piled above her head fixed with bamboo and flowers. The other, a pixie with a fan and a smile, the innocence of youth and joy captured on paper. Jenzo finished his prayer and bowed to each picture. Each bow punctuated by a name.

“Sayuri” to the women. “Amaterasu” to the girl. He smiled as he turned and walked with small steps to the stand that held his swords. The stand was rosewood and old layers of polish and care had turned the surface to glass. The Swords were traditional, Katana and Wakazashi, the weapons of the Samurai of old. They were not decorative like the stand, but workmanlike and well used. The grips wrapped and re wrapped by hand, the scabbards plain and dull black. Taking the long sword, his Katana, Jenzo sat cross-legged on his bed and unsheathed the blade. White streaked his black hair at the temples and as he caressed the edge with his vision, deep lines traced the sadness of long years on his brow and the corners of his eyes.

Taking a whetstone and water-flask from the table he wet the blade with sprinkles of water and began to hone its long curved length. The sword seemed large in Jenzo's small hands, he was short even for his heritage, and the joints of his fingers looked swollen and stiff. Despite this his motions were smooth and easy as he did the work. Like the prayer before the pictures he had performed this ritual time and time again.

Jenzo's room was above a warehouse just a few miles inland of the San Francisco Bay. It was in a quiet industrial park that saw little traffic, and became a ghost town on the weekends. Twenty years ago Jenzo had purchased the property with a cashier’s check from his employer, and the year that followed renovated the building inside and out.

It took months to complete the improvements and an army of workers were hired for the job. Construction crews reinforced the walls three feet thick with concrete. Security systems were installed and the downstairs office was refitted to become a panic room with 2 months of food and water. State of the art climate control came next, each of the three main storage areas were designed for tightly controlled parameters of temperature and humidity.

Jenzo was present for the installation of each system speaking softly with the foreman with only the slightest trace of a Japanese accent. He was patient and calm and always wore white.

Massive doors two stories tall and outrageously heavy were installed as the main entrance a smaller access built into the right side. The day the metal monstrosity was hung in place by a 40 foot crane, the foreman could not contain his curiosity and asked Jenzo, “What in God's name are you storing here sir, a tank could not blow through that door.”

Jenzo smiled and bowed, “Old things, very old. My employer values them, perhaps more than they are worth.”

“Art, vintage cars, has to be something crazy with all this security. Come on you can tell me, we all signed the non-disclosure thing.”

Jenzo patted the young man on the arm shuffled off to speak with an electrician laboring over the motor that would slide the doors back along the walls. At first the work was the talk of the town, and rumors flew fast when the trucks started arriving. Never more than one truck on any day, and always gone by night fall.

A suddenly as the activity had begun, it ended. The industrial park's other denizens would stare at the little Japanese man in white as he watered and tended the shrubs around the building. They huddle in groups on smoke breaks and stared at the fortress, so plain on the outside and made grand speculations of what lay within.

Jenzo would smile and wave at any he saw watching him come and go. Driving his battered 1986 Ford Ranger in and out of the steel doors. Often he would bring coffee and pastries to his neighbors with a smile and a bow. He asked of their families and work, and could draw even the most jaded into conversation.

The light reflected in Jenzo’s naked blade began to turn red as he completed his work. With a soft ring he hid the wicked edge in the dull black scabbard. Replacing the sword on the stand he plucked keys from the desk and shuffled to the door that led downstairs to the garage, slipping into the sandals that waited for him there. A few moments later Jenzo’s battered gray pick up was rattling toward the city.

Modern San Francisco is plagued by homelessness. Amongst the bright lights of the city past art exhibits and night clubs, just a few blocks away from million dollar homes, 10,000 forgotten souls lived in the shadows. From every walk of life they came, rich and poor, addicts and crazies. Family men, who had lost it all gambling away their houses, huddled next to grizzled veterans who had never really come home. They all were alike in that they had fallen through through the cracks of society and found pavement at the bottom. Some of the lucky ones also found Jenzo.

On the weekends Jenzo volunteered at soup kitchens and free clinics in the city. and after serving out Campbell's to whoever needed it, he would walk the streets looking into alleys and under bridges on cold nights. He came with blankets, he came with food. He provided a ride to a shelter for those that would take it or a ride to an emergency room for those that needed it.

Tonight Jenzo was paying a special visit to an old friend. Shaggy Sheila had lived under the 205 for as long as anyone could remember, and Jenzo had known her for years. Her hair looked like it had not been cut for a decade and she peered out from this tangled red mass with suspicious eyes as the lights from Jenzo’s truck splashed across the plywood and cardboard lean to she called home.

As Jenzo climbed from the truck Sheila was whispering loud enough to be heard a block away. She wore a faded dress that looked like it had once been a floral print. It hung from her bony shoulders like it was on a wire hanger. Enormous Penny loafers with the toes missing peaked out from underneath. It hurt Jenzo to see her so thin, he snatched a bag with two sub sandwiches and a carton of milk from the truck.

“Get in here Ghost Man.” She pointed a skeletal finger skyward. “Satellites.”

“Hai “ Jenzo answered and picked his way delicately through the trash strewn grass to duck under the old blanket that served as Sheila's door.

“You sure you weren't followed Ghost man?” She said.

“Yes Dear one.” He answered. “Your call, unexpected. Are you well?” Jenzo sat down on one of the two old tires snugged up against the pavement. Inside the lean-to was cramped and smokey, a small fire burned in a tin can next to Sheila's blanket roll and knapsack which held everything she owned. The floor was hard packed dirt and here and there a shiny radio antenna was thrust into the ground.

“Don't like phones Ghost man, don't like satellites. Sheila produced a half full bottle of neon wine and took a long pull. She thrust the bottle toward Jenzo. 

“MadDog?”

“Excuse me Dear one? He said

“MadDog 20/20, it looks like cool aid and kicks like a mule. Merle on 2nd street owed me, so I took it. He was sleepin.”

Jenzo shook his head and bowed. “I was worried. You were gone for weeks. I searched for you.”

“But even the Ghost Man could not find me. Sheila knows how to hide, I knows how to block the signal.” She patted one of her antennas and winked.

'Will you tell me where you have been?” he asked.

“Been downtown Ghost Man downtown. Saw you there.”

“Did you?”

“Yes I did, in your gray truck in your white Ghost Suit” she said taking another drink.

Jenzo frowned. He noticed a streak of dried blood coming from Sheila's right ear barely visible beneath her matted hair. She had been trying again, trying for him and he feared for her.

Why did you not say hello Dear one?”

Sheila blushed, “I was really torn up right then Ghostie, Didn't want you to see me that way.”

“Does your head hurt Sheila?”

“When I'm sober it does.”

“You know what I mean Dear one, does it hurt in the secret place I showed you.”

Shelia bowed her head and peaked from under her shock of red hair. She looked for all the world like a child caught playing too near the street. Jenzo shook his head, he may as well have pushed the poor woman into traffic.

“I was wrong to teach you Dear One, Jenzo is sorry” He bowed and gripped her hand.

“No” Sheila said, “I am getting better now. I felt it ...what you said I would. I found him!”

Jenzo's breath caught in his throat, he slipped off his seat on the tire and drew close to her. One hand held hers and the other brushed aside her hair and gently cupped her sharp cheekbone. Jenzo became still, his heart slowing. He focused on the empty space between the beats and found other rhythms. He stretched out into these frequencies and touched the frail woman through them.

Shelia sighed, tension flowed out of her and she rested her head against Jenzo's hand. He felt the pulse of the sickness within her mind, it echoed throughout everything she was. He could see a chain-link fence over grown with weeds and a little boy with fiery red hair drawing with chalk on a side walk. It was hard to look away from the boy, Sheila's thoughts all wrapped around and through the image of the boy. But he poured more of himself through the energy connecting him and this broken woman, until at last the image of the boy faded and was replaced by one of a crowded street corner in twilight.

People passed by, their faces and clothing indistinct, they were wraiths of gray floating by over gray pavement. On the corner was a streetlamp, an old-fashioned cast iron affair that curved gently out over the street. Under it stood a man, a bottle in a brown bag in his hand. He hung by the lamppost with one hand swinging himself around and singing. He smiled as he capered slurring strange words mixed with colorful English that earned him looks from the passersby. But they only looked for a moment. This was San Francisco after all. Unlike the other people around he was in vivid color, his shirt red, pants blue and golden hair that danced about his head like it had a life of its own. The shops behind him and the crowds began to fade as the singing drunk grew larger becoming the whole vision. In mid swing he stopped. And seemed to become aware of Jenzo.

The Drunk in red and blue ceased his song and stared hard at Sheila/Jenzo. His face was boyish and beautiful. His fair skin a sharp contrast to sparkling green eyes. The mirth of his song was forgotten now and he stared with frightening intensity, all traces of drunkenness gone.

The green eyes flashed and began to glow halos of white and pink light. The eyes were gone now suffused in light. The light was hurting Sheila, hurting even in the remembering of it, but Jenzo could not draw away. The memory of that power held him fast. A thought sent with withering force blasted from the creature and slammed through Jenzo so that he almost lost his connection with Sheila. “Leave me alone, or die. Choose.”

When Jenzo returned to himself Sheila lay on the ground crying. He reached out again sending his sympathy through the waves and reassuring her that she was safe. A stab of guilt pierced him. He did not really know if she was safe. Jenzo could not swear that anyone was safe.

He whispered a prayer in Japanese as he sat on the ground cradling Sheila's sobbing head.

“He hurt me Ghost man, I tried to look quietly like you showed me. I didn't mean to make him angry.” Sheila said. “I was sittin on the sidewalk at the top of the hill, watching the streetcars slip by and practicing how you told me. It was working better than usual. I saw you drive by in the Ghost mobile with my eyes shut. Your were kind of glowing white the way you do. It was just a little feeling but it was the best time yet. Then I felt something else, a ripple in the air, through them waves you told me about. It was strange and blurry at first. Like looking through a dirty window but I kept at it. Then... then I was looking at him...then he looked back. It knocked me silly for a while I could not stand or talk. When I came too I found a bottle and I... Those eyes Ghost Man, I know he can find me and I don't know how to block HIS signal. You are like a soft glowing light bulb, he's like a searchlight cutting across the sky.”

Years ago Jenzo had been handing out blankets under the 205 when Sheila walked right up to him and poked his chest with a bony finger. She apologized and told him she had to make sure he wasn't a ghost, what with him glowing and all. Jenzo was shocked to learn that Sheila was like him. There was something that made them both special, something that made them the same. Jenzo had much more of it than Sheila, but Sheila had a very special talent. One that he had used.

“This is my fault child, I have grown careless in my old age, I should never have used you in this way. Can you forgive me dear One?”

Sheila laughed through her tears. “Don't guess I have been called a child in 60 years. You cant be more than 50 Ghost man.”

“I am old enough to have become a fool. Say you will forgive me Sheila and maybe someday you will tell me of the boy with the red hair, and I will tell you of a little girl with black hair.”

Sheila's eyes grew wide.”I never told you, how... Were you in my head did you see him?”

“I saw the boy drawing on the ground with chalk, my daughter was fond of drawing. Say you forgive me, we have little time.”

“There's nuthin to forgive Ghost Man you showed me I wasn't crazy, taught me to use whats been buried in me. But I'm afraid, I'm afraid of that man and the pink light. Is he a monster?”

“No, but you cannot stay near the city any longer Dear one. You have to leave tonight, now pack your things you have a long journey.

Sheila sat up and stared into Jenzo's eyes. “Where will I go Ghost man, the satellites are everywhere, I can feel em lookin down on me. I thought I knew how to keep em out, but I never counted on HIM.”

“That Dear One, has been the downfall of many. Lets get you moving.” Jenzo helped her to her feet brushing dirt from her dress.

As she packed the few oddments that mattered to her, Jenzo flipped open his cell phone and made a few calls. The last was to a car service. Sheila's days of living on the streets were over. A fresh wave of guilt ran through Jenzo and he clenched his callused swordsman's hands. He could have taken Shaggy Sheila off the streets whenever he wished. He had a place for those like her he found. Those touched by the smallest part of the great mystery that had dominated his life and so many others. He had known about Shaggy Sheila's gift for some time, but he left her where she was. Left her to find someone he barely believed existed.

“A car is coming for you Sheila, it will take you to a Hotel where a nice doctor will have a look at you. Then you will be off tonight by car to a house of mine in Colorado. Have you ever been to Colorado?

Sheila shook her head. “Never” she said.

“Well its an adventure then, can you be brave Dear one?”

“Will you come with me Ghost Man.” She grasped his brown hand in her white ones pulling it close to her breast. He could feel her heart flutter like a bird trapped in a bone cage.

“No Dear One but I will visit you soon. I have something I must do.”

“The satellites, they could track me in the car.”

“Never, this car is satellite proof. But just in case...” Jenzo pulled a twisted telescoping antenna from the dirt and held it gently between his hands. He breathed deeply and the night seemed very still. Sheila's eyes grew wide as she watched she could feel a little of what Jenzo was doing, just a faint whisper through the waves.

Jenzo pulled his hands apart and a soft light shone through his fingers. Suspended between his hands the antenna lost its shape and flowed liquid, a dancing cat's cradle that twinkled and twisted into a circle. He clapped his hands together and the light went out. Holding out his hand, Sheila saw a ring of metal like a little bracelet.

“You must be careful Dear one it will break.” He slipped it over her tiny hand and onto her her wrist. As he did he reached out to her, pouring thoughts of peace and safety into her.

“While you wear this, no satellite will find you.”

She cried and clutched him for a while until they heard a car approaching. Jenzo helped her to the hired car and spoke briefly to the driver. As they said their last goodbye Sheila clutched his white jacket and said “Promise me you will stay away from him Ghost Man, promise me you will stay far away from that thing. Even you wont be safe.

He placed a gentle kiss on her dirty cheek and lied.

Author's Note

All comments welcome!

Reviews

[Devine Miss C]

Hi. I took a little while to get into your story. The second half interested me more so than the first. Not that i am not curious what Jenzo is building the room for.

Overall I think you have a good solid idea. Some of your sentence structure could be changed to improve things. You could do with a little tidy up with some of you paragraphs, moving the sentences around would make more sense. For example, when you are describing the room in the first paragraph, you say the room is empty other than 2 pictures, then you mention the cot and the stand. Maybe put the cot and stand sentence first and then mention that the rest of the room is empty but for the 2 pictures.

At the end of the 3rd paragraph where you describe Jenzo with this white hair etc, it doesn't really fit at the end of a paragraph where you are talking about the swords. It would fit better in the first paragraph when you mention him with his eye closed whispering the prayer.

I would be happy to offer more detailed feedback if you are interested. Just didn't want to go too far here if you didn't agree with what I am saying, that and editing on my tablet doesn't work so well. Whatever you decide. good luck and keep it up :)

[Daniel J Darcey]

Fascinating read. There is a part were you have through twice together side by side. But other then that you have a well written chapter here. I'll carry on with your next chapter. Thank you for sharing.