Chapter 42
***
I offered clumsy consolation.
I wondered if it was the right thing to do.
- It was from me to you, my life, the signposts I'd walked, just as I'd walked the paths of the Seers before me.
I tried to make it sound plausible.
I said this, I did that, but the moment the wrapping was torn away,
- So stop crying.
That it was I who wanted to flood the world with a sea of tears. You, the world, knew.
- Now it's up to you to do it, and I'm sure you will. By.......
I touched her small shoulder.
-What to say...... has troubled me much, for I, too, was much confused when I first opened my eyes, but I had no one else to teach me about it.
The child jerked her head up and locked eyes with me.
She didn't even seem to realize that she was doing something that she wouldn't normally do.
- So, in the time I've been allowed, I wanted to explain to you the path I've taken, and hopefully it will be of some help to you.
-......Were you confused, Your Grace?
The child asked, still sobbing, as if those words had been the loudest.
I nodded calmly.
-Yes.
-Yes, the world is full of sound, not even the sound of running water, no, not even the sound of time passing⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ I can see.
The next words were filled with fear.
The pupils of her blue eyes widened and trembled.
It was as if she couldn't handle what was being thrown at her yet.
That was understandable. So were my firsts.
But, Largo.
I, who was supposed to be guiding her, couldn't understand her.
-What do you see?
I asked her.
-It spoke to me, it still does, it still does, the vase before me⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯. Even the sound of the stems bending, so that the smallest trickle of stagnant water is transformed into praise to the gods.......
I was shocked by the words that were spoken with a shudder.
- It was begging me to show myself to the world, to offer myself to everyone, to worship the master of the world.... How could I do that, how dare I.......
Once again, the sulking child slipped and slid, and remained in her seat.
I stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded.
Surely the child and I were God's chosen ones, the so-called Seeers.
Bound together by the fact that we were born with the same ability.
But what difference did it make, why did the child speak words I couldn't understand?
At best, all I could see was the momentary pull of the instrument as it came into contact with me.
An instinctual pull, and when I touch the instrument, a richness that begins with a single note.
The worship and benediction that I could only begin to see, turning my little world into a god.
This coloring of my world inspired others to fill their worlds with worship and praise of the divine.
But I could "see" the praise just by listening.
No, it was more like I could just stand still and the world would speak to me.
After I sent her home, I thought about it for a long time, and I thought about it again.
And after a while, I finally found the words to describe the difference between me and her.
Talent.
It was a difference in temperament, an overwhelming one.
This child would soon see things I couldn't see, hear things I couldn't hear, and recite things I couldn't recite.
It wasn't just a matter of time, it was a matter of being different from the ground up, from the beginning of time.
Equally chosen, equally called, equally endowed by Him, yet so different.
God has bestowed upon her something greater and more precious, so that my praise, which He had received, must have been nothing.
For He has placed a greater being beforehand, in this world.
Suddenly, I burst out laughing.
Why did God choose me that one day? Why did he abandon me so suddenly? Why did He made a new choice?
It all came down to her.
She was so different from me. She was already standing in a place where I could not.
The eighth 'seeer’. Even the tiny record of a life once lived by the duke may be overshadowed by her enormous shadow.
So, I was indeed just a person passing through this world, for a time, for her.
So perhaps the life I could have left behind, the life I so desperately wanted, never existed.
I had already realized the last time that I was meant only for her.
It was only a few days ago that I realized that as a creature, I could only love God unconditionally, but this was a betrayal.
God's words raced through my mind.
He had told me that he loved everyone in the world equally, but that there were three people in particular.
But maybe, just maybe, the voice I thought was a message from God was just a fleeting mirage in my little dream.
This realization left me bitter.
Like black paint staining the surface of the water into a mess.
***
#D-75
The end of spring was near, even in the wide-open hunting grounds.
Maybe it was the greenery, or maybe it was the fact that the early summer was just around the corner, bringing the cycle of life to its culmination.
And then, boom, a gunshot.
It was the loudest sound I had ever heard in my life.
The eardrum-bursting bullet ripped through the greenery, and the birds that had been resting their wings in the bush took to the sky in unison.
It was a spectacular sight to see hundreds of birds spreading their colorful wings at the same time as they were feeding, with relatively little noise.
Another shot rang out, and one of the birds that had been flying strongly fell to the ground, bleeding.
The servant darted into the bush and quickly snatched it up. In his hand, a gauntlet of fur dangled, and with one last effort, it lashed out.
The eyes of the bird, not yet dead, but dying, seemed to bore into me.
If I could see the light of resentment in the beast's eyes, it was because I would soon share its fate.
-I don't know if you'll like this.
He gripped his shotgun tighter.
The look in his eyes as he watched the dying bird was not pleasant.
Maybe he was thinking the same thing I was.
So I looked back at him and smiled as brightly as I could.
- My hat is going to be a colorful one for my upcoming birthday.
Looking at me, he pursed his lips for a moment, as if speechless.
- Your birthday is.......
He finally opened his mouth to mumble, but the words were unfinished.
The day of my birth was the threshold of summer's passing.
It was a day close to fall, when the world was rippling with golden colors.
A long time that I could not bear, a long time that I could not endure, a time that spoke of days and months.
His hand trembled as he gripped the gun tightly.
Then he shook his head, hard, and muttered. Droplets of water dripped into the thickening air.
- I'll get you a better one then, one with a fuller coat and more beauty.
- Thank you, Your Grace, for your heart.
- Today's catch will be used at the banquet in a few days. It's not quite time for gloves yet, so we'll have to make a rug for your room.
When I heard that, I thought for a moment that I had a rug in my room.
And when I returned, I found a white rug on the floor, made from the fur of a rabbit he had caught in the early spring.
Even I was struck with a newfound recognition for my indifference.
Anyway, we walked into the dense forest and he pulled out a canteen.
As I watched him quench his thirst, I realized my own thirst.
- Could I have some too?
- Yours is this.
He pulled another canteen from the bag he was wearing.
I took it without question and drank eagerly, but what touched my tongue was not water but a sour liquid.
An eerily familiar flavor. It was the pomegranate juice the maids used to serve at the beginning of the month of Lunar New Year.
***
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Write a comment
Dany (Sunday, 04 February 2024 17:41)
Qué historia más trágica, hermosa, pero trágica.