Mourn for Hanzo76
Jack is buried in Arlington Cemetery. They build a tomb to house his corpse and a marble monument to guard his legacy, to observe constantly the quotations and dedications etched into his final resting place. Schoolchildren are led by tour guides to the site by day. They take pictures and answer questions on their worksheets and don’t fully understand what the dead man did that made him such a figure but at least he got them out of the classroom for a while.
A different type of tourist visits by night.
It’s a Wednesday. Raining. Ten minutes to midnight. The only light stems from the eternal flame burning above Jack’s grave.
Hanzo retracts the hood of his coat, shakes out the black fabric. Can’t trail water into this solemn space. He could be rude to Jack in life, but the dead can’t insult back.
He feels Jack watching him as he places his offerings. A picture of the Watchpoint being built in Hanamura. A sprig of wheat plucked from a farm in Indiana. An arrow.
He lights incense, kneels on the floor despite the arthritic ache in his ankles, and closes his eyes. He mourns in silence. The storm is his voice.