ORCA 22

The goldfish, lost in his own thoughts, was trembling down to his fingertips with a dazed look in his eyes. As if intent on testing my patience, he kept his gaze glued to the floor. It was the same when he placed the teacup containing mediocre tea on the table, and when he brought over the tea food tray. He would approach hesitantly with an oddly awkward gait, then retreat in one go as if being chased by someone. The blank face that should have clearly reflected what was inside his head was just a white sheet right now. No matter how closely I scrutinized it, I could not read his intentions.

Orca suppressed his displeasure as much as he could and spoke in a tone that sounded like a sigh.

“Niah. Come here.”

If he behaved well even now, it wasn’t as if I couldn’t forgive him. I planned to let him stroke and soothe me if he would just drop the tears filling his large eyes and cling to me, saying, “Young master, young master.” Then, I would coax him properly to find out the reason for his frustrating behavior.

Of course, whatever the cause was, the fact that he was offensive wouldn’t change, so I did intend to make him cry again. If I shoved my fingers into his warm mouth and stirred it around as I pleased, he would surely tremble. The image of the goldfish begging for forgiveness every time I let him catch his breath so he wouldn’t faint was vivid. As I made plans to feed him the pound cake he had brought while gently caressing him, I felt an impatience that was unlike me.

The goldfish would chew on the cake diligently, then stop to rub his forehead against me and smile brightly. Seeing the goldfish, who busied himself with immature actions—crying at the slightest touch and then smiling—seemed like it would make me feel better. If I were still in a bad mood after that, I would simply repeat it until it got better.

To think the punishment for making me angry was only this much—it was an excessively generous measure. My eyes happened to land on the condensed milk in a small glass jar.

At his call, Niah hunched his shoulders. Instead of rushing over, he just tangled his fingers and fidgeted. In truth, he wanted to go more than anything. He wanted to sit by the young master’s side and spend time with him. He had come to work, but it didn’t feel like work at all; it was nothing but pleasant. Giving him delicious things was nice, but what he liked even more was the touch of the young master’s hands, handling him like some precious object, and the voice calling out, “Niah.”

As far as he could remember, this was the first time he had been treated like this in the mansion. Harriet treated him kindly too, but it felt different from the young master. Moreover, the young master, seen up close, was incredibly cool. He didn’t do this when looking at other servants, but when observing the young master, the corners of his lips would twitch uncontrollably.

This was a secret from the young master. For some reason, he felt like he shouldn’t be found out. He might get scolded for peeking without permission, and he didn’t know how to answer if asked why he was doing it.

It was only a short while ago that he realized the young master knew his name and even called him by it. It had been about two or three days. The voice calling “Niah” softly in his ear as he held back his tears had sounded like sweet honey. His chest felt itchy, and he wanted to scratch it raw. It kept coming to mind at night, so he couldn’t sleep well either.

“Niah.”

But today, he wasn’t happy. It felt as though his feet were glued to the floor, and he couldn’t move. A belated regret washed over him, wishing he had just asked Harriet instead.

Before he knew it, the tears flowing down his cheeks gathered at his chin and dripped off. He wanted to wipe them away quickly, but his tangled fingers wouldn’t budge. Worried that his fishy smell might spread to the young master sitting a few steps away, the tears only gushed out more.

“Come here.”

Orca repeated the same words with a short pause. At that command, laden with pent-up rage, Niah squeezed his eyes shut. The sob that burst out before he could hold it back fell powerlessly between his pursed lips. Niah, having forced his feet to move, stepped back half a step and shook his head weakly.

Seeing the goldfish acting with such absurd stubbornness, Orca rose from the sofa.

“Why won’t you listen?”

Orca walked slowly, hands in his pockets, as if he were taking a stroll. He closed the distance of only a few steps very slowly. Every time he planted his dress shoes on the carpet, his breathing became quite rough.

His off-kilter senses became sharper and more acute, growing keen. All sorts of noises from outside the room pierced his ears like tinnitus. He cracked his neck with a sharp snap. The moisture-laden breathing and the tightly blocked sobs rising in Niah’s throat sounded the loudest.

Niah, who had been curled up as much as possible, squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. Fear welled up at the approaching presence. He couldn’t determine for himself if he was afraid because the young master would be angry, or if he was worried he would smell the fishy scent coming from him. He just wanted to collapse from the terror that made his body tremble. It wasn’t even clear what was making him so afraid.

Even in this state, the tears showed no sign of stopping and poured down. He forced strength into his trembling legs. He had to get away from the young master. In truth, he wanted to run and cling to him, but he shouldn’t. A moment ago, he had definitely smelled like soap, but now, for some reason, it felt like he smelled fishy.

Suddenly, the servant who had held his nose and left as soon as he saw him in the basement came to mind. Perhaps, just like the other servants said, his smell got worse when he cried. If that were true, he didn’t want the young master to find out. He already felt a sense of horror.

The goldfish shied away and stepped back little by little every time I took a step closer. If he really wanted to run away, it was a stupid decision. Since he was caught in no time, it could only be called a foolish choice. As a result, the top of the goldfish’s head was soon placed beneath my gaze.

His tense hair trembled, terrified to the core. Perhaps because the distance, which was already close, had become even narrower, the small sobs reached me more vividly than before. The outline of his wet breathing was revealed without concealment. The loud noises from outside disappeared, and only the muffled sobs—stifled by his desperate attempts to hold them in—stood out, rolling around my ears.

My acutely sharp senses, at some point, focused and poured into one single spot. If senses had weight, the goldfish would have succumbed and collapsed long ago. Every minute movement the goldfish made stimulated my nerves.

“Niah. You have to be a good boy.”

Orca tried his best to soothe Niah calmly. It was a waste of time to exhaust myself hounding a body that had been ill for two days just from a cold breeze. The punishment would be sufficiently served by using up all the condensed milk on the table. So, I hoped he would abandon this absurd stubbornness and cling to my arm to beg.

It was the goldfish himself who promised to listen well. In fact, that had been the case for the last few days. If I told him to come, he came; if I told him to go, he went; and he followed my words obediently as ordered. He wasn’t just the goldfish of the last few days; just this morning, he had been looking up at me with eyes expecting me to touch him, clinging tightly.

“Niah.”

Because of this, Orca wanted to finish this situation, in which he had little interest, as soon as possible. He could listen to the reason for his sudden change in attitude later. In any case, I didn’t intend to let him go until I heard it. First, the priority was to bring the goldfish to me, sit him down in front of me, and wipe his wet face. Once the tears subsided, I would give him his punishment and make him cry anew. It was offensive that he had come here with his eyes already a mess because of someone else—whoever that might be.

If I let him cry his heart out, soothe him, make him cry again, soothe him, and make him cry again, then once he was exhausted from crying and collapsed into my arms, my seething heart would likely calm down. For that to happen, the first thing to do was to take him to the sofa. Orca took his right hand out of his pocket. If I stroked under his trembling chin, he would soon rely on my touch and wiggle toward me, leaning in.

“Niah.”

Niah flinched in surprise and jerked his head up. His tightly shut eyes also snapped open. Startled, Niah fled to avoid Orca’s hand. Even then, it was a backward step of less than half a step.

His field of vision, piled with droplets of tears, was thick as if in a fog. He unraveled the fingers he had been tangling and rubbed his eyes. The young master was too close. That was more terrifying than the young master’s angry expression with his brow furrowed. If he was this close, there was no way to hide the fishy smell.

Orca was slowly reaching his limit. It was beyond my understanding why this coward didn’t stop running away. I didn’t want to understand, either. If he had turned around and run out of the room right away, I would have at least felt the fun of chasing him, but the goldfish only slid away and didn’t give me the chance to be the seeker.