Zero Communication [Ichiro's Journal]

[Ishida Ichiro]

3 April. 6:15:45. Afternoon.

Father has commenced preparation for his trip to Cairo later this month. In his absence I shall maintain the peace and safety of our home town.

I worry about him. He was originally against making the trip himself--it took a good deal of cajoling to persuade him. A business trip to Cairo is often little more than a glorified vacation if rumours hold credence, and he is in desperate need of some small repose from the stresses of Order business. Before now he has taken days off for few occasions: my graduation, birthdays, things of that sort.

It gives me a sense of honour that even when he works his hardest he will never be the father of those stories--the distant father, the father always absent from a child's graduation, their preschool play, their birthday. I may be considered lucky, to have a father so dedicated to every task including parenting. I suppose I am.

I do feel some touch of apprehension as the date approaches. To finally take the reins and do as my father has for so long...I haven't his charisma or quiet empathy, this is certain. It may be that I am not fit for this role...

Yet if that is the case then so be it. No matter my limitations I shall watch over this city with the eyes of a hawk, and I shall pursue perfection.

Ad Alta.

Ad Astra.

Ad Infinitum.

On that note, I have now procured the wall hangings I mentioned last week. Those are the maxims they bear: To the summit, to the stars, to infinity. The artisan whom I spoke with was quite proud of these, bearing each motto in German blackletter along with illustrations in the style of medieval texts. The entire set was embroidered by hand, and admirably so. I have arranged them in ascending order, and so they read thus, looking from top piece to bottom:

Ad Infinitum--Decorated with prim cherubs and sweeping seraphs, reminiscent of the heavens.

Ad Astra--Embroidered with stars of silver and a thin crescent moon.

Ad Alta--A serene mountain side. The effect they give when stacked this way invokes a sense of constant ascent, a perfect addition to my living space. Frivolous spending is not usually in my itinerary, however...I feel I made the correct choice.

I am prepared to leave for my patrol now. I doubt it shall be very eventful, and so I may sit down with you again when it is through.

---

4 April. 1:31:12. Morning.

An anomalous happening took place while on patrol.

I shall give further details after a night's rest.

[Ishida Ichiro]

4 April. 4:05:04. Evening.

The anomaly I witnessed while on patrol...at first, it seemed like nothing. A small batch of hollows which father and I dispatched with ease (however, the fact that that Kurosaki reject was there helped nothing) and yet it soon spiraled out of control. First another Kurosaki, then another shinigami whose name I never bothered to commit to memory joined the fray.

Then a putrid monster of an arrancar appeared. Attacking in the name of its master, we had little time to react. We set to our task, father and I, with one goal in mind: destroy it. Destroy it before the shinigami could even move.

The blasted nuisances actively attempted to impede father and myself. What is it about our world that draws them in, and why must they interfere with what is certainly not their domain? We are capable.

Mother calls. I must remember to complete this account at a later time.

[Ishida Ichiro]

Here I sit - mad as the hatter - with nothing to do but either become madder and madder - or else recover enough of my sanity to be allowed to go back to the life which drove me mad.--Lara Jefferson, 1952.

5 April. 10:18:24. Night.

I have been thinking intensely on madness lately. Organic causes, treatments, procedure and protocol--none has been overlooked as I come across pages and pages of information, some historical, some philosophical and others purely jargon. A select few render themselves indecipherable. The human psyche can turn on its master, and sanity is a contrary thing...isn't it?

What truly begets madness? Might it be the human factor--contact with others? Or is it completely and simply a product of the chromosomes first transcribed, duplicated, mutated in the womb? Nature...or nurture? Psychology's eternal question still lacks a certain and proper answer; there is no grand overarching theory universally accepted by the field.

A man alone is difficult to find illness in--e.g., the depressive. Without contact with others to compare himself to, he proceeds on simply because he is never aware that there is anything more. A man with many contacts may quickly be discovered to be severely lacking in what society considers the base requirement of waking happiness.

And then there is the psychopath. Without a comparison, there is already something glaringly wrong. No mores, no social tenets. An affect that boggles with its impropriety. Delusional and sometimes narcissistic, the psychopath is far less "grey" than the depressive. He is certainly lacking something in him, something which stabilizes, mediates between desire and action. One could call such a missing piece the 'superego', even if such nomenclature is usually reserved for a ever so slightly different component of psychoanalytics. Is such a lack a result of poor socialization in the sociological sense, or something..."off" in the multitude of neurons, the axons and dendrites which bring the mind to stunning life in the waking world?

May it be both? Much research says 'yes'. That one neuron's malfunction may inhibit the brain's interpretation of social cues, which impedes the development of morality as we know and practice.

These thoughts haunt me as the clock strikes midnight. Might I, having few social contacts, be the psychopath in my examples and fail to recognize this?

I doubt it, and yet...

As I reach for the next volume of Jung or Freud to sift through I cannot help but wonder.

---

11:45:01. Night.

My duties as a Quincy are often arduous, yet I tend to enjoy the long strolls. Karakura is vastly different between night and day, one sprightly and vivacious with open arms and friendly cheer, the other a femme fatale cloaked in black, daggers sheathed under silken darkness.

There is no doubt of which I prefer.

---

6 April. 12:32:46. Night.

...I cannot sleep. I hear them at my window.

A mutter, a swishing cloak in the night. Exactly four. Never more.

Darkness has such beauty. Such devious, dangerous beauty.[/i]

[Ishida Ichiro]

6 April. 08:04:33. Morning.

Father and Mother have noticed my lack of sleep. It is in your eyes, they said. Neither know about the four. I cannot tell them.

I fear they are not really there.

It is time for school. Work and then nightly patrols shall follow.

---

7 April. 12:12:23. Night.

No anomalous happenings on tonight's patrol.

Unfortunate. I may have appreciated such a challenge.

---

7 April. 08:30:13. Night.

Father refuses to let me out for patrol tonight. It is the first time in years I have seen him and mother united on any issue...

Father has scheduled a Quincy meeting for the ninth. While it has been planned for some time, the unpredictable nature of Dresner's schedule has required that specifics wait until nearly last minute. A simple mission to kill hollows, father tells me. There have been more and more cropping up as of late. While they are irritating, they are manageable, and I am grateful that I have yet to face down an arrancar alone; I fear that shall change once father leaves for Cairo.

Even if it does, any attacker shall be finished with the utmost finality. Even if I am not skilled enough to inspire the support of my fellow Quincy, I shall prevail for them. For father.

I wonder what sort of man Ghanaam is. I fear if he is anything like father that the two shall work themselves to death.[/i]

[Ishida Ichiro]

8 April. 12:01:01. Night.

No sleep again. Tonight, however, it is my thoughts keeping rest at bay. I hear nothing of…them. I must attempt to get some rest, however. Father has informed me that if I do not, I will not be allowed to meet with the Quincy tomorrow. Such a thing would be unacceptable.

9 April. 09:12:14. Morning.

It has occurred to me that I have not practiced the cello in a week. I must do so soon; I would sorely lament the degradation of my skill.

I made it to bed last night. Fortunate, yet I was met with fierce resilience by none other than my own mind.[/i]

[Ishida Ichiro]

9 April. 11:04:04. Night.

Our excursion was a very interesting one, and productive. I shall write the full account once I find the time, there were many events which require detailing.

---

10 April. 04:13:13. Afternoon.

Father and I practiced our instruments today. The symphony of my cello with his violin was divine. Even mother smiled, taking a seat in the parlor to listen. Afterward, we went out to the park--together. Quite the rarity, going out to a park together--mother and father must have been in exceptionally good moods today. It was...nice. Seeing anything less then barely concealed venom between the two is a tremendous feat. I do wish it would happen more often.

I do not know what I shall do once father leaves. As I am faced with more frequent interactions with my fellow men I become more and more convinced that I am not the type to lead, at least not as I stand now. I would far rather remain sequestered in this room, this house, with naught but my books--yet I cannot, this I know for sure. I must find a way to overcome the things which hold me back, find in me the same charisma my father so effortlessly exudes, and be ready to take my place as the Order's leader in Karakura. I could not bear to fail father by shirking the task.

I must take the coming weekend as an opportunity to learn, to acclimate myself to the trials of leadership.

I cannot fail.

Father departs on the 16th of April.