ORCA 73

“I like you.”

“You should go now.”

“I like you.”

No matter what he heard, he only repeated the same answer. He was anxious all by himself, as if something terrible would happen if he didn’t say it right away. It was as if he were a parrot that had learned only one phrase. It wouldn’t have been welcomed in a theater circus, but inside the Wair family’s kitchen pantry, it was quite a hit. The sole audience member was quickly captivated by the parrot’s performance and lost his words.

Orca, having given up on coaxing him, quietly embraced the small body. He could have easily pulled him away by applying just a little bit of force, but he waited for him to detach himself. Now, patting him had become a habit. Only after Niah began to sniffle did he take hold of his shoulders and push him away. Because of the sudden, large movement, the shelves rattled. The blanket, having fallen off completely, rolled around on the floor.

He bowed his head, wondering if he could see him if he got closer. His movements were slow and cautious, as his sense of distance had become dulled. He squinted his eyes to examine him closely. It was a foolish thing to do, as it wouldn’t make a difference, and Orca knew it, too.

Niah held onto him, sniffling. As the body heat that had been touching his entire body moved away, it felt as though the darkness around them was growing thicker. He groped for the back of the hand resting on his shoulder and gripped the forearm connected to it tightly.

“Are you crying?”

“No. My nose is….”

“See? I told you you’d catch a cold. Go out now.”

Niah followed obediently, quickly pulling together the blanket that Orca wrapped around him once more. He looked like he had just come out drenched from a winter lake after going in to tear at water weeds. His chin was trembling. The only fortunate thing was that the kitchen felt bright after coming out of the windowless pantry.

Soft moonlight rippled through the long glass window on the wall. The palely pooled moonlight scrubbed and wiped every corner of the kitchen, which had been charred black by the darkness.

Orca found a match, re-lit the oil lamp, and picked up the milk cup he had warmed earlier. The surface of the cup had already become lukewarm. He threw more coal into the stove and gestured to Niah.

“Come here. Stand over here.”

Niah, doing as he was told, took a step back from the stove and extended just one arm, opening his palm wide. The coal fire, which resembled the fireplace in the basement hall, crackled as it burned. It felt as if he were finally enjoying, for the first time today, the warmth he had never had the chance to bask in up close.

It wasn’t winter, and this wasn’t a log fire, but his excited lips curled upward repeatedly. Glancing at the goldfish, who was giggling to himself again—wondering what funny thought he was having now—Orca left him alone so he could continue enjoying himself.

He even gave up on the idea of scolding him to fix his self-deprecating words and actions. He feared the boy might become sullen and lose his voice forever. Even before this, he would usually hesitate and close his mouth unless he was talking about flowers this or tomatoes that. Above all, since he looked happy right now, he decided that was enough. He decided that whenever he found something to praise, he would just praise him multiple times instead. Since everything he said seemed to deviate from his intentions and stimulate the goldfish, that would be much better.

Of course, there were many times he poked at him on purpose. That was why he came down to the kitchen late at night. The problem was that even when he wasn’t intentionally provoking him, the goldfish would jump to conclusions and become despondent all on his own. It was ultimately him who ended up in a bind trying to soothe the shrinking goldfish. Truly, he was such a difficult creature, tedious to keep around. Only he felt increasingly aggrieved day by day. It seemed faster for him to learn a new way of speaking than to hope the goldfish would abandon his easily intimidated personality.

Niah, who showed his excitement by raising and lowering his heels, hummed a tune—hmm-hmm. It was a melody more similar to the chirping of a bird than to music. It was a simple round song that popped out whenever he was in a good mood. Sounds with unclear pitch were repeated softly. He took turns holding out his two arms to bask in the fire. Then, Niah, who had planted his feet on the floor, stopped singing and suddenly brought up a topic.

“Sir.”

As soon as he called him “Sir,” their gazes met. Niah turned his head to tell his story, and Orca turned his head to listen to it.

“Being like this with you, sir… it’s nice…. We talk a lot, too…. I’ve forgotten all about the nightmare now.”

His face, shadowed in the faint light, was tinted with a hazy orange glow. Only the color of Niah’s hair remained the same. Orca combed his fingers through his fluffy, messy hair. Just looking at that bouncy, curly hair, he wasn’t a goldfish—he was just a dog. He felt glad he had warmed the milk instead of asking him questions first.

“The dream? Did you come up because you had a scary dream?”

“Yes? Uh… y-yes….”

It was for the exact same reason as him. Because he seemed embarrassed and turned his face away, Orca spared his words.

“You did well.”

The goldfish giggled again and rested his head against his forearm. A sweet, savory scent wafted from the milk that had begun to boil vigorously.

☀️🌊

Orca used to follow Niah around like a personal servant, but he couldn’t bring himself to follow him into places like the laundry room. When he went to the garden or the greenhouse, he at least had the excuse of having tea or taking a walk, but that wasn’t the case elsewhere. The vegetable garden was his own personal limit. Since that was basically the same as the garden, it was enough to say he had come along for a walk.

Even though no one asked him, he always carried around an excuse for everything. It was the minimum line of defense he could draw. Going out himself only after sending Niah ahead first was also for this reason. Making him return to the basement without fail when night fell, or ensuring he himself met his parents in the dining room at least once a day, were all for the same reason.

If he didn’t do at least this much, it would remind him of himself keeping the goldfish trapped in a fishbowl throughout the spring and summer, staring at him all day. He had a concrete plan, detailed enough that he could put it into action right away. There wouldn’t be anyone to bother stopping him if he really did, but since he had to leave this place after the summer, he would be the one who would have to take care of that fishbowl. As of now, this was the biggest obstacle.

The fishbowl left alone in the mansion after he disappeared would surely break before long. The goldfish would be reduced to a foolish goldfish that would struggle and be bullied. And he himself would be destined to spend his days biting the dirty necks of invaders in some distant conflict zone, where he wouldn’t even hear that news. A bitter laugh escaped him.

About a month ago, he had been calculating whether to stay for three days or four days because he wanted to go back as soon as possible. But now, he let out a scoff at himself for making excuses as if he didn’t want to leave Rosselia. If things kept going like this, it wouldn’t be strange if, in a few days, he ended up ordering the goldfish to write him letters. It was an absurd thought. It was laughable just to imagine himself—a person who had ignored his own parents’ letters for three years—waiting for a deliveryman to arrive, wondering about the well-being of a mere servant.

A servant who is particularly close to their master is not treated well by the other servants. They are pushed away from the pack, excluded, and walled off. Perhaps it was expected, as they might be caught in a trap by the master if they weren’t careful. There was also envy and jealousy regarding the better treatment they received compared to the others.

Thinking about it from the other side, even if he were ostracized by the servants, he had no trouble living because he was doted on by the master. It was actually quite prosperous. However, that was only the case if the master lived in the mansion for a long time. The fate of a servant who had monopolized the master’s affection, after losing that master, was all too obvious.

That was why, even though Orca seemed to do whatever he pleased and act however he wanted, in reality, he couldn’t act entirely selfishly. He didn’t want to put the goldfish, who was already having a hard time surviving in the mansion, in a difficult position. It was irresponsible, considering he was someone who would eventually leave. Knowing he was already halfway through committing irresponsible acts, he tried to maintain some balance.

Naturally, things didn’t go as well as he hoped. Whenever he looked at the giggling goldfish, he thought, Well, whatever happens, happens. His resolutions would become useless in an instant, and he would end up acting on impulse. The path to rectifying it felt far off.

And on top of that, instead of correcting it, he was trying to stir up even more complicated trouble. In just a few days of small disturbances, I, who had gone beyond being irresponsible to being foolish, was a complete idiot. Without any proper excuse, I prepared to follow him around like a dog. Whether it was the dog panting beside its master going out or me, it was the same thing. I don’t know when I became such a fool. Now, it seems I won’t even make an effort to maintain boundaries. No, the effort I’ve made all this time has amounted to this much. I’ve been enduring it all along.