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Description
James slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry but it was obvious that he was lying flat on his back. There was a soft pillow beneath his head and he felt as if he was covered in several layers of blankets.

What seemed like every square inch of his body throbbed and ached abominably. His mouth was dry and there was a terrible itching sensation in the area of his shoulder and stomach.

"Ah. You have rejoined the living. I had begun to fear the worst."

The voice came from close by. It was very familiar but the pain from his injuries kept James from concentrating long enough to identify it.

A hand gently raised his head. As the room began to spin, a cup was placed to James' swollen lips. The contents smelled terrible. He tried to twist his head away but he was too weak.

"Drink, Master James. The brew will dull your pain and speed your healing."

James took a gulp of the liquid. The concoction tasted even worse than it smelled. He coughed and spluttered but the cup remained stubbornly at his lips until he had swallowed several mouthfuls.

"Ack! Oh my God! That tastes awful", groaned James as his head lay back on the pillow.

"Of course", said the voice cheerfully. "Anything good for you invariably tastes or smells bad. I have always considered this to be positive proof that the universe has a sense of humour."

James' vision slowly regained its focus and he found that he was able to see more clearly.

To his surprise he was not lying on a gurney in a hospital emergency ward but on a sofa-bed in what looked to be someone's living room. He was indeed covered in blankets and he now noticed that his feet had been lifted and placed on a box so that they rested roughly ten to twelve inches off the surface of the bed. James turned his head slightly and saw that the shoulder where he had been shot had been expertly bandaged. He could also feel a similar dressing wrapped around his torso and assumed that the itching sensation he felt in both those areas resulted from stitches.

He was also startled to see that he was hooked up to what appeared to be an intravenous fluid apparatus that had been cobbled together from household items and the contents of a medical kit. A clear bag of sterile saline solution hung on a coat-rack that stood next to the sofa-bed. A hole had been punched in the bag's cap and a length of clear plastic half-inch tubing had been inserted into it. The connection had been sealed with electrical tape and a length of thin wire had been wound around the top of the tube to limit the flow of fluid. The tubing was connected to a makeshift needle attachment fashioned from a large syringe which had been inserted into James' left arm and held in place with more electrical tape.

An old man who looked to be Japanese sat on a stool next to where James lay. He was wearing brown corduroy pants and a bright blue and white Hawaiian motif shirt. On a coffee-table by his side was a thick wooden board with a variety of pungent, freshly chopped herbs on top. There was also a mortar and pestle that sat next to several rolls of bandages. A large and obviously very old iron kettle with wisps of steam wafting from its spout sat on another board.

James looked up into the old man's face. His wrinkled skin looked like ancient parchment and he had an impeccably trimmed moustache and goatee that were as white as the driven snow. A band of wispy white hair grew around the level of his ears but the top of his head was completely bald. His serene smile reminded James of ancient carvings of the Buddha that he had seen in the Far East.

He found the elderly gentleman to be very familiar. As if he had seen him a thousand times before but never really acknowledged him. After searching his memory for over a minute he finally realised that he was the head gardener and groundskeeper for the estate. Now if only he could remember his name

"Mr....Mr Hiroshimi?", he asked hesitantly.

The old man's smile grew wider. His eyes almost disappeared as his wrinkles multiplied.

"A worthy name to be sure, Master James. However I have the honour of bearing the family name of Hiroshi-GI"

James felt guilty. As far as he knew the elderly Japanese groundskeeper had worked on the estate since he was a child and yet he could not even remember his name correctly. He quickly asked the first question that came into his head.

"Where am I?"

"You are in my cottage on the grounds of the estate, young master."

Moving his head very slowly, James looked around and surveyed his surroundings.

The living room was of moderate size and sparsely furnished. James could see a large and comfortable recliner facing an end-table that held a small television set. The room was also home to a number of well stocked book-cases. Through a doorway he could see a small kitchen.

On the walls hung several classical Japanese art prints along with a selection of framed dried flowers. One wall held a large Washi paper tapestry that depicted a Samurai with both swords drawn standing tall against a hail of arrows. Hanging in a place of obvious prominence above the small TV set was a framed poster and James did a double-take when he realised that it was a likeness of the actor Noriyuki 'Pat' Morita.

"Ummmmm, how did I get here?", asked James still looking at the poster in surprise.

"It is my custom to stroll the grounds in the evening", said Mr Hiroshigi. "I find that the night air does wonders for the lungs and the grounds look simply beautiful in the moonlight. Imagine my surprise this evening when I happened upon my employer unconscious in the driveway bearing bullet and knife wounds. I had considered calling an ambulance but taking into account your choice of evening-wear I thought perhaps that would be an injudicious decision."

Mr Hiroshigi gestured to a nearby chair. The Proud Citizen costume, now definitely the worse for wear, lay draped across it. James thought idly that the custom tailor in New York who had made it for him would be horrified.

"I took it upon myself to tend to your injuries", continued the old man. "You were incredibly fortunate that the bullet passed cleanly through your upper shoulder. It did not strike bone and as such, should heal very well. Also, you have several cracked ribs but none are broken which is also fortuitous. You have, however lost a significant amount of blood. You must rest and partake of fluids. But only a little at a time"

James considered Mr Hiroshigi's words as he once again looked at the jury-rigged, but effective, IV. He also took a moment to consider his expertly stitched and bandaged wounds. James raised an eyebrow and fixed the old man with a look that was both puzzled and wary.

"That...is a pretty astute medical assessment for a groundskeeper", he said.

Mr Hiroshigi placed his hands together in front of him in a gesture of prayer and gazed upward.

"When you have passed as many years as I under the roof of Heaven, the Gods grant to those who wish to learn, the knowledge and wisdom of many earthly practices", he said with an expression of sagely wisdom.

James looked completely baffled.

"Huh?"

Mr Hiroshigi smiled again and shrugged.

"In other words, I'm old and I've picked up a lot along the way", he said with a chuckle.

James simply didn't know what to make of Mr Hiroshigi but he couldn't help but like him. There was something serene and reassuring in the old man's demeanour. As if he was at complete peace with himself and everything around him. James found his presence oddly comforting. He watched as Mr Hiroshigi began to put his herbs and various implements away in a lacquered wooden box.

"I must admit, Master James, that I never once suspected that you were one of the city's masked heroes", said the old man.

James lay back and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm not", he said with a despondent look on his face. "I'm just an idiot that put on a real hero's costume and played make-believe."

He cast his mind back to the alley earlier that night. He had been so confident. So sure of himself. Positive that a gang of street toughs would be no match for the great James Rockwell.

God! When had he become so bloody arrogant?

James sighed miserably as he described to Mr Hiroshigi what had happened when he confronted the Skulls in Kings Row. He didn't know exactly why he was confiding in the old man. Heaven knew that if the media got hold of the details of his disastrous escapade it would be a scandal. But there was something about Mr Hiroshigi that convinced James that he was trustworthy and would keep the night's events a secret.

"I just wanted to help", James concluded. "To protect people and maybe make this world just a little bit better. But all I did tonight was almost get myself killed."

The old man listened to James' tale of violence and pain without ever loosing his serene smile. When his young employer finished speaking he leaned forward to place his hand on James' shoulder.

"You said that you were playing make-believe on your excursion tonight, Master James. And you said it with scorn. But belief.....belief is the first step on the path to being. If you believe that you can be a hero....if you believe that you can make a difference....then you can."

James found that he could not meet the old man's gaze. He looked away.

"It's not that simple, Mr Hiroshigi", he muttered.

"Nothing ever is, young master", said the old man. "Belief is but the first step on the journey. Faith, courage, determination and training. These are the other steps on the path. You must follow all the steps if you wish to make your belief a reality."

Mr Hiroshigi got up from his stool and walked over to stand beside the chair upon which the Proud Citizen costume lay. He glanced over his shoulder back at his bedridden houseguest and his sagely smile had been replaced by a serious expression.

"You have indeed chosen large boots to fill Master James", said Mr Hiroshigi gesturing to the costume. "The individual who once wore this uniform embodied all that a hero is. He was an honourable and courageous man who would rather die than see the innocent suffer. Do you truly believe that you can follow in his footsteps?"

"I want that more than anything, Mr Hiroshigi," said James. "I can't say wether I'll succeed. But there is one thing I do know. I won't be putting on that uniform again until I really deserve it. Until I know for sure that I can live up to everything that it and the name 'Proud Citizen' stands for."

The old man nodded.

"And are you certain of your motivations, Master James?", he continued. "Are you sure that this is not simply a wealthy young man's vainglorious search for notoriety?"

"I don't care about fame, sir", replied James shaking his head. "I've had more than my fill of that. It's about doing what I know in my heart to be right. I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life."

The conviction in James' voice was plain and almost tangible.

Mr Hiroshigi turned his face away again. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head as if he was lost deep in thought.

After several minutes the old man turned back toward James. His smile had returned.

"Then I humbly offer my services to you in this endeavour, young master", he said bowing formally from the waist toward James.

"Your services?" asked the young man with a look of confusion. "I'm not sure that I understand."

"I can assist you with your training for the path that you have chosen", Mr Hiroshigi replied.

James' expression turned from one of puzzlement to disbelief.

"With all due respect Mr Hiroshigi, what can you possibly teach me? How to 'garden' the bad guys into submission?"

The shame hit James the very moment that the words left his mouth. The old man had quite possibly saved his life. No. He HAD saved his life. He deserved thanks and eternal gratitude. Not sarcasm and scorn. That was not how James had been taught.

"I'm sorry sir", he said with a look of contrition. "I shouldn't have said that. It was rude and uncalled for."

"No offence has been taken, Master James. You wish to know what I can teach you? Well…"

Mr Hiroshigi walked back to the coffee-table and picked up the small knife which he had been using to chop up the various herbs employed in James' treatment. To the young man's amazement the wizened old gentleman deftly flipped the blade into the air and caught the knife, point down, on the tip of his right index finger where he held it perfectly balanced. Mr Hiroshigi then expertly twirled the knife back and forth across and between his fingers as James' eyes opened wide in wonder. Finally, still looking at James with that sagely smile, his arm snapped out to the side. The blade spun through the air across the room and struck the figure of the samurai in Mr Hiroshigi's tapestry square between the eyes.

"…I have not always been a gardener."

Description
James slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry but it was obvious that he was lying flat on his back. There was a soft pillow beneath his head and he felt as if he was covered in several layers of blankets.

What seemed like every square inch of his body throbbed and ached abominably. His mouth was dry and there was a terrible itching sensation in the area of his shoulder and stomach.

"Ah. You have rejoined the living. I had begun to fear the worst."

The voice came from close by. It was very familiar but the pain from his injuries kept James from concentrating long enough to identify it.

A hand gently raised his head. As the room began to spin, a cup was placed to James' swollen lips. The contents smelled terrible. He tried to twist his head away but he was too weak.

"Drink, Master James. The brew will dull your pain and speed your healing."

James took a gulp of the liquid. The concoction tasted even worse than it smelled. He coughed and spluttered but the cup remained stubbornly at his lips until he had swallowed several mouthfuls.

"Ack! Oh my God! That tastes awful", groaned James as his head lay back on the pillow.

"Of course", said the voice cheerfully. "Anything good for you invariably tastes or smells bad. I have always considered this to be positive proof that the universe has a sense of humour."

James' vision slowly regained its focus and he found that he was able to see more clearly.

To his surprise he was not lying on a gurney in a hospital emergency ward but on a sofa-bed in what looked to be someone's living room. He was indeed covered in blankets and he now noticed that his feet had been lifted and placed on a box so that they rested roughly ten to twelve inches off the surface of the bed. James turned his head slightly and saw that the shoulder where he had been shot had been expertly bandaged. He could also feel a similar dressing wrapped around his torso and assumed that the itching sensation he felt in both those areas resulted from stitches.

He was also startled to see that he was hooked up to what appeared to be an intravenous fluid apparatus that had been cobbled together from household items and the contents of a medical kit. A clear bag of sterile saline solution hung on a coat-rack that stood next to the sofa-bed. A hole had been punched in the bag's cap and a length of clear plastic half-inch tubing had been inserted into it. The connection had been sealed with electrical tape and a length of thin wire had been wound around the top of the tube to limit the flow of fluid. The tubing was connected to a makeshift needle attachment fashioned from a large syringe which had been inserted into James' left arm and held in place with more electrical tape.

An old man who looked to be Japanese sat on a stool next to where James lay. He was wearing brown corduroy pants and a bright blue and white Hawaiian motif shirt. On a coffee-table by his side was a thick wooden board with a variety of pungent, freshly chopped herbs on top. There was also a mortar and pestle that sat next to several rolls of bandages. A large and obviously very old iron kettle with wisps of steam wafting from its spout sat on another board.

James looked up into the old man's face. His wrinkled skin looked like ancient parchment and he had an impeccably trimmed moustache and goatee that were as white as the driven snow. A band of wispy white hair grew around the level of his ears but the top of his head was completely bald. His serene smile reminded James of ancient carvings of the Buddha that he had seen in the Far East.

He found the elderly gentleman to be very familiar. As if he had seen him a thousand times before but never really acknowledged him. After searching his memory for over a minute he finally realised that he was the head gardener and groundskeeper for the estate. Now if only he could remember his name

"Mr....Mr Hiroshimi?", he asked hesitantly.

The old man's smile grew wider. His eyes almost disappeared as his wrinkles multiplied.

"A worthy name to be sure, Master James. However I have the honour of bearing the family name of Hiroshi-GI"

James felt guilty. As far as he knew the elderly Japanese groundskeeper had worked on the estate since he was a child and yet he could not even remember his name correctly. He quickly asked the first question that came into his head.

"Where am I?"

"You are in my cottage on the grounds of the estate, young master."

Moving his head very slowly, James looked around and surveyed his surroundings.

The living room was of moderate size and sparsely furnished. James could see a large and comfortable recliner facing an end-table that held a small television set. The room was also home to a number of well stocked book-cases. Through a doorway he could see a small kitchen.

On the walls hung several classical Japanese art prints along with a selection of framed dried flowers. One wall held a large Washi paper tapestry that depicted a Samurai with both swords drawn standing tall against a hail of arrows. Hanging in a place of obvious prominence above the small TV set was a framed poster and James did a double-take when he realised that it was a likeness of the actor Noriyuki 'Pat' Morita.

"Ummmmm, how did I get here?", asked James still looking at the poster in surprise.

"It is my custom to stroll the grounds in the evening", said Mr Hiroshigi. "I find that the night air does wonders for the lungs and the grounds look simply beautiful in the moonlight. Imagine my surprise this evening when I happened upon my employer unconscious in the driveway bearing bullet and knife wounds. I had considered calling an ambulance but taking into account your choice of evening-wear I thought perhaps that would be an injudicious decision."

Mr Hiroshigi gestured to a nearby chair. The Proud Citizen costume, now definitely the worse for wear, lay draped across it. James thought idly that the custom tailor in New York who had made it for him would be horrified.

"I took it upon myself to tend to your injuries", continued the old man. "You were incredibly fortunate that the bullet passed cleanly through your upper shoulder. It did not strike bone and as such, should heal very well. Also, you have several cracked ribs but none are broken which is also fortuitous. You have, however lost a significant amount of blood. You must rest and partake of fluids. But only a little at a time"

James considered Mr Hiroshigi's words as he once again looked at the jury-rigged, but effective, IV. He also took a moment to consider his expertly stitched and bandaged wounds. James raised an eyebrow and fixed the old man with a look that was both puzzled and wary.

"That...is a pretty astute medical assessment for a groundskeeper", he said.

Mr Hiroshigi placed his hands together in front of him in a gesture of prayer and gazed upward.

"When you have passed as many years as I under the roof of Heaven, the Gods grant to those who wish to learn, the knowledge and wisdom of many earthly practices", he said with an expression of sagely wisdom.

James looked completely baffled.

"Huh?"

Mr Hiroshigi smiled again and shrugged.

"In other words, I'm old and I've picked up a lot along the way", he said with a chuckle.

James simply didn't know what to make of Mr Hiroshigi but he couldn't help but like him. There was something serene and reassuring in the old man's demeanour. As if he was at complete peace with himself and everything around him. James found his presence oddly comforting. He watched as Mr Hiroshigi began to put his herbs and various implements away in a lacquered wooden box.

"I must admit, Master James, that I never once suspected that you were one of the city's masked heroes", said the old man.

James lay back and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm not", he said with a despondent look on his face. "I'm just an idiot that put on a real hero's costume and played make-believe."

He cast his mind back to the alley earlier that night. He had been so confident. So sure of himself. Positive that a gang of street toughs would be no match for the great James Rockwell.

God! When had he become so bloody arrogant?

James sighed miserably as he described to Mr Hiroshigi what had happened when he confronted the Skulls in Kings Row. He didn't know exactly why he was confiding in the old man. Heaven knew that if the media got hold of the details of his disastrous escapade it would be a scandal. But there was something about Mr Hiroshigi that convinced James that he was trustworthy and would keep the night's events a secret.

"I just wanted to help", James concluded. "To protect people and maybe make this world just a little bit better. But all I did tonight was almost get myself killed."

The old man listened to James' tale of violence and pain without ever loosing his serene smile. When his young employer finished speaking he leaned forward to place his hand on James' shoulder.

"You said that you were playing make-believe on your excursion tonight, Master James. And you said it with scorn. But belief.....belief is the first step on the path to being. If you believe that you can be a hero....if you believe that you can make a difference....then you can."

James found that he could not meet the old man's gaze. He looked away.

"It's not that simple, Mr Hiroshigi", he muttered.

"Nothing ever is, young master", said the old man. "Belief is but the first step on the journey. Faith, courage, determination and training. These are the other steps on the path. You must follow all the steps if you wish to make your belief a reality."

Mr Hiroshigi got up from his stool and walked over to stand beside the chair upon which the Proud Citizen costume lay. He glanced over his shoulder back at his bedridden houseguest and his sagely smile had been replaced by a serious expression.

"You have indeed chosen large boots to fill Master James", said Mr Hiroshigi gesturing to the costume. "The individual who once wore this uniform embodied all that a hero is. He was an honourable and courageous man who would rather die than see the innocent suffer. Do you truly believe that you can follow in his footsteps?"

"I want that more than anything, Mr Hiroshigi," said James. "I can't say wether I'll succeed. But there is one thing I do know. I won't be putting on that uniform again until I really deserve it. Until I know for sure that I can live up to everything that it and the name 'Proud Citizen' stands for."

The old man nodded.

"And are you certain of your motivations, Master James?", he continued. "Are you sure that this is not simply a wealthy young man's vainglorious search for notoriety?"

"I don't care about fame, sir", replied James shaking his head. "I've had more than my fill of that. It's about doing what I know in my heart to be right. I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life."

The conviction in James' voice was plain and almost tangible.

Mr Hiroshigi turned his face away again. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head as if he was lost deep in thought.

After several minutes the old man turned back toward James. His smile had returned.

"Then I humbly offer my services to you in this endeavour, young master", he said bowing formally from the waist toward James.

"Your services?" asked the young man with a look of confusion. "I'm not sure that I understand."

"I can assist you with your training for the path that you have chosen", Mr Hiroshigi replied.

James' expression turned from one of puzzlement to disbelief.

"With all due respect Mr Hiroshigi, what can you possibly teach me? How to 'garden' the bad guys into submission?"

The shame hit James the very moment that the words left his mouth. The old man had quite possibly saved his life. No. He HAD saved his life. He deserved thanks and eternal gratitude. Not sarcasm and scorn. That was not how James had been taught.

"I'm sorry sir", he said with a look of contrition. "I shouldn't have said that. It was rude and uncalled for."

"No offence has been taken, Master James. You wish to know what I can teach you? Well…"

Mr Hiroshigi walked back to the coffee-table and picked up the small knife which he had been using to chop up the various herbs employed in James' treatment. To the young man's amazement the wizened old gentleman deftly flipped the blade into the air and caught the knife, point down, on the tip of his right index finger where he held it perfectly balanced. Mr Hiroshigi then expertly twirled the knife back and forth across and between his fingers as James' eyes opened wide in wonder. Finally, still looking at James with that sagely smile, his arm snapped out to the side. The blade spun through the air across the room and struck the figure of the samurai in Mr Hiroshigi's tapestry square between the eyes.

"…I have not always been a gardener."