TSUNAMI
The bucket handle bit into Tsunami's palm as she hauled water from the well. Third trip this morning. The washboard waited by the back step, and the pile of laundry wouldn't scrub itself.
She dumped the water into the basin and knelt beside it. Her knees protested; they always did now, especially on cold mornings. Not that it was cold. Summer sat heavy over the Land of Waves, turning the air thick and wet. But her knees didn't seem to know the difference anymore.
Tsunami wrung the shirt out and draped it over the line. Her fingers were already pruning. She had four more shirts, two pairs of trousers, and all the kitchen rags. Then she needed to check on the Hirai family; the fisherman's wife had asked her to mend some nets. The work paid poorly, but poorly was better than nothing.
She reached for the next shirt and her back twinged. She paused, one hand pressed to her spine, breathing through it. Just a muscle. Nothing serious. It would pass.
Everything passed, eventually.
The shirt went into the water. Scrub, wring, scrub. Her mind drifted the way it always did when her hands were busy. Had Inari eaten this morning? He'd left before dawn—she'd heard the door. He did that now, slipping out while he thought her asleep. Easier than watching him go. Easier than seeing the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself like someone twice his age.
Twelve. Her son was twelve and working jobs that broke grown men.
The soap slipped from her fingers. She fished it out of the murky water, not bothering to wipe her hands first. Waste of effort.
The Hirai job would take most of the afternoon. If she were lucky, she'd make enough for rice and vegetables for the next few days. Fish, if she could bargain for some of the unsold catch. The market sellers knew her by now—the twice-widowed woman from the edge of town. They gave her the fish that wouldn't last another day, the vegetables starting to soften. She took them and didn't complain.
Complaining didn't change the price.
Another shirt on the line. The sun would dry them by evening if the weather held. The clouds looked heavy to the east, but maybe they'd pass. Maybe.
Her father used to say that. "Maybe the weather will hold. Maybe this year will be different."
It never was.
Tsunami stood, pressing both hands to the small of her back. The bridge stood half-finished at the edge of town, the support beams going gray from weather and neglect. No one had touched it since her father died. No one would. The money had dried up, and the merchants who'd promised funding had found other investments.
Her father had believed in that bridge the way some men believed in gods.
She turned away from it.
The last of the laundry went up. Her hands were raw, the skin around her nails cracked and weeping slightly. She'd wrap them later. Right now, she needed to get to the Hirai house before the afternoon heat made working with nets unbearable.
The walk took twenty minutes, on her way back a little more with the basket of nets on her back. Even in these uncertain times, most people were working; in the boats, in the market, anywhere that put food on tables.
Her fingers worked the needle through the netting, pulling the tears closed. Loop, pull, tie. Loop, pull, tie. The motions were self-acting, the same as washing clothes, the same as cooking rice, the same as breathing.
Her mind drifted again.
She couldn't help it.
It had been a month. Thirty-two days, actually, but who was counting? Not her. She wasn't sitting around counting days like some lovesick girl. She was a grown woman, a mother, someone with real problems that didn't include—
His hands had been so warm.
Tsunami's needle slipped, nearly catching her finger. She cursed under her breath and repositioned the net. Focus. She needed to focus.
But she remembered. That was the problem. She remembered too well….. the weight of him, the heat of him, the way her breath had caught when he'd touched her like she was something precious instead of something used up and thrown away.
Foolish. She was foolish.
She'd known it was foolish when she'd let him into her room. A shinobi, and young—gods, he was young, probably not even twenty-five, and she was what? An old woman with stretch marks and sagging breasts and hands that smelled like fish, no matter how much she scrubbed them.
But his eyes, not pitying, he'd looked at her like…..
Tsunami pulled the thread tight, maybe harder than necessary. The net bunched slightly. She had to redo the last three knots.
It had been gratitude. That's all. She'd been grateful he'd saved Inari, and he'd been... what? Curious? Bored? Young men did stupid things sometimes, she'd heard that. Older women were a novelty, something to try once and then forget about.
She could understand that.
What she couldn't understand was why he'd asked her to come to Konoha.
That part still didn't make sense.
She'd thought he was joking at first. The kind of pillow talk men did, saying sweet things they didn't mean, because it made the moment feel bigger than it was. But he'd been serious. She'd seen it in his face, heard it in his voice.
Like it was simple.
Like she was someone worth keeping.
Tsunami's hands stilled on the net. Her chest felt tight, the way it did sometimes when she thought too hard about things she couldn't change. She forced herself to breathe. In, out. In, out.
It was better he hadn't come back. She'd decided that already. Decided it thirty-two times, actually, once for each day. If she stayed near him, he'd die. That's what happened to men who got close to her. Her first husband, drowned. Her second husband, killed by thugs. Her father, worked himself to death chasing a dream.
All of them, gone.
If that young man stayed away, he'd live. That was better. That was the right thing, even if it felt like swallowing glass to think about it.
Her needle moved again. Loop, pull, tie.
The sun climbed higher. Her back ached. Her fingers cramped. The pile of nets shrank slowly, too slowly, but she kept working because stopping meant going home, and going home meant sitting alone in that house where she could still remember her shame and how indecent she had been.
Three days after he'd left, she'd pressed her face into the pillow he'd used and breathed in, just to see. The scent was already fading, but it had been there. Soap and something else, something that was just him.
She'd washed the sheets the next day. Waited too long as it was. Shameful.
The nets were finished by late afternoon. Mrs. Hirai paid her a handful of coins and some dried fish wrapped in paper. Tsunami bowed, thanked her, and walked home as the sun started its descent.
The house was exactly as she'd left it. Empty and quiet. Tsunami stood in the middle of the main room and looked at nothing in particular.
Dinner. She should make dinner.
She pulled out rice, vegetables, and a piece of the fish Mrs. Hirai had given her. Her hands moved through the familiar motions. Wash the rice. Cut the vegetables. Season the fish. The smell filled the small kitchen, and for a moment—just a moment—it felt almost normal.
She set out two bowls.
Inari might come home. He did sometimes, when his work finished early. She'd wait a bit, and if he didn't show, she'd put the extra away. No point wasting food.
Tsunami sat at the low table and waited.
The food cooled. The sun moved. The shadows in the room grew longer.
He wasn't coming.
She knew that after the first ten minutes, but she sat there anyway, staring at the empty bowl across from her. Finally, she stood. Put the extra food in a container for tomorrow. Ate three bites of her own portion before her stomach closed up and refused more.
The bowl went into the wash basin. She'd clean it later.
The ceiling. She needed to check the ceiling.
Tsunami dragged the ladder from the back of the house, grunting with the effort. The thing was heavy and awkward, and she nearly dropped it twice. But she got it positioned under the leak in the corner. It dripped every time it rained, soaking the floor, making the wood rot.
She climbed carefully. The ladder wobbled. Her arms shook as she reached up, running her fingers over the damaged boards. Water damage, probably from last month's storm. She'd need new boards, sealant, and maybe nails if the old ones had rusted through.
Money. Everything came back to money.
She pressed her palm flat against the wood, testing it. Soft. Rotting. If she didn't fix it soon, the whole section would need replacing, and that would cost—
"You've got a leak."
Tsunami's heart stopped.
She spun on the ladder, which was a mistake because the ladder wobbled violently, and suddenly she was falling—
Hands caught her. Strong hands steadied her before she could hit the ground.
She looked up into the face of a woman she'd never seen before.
Purple hair. Sharp eyes. A smile that looked more like a baring of teeth.
"Easy there." The woman set Tsunami on her feet but didn't let go immediately, like she thought Tsunami might fall over. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Tsunami's pulse hammered in her ears. She stepped back, putting distance between them. "Who are you?"
"Anko." The woman's smile widened slightly. "Anko Mitarashi. And you're Tsunami, right? The one Eishin's been moping about."
Tsunami's mouth went dry. She stared at this woman—this Anko—and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Young. Beautiful in a dangerous kind of way. A woman who turned heads, especially with the indecent way she was dressing. Why is her coat open?
"I don't—" Tsunami's voice came out rough. She cleared her throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Lands of Wave were dangerous these days, and shinobi even more so. Tsunami had no way of knowing this… oddly dressed woman was telling the truth.
"Sure you don't." Anko circled her slowly, looking her up and down like she was appraising livestock. "Huh. That bastard really did have a thing for... experience type. But you don't look that old."
Heat flooded Tsunami's face. She wanted to sink into the floor. "I think you have the wrong person."
"Nah." Anko stopped in front of her, tilting her head. "You're her. I can tell. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I slept with Eishin and now I don't know what to do about it' look." Anko's grin sharpened. "It's pretty distinctive."
Tsunami's hands clenched at her sides. This woman—this girl, really, because she couldn't be more than twenty-five—was standing in her house, talking about... about...
"You've said quite enough, young lady. I think it's best you leave."
"Can't do that." Anko plopped down on the floor, with no manners at all, crossing her legs. "Got orders. I'm supposed to bring you to Konoha."
The room tilted slightly.
"What?"
"You and your kid, right?" Anko picked at her nails, casually. "Eishin wants you there. Sent me to get you. So here I am."
Tsunami couldn't breathe properly. Her chest felt too tight, her lungs too small. "He... he sent you?"
"Yep." Anko glanced up. "Though I gotta say, I'm not thrilled about playing delivery girl. I've got better things to do than drag his girlfriend across the country."
"I'm not—" Tsunami bit off the words. What was she? She didn't even know. "Why didn't he come himself?"
"Hell, do I know, probably because he is in the hospital?" Anko shrugged. "But he's fine," she added quickly, seeing Tsunami's expression. "Eishin's tough. Takes more than a few broken ribs to keep him down."
It was because of her. Tsunami sat down heavily, her legs giving out. He was hurt. He was hurt and she hadn't known, and now this woman was here saying he wanted—
"I can't." The words came out flat. "I…. can't go with you."
Anko's eyebrows rose. "Why not?"
"Because—" Tsunami's hands twisted in her lap. How did she explain this? How did she tell a stranger about the curse, about the death that followed her, about how everyone she cared about ended up—
"Because you're old?" Anko supplied helpfully. "Because you think he'll get bored? Because you've got a kid and no money and probably like fifteen other reasons you've convinced yourself make sense?"
Tsunami's jaw tightened. "You don't understand."
"I don't want to." Anko leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "But that idiot doesn't do shit like this. He doesn't send people across the country to fetch women. He doesn't make promises. And he sure as hell doesn't mope around looking like someone kicked his puppy."
"He'll die." The words burst out of her. "If I stay with him, he'll die. Everyone does. My husbands, my father—everyone I—"
"We all die," Anko interrupted. Her voice was flat now, the amusement gone. "That's how it works. Shinobi especially. We die young, we die bloody, and we die because someone stabbed us or blew us up or got lucky with a kunai. Not because some woman loved us."
Tsunami shook her head. "You don't know—"
"I know Eishin's strong enough to handle his own life." Anko stood, brushing off her legs. "I know he wants you there. And I also know your kid would be safer in Konoha than in this shithole town where he's working dangerous jobs just to keep you fed."
The last part hit like a physical blow.
Inari.
Tsunami closed her eyes. Her son. Her boy. Working himself to exhaustion because she couldn't provide for him, because she was useless, because—
"He'd be safe there." Anko's voice was quieter now. Almost gentle. "Eishin would make sure of it. You know he would, or… not. You probably don't, huh."
She did know. That was the worst part. She knew Eishin would protect Inari, would give him opportunities she never could, would keep him away from the kind of work that got young men killed.
But that meant being selfish. That meant taking something for herself, and what kind of mother—
"Look." Anko sighed, sounding annoyed. "I don't do this. I don't convince people to do things. That's not my job. But Eishin asked, and I have a big heart, so I'm asking. Come to Konoha. Bring your kid."
Tsunami's throat burned. "I can't—"
"You can." Anko's eyes locked onto hers. "You're just scared. Which is fine. Be scared. But be scared in Konoha, where your kid isn't risking his neck every day."
The silence stretched.
Tsunami thought about Inari. About the tension in his shoulders, the way he never smiled anymore, the way he left before dawn and came home after dark with bruises he tried to hide.
She thought about Eishin. About his hands, his voice, the way he'd looked at her like she mattered.
She thought about dying alone in this house with nothing to show for her life except two graves and a son who resented her.
"If I go—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. "If I go and something happens to him—"
"Then it happens." Anko's voice was brutal in its honesty. "And you live with it. Same as everyone else."
Tsunami's hands shook in her lap. She pressed them together, hard, until the shaking stopped.
She nodded. Before she could change her mind.
"Alright." Anko looked pleased, though there was an edge of irritation in it. "Where's your kid now?"
"He's working. At the docks. But he won't be done until—"
"You pack. Whatever you can carry. We leave the moment I'll be back."
"Wait—"
But the strange woman was gone. Just... gone. One second she was standing in the doorway, the next there was empty air.
Tsunami stared at the space where she'd been. Did they all do that? Just disappear like smoke?
She shook her head and turned to look at her house. Her empty, quiet, rotting house.
Packing. She needed to pack.
She didn't have much. Clothes for her and Inari. A few photographs—one of her father, one of her first husband holding baby Inari. Her mother's hair comb, the only thing of value she owned. Some rice, some dried goods. It all fit into two bags, with room to spare.
Twenty minutes. That's how long it took to pack up her entire life.
Tsunami set the bags by the door and sat down to wait.
Her hands were still shaking.
She heard Anko before she saw her—a thud on the roof, then the door sliding open. The purple-haired woman strode in with Inari slung over her shoulder like a sack of rice.
"Mom?!" Inari's face was red, his hair disheveled. "What—what's going on?!"
Anko dumped him on the floor. He scrambled to his feet, looking between Tsunami and the stranger.
"We're leaving," Tsunami said. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. "We're going to Konoha."
"What?" Inari stared at her. "Why? What happened?"
How did she explain this? How did she tell her son that she'd slept with a man she barely knew, that he'd asked her to come live with him, that she was doing this partly for Inari's safety and partly because she was selfish enough to want something for herself?
"There's someone there." She kept her voice even. "Someone who can help us. Keep us safe."
"Who?"
"A shinobi." Tsunami couldn't look at him. "He... he saved you. A month ago, when the merchant caravan was attacked. The one with the Leaf ninja."
Inari's jaw worked. He looked like he wanted to argue, to yell, maybe to storm out. But Anko was standing right there, and he was smart enough not to make a scene in front of a stranger.
She picked up one bag. Inari grabbed the other without being asked. They stood in the doorway together, looking back at the house.
Her father had built this place. Her husbands had lived here. Inari had grown up here.
Now she was leaving it.
Tsunami pulled the door closed. The latch clicked into place with a sound like finality.
Anko, as equally rude as she was strange, was already walking away, clearly expecting them to follow.
Tsunami took one step. Then another. Inari beside her, silent and tense.
Behind them, the house sat empty in the growing dark.
Ahead of them—
Ahead of them was Konoha. And Eishin. And a future she couldn't predict.
Tsunami's chest felt tight with fear.
But underneath the fear, buried so deep she almost didn't recognize it—
Hope.
Foolish, dangerous, selfish hope.
She didn't try to kill it. She just kept walking.
— — — — — — — — —
A/N: Not gonna lie, I'm not super happy with how this first interaction between the two turned out. My brain was already deep in the next chapter (and Itachi), so most of my attention went there. Still, hope you enjoy the scene.
PS. You can read up to 8 chapters ahead at patreon.com/vizem