Candles
The orphanage in Konoha was always full, especially from those families which were proud ninja. It was the ugly part of a ninja’s life no one cared to acknowledge: their children had the possibility of being orphaned at a young age. Yet, this is what they had pledged to do when they became a shinobi. They were to look death in the face without thinking about anyone back home who might miss them. . .
This is why Christmas was never happy.
True, there were some orphans who never knew a family. All they had ever known was the cold, bleak, lifeless building they somehow managed to call “home”. What difference did it make to them if these strange people called “parents” were with them during the holidays? Did it matter if they got hugs and kisses from “mommy” and “daddy” on Christmas morning?
No, they would not lament.
Iruka knew that all too well.
As a child, he had been given a choice: go to the orphanage, or live alone. He was just at the age where he could start to do part-time jobs around the village and still go to school. Yet, Iruka was still a child, and he didn’t know how to support himself fully. After much debate, they turned to Iruka for the final decision. At first, working didn’t seem like a great option and he thought that the orphanage wouldn’t be a horrible place to live. . . until he went there. There was no love or caring there. It was more or less a house with a bunch of children and old ladies living in it. There were altogether too many children to be loved by so few volunteers who ran the place. Now, the Chunin felt that this lack of care was possibly part of what pushed him to do so poorly in school. The crave for attention and recognition: wouldn’t any child want that?
But that attention wasn’t the same.
The approval of a father and the kind words of a mother cannot be replaced by laughter of students and the scolding of teachers. It pained him when he thought about it: Wouldn’t my parents have been proud of me?
The first Christmas was awful.
He had been told that there had been donations of toys and food by several organizations to the orphanage, and when they arrived he ran with all the other kids expecting wrapped gifts and a tag with Umino Iruka written in his mother’s handwriting on it. Granted, the last part of that fantasy was hardly reasonable, but Iruka was still heartbroken when he saw the gifts. It was practically a free-for-all. Whoever got to the toy first got it, kept it, and guarded it carefully for fear that someone would steal it. The gifts had not been wrapped. Instead, they had been tossed carelessly into a few bags and had likely been thrown around a few times from being transported. That Christmas, Iruka managed to grab a stuffed bear, whose left eye had been torn out by another child’s hand who had been after the same thing. The ribbon around its neck was frayed and seemingly stained with bleach, and the fur was quickly loosing its softness.
Food had been no better. The old ladies cooked the food in mass quantities as easily and as fast as they could. Thus, the hams and turkeys were somewhat cold and over salted, the mashed potatoes were hardly mashed at all, and the cranberries were the plastic, out-of-the-can kind, which tasted as if they had long since expired. Iruka hardly ate a thing. . . maybe a couple bread rolls and some gelatin that hadn’t quite set yet.
That’s why this year Iruka decided to do something.
He asked for a list of each one of the childrens’ names and a gift they desired, nearly having to pound out the information from the hags that ran the place, but he got it. Many many wanted stuffed animals, toy cars, or the latest material item that one could buy. However, there was one boy who said he wanted something no one on Earth could give him.
His parents.
Iruka didn’t know what to get this boy. Certainly something so shallow as a toy could not fill the boy’s longing for a mother and father. While shopping for all the other gifts and ribbon and wrapping paper, it simply perplexed the Chunin about what to do. Should he talk to the boy? No, sympathy never appealed to Iruka when he was a boy. . . What to do. . .
Then something flickered in a window.
It was simple, common, and probably had a rich, holiday scent to it. Yet, somehow it was the perfect gift for the boy. Iruka rushed into the nearest store and grabbed two to carefully wrap and store until Christmas morning.
**-**-**
That day, Iruka dressed up as Santa Claus and took boxes - not sacks - of gifts for the children. Many who were used to the tumble and turmoil of past gift givings were ready at the front lines to grab whatever their hands could get, and taken completely by surprise when Iruka sat down in a chair and began to call out names. At first, the children were confused. How did this fake Santa (and they knew he was fake) know each of their names? Then, once the first few tore open the packaging, their eyes sparkled in delight as they found exactly what they had wanted. There was wrapping paper, ribbons, and plastic packaging everywhere, and it seemed no one felt the need to guard their presents. That was their gift, not anyone else’s. . . It said so on the tag.
In the back, Kakashi helped the old women bring in the feast Iruka and Anko had taken hours to cook. Everything that needed to be warm was fully heated, the mashed potatoes were fully mashed, and, yes, even the gelatin was fully set before they arrived. Kakashi noted that the old ladies seemed shocked that this food made by a stranger could out-do anything that they ever had made. The Jounin smirked and carried on with the task he promised to fulfill.
Iruka purposely saved the gift for the boy (whose name was Shin) for last. When Shin walked up to Iruka, there was an obvious lack of hope that had settled in his eyes. Iruka smiled and handed him the two items he had wrapped as a set. Shin looked down at the objects in his hands.
“I know this isn’t what I asked for.” he said. “But thank you.”
“Actually, this is exactly what you asked for.” Iruka said, pulling down the white beard so that he could speak more clearly.
“I didn’t ask for candles.” Shin argued.
“Let me explain.” Iruka began, kneeling in front of Shin. The boy couldn’t have been over eight years of age, but it seemed he had seen as much of the world as Iruka had. “You know, Shin, I lost my mother and father when I was just a little older than you.”
“Really?” he asked. Iruka nodded.
“I lived here for a long time until I could make enough to live on my own. I know how much it hurts to be alone during the holidays.” Shin turned away.
“I never knew my dad.” he said. “My mom died last year.”
“This is your second Christmas here, then?” Shin nodded.
“I hate it.” Shin whispered as if he shouldn’t be saying such things. Iruka put a hand to Shin’s shoulder.
“I wish there was something I could do for you other than give you all a better Christmas than I ever had.” the man said. “But this is all I can do.”
“You could adopt us.” Shin said hopefully. Iruka shook his head.
“I can’t. I could die on a mission and you’d end up back here.” Shin looked downward.
“And candles are supposed to help?”
“In fact, yes, they are.” Iruka said. “These are special candles.” Shin didn’t look too convinced. “Well, as special as you make them out to be.”
“How are they special?” Shin asked, beginning to sound as if this was some childish game Iruka was playing with him.
“They’re your parents.” Shin gave Iruka a puzzled look. “Unwrap them.” The boy carefully took off the cellophane covering, revealing two, cinnamon scented candles. “When you light them, your parents are with you.”
“I’m too old for those kinds of ticks.” Shin said. “I’m not stupid.”
“I’m not saying you are.” Iruka clarified.
“And mom and dad hated the color red.” he pointed out, seeing the classic cinnamon red color. “Mom said it was bloody.” Iruka nodded, understanding where his parents were coming from.
“I don’t like the color red much myself, actually.” Iruka admitted. “But you know what else red is a symbol of?” Shin shook his head no. “It’s a symbol of love and life. Blood is life after all.”
The boy stood there, staring at Iruka, wondering whether to believe in his words or reject them. Iruka waited, for he wanted to know what Shin would do. . . and it did take him a while to sort things out. The belief that the candles could actually bring back his mother and father was far from making sense, but it comforted Shin. Maybe the warmth of the flame could bring back the warmth of his parents’ care.
“Do you believe it?” Shin asked. “That they’ll come back?” Iruka nodded.
“Candles have been lit for spirits all around the world, whether to honor their presence or to guide them safely into the Land of the Dead. If you truly believe that your parents will come back to visit you. . . . maybe they will.” Shin took another look at the scented wax and wick, then back to Iruka. He blushed but asked timidly,
“Do you have a match?”
Iruka smiled and took out a lighter for Shin, watching the boy take the gifts into a corner and lighting them ceremoniously. He put his hands together either in prayer or in hope that maybe he would be able to feel the presence of the ghosts he longed to see.
“Iruka?” Kakashi asked, coming out and seeing the teacher on his knees and watching Shin carefully. He then turned his gaze toward the boy as well, wondering what exactly was going on. The silence and stillness that was Shin disturbed Iruka a little. Was this a bad sign? Did he not manage to bring some sort of joy into this boy’s life?
Then, Shin giggled.
The boy laid down on his stomach, smiling at the lights which were dancing on the melting wax and whispering softly to his parents, “Merry Christmas.”
~Owari~
**-**-**
Notes:
About the candles: I know that in Greece there are little roadside altars which are lit at night for the person who died in an accident there. In Japan, there is a summer festival (called Obon) which is the celebration of the dead ancestors coming back to visit their living relatives. At the end of the night, hundreds of paper boats with lit candles are sent down a river, safely guiding the ghosts back into the spirit world. I’m sure there are other cultures which have a similar meaning with candles and the dead, but those were just two examples I knew of.
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Chapter notes: It's Yumi again!! Just so you know, this is just one of several stories I've cooked up in my head. . . I have others that I may or may not post. . . hope you like it!!
Also, I didn't specifically make is KakshixIruka, but I guess you could look at it that way. . . *evil grin* I think I'll have to write an Xmas tale about them. . .