Chapter 55 (2/2)

I know that.

I’ve gone to war myself many times.

I remember it clearly, the first time I killed a man.

A middle-aged man in his thirties or forties, who looked like a veteran.

Against my expectations, he went down easily. I swung my sword; the man died. That was all.

But those thirty years he’d lived until then. Maybe forty. Then, the decades he should have lived from then on. I stole them. Because he was the enemy, and so on. Drawing that line didn’t come easily to me.

That life probably was no different than the years I’d weathered myself.

The day that man was born.

The things that made him happy. That made him sad. That troubled him. That made him laugh. He might have had a lover. He might have been married. He might have had children. He might have had people he cared about, and people who cared about him.

Everything he built up, I stole from him. With ease.

That was extraordinarily terrifying.

I knew what it was to be stolen from. But the horror of doing the stealing was unknown to me.

By the second time, the third, I stopped thinking about those feelings.

It wasn’t a question of right and wrong. If I didn’t kill, I wouldn’t be able to live.

Now, I thought of them again.

They died so easily, the people I killed.

Some of them must have been like Palmira. Or maybe like her older sister. There were many of them, to be sure.

But I couldn’t think about them. I couldn’t afford to consider their lives.

They fell, like it was only natural. That was war.

“Suddenly, I lost everything. No more laughter. No more comfort. No more understanding. But still…!”

Her words stopped.

For a moment, a s.h.i.+ver wracked her body. As if she were holding something back.

“I can’t complain. People die, and die, and die. Even so, even so, I wanted them to know. The grief, the anguish, the pain. I wanted them to understand. So I worked hard. I devoted my words, displayed the right att.i.tude, but no one noticed. No one understood. No one had that luxury, and then they died. I hated war. I hated the Empire. My big sister, the most important person in the world to me, who understood me; opportunity; freedom; emotion; they all disappeared. I lost everything. No one would see me. No one would understand me. So I mustn’t try to be understood. I mustn’t try to be found. All I can do is grow more bitter, more sorrowful. I am alone. As someone no one will understand, I don’t know what I should do. I can’t even ask.”

The words spilled over, one after another.

It was completely unlike her, this incoherent rambling.

But it was for that very reason that it was dreadful.

At the end of the war, her family lost, her home gone, she was left adrift.

Just like me. Those memories had left deep scars in me.

I’d lost. I’d grieved. I’d regretted.

They couldn’t be conveyed to another by words alone. It was utterly impossible to share with another the entirety of what lay in the heart. Not with words alone.

It was the same for Palmira. That’s probably why she’d ended her words so quickly during Irene’s tea party.

“And yet, I thought I’d lost something again. Because of my selfish feelings, because of my emotions. And mine alone. I thought I’d lost you, Chris. I — . I — didn’t want to. Even though I didn’t want to lose anything anymore. The things that matter to me — why!?”

“Palmira.”

As she trembled, faltering and fragile, Palmira screamed.

And yet her face was still emotionless. Gently, I held her close.

I might not be able to follow it all.

I might not be able to understand everything.

I might be mistaken.

But there are things I do know.

That what I need to do now is accept her.

That I need to feel her. And just a little but mostly, that I need to remember it within.

“It’s alright, Palmira. I know. I know, so. It’s okay.”

“I–I–I…I–!”

“I know. I know.”

So.

I’ll teach you more, Palmira.

Coaxing, I peered into her eyes. Her frightened eyes.

— The color of those eyes — changed.

“If I look bitter, will you worry for me!?

If I’m sad, will you show me compa.s.sion!?

If I’m in pain, will you give me your sympathy!?

If I cry — will you forgive me!?

Uwa–ah–ah–uwaaaaah! Aahh! AAAAAAAAHHH!”

Her mask collapsing on a grand scale for the first time, big drops of tears flowed from Palmira’s eyes. Tumbling and shaking, along with her sobbing wails, they spilled out without stopping.

But that’s okay. It’s fine that way.

When she’s happy, she should laugh. When she’s sad, she should cry.

Bottling it up inside, holding on to it tightly, is definitely too heavy a burden for a person to carry alone.

“I’m so sorry, big sis! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Chris! Uwaaa! Aaaaaaaahh!”

I hugged Palmira tightly as she apologized between her continuing sobs.

Palmira was strong. She was more determined than others. And she was a coward.

Wanting to be understood, and fearing that she wouldn’t be.

So, to avoid being understood from the very start, she stuck to her poker face and didn’t let a hint of emotion escape outside.

But she wanted others to know.

She wanted others to understand.

Because it’s lonely to be by yourself. It’s sad.

–

–

Though it might seem like I could understand everything about Palmira in the end, I think it’s more likely that I’ll never be able to.

Even if I think I do, I might be mistaken.

But right now, I can hold her as she cries.

Without a word, I hugged her and stroked her head.

Just for now, even though I’m definitely treating her like a kid, she won’t get angry.

Right now, that was definitely the thing I understood the best.

–

–

Softly, I opened the door and came out.

Leon and Aira were still standing outside.

“Big Sister!? Palmira — ”

Surprised by the sight of me, Aira started to cry out, but I swiftly covered her mouth with my hand.

Then, with the other, I lifted a finger to my lips.

“Mn.”

Seeing Aira shut up, I removed my hand and pull the door closed. For that one moment, Palmira was visible through the gap, asleep on the bed inside.

Good night.

Click. The door shut behind me.

Author’s Notes

The word count increased by just a bit.

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