Vol 2 Chapter 1.1 (2/2)
He was grabbed by the wrist. Nezumi's fingers were always cold, and rigid.
”Then I'll tell you something. Put your hand here.” s.h.i.+on did as he was told, and placed his hand on Nezumi's chest.
”What do you feel?”
”Feel―? Well, it feels like a man's chest, for one. It's hard, and flat.”
”I know, I know. Too bad for you, I don't have big b.r.e.a.s.t.s. What else?”
”Well...”
What did he feel on his palm through the rough fabric of Nezumi's s.h.i.+rt? It was his heartbeat, his warmth, and the firmness of his flesh. s.h.i.+on hesitated to put it into words. He didn't know why. He withdrew his hand, and curled his fingers over his palm. Nezumi chuckled quietly.
”My heart was beating, and it was warm. Right?”
”Of course. You're alive. It's normal for your heart to be beating and for you to feel warm.”
”It is. I'm alive, and I'm right here in front of you. That's all you need to know. What more do you want?”
Nezumi stood up, and looked down at s.h.i.+on. His gaze, like his fingers, was cold.
”What you want is information,” he said icily. ”My birth date, my development history, my height, weight, index of my intelligence, DNA data. You just want information that you can convert into numbers. That's the only way you ever try to understand other humans. That's why you can't understand the living people that are standing right in front of you.”
s.h.i.+on stood up as well. He clenched his fist harder.
”You're big on sarcasm, and love to make fun of people. You don't like fish, and you're a restless sleeper.”
There was a moment of silence.
”―Huh?”
s.h.i.+on continued.
”You have an enormous amount of knowledge, and a wide range of it too― but none of it is systematic. Sometimes you're fickle and over-sensitive, but other times you're lazy and careless about the details. You adore piping-hot soup, and you get really grumpy when it doesn't have the right amount of salt. And last night, you kicked me three times in your sleep.”
”Hey s.h.i.+on, wait a minute―”
”Since coming here, this is what I've learned about you. They're not numbers. I would never subst.i.tute you for numbers. That's not what I want to do.”
Nezumi's gaze slid away from him.
”I'm just a stranger to you,” he said. ”You shouldn't be interested in strangers. Four years ago, you saved my life, and I owe you a big debt for that. So that's why, this time, I helped you out. So if you want, you can stay here for as long as you wish and do what you want to do. But never think of wanting to know more about another stranger.”
”Why not?”
”Because it gets in the way.”
”Gets in the way? Knowing things gets in my way?”
”Yes, for people like you. You're good at cramming knowledge, but you give in easily to your emotions. You're quick to trust in people, and try to attach yourself to them. I told you before, didn't I? Cut yourself off, and throw away everything you don't need.”
”Yeah, but....”
”But what you're doing right now is just the opposite. You're starting to take interest in me and want to know more. You're trying to add even more to your burden. You're hopelessly stupid, just hopeless.”
s.h.i.+on couldn't understand what Nezumi was saying. It was more confounding and difficult to grasp than any scholarly book he had read.
”Nezumi, I don't understand what you're talking about.” He voiced his feelings truthfully. Nezumi shrugged slightly.
”The more you know, the more emotionally attached you'll get. Then we can't be strangers anymore. And that'll be trouble for you.”
”For me? Why?”
”When we become enemies, you won't be able to kill me.” There was a hint of a laugh in his voice. s.h.i.+on dug his feet firmly into the worn carpet.
”While you're busy being caught up in your emotions, I can go ahead and stab a knife into your heart. You know, a knife is a really ancient weapon, but it can come in handy sometimes.”
”Why do you and I have to become enemies? That's just absurd. That's what's stupid, if anything.”
”Really? I think it's pretty plausible.”
”Nezumi!” s.h.i.+on said heatedly.
There was a loud toppling noise as a pile of books fell over. A mouse hopped onto Nezumi's shoulder.
”Well, if you're really gonna organize these books, you better get cracking. One week will be over in no time. I'm going to work.” Nezumi turned nimbly on his heel and walked out the door. s.h.i.+on felt all the tension leave his body. He was cold and clammy. Conversations with Nezumi sometimes made him so wrought with nerves that he broke out in a cold sweat. s.h.i.+on licked his dry lips.
”I don't even know what kind of job it is that you do,” he muttered to himself. ”I only wanted to know. Who's the stupid one here?” He let his words hang for a moment, then set out to organize the stacks of books.
”s.h.i.+on.” The door opened, and Nezumi's voice called him. A pair of work gloves were tossed his way.
”You'll crack a nail if you use your bare hands.” The door closed before s.h.i.+on could say thanks, and silence settled over the room again. This casual act of kindness, or those cold, dispa.s.sionate words from a few minutes ago― which one was he to believe? s.h.i.+on couldn't grasp him. That was why he wished could reach out and take firm hold. s.h.i.+on pulled the gloves over his hands, and lifted some books off the floor.
Of course. It's good to wear gloves when doing this kind of work. That's another thing I didn't even know.
You just want information that you can convert into numbers. That's the only way you ever try to understand other humans. The words that had been slapped in his face minutes before still remained stubbornly in his ears. This method of a.n.a.lyzing people through their data was something s.h.i.+on had learned all his life in No. 6, ever since he had been deemed top-ranking in the Childrens' Examinations and was given a top-cla.s.s learning environment.
The human body is made up of 274 different types of cells, numbering 60 billion in total. He remembered perfectly the names, shapes, and functions of each. He knew the locations and functions of each organ, and had also learned about the transmission paths of signals between the amygdala, perirhinal cortex and the hippocampus.
But it was no use to him. No matter how much he put his knowledge to work, he was unable to understand the person with whom he'd been living for almost a month.
Was Nezumi honestly thinking that they were going to become enemies some day? That they would end up killing each other― was that possible? Nezumi's words and actions were always shrouded in mystery, and confused s.h.i.+on greatly.
He couldn't grasp him. That was why he wished could reach out and take firm hold. He wanted to know the part of Nezumi that couldn't be subst.i.tuted for numbers or symbols. s.h.i.+on shook his head. The mice scampered busily about his feet. I have to stop. Brooding over it isn't gonna help. Right now, I have to wage war with these books.
He was soon damp with perspiration. His back ached, and his arms felt heavy. But what interrupted s.h.i.+on in his work was not in his bodily ache or exhaustion, but in the pages of the books he went through. He would casually flip to a story, and find himself sinking to the floor to read the rest. Wholly engrossed, he would soon lose track of the hour. And each time, a little mouse hopped up onto the page in stern reprimand.
”Give me one more minute. I'll put it away as soon as I'm finished reading this part.”
”Cheep cheep!”
”Alright, alright. I'm getting on it, okay? Are you satisfied now?”
And on the third day, he found it, under an old copy of a science journal. A small, silver box. His emergency kit.
On that stormy night four years ago, Nezumi had appeared, sopping wet, a sudden intruder in s.h.i.+on's home. His shoulder stained with blood, the dripping boy before him looked as if he was about to collapse. s.h.i.+on had extended his hand without thinking. His protective instinct had stirred so strongly in him that he had even forgotten to feel fear toward the intruder. Even after finding out that he was a VC― considered a violent and dangerous criminal in No. 6― that feeling did not change. s.h.i.+on took Nezumi under his wing, and provided treatment for his wound and a momentary respite. He didn't hesitate to. He couldn't help but do what he did. As a result, s.h.i.+on lost most of what he had, as well as a large part of his secure and privileged life.
That night, s.h.i.+on had treated the wound, painfully evident of the bullet that had caused it, with the tools and medication in this emergency kit. The next morning, there were four things missing in s.h.i.+on's presence― the red checkered s.h.i.+rt, the towel, the emergency kit, and Nezumi himself. Of them, two were back in his hands. Or, rather, emergency kit aside, perhaps it wasn't right to say that Nezumi had ”come back” into his hands. s.h.i.+on was the one who had fallen into a trap, and was about to be hauled to the Correctional Facility by the Security Bureau― Nezumi was the one who had saved him, and brought him outside No. 6.
He wasn't the one that came back. I was the one that burst in and took refuge here. That was the reality of it. He had fallen from the Utopian City― even called Holy by some―into this underground room, where no sunlight shone. He would probably never be able to return to No. 6 legitimately again. He had left his mother there. Was Karan still thinking of him, even after he had been cast as an escaped criminal? s.h.i.+on knew it was fruitless to think about it, but his heart ached nonetheless.
He couldn't throw it all away like Nezumi. He couldn't cut himself off. He couldn't live without. He had to cling to something, else he would crumble and fall. He had to have someone in his heart always, else he would go insane.
s.h.i.+on opened the lid of the box. It looked like the automatic sterilizer was still functioning. A scalpel and a roll of gauze glowed dimly under the faint reddish light of the sterile lamp. A nostalgic feeling welled up in his chest as if he was meeting an old friend.
”Cheep-cheep! Chit-chit-chit!”
”What? I know, I know. I'm getting there. Geez, you're strict.” s.h.i.+on laughed. As if in response, the mouse raised its front paws and chittered.
<script>