Rhetorics

23. Rescuer (Madara)

I should've been smarter than to believe walking behind her would be of any use. Of course it wasn't. She knew me so well by now, she didn't have to see my face to know something was wrong.

"Tell me, Madara-jan."

I sighed. "I don't know, miss Asghar", I said. "I don't know."

Actually, I did know. Of course I did. I just didn't want to talk about it. It had been a day full of turmoil. A lindy hop class, a full hour and a half at the hair dressers, the parliament. Now it was close to midnight, and I was still out. I was exhausted. I was too tired to explain to her.

Truth was, I was worried. I was worried I would never see him again. Now he was out of politics and didn't want part of it, where would I see him? I had daydreamed about our future days in parliament, how I could impress him with my speeches, with my politics, with my debates. Some part of me had secretly hoped that would bring us together again. But now... Would he even watch me on TV? Would he see me implement what I'd learned from him in our heated days in his office?

"You know you can text him?" I looked down at miss Asghar who was safely tucked into her blanket in her wheelchair. I pushed her through the park, eerie and unwelcoming in the winter night. "You can text him. He will come."

"Why do you defend him?" I asked. "He rendered you homeless."

"I have forgiven him."

"How?"

"Simple, Madara-jan. He apologised. I accepted."

I looked at her from behind her wheelchair. "He came visiting you?"

"Well, yes!"

Did he ask about me, I was desperate to ask, but didn't."

"Maybe..." miss Asghar began. "Maybe, you shouldn't ask me how I can forgive him. Maybe, you should ask yourself why you can't."

The clock of the catholic church where is met Hashirama to meet miss Asghar for the first time struck midnight.

Somethings wrong.

"Daring of you." I turned round. Shit. "Waking alone in the middle of the night like this."

Behind me, a gang of young men were approaching. There were six of them, and the three in the front held thin metal pipes in their hands. I couldn't help but notice they were all white. I recognised them. They're from Hashirama's party.

"Madara-jan. Turn me around so I can face whoever can't count. Alone my ass."

"We told Senju", the one who seemed to be the leader said. "We told him if he didn't behave, we'd hurt you. So..." he shrugged his shoulders casually. "It will be his fault."

"How dare you-" miss Asghar began.

"Halima", I begged.

"You haven't seen half of the things I've seen", she said, staring straight at the gang. Then, she turned to me. "And that goes for you, too."

I quickly analysed the situation. I was much taller, broader and stronger than all of them but they were six, and they wouldn't come at me one on one as in films. Also, they had iron pipes. I had not. And I couldn't outrun them with miss Asghar's wheelchair. Shit, this is bad.

"You're in the way", the leader said. "Skew-eyed filth."

And he lifted the metal pipe and smacked me on the arm. The pain was indescribable, out of this world. On no planet in the universe could I have imagined the blow of a simple pipe could burn so hot. I screamed, fell to my knees. The person lifted his hand, and he was going for my head.

"No!!" miss Asghar screamed and threw herself off the wheelchair in front of me.

And she was hit in the head. I heard a crack that turned my blood to ice. The man with the pipe lifted the iron pipe once more. I kicked him, manage to stand up and wrestle the pipe out of his hand, but someone else hit me on the back of my thighs with his pipe. I immediately sunk down once more. They're too many. I can't...

The man who'd hit me last time lifted his pipe again, aiming for my head. I closed my eyes, prepared for the blood that would turn my life into nothingness. Please, don't blame yourself. Please, Hashirama, don't blame yourself for this.

And suddenly, I heard a crack, and a roar of pain.

But it hadn't come from me.

I looked up. Someone was standing in front of me, and had grabbed the wrist of my attacker and broken it. My rescuer turned to the last one with who held an iron pipe, kicked him in the stomach so harshly, he vomited. The man dropped the pipe and my rescuer took it.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" my rescuer screamed. "SHE'S AN OLD WOMAN!! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

All of the men with iron pipes had lost their weapons. Some of them dared still approach, but my rescuer lifted the pipe.

"I won't hesitate one fucking second to use this. Dare come closer and I'll blind you."

They turned and left. My rescuer turned to miss Asghar.

"Are you okay?" he asked me, grabbing his phone, calling an ambulance.

"Yes", I said. I stood up to go to miss Asghar, but just fell to the side. I was exhausted.

"Lay there. You did splendidly. I'll take care of the rest."

I allowed myself to. After two minutes. I heard the sirens of an ambulance. Someone came and put a blanket on my shoulders.

"How are you? Do you need to go to hospital?" It was my rescuer. He had put the blanket on my shoulders, and now had his large, warm hands on them as well.

I don't dare speak your name.

"I don't think so", I said.

A paramedic did a quick examination on me before concluding I was bruised but in no need of further medical interventions. They transported the unconscious miss Asghar away in the ambulance. I didn't feel bad for not being able to rescue her; I had simply not been able to. But I felt terrible that I hadn't been able to go to her, to take care of her, to see her off.

"Don't avoid my eyes", my rescuer pleaded.

I leaned in on him, put my head on his chest. He put an arm around me.

"Don't avoid my eyes", my rescuer repeated. I heard the plea and hurt in his voice.

"I can't", I said.

"Why?"

"Because if I do, I will be trapped forever."

"Then at least say my name. Acknowledge me."

I opened my mouth; my lips were trembling.

"Please..."

"Thank you for rescuing us."

"Please!"

"Hashirama."