My mother wasn’t much better. She lived to lament and complained to her sons and daughters that she was the most unfortunate person who had ever lived. When a person heard the same sob stories day in and day out, they stopped even pretending to care. And then she sold her son and acted like she was the victim. Who wouldn’t want to punch her?
So I chose not to remember them. It wasn’t worth the mental effort.
“What about your memories of your daddy and mommy?” I asked her.
“I don’t have many, either,” she said weakly. “At least there are paintings of my mother, so I have an idea of what she was like. There are no portraits of my father, so I don’t even know what he looked like.”
She had only been two, so it would be hard to recall anything. I couldn’t blame her.
“It’s weird, though. I think I remember us being painted together.”
“As a family?”
“My mother was holding me, and we had to stay in the same position forever. But it’s hard for a little child, right? So I started crying, and there was a man who tried to calm me down.”
“Where’s the painting now?”
“I don’t know. I asked Grampa, but he said there’s no painting.”
Maybe April misremembered something. Or perhaps the old man had discarded it for some reason. All we knew for sure was that April didn’t remember her father’s face.
“…I wonder what Grampa’s doing right now,” April murmured, stirring the pot of food.
“He’s just fine.”
Odds were he had bribed the guards into turning his cell into another mansion. He was probably chewing on a steak and guzzling wine at that very moment.
“…I wonder if it’s true that he was doing bad things.”
He was soft on his granddaughter, but outside that, the man was as wicked as they came. I’d done plenty of things I wasn’t proud of, but just the rumors about him alone were far beyond anything in my past—in terms of money stolen and lives extinguished.
Even if these charges were trumped up, he’d certainly committed many, many more crimes. He was one of the great evils that dwelled within this town.
Teaching this pure, innocent child about the rigors of reality was one kind of education we could give her. The world wasn’t such a paradise that she could live in her little walled garden forever. The problem was, I was an ignorant and uneducated man. Teaching people wasn’t in my nature. Plus, I was a liar.
“The old man’s like…a bear.”
“He’s not that big.”
“Bears and deer do the same thing, ultimately. They acquire the food needed to survive, and they raise their children. Deer only have to eat grass to live, but to them, bears are terrifying monsters.”
They hunted living things and tenaciously pursued whatever they identified as their prey. If they had you in their sights, you would not survive. There was no evil or malice behind it. That was just how they lived.
“Bears are a threat to other animals just by being bears.”
“Are you saying it’s my fault Grampa does bad things?”
“The old man’s just worried.”
He had come up as an adventurer, too. No doubt he’d been through plenty of hell in a world where betrayal and retribution were facts of life.
“He has to fight to survive,” I explained. “And fighting means getting hurt. Sometimes it hurts you and helps you grow, but it can also make you hated. And once you step down the wrong path, there’s no going back.”
There were people who wanted to wash themselves clean of the sins of the criminal world. But no one was guaranteed a return to honest living. There was always the possibility of failing and backsliding down to the same wicked ways they started on.
The reasons were numerous: not enough patience, no forgiveness from those around you, and so on. And the most common reason was one’s former comrades.
“They’ll use any trick they can to keep people in the underworld. Temptation, coercion, obligation, group mentality. Fear of the problems that will arise if people talk about your past crimes and deeds is a big one. There’s also jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“People thinking, It’s not fair you get to pretend to be a good boy.”
That’s the logic of the envious: I can’t lead an honest life, so why does he think he can? People can’t stand the thought, so they try to hold others back. Otherwise, they’re forced to admit they’re simply outcasts—failures who don’t have their lives together.
“I bet the old man suffered a lot on his way to where he is in life. And now he’s one of the richest and most powerful men around. But it also means he can’t stop what he’s doing or pull back from it.”
There was no way to work himself out of the pit. They’d just kill him to buy his silence.
“But I don’t really know what he’s thinking. All I know is that he loves you in his own way.”
He was a sick old man, rotten to his roots, but even rotten roots could grow beautiful flowers. Even a wicked man could give to charity if he felt like it, and even a saint could engage in theft if caught by a sudden whim.
“……”
I prodded April gently in the side with my elbow.
“You’re not stirring. You want to serve Arwin overcooked food?”
She came to her senses and hastily stirred the pot. I pretended not to notice that she went so hard at it that some of her sweat dripped into the stew.
April scraped the bottom of the pot with her spoon and said, “Matthew?”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
The meal preparation was finished, and it was time to eat.
“Here is tonight’s dinner,” I said, acting as both chef and waiter in laying out the dishes for Arwin and April. I put a basket of bread in the center of the table. Then there was eggplant and onion consommé; a pork stir-fry with cabbage, onion, and peppers; and the main dish, a tomato stew of chicken and eggplant.
“This is delicious,” April said.
“Isn’t it?”
“You could work as a chef with this. Do you want to work at my house?”
“That’s quite generous, but I’ll have to decline. Arwin won’t have anyone left to cook for her.”
“……”
April seemed to be in a good mood. I knew a full stomach would help her feel better.
“This bread tastes good, too. Did you bake it?”
“When they rebuilt the house, I asked for a proper oven. I use it all the time, because she likes her bread softer.”
Unfortunately, the bread she took on her expeditions had to be baked harder to make it last longer.
“Oooh, wow.”
“……”
Arwin ate in silence while we chatted. April seemed a bit intimidated by the way Arwin moved her spoon and fork without a word.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” April said timidly. “Am I being too loud?”
“Ah, no. You’re fine,” Arwin said, shaking her head.
“She’s a princess,” I piped up. “She doesn’t speak while she eats, because it would be rude.”
In fact, she never spoke during meals. Apparently, it was true in the dungeon as well. Those dinners at the palace in Mactarode must have been very quiet affairs. Whenever anyone spoke during our meals together, it was always me.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason Arwin was being quiet. She was locked in a silent battle to see how much eggplant she could conquer.
“So it’s always just me talking on my own,” I said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a lively dinner like this one.”
“…Don’t worry about it,” said Arwin. “I don’t mind the chatter.”
“Really?” April said, leaning forward happily. “What’s your favorite thing to eat, then?”
“…I like fish,” she replied after a moment’s reflection. “Sweetfish, herring, trout, even eel.”
“Eel? You mean like those squirmy, wriggly things?”
“Mactarode doesn’t have any shorelines, but we do have a big lake. In the fall, the fishers put down traps to catch them as they swim up the river. The usual preparation is to grill them, but sometimes we fry them in oil. Or dry them out to preserve them.”
“Oooh.” April’s eyes were sparkling with fascination. “And what’s your least favorite?”
Arwin bit her lip slightly.
“…I don’t have one,” she lied.
“Really? What about that eggplant…?”
“You haven’t finished it,” I pointed out.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Arwin said, hastily scooping it up with her spoon. It was all well and good to enjoy a lively dinner, but not too much, lest the food get cold.