Ranma Monogatari
by Bridget Engman

based on characters created by Rumiko Takahashi
and on the Heian works "Genji Monogatari" and "Torikaebaya
Monogatari," plus whatever else I felt like using.

PART 3

     Ranma set down the brush with a sigh, stretching his cramped
shoulders.  Koremitsu had fallen asleep propped up against the
room's corner post, looking for all the world like a six-year-old
kept up past his bedtime.  Through the open window, Ranma could
see the sun drawing close to the horizon -- it had taken him
nearly all day to write just the one poem.
     He hadn't noticed while he was only speaking, but it became
obvious when he sat down with an assortment of sample poems that
he wasn't using standard Japanese anymore.  However he had gotten
here, he had somehow adjusted his speaking automatically.  The
very concept of him speaking classical Japanese was so alien to
Ranma's brain that he simply blocked it out; it seemed to him
that he was just talking normally.  But writing was another
matter entirely.  There was a vast difference between
understanding classical speech and spontaneously generating it on
paper.
     But now, at last, he had finished.  He gazed at the drying
ink with pride.
          
          Oh, how difficult
          To wake up in the morning
          After such a night...
          It seems I only saw you 
          In a brief and fleeting dream. (1)

At least, that's what he thought it said; he couldn't be
absolutely sure.  He had a little trouble keeping track of the
auxiliary verbs.  The poem sure as heck sounded sappy enough, and
every word of it was true.  He'd definitely had trouble getting
up after that blow to the head, and his memories of the night
before were like a dream, albeit a nightmare.  Yup, he was pretty
clever.  And his calligraphy wasn't too bad, either -- he had
always done reasonably well with a brush when he simply imagined
the movements of his arm as a kempo technique.
     Standing up, Ranma lobbed a crumpled up piece of paper from
an early failure at Koremitsu, hitting him square on the nose. 
Koremitsu jerked awake, nearly tipping over.  Ranma grinned.
     "Yo, Koremitsu.  It's ready to send, old buddy."
     "Of course, Lord Ranma.  I will send it with a courier right
away."  Koremitsu took the poem from Ranma, folding the now-dry
parchment precisely and intricately as he scurried out the door.
     <It's a lot easier to get along with Akane -- sorry, Aoi --
from a distance...> Ranma mused as he put his brush and ink back
on a shelf.  Oddly enough, he now thought of Aoi less as someone
else's wife than as, well, not *his* wife of course, but a
version of the Akane he knew.  In the process of writing the
poem, the distinction between the two had grown hazy; for some
reason, when he thought of Akane, the poem had been easier to
write.  It took conscious thought to remember that he had sent
the poem to Aoi; he could almost picture Akane sitting at her
desk, reading it by her desklamp.  She would sigh, and turn to
him with wide, melting eyes...
     Ranma shook himself.  He had definitely spent too long
writing that poem; he was beginning to have sappy daydreams about
*Akane*, of all people.  If he wrote her a poem -- which he would
never do in the first place -- she would probably kick him
through the window.  
     Speaking of kicking... Ranma cleared the floor, stripping
off most of his clothes and tossing them over the back of the
screen in the corner.  Finally, time to work out.  He wished for
a moment that he had his _gi_ to wear; even the under-robe he was
wearing was of far too fine material to work up a good sweat in -
- it would be sticky and constricting five minutes into his
workout.  Shrugging, he finally stripped down to his loincloth
(which he had worn under protest, but was a bit better than no
underwear at all, and a lot better than some of the lingerie he'd
worn in his girl-form...) and began with a slow, precise routine
to stretch out his stiff muscles.  
     Koremitsu returned a few minutes later, bringing with him
another tray of food, which he promptly dropped when he saw what
Ranma was doing.
     "M...m...my lord?  Lord Ranma?"  he stammered in disbelief. 
Ranma, who had lunged for and caught the food before it hit the
ground, grinned cockily and handed the tray back, having already
emptied it except for the carafe of sake.
     "Don't worry, Koremitsu.  I've got to stay in shape if I'm
going to defend my poetry..." he joked, moving on to a more
vigorous exercise; a full stomach and a good warmup had put him
in a cheerful mood.  Koremitsu was still frozen like a statue;
apparently he wasn't used to "Lord Ranma" exercising.  After a
few minutes, Ranma began to worry.  Had the poor guy had a heart
attack or something?
     Hmmm.  If he was in shock, this was a perfect opportunity to
get more information out of him without the annoyance of
subtlety.  Ranma liked the simple approach.
     "So, Koremitsu, tell me about me," he said nonchalantly
while letting loose a flurry of punches.  Koremitsu shook himself
and looked even more dazed, his already confused mind moving on
to another source of confusion.
     "But... if it is not too impertinent to ask... why?"  Ranma
hadn't thought of an answer to that one. (2)  He tried a few
roundhouse kicks while he was thinking.  Somehow it just wasn't
the same without some sort of target; a few practice dummies
would really liven up the workout.  Even having Kuno to beat up
on would be.... Kuno!  That was it!  He paused and stared down
his nose at Koremitsu in his best imitation of the Blue Thunder
of Furinkan High School.
     "I merely wish to hear of my own greatness,"  he said
loftily, hoping against all hope that he looked regal despite the
silly-looking loincloth.  He wasn't sure whether he should be
pleased or offended when Koremitsu nodded in immediate
understanding.
     "Of course, my lord.  Where should I begin?  With your
amazing feats of Anything-Goes Martial Arts Poetry, or your
astonishing exploits with women?"
     Ranma didn't like the sound of either one.  From what he'd
read earlier, his poetic adventures were not likely to be too
interesting, and the phrase "exploits with women" was not
comforting.  "Exploits," being plural, generally implied more
than one woman, and from past experience he knew that that was a
less-than-auspicious situation.  Then again, if he had learned
anything at all from his past experiences (3), it was that it was
wise to know just where he stood with regards to any women he
knew. (4)
     "Why don't you start with Aoi," he grimaced, resuming his
exercises. <She seems like the most immediate threat...> he added
mentally.  "Don't hold back, either.  I need your honest
opinion."  Koremitsu shrugged and knelt by the wall, pouring a
dish of sake from the flask left on the tray.
     "Here, Chunagon," he said, proffering the dish.  Ranma was
taken aback.  Since he was a martial artist in training, he tried
not to pollute his body with alcohol.  Of course, recently his
body had been polluted by more mind-altering substances than he
cared to think of, thanks to Shampoo and Kodachi's plots and
Akane's cooking, but he still tried to stick to his policy. 
Especially since (he admitted to himself in some shame) the few
times he had imbibed alcohol, he had proven himself to be fairly
vulnerable to its effects.  He shook his head.
     "No, thanks... Why don't you drink it, since it's all heated
up...?" he suggested.  Koremitsu looked surprised, but he didn't
waste any time tossing back his first drink and pouring another. 
It had probably been a very stressful day.  He sighed with gusto,
settling down more comfortably.
     "So, what do you want to know about Aoi?"
     "Oh, I dunno... how did we meet, how do we get along... I'm
looking for your take on the situation."
     "Ah, well, the two of you were promised to marry by your
parents when you were but children, and a few years ago when you
both came of age, the marriage was made official.  Neither of you
was pleased with the arrangement, of course.  You had already
gained yourself quite the reputation with the ladies, you know,
and of course no one knew quite what to make of your wife."  The
alcohol seemed to have already made Koremitsu a trifle garrulous
and red-faced; Ranma wondered whether he would have spoken so
freely were he sober.  He made a mental note to get Koremitsu
drunk more often.  "Aoi was never like the other women.  When she
was very young, in fact, she was so rambunctious that most
visitors thought she was a boy.  Her father even encouraged her,
letting her play with bows and arrows and learn swordsmanship,
and since her mother had already passed on, there was no one to
temper this.  When she came of age, her oldest sister insisted
that she take on the woman's role she was born to.  But she still
refused to adopt many of the beautifying practices of the court,
and she insisted on continuing her training as well.  You were,
quite understandably, not pleased..."
     Ranma could see where this was going.  "Let me guess.  I
thought she was unfeminine."  Koremitsu nodded and, oddly enough,
giggled as he poured another drink.
     "And violent, and unattractive, and..."
     "I get the point."
     "Of course you do, those were your own words.  You have
quite a vocabulary, my lord."
     "Whatever, just go on."  Ranma moved from kicks to blocks,
since the ceiling was too low to get into the finer points of
Anything-Goes.
     "Well, she also objected to your lifestyle.  You were too
involved with women, and had been since your youth.  After your
father left you with your mother's family and went to China..." 
That stopped Ranma in his tracks.
     "What?  The old man left on his own?"
     "Why, yes.  Of course you recall the tale; your mother has
told it to you often enough.  When you were but an infant, your
father planned a trip to China to study the teachings of
Confucius.  Your mother objected, as was quite natural.  Your
father being a reasonable man..." --Ranma snorted in disbelief--
"...he decided to test your resolve.  He placed on a tray before
you an assortment of symbolic items, to determine where your
interests would lead you.  Had you chosen the brush, or even the
scale, he would have taken you with him to China.  However,
instead you chose a hand mirror, which your father deemed too
feminine for a son of his.  He left you, and you were raised by
your mother alone.  She worried that the mirror was a sign that
you would grow up to be an unmanly man, but when you came of age
it became obvious that it was more an indication of your...
strong interest in women. (5)"  Ranma passed on that one for the
moment, something having occurred to him.
     "Okay, so I've never been to China?"
     "Why, no.  Of course not."  The implications of that hit
Ranma like a brick. (6)
     "So when I'm splashed with cold water, nothing happens?"
     "Uh, you do get wet.  And angry."
     "But I don't change?" Ranma persisted.  Koremitsu blinked.
     "I'm not quite sure what you mean."
     <He's never even heard of my curse!  I'm cured!>  Ranma
exulted, letting his joy out in a series of spin kicks that
brought him in front of Koremitsu.  He cheerily balanced the sake
bottle on one finger for a moment before setting it atop
Koremitsu's head.
     "Never mind that, let's get back to Aoi."  Koremitsu shakily
retrieved the bottle.
     "Oh, yes.  Well, due to your father's leaving for China, you
were raised entirely among women.  You learned at an early age
how to get what you wanted from them, and you used this knowledge
at every opportunity.  Aoi thought this was..."
     "Perverted?"  Ranma interjected.
     "Why, no, she thought it was perfectly normal behavior for a
young nobleman.  However, that didn't mean she *liked* being an
abandoned wife.  You reside here, now that you are married, but
you spend the majority of your nights elsewhere, with your other
ladies.  Although the Lady Aoi's father hopes that the child your
wife bears will mean the start of a new relationship between the
two of you."
     <Fat chance!> thought Ranma.  From what he'd heard so far,
he had about the same relationship, or lack thereof, with Aoi as
he'd had with Akane.  Except for the fact that they had to have
done something to get that kid.  He really didn't want to think
about *that* right now.
     "You mentioned other ladies," he uneasily changed the
subject, moving on to some more complex combinations of kicks.
     Koremitsu thought for a moment, counting on his fingers.
     "Well, when you were twelve years of age, you met..."  Ranma
cut him off, wincing.
     "I don't need a complete history," he said, recalling that
he himself hadn't even known any girls at the age of twelve, much
less gotten involved with them.  "Why don't you just sum up my
current... entanglements."  Once again, Koremitsu counted on his
fingers.  Ranma sighed.  "Only the significant ones, please. 
Ones I visit often."
     "Ah, that narrows it down to... three."
     "Three?  Besides my wife?"
     "Yes -- many people at court have commented on your recent
restraint."  Ranma narrowed his eyes in thought.  If Aoi bore
such a resemblance to Akane, there was a chance that these three
could also be similar to women he knew in his own life.  The
thought was not comforting.
     "Oboy.  So what are they like?"
     "Well, the first one you met would be the Lady of the
Reikeiden Court."
     "Wait.  Doesn't she have a name?"
     "I don't believe you've ever asked."
     <Yeesh!  What kind of guy is this?> he thought angrily. 
<*I* may have multiple fiancees, but at least I know their
names.>  Aloud, he urged Koremitsu, "Well, go on.  Tell me about
her."
     "Well, according to what you have told me, she is a lady of
rare taste, skilled not only at calligraphy and the mixing of
fine perfumes and incenses, but also at poetry in Chinese."
     <Chinese?  That has to be Shampoo.>  Ranma finished his
final whirling combination and paused to stretch out his
hamstrings.  "Okay, how about the second one?"
     "Ah, your Lady of the Evening Faces.  It was a whirlwind
romance, you said.  She passed a fan out to you through her gate,
and you were smitten.  You know her house by the flowers that
bloom upon her fence -- flowers that remind you of her. 
Apparently she is a lady of a retiring nature, refined and
gentle."
     <That one has to be...> -- he shivered -- <...Kodachi.>  He
could envision the type of "whirlwind romance" *that* had been --
probably a whirlwind of poison-laced flower petals.  "And the
third?"
     "The third is a mystery in many ways.  She is said to be the
sister of your close friend To no Chujo, and he himself confirms
this fact; yet she lives in the unfashionable Rokujo district, in
the west of the capitol, and never appears at court functions. 
She wears her hair short, like a nun, and is otherwise
unfashionably attired.  Yet somehow, you have accorded her the
most of your evenings."
     That sounded strange.  The process of elimination would make
this one Ukyou; she even lived in the part of town her name was
taken from.  Yet the description didn't quite fit her... It
occurred to Ranma that okonomiyaki probably didn't even exist
yet.  He wondered what an Ukyou without okonomiyaki would really
be like.  Would she even be Ukyou at all?
     Ranma sighed.  He had no desire whatsoever to visit either
Kodachi or Shampoo, the former because she was a nutcase and the
latter because she obviously wasn't going to be cooking any
ramen.  Plus, she was something of a nutcase too, albeit a cute
one.  Ukyou he would like to see, but something in him balked at
the idea.
     It was hard for Ranma to deal with the concept of marriage. 
For most of his life, he had believed he would be training with
his father forever.  Then he had been bombarded with so many
fiancees and rivals that for the most part he ignored them, and
when he thought of marriage at all -- a rare event -- he thought
of it as something that would happen far in the future, to a
woman of his own choice.  To be quite honest, he had only the
vaguest idea of what marriage entailed, having never really been
exposed to a married couple himself, barring his own parents --
and he could hardly classify them as a functional family.  But
somewhere in his mind, he had built up an ideal of what marriage
would be like for him.  And though most of the details were
fuzzy, one facet of that ideal that had always been clear was the
significance of the vow of fidelity.  Honor was one thing Ranma
understood, and he could not reconcile it with adultery.
     No, it was best for him to stay away from these others, even
if he himself had no particular ties to Aoi.  He was playing the
part of a married man now.  Besides, if he went to visit any of
them, they might expect him to do just a tad more than chat.  And
while Ranma was certainly a red-blooded young man, he was a
martial artist in training, and it was his duty to avoid
temptation.  Really, that was it... Well, maybe he was a bit
nervous, too... but only a bit... In any case, there was just
something bothersome about the whole idea.  Not to mention the
fact that avoiding these others would make adjusting to his new
life far less complicated.  He hoped they wouldn't come looking
for him.
     Koremitsu had finished the bottle and was listing slightly
to one side, watching Ranma with a glazed look.  Ranma finished
stretching and brushed sweat off his forehead with the back of
his hand, sinking to the floor and lying on his back to let his
mind go.  He sighed.  The silence was calming, and despite not
knowing what was going on, or whether he would ever get back to
his own life, he relaxed.  The world seemed completely at peace.
(7)
     The door slid open and a small child dressed in bright silk
scurried in, sending Ranma an awed look as he ran over to
Koremitsu.  The child whispered in the servant's ear, handing him
a small bundle of cloth.  Koremitsu sat up straight, eyes wide.
     "Oh dear."
     That didn't sound good.  Ranma sprang to his feet and
crossed his arms, expectantly watching Koremitsu, who was
assiduously avoiding his eyes.
     "Well?  What's wrong?"
     Koremitsu laughed nervously; the boy slipped behind him,
wide eyes glued to Ranma.
     "Your wife has responded to your poem."
     "Oh, good.  Lemme hear her poem."  This distance
relationship was working out pretty well.  If he ever made it
back to his own life, he'd have to try this with Akane... not
that he wanted a relationship, of course, just the distance
communication part.  Maybe it would hurt less.
     "You can't."
     "What?  Why not?"  Koremitsu swallowed and tried a cheerful
smile that came out rather grotesque.
     "The Lady Aoi did not compose a poem."
     "Wait a minute.  She's supposed to, right?  That's how this
thing works:  I write a poem, she writes back, we don't see each
other very much..."
     "No, the Lady Aoi *refuses* to write a poem.  She says..."
Koremitsu giggled again, a bit of hysteria seizing him.  "She
says that she can't be expected to reply to a poem that you
obviously didn't write."
     "I... didn't write?"  Ranma felt fury beging to bubble up
inside him.
     "The Lady Aoi has received enough poems from you, she says,
to know your handwriting.  The poem you sent was in someone
else's hand.  Furthermore..."  Koremitsu trailed off.  Ranma was
in no mood to play around.
     "What else did my *wife* have to say?" he bit out.
     "Well... in her words... um... 'There's no way he could have
written that poem, it has the right number of syllables.'..." 
Koremitsu gulped shakily, holding out the bundle of cloth the
page had handed him.  Ranma opened it to find his carefully
crafted poem, torn into hundreds of pieces.
     He let the pieces flutter to the floor as a storm of emotion
swept over him.  There was a weird ironic humor to the situation,
he was to admit that later.  After all, this wasn't really his
Akane, was it?  But right now, all he could see was that his
gesture of lo... of friendly communication had been spurned.  He
began to tremble almost imperceptibly as his mind replayed the
moment.  By the time the last scrap of paper fluttered to his
feet, he had reached his boiling point.
     "Why, that... that..."  None of the insults he usually used
for Akane seemed strong enough for his offended fury, and he
wildly smashed his fist into the floor, smashing through the
tatami and the boards beneath and sending the paper scraps
flying.  Koremitsu shrank back, and the page ran out the door. 
Ranma pulled his fist out of the gaping hole, ignoring the
splinters as he looked for something else to smash.  The screen
looked like a good target; it had too much gold leaf on it
anyhow, the museums of the twentieth century would never miss
it.  He was winding up for a flying kick when an amused voice
broke in.
     "Marital problems again, I see."
     Ranma spun to see a young man in court dress lounging in the
doorway.  He looked dizzyingly familiar, and as Ranma's mind
grappled with the resemblance, his fury began to fade.
     "Ah, To no Chujo!"  Koremitsu gushed in obvious relief. 
"What a pleasure to have your company today!"  That was it!  It
was the strong resemblance to Ukyou that had struck him; change
the clothes and this To no Chujo could be her twin.  The Rokujo
Lady must be Ukyou after all...  He realized he had been silent
for some time, and guiltily looked up.  To no Chujo appeared not
to have noticed.  He was staring at Ranma's near-nakedness, two
spots of red high on his cheekbones.  Ranma belatedly recalled
the clothes draped over the screen.  Ranma was not normally very
self-conscious; nudity -- his own at least -- was a fairly
comfortable state. But he had to admit, Koremitsu and To no
Chujo's reactions indicated a less casual attitude in this
time... hadn't Dr. Kakeba mentioned that in class?  Besides that,
he had to admit that the loincloth looked silly.  Embarrassment
shoved anger aside in his mind, and he turned sheepishly to
Koremitsu.
     "Um... I'd like to take a bath now."  Koremitsu stared
blankly yet again.  Ranma sighed.  "Just bring me hot water. 
Lots of hot water."  Koremitsu left quickly.
     "Perhaps I should leave,"  To no Chujo said, flashing a wide
smile and backing towards the door.
     "That's okay, why don't you stay and talk a bit, since you
came all the way over."  Maybe he could get some more information
this way.  Ranma sat cross-legged on the floor; after a pause, To
no Chujo knelt across from him, staring distractedly out the
window.  Ranma ran his fingers through his sweaty bangs, flicking
them into place.
     "Man, I just do *not* understand women."  Ranma absently
pulled a few splinters out of his knuckles, flicking them across
the room.  "You'd think a sexless girl like her would be happy to
get *any* poem."  To no Chujo smiled wryly at that.
     "Well, we both know the Lady Aoi is uncommonly ill-tempered
and capricious.  You get along well with most other women.  Take
my sister for example."  To no Chujo stood and walked to the
window, studying the garden intently.  "She tells me often how
happy she is to receive a visit or a poem from you.  It is
unfortunate that you haven't visited her lately.  Perhaps you
should do so tonight."
     Ranma sighed, chin thumping into his hand.  "Believe me, I
don't need to deal with any more women right now."  To no Chujo
shrugged one shoulder carelessly.
     "As you like.  I merely wished to point out that a woman
more tractable than Aoi is waiting faithfully for you, instead of
picking fights and flirting with other men.  Why, you don't even
know if the child Aoi carries is yours."
     Ranma felt a chill.  "Other men?"  To no Chujo's back was
ramrod stiff as he answered.
     "Don't be a fool, Ranma.  Everyone knows about Aoi and Third
Councillor Saisho.  You told me about it yourself."
     Ranma twitched, a sardonic smile twisting his face.  "Of
course I remember.  It's not like I care what she does anyhow. 
After all, *we* never decided to get married ourselves.  Our
parents decided it all for us..."  He noticed detachedly that his
fingers were furrowing into the tatami mats.
     "True enough."  To no Chujo turned away from the window with
a composed smile.  "Well then, I have others to call on today,
and so I shall leave you for the moment.  But of course I will
see you at court tomorrow."
     "Yeah, whatever,"  Ranma muttered, barely noticing as To no
Chujo slipped out the door.  <I can't believe she's running
around on me... him... whatever!  Who the heck is she going to
find better than me anyhow?  She is just so... wait.  Why am *I*
mad?  She's not *my* wife, or even my fiancee... but still...> 
Ranma leapt to his feet and started violently shoving his hands
into the sleeves of a robe, not bothering to fasten it. <I'm just
playing a part,> he told himself as he stalked out the door,
narrowly missing Koremitsu and his bowl of water.  <Just
acting...>

END PART 3

NOTES

(1) Most of the poems in here will be reworkings (read:
mutilations) of poems from Japanese poetry collections; this one
is based on a poem by Monk Sosei that appears in the _Kokinshu_
as number 575.

(2) Other than the author's need for plot exposition...

(3) Not likely...

(4) This was, of course, only a theory; having never put it into
practice in his life, he could only attest to the fact that
without that knowledge life was pretty painful.

(5) This method of fortunetelling is mooched from a Chinese
novel, "Dream of the Red Chamber," with a few variations.

(6) And yes, Ranma knew exactly how *that* felt.

(7) This should have warned him.