ORCA 74

Since that day, the goldfish has wanted me to verify his memory several times a day.

“Sir, did I forget anything?”

Only after hearing me say no would he smile brightly, his face looking relieved. He seemed half-incredulous, but he would nod without asking further. Naturally, I became curious as well.

“Did you have any scary dreams today?”

The goldfish would say yes, or sometimes he’d trail off with a hesitant “y-yes.” His eyes, darting away, clearly betrayed that he was lying. I had to offer praise—telling him he did a good job—instead of interrogating him, only then would his gaze turn back to me. It’s a strange thing to praise someone for not having a nightmare, but those three words were enough to make the goldfish feel at ease. If he would just come up to my room one more time at night, I could probe into what kind of dreams he was having, but that never happened. Only after seeing his hollowed-out expression in the morning could I tell he had been suffering all night.

As these conversations repeated, I felt increasingly powerless. Without being able to solve his poor memory or his scary dreams, I had to just hope the goldfish could handle it all on his own. All I could do was force the weak-willed goldfish to lie down and take naps. I would watch his vacant, sleeping face and let time pass, feeling entirely helpless. I grew accustomed to the sensation of being swayed by emotions I couldn’t even name.

Lately, I’ve called myself an idiot several times a day. Knowing it would only trouble the goldfish more in the future, yet wanting to satisfy my own greed, there was no other word for me but idiot or fool. I was busy acting as if I were doing what the goldfish wanted, while busy making excuses for my own selfishness on the inside.

At least once a day, the goldfish would smile and say, “I’ll be right back with the trolley or the laundry basket.” A smile would always color the voice that added, “I’ll be back soon.” It was a familiar gesture, carried out without hesitation, as if it were nothing.

Listening to the goldfish’s footsteps slowly fading away while I sat alone in the room, a deep discomfort would settle somewhere in my chest. It felt as if it were I who had been left behind, not the goldfish. It felt as if it were I who had left, not him. I wondered if the goldfish would feel this way if I ever left the mansion, if he, too, would be left behind, unable to do anything but wait.

His return steps were always clumsy and quick. The floorboards would clatter. He would trot over as if he were going to burst through the door, then peek his face out. Then, he would grin and call my name. I knew he would return like this, without incident. I knew he would come back unscathed, without having experienced a single thing, and beg me to go out to the greenhouse or the garden. I knew he would keep his lips pressed tight and just urge me on with glances, or otherwise, sit by my side, prop his chin up with both hands against his cheeks, and watch me.

Yet, whenever the fast footsteps from the far end of the hallway drew nearer, an anxious feeling would wash over me. I’d be on edge, wondering if he wasn’t returning, but running away. I couldn’t let out a single breath of relief until the door opened, fearing he might be fleeing from the fear called oblivion—something I had never experienced for a single day—or from a nightmare, or perhaps from someone’s bullying. The goldfish himself was quiet, but I was the one making such a fuss. I became incompetent at times, angry at moments, and often prone to foolish thoughts.

In the end, I chose to be a perfect fool. I stealthily erased the line I had drawn and redrew it a few paces ahead. The scope within the line, which had initially been limited to “the room,” gradually expanded. I continued to be selfish, harboring the complacency that I could just tidy things up before the summer ended. Sitting at the table by the window, bathed in spring sunlight, summer felt far away. It felt as distant as if it would never arrive at all.

Orca watched Niah, who was gathering his things to head out with the trolley. The goldfish’s skin, caught in the languid sunlight, sparkled like scales. Having finished cleaning up the traces of the afternoon tea, Niah smiled at him again. The gaze he kept fixed on me felt ticklish.

“Sir, I’ll be off now. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

His eagerness to do anything for me remained unchanged. Orca tapped the table, then suddenly pushed his chair back. Once I decided to be a fool or an idiot, everything else became easy. I turned the goldfish around and led him out of the room. The trolley wheels rattled.

“Oh, um, Sir, are you coming too…?”

Niah, flustered, looked up. Orca replied only then.

“Yeah. Why?”

“No. It’s nice.”

Niah, contradicting what he hadn’t even asked, shook his head and giggled. Now, if it was something he was doing with Orca, Niah just liked it. Like the parrot in the pantry, he kept repeating, “I like it.” It had reached the point where he would say he liked whatever I asked of him.

Orca tried focusing his hearing solely on the humming and the fluttering footsteps of Niah. He struggled to shake off the unsettling feeling surging within him.

When he opened the door to the distillery, the scent of flowers rushed in. Niah, who had already become quite excited on the way from the West Wing to the center, had a wide, happy smile on his lips. Finding Harriet, who had arrived first, he became even more thrilled. He left the trolley abandoned in the hallway, flapped over, and gripped the table.

“Harriet!”

“You’re here? Look at this. Isn’t it pretty?”

Harriet greeted Niah with a wide smile. Roanna, the distillery servant who was there with her, felt awkward and pretended to be engrossed in her work. Various types of flowers were spread across the table. Niah examined them one by one.

White acacia flowers and jasmine, pink cherry blossoms, peach blossoms of a deeper hue, and colorful sprigs of linaria—the sight of them all plucked by the calyx and arranged on a flat basket was charming and cute. A pleasant fragrance wafted up in waves.

He had decorated with flowers cut by the stem in vases or baskets before, but this was his first time seeing something like this. He wondered what they were planning to do with just the plucked flowers. Niah stared at Harriet, his eyes shining. Harriet brought over and showed him the flower sugar preserves she had made in advance.

Standing behind the half-opened door, Orca stood frozen, before letting out a scoff of disbelief after a long moment. It was so offensive that he’d been abandoned along with the trolley by the goldfish who had slipped inside all on his own that he couldn’t even speak. The cheerful voice he heard the moment he disappeared from his sight was extremely grating. It was infuriating to think that those flowers or the servant called “Harriet” were more important than him. He wiped a hand down his face.

He couldn’t really show his anger, so he smoothed away his irritation with a long, drawn-out breath. He hadn’t meant to sigh, but the end of it scattered like a sigh. He took the trolley the goldfish had left behind and stepped into the distillery. Seeing him laughing and flirting with someone else after casting him aside made his insides churn. He tightened his throat, then let it go to steady himself. Orca called his name toward the excited back. His calm voice flowed out concisely.

“Niah.”

Startled, Niah turned around, his eyes wide. It was as if a light had clicked on inside his head. It was foolish of him to be so distracted by the fascinating sight that he had completely forgotten about his master.

“Sir….”

He hurried over as if running. He gripped his sleeve tightly with only his thumb and forefinger. Even putting everything else aside, it was rude of him to enter on his own and leave his master outside. Niah was tense, thinking that today was the day he would finally get a scolding. The corners of his eyebrows dropped into a miserable expression. His neck retracted like a turtle. Orca looked down at the now timid goldfish in silence. He swallowed his mean-spirited urge to poke him until he burst into tears and tapped him lightly on the bridge of his nose.

“What’s so great about this?”

“It’s nothing. Just… I was looking at that…. I’m sorry….”

Harriet, who had jumped up at the sudden appearance of the young master, observed the two with curious eyes. Although she had been somewhat reassured by Niah, who had seemed happy lately, she wanted to see the relationship between the two with her own eyes. It was only natural, as she had been the one pushing Niah to go to the young master first whenever she found him wandering around listlessly. Her actions had been based on a degree of certainty, but nonetheless, she had been worried the whole time.

Most of the rumors about the young master that had spread throughout the mansion were chilling. Since the most gruesome stories are always the ones that get exaggerated, she couldn’t believe them blindly, but the intuition that the rumors weren’t entirely wrong often kept her from sleeping. Her worry crept up. She became anxious, wondering if perhaps she had sent Niah to a place he should never have gone.