MLCD Chapter 6.3

Three days.

That was exactly how long the fantasy lasted.

There are things that make it impossible to focus on just one thing. Sometimes it’s the biting cold, sometimes it’s the starving hunger. Sometimes it’s pain, and sometimes it’s loneliness that hurts as much as pain. And sometimes, like now, it’s an ‘iron door.’

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“This side is the corridor, and that side is the cafeteria. And over there is…”

This is like this, and that is like that. Here is like this, and there is like that. After hearing similar explanations for nearly an hour, he was naturally getting tired. He didn’t mean to let his attention wander, but his gaze kept sweeping over random places. His toes, the floor, the wall. And then, the iron door.

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“And this room?”

That iron door stood out among the dozens of doors lined up on both sides. Its size, easily 2 meters tall, was impressive enough, but what really caught the eye was the lock as thick as an adult man’s forearm. Unlike ordinary locks, it had no keyhole or number pad.

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What’s in there?

“Shh, this is the room where the dog is.”

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The Superintendent explained. Dog? Is he saying they’ve imprisoned a ‘dog’ here? As Shavonne blinked in confusion, the Superintendent continued.

“It’s extremely dangerous. Just in the past year, we’ve lost twenty guards who were bitten to death by it! Twenty!”

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“Twenty?”

“Yes.”

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“Oh.” Shavonne let out a short exclamation. Twenty people a year. That dog must be incredibly savage.

Suddenly, he was reminded of a dog fighting match he had seen as a child. He had stumbled upon it while running an errand, and even though he had only watched for less than a minute, the scene was still vivid in his mind.

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The hungry look in the dogs’ eyes, their large sharp teeth gleaming as if they would tear out throats at any moment, the thick, transparent saliva dripping from their teeth… It was a brutal sight. If it weren’t for the iron bars, they would have mercilessly attacked even the spectators watching the match.

The Superintendent said it was dangerous even with protective gear. He explained that the dog was moody, and when it was in a bad mood, it would tear, bite, and scratch indiscriminately in a way the protective gear was useless. A dog that makes the protective gear be useless? I can’t even imagine it.

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“I dare say it’s the most dangerous dog in the world. But…”

Shavonne continued the sentence. “But?”

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“Don’t you want to see it?”

Shavonne almost jumped out of his seat. Is the Superintendent trying to kill me?

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Of course, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t at all curious about what the ‘most dangerous dog in the world’ looked like. But it was literally the ‘most dangerous dog in the world.’ If he tried to satisfy his mild curiosity and ended up getting his throat torn out… The thought alone made him dizzy.

The image of a defeated dog from the fighting match flashed through his mind. The dog was lying there, gasping for breath with its throat torn out. To say it was torn out was an understatement; nearly half of its neck was gone. It lasted three minutes at most. The empty gaze of the dog facing imminent death still lingered in his mind. Perhaps Shavonne could end up like that too.

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“Superintendent, I’d like to live to a hundred if I could. Maybe eighty. Sixty at the least.” Despite Shavonne’s persuasive words, the Superintendent didn’t give up.

“It’s safe. Just a few days ago, the dog went on a rampage and got thoroughly punished by the Vice Warden. It’s got a muzzle on and its front and hind legs are broken. It can’t bite, let alone move properly.”

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“…”

“So? Aren’t you curious?”

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“…”

It was impossible not to be intrigued. Shavonne didn’t have the guts to meet the ‘most dangerous dog in the world.’ But if the dog couldn’t use its teeth or its legs, that was a different story.

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“Wouldn’t you like to see it?”

The encouragement disguised as an invitation continued. ‘Is it really safe? Really?’ Only after confirming several times did Shavonne tell him to open the door. As if he had been waiting for those words, the warden quickly began unlocking the iron door.

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With a clank, the iron door opened. The Superintendent told Shavonne to step back, then started pushing the door. Shavonne swallowed hard. Whether from anticipation or nervousness, his heart was pounding. The thumping was so loud he could hear it in his ears. What would the ‘most dangerous dog in the world’ look like? Fierce? Horrific? Or maybe atrocious?

However, the next moment, the ‘dog’ that appeared before his eyes defied all of Shavonne’s expectations.

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It wasn’t a fierce dog. It wasn’t a horrific dog or an atrocious dog. It wasn’t any kind of dog Shavonne had imagined.

It was a person.

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“…”

In the place where a dog should have been, where the most terrifying dog in the world should have been, there was a man covered in wounds. It was such a horrific sight that even Shavonne, who wouldn’t flinch at most injuries, stepped back.

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He wanted to say something, but no words came out. Shavonne couldn’t take his eyes off the man. He watched without missing a single detail – the man’s wary eyes flickering brightly, his hunched shoulders rising and falling almost imperceptibly.

“What do you think?” He heard the Superintendent asking beside him. The Superintendent’s voice was excited, as if expecting Shavonne’s first impression.

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Shavonne couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand how they could reduce a person to such a state, but even more incomprehensible was calling a person a dog. No, if they had just called him that, it might have been different. The problem was that they were treating a perfectly normal person completely like a dog, calling his arms ‘front legs’ and his legs ‘hind legs.’

How…

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He felt sick. The Superintendent looking at him with expectant eyes suddenly seemed unfamiliar. He didn’t seem like the same person who had laughed, cried, and talked with him. He didn’t seem like the person who had worn the same uniform, eaten the same food, and slept in the same place. Yes, it was as if… He wasn’t even the same ‘person.’

But Shavonne couldn’t say anything. Warning lights were blaring loudly, telling him not to speak, that if he said anything even by mistake, he would face dire consequences. It was the kind of warning often called ‘intuition.’

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He forced himself to swallow hard. The words he wanted to say, needed to say, went down his throat. Suppressing the pain that felt like his larynx was tearing, he managed to open his mouth.

“The dog…”

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In the future, Shavonne would come to regret every moment of this day. He would regret falling for the invitation to look. He would regret carelessly asking ‘A dog?’ when told it was the dog’s room. He would regret pointing at the iron door and asking what was in there, regret casually looking around and noticing the iron door, regret not paying attention to the Superintendent’s explanation about which side was the corridor and which was the cafeteria.

“Is so…”

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If he hadn’t come here, he wouldn’t have had to see him. He wouldn’t have had to meet him.

“…beautiful.”

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If only that were the case,

He wouldn’t have had to abandon him.

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“You think that’s beautiful?”

They were on their way back to the dormitory. The Superintendent, who had been walking ahead without saying a word, suddenly spoke up.

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“How can you call that beautiful?”

Shavonne looked up to meet the Superintendent’s face looking down at him. The Superintendent’s face was so red it seemed like it might burst if touched. It was a familiar color. The orphanage director’s face used to turn that red color every time he slapped Shavonne’s cheek.

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Could the Superintendent really slap Shavonne’s cheek? Before meeting that man, Shavonne would have said it was absolutely impossible. He would have even argued that the Superintendent who had greeted him with a warm smile and said ‘pleased to meet you’ couldn’t possibly do such a thing. Yes, that was before meeting that man.

“Explain yourself.”

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The order struck Shavonne’s cheek like a slap. Shavonne bit his lip gently and released it. His voice came out softly.

“…Because it’s true.”

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That person is beautiful, isn’t he? The additional explanation he offered, fearing his initial response might be insufficient, made the Superintendent’s eyebrows shoot up. The Superintendent asked back in an enraged voice. “‘Person’?”

Shavonne realized his mistake. This was a Superintendent who not only called the man a dog but even referred to him as ‘that.’ There was no way he would take kindly to the term ‘person.’ Sure enough, the Superintendent’s face, which had merely been red before, was now turning purple with rage. His voice, which had been full of anger, had now become murderous.

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“Mr. Shavonne, I didn’t think you were like this, really…”

The words that had paused for a moment fell on his head. He used an accusatory tone.

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“You’re disgusting.”

Creak. There was a sound of something breaking.

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That afternoon, Shavonne sat alone throughout the meal. It would be more accurate to say he was isolated by others rather than isolating himself. The guards suddenly stopped coming near Shavonne. They kept their distance as if they might catch a plague by being close to him.

Why could it be? Shavonne thought, casually lifting his head, and unexpectedly made eye contact with a guard who was staring down at him. It was the guard who had been surprised last night when Shavonne confessed that he had never played poker before coming to the facility.

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As Shavonne was about to greet him, the guard abruptly turned his head away as if he had seen something he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t just that guard. All the guards turned their heads away as soon as they made eye contact with Shavonne.

He was perplexed, but only for a moment. The next instant, he heard whispers about him from behind. Superintendent, dog, person… He could only catch fragments of words, but it was enough to guess what had happened.

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Creak. Creak. The sound that shouldn’t be there kept ringing in his ears. He felt dizzy.

That night, the reason Shavonne tossed and turned, unable to sleep, wasn’t because the guards had taken back the cotton blanket they had given him before. It wasn’t because they didn’t even bother to make flimsy excuses like suddenly needing it because the weather had turned cold. It wasn’t because they showed no remorse, but rather wore expressions of smug satisfaction.

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Premonition. In other words, it was because he had certainty. The certainty that the guards would no longer laugh with him, cry with him, or chat with him flashed through Shavonne’s mind.

There was no need to stupidly ask ‘Why?’ It was obvious. It was because Shavonne had dared to call the man everyone else called a dog a ‘person.’

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Differences of opinion often drive people apart. From major issues like whether one supported the royalty or was against them, to minor matters like whether one prefers soft drinks or alcohol, all kinds of differences of opinion can do this. This issue was no exception.

But could there really be a ‘difference of opinion’ on this matter?

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The sun is still the sun even if you call it the moon. The moon is still the moon even if you call it the sun. The same goes for people. No matter what you call them, a person is a person. How could there be a “difference of opinion” on this immutable truth?

Unless their eyes were deceiving them, everyone must have seen that the man had the form of a human. The man didn’t have a pointed snout like a dog, nor did he have sharp teeth. He didn’t walk on four legs or stand alertly on his front and hind legs. Shavonne couldn’t fathom what the guards were seeing to call the man a dog.

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Why did the guards call the man a dog?

How should Shavonne make the guards call the man a person?

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Shavonne tossed and turned, lying on his side. Suddenly, he remembered a child he had met at the orphanage. When Shavonne met him, he was about ten or eleven years old, working under a chimney sweep who was close to the orphanage director. No, to be more precise, he was ‘exploited’ by someone who didn’t pay him a penny under the pretext of teaching him work.

The boy cleaned chimneys for fifteen to twenty hours at a time. Just as a slaughterhouse worker always carries the smell of blood, that boy was always covered in soot. There was so much of it that it was difficult to discern his facial features.

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That’s why he was nicknamed Squeaky¹. From the orphans to the director, everyone called him Squeaky. Hey Squeaky, what are you doing? Squeaky, are you deaf? Squeaky, do you have your head in the clouds? Squeaky, Squeaky, Squeaky…

It wasn’t long after that when the boy started working as a body servant for a rich woman. On the day he left, there was a formal farewell. It was a brief greeting lasting no more than three minutes, but everyone focused on it. Or more precisely, they focused on the boy’s ‘face’.

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Fair skin, freckles, a small mole at the corner of his lips… The boy’s face without soot was completely different from the face of the person who had been called Squeaky until then.

After that day, no one called the boy Squeaky anymore. From the orphans to the director, everyone called him ‘that boy’.

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Could the guards do the same?

If Shavonne made the man look like a person, would the guards call him a person?

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…He wasn’t sure. He hoped so, but he couldn’t guess if the guards would change their attitude so easily.

But…

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“…”

Right. In any case, he had nothing to lose. It was better to do something than to do nothing at all.

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He carefully pushed aside the blanket and got up, trying not to make rustling sounds. What if someone woke up? He held his breath and tiptoed out of the dormitory. It was already past midnight. The sound of a door opening and closing echoed in the darkness, then disappeared. Silence fell.

He… hello?

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…

…Hi?

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…

What’s your name?

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…

How old are you?

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…

What about your family?

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…

Wipe yourself.

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Ah. You don’t know how to use a towel, right?

…I told you to wipe off the blood clots, not to tear it.

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Listen.

You’re not a dog.

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There’s no dog as handsome as you. I’m serious.

When dogs get hurt, they lick their wounds. What was it? Dogs have some kind of bacteria or something in their saliva that heals wounds.

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When people get hurt, they clean the wounds either with water or by applying disinfectant. If that doesn’t work, they wipe it with a clean cloth.

You didn’t lick your wounds.

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You wiped your wounds with a clean cloth.

Right?

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I’m leaving.

When he returned to the dormitory, it was still night. The dormitory was still dark, and the guards were still sleeping so deeply they wouldn’t notice if someone carried them away. Everything was still the same. Yes. Except for one thing: Shavonne’s heart.

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Why hadn’t he realized? That wiping blood, pus, and scabs doesn’t wipe off the wounds themselves. Rather, it reveals the true nature of the wounds that had been hidden by blood, pus, and scabs until then.

Bruises, cuts, burns… The wounds covering the man’s body kept flashing before his eyes. They had been terrible even when covered with blood, pus, and scabs, but they were even worse once revealed. Wounds so horrific he could barely look at them… If those wounds had been inflicted on a city of this land instead of human flesh, that place would have become a ruin. Stones would have crumbled from the scrubs, water would have split from the cuts, and soil would have burned from the burns.

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Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. Repeating it like a mantra was useless. It came to mind whether he lay facing west or east. It came to mind whether he lay facing north or south. The more he tossed and turned, the more vivid the man’s wounds became. At first, they were hazy like a dream, but now they were so clear he felt he could reach out and touch them.

Does it hurt?

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A curiosity that suddenly arose. The next moment, Shavonne sighed long through his nose, embarrassed at wondering about something so obvious. Of course it would hurt. How could it not?

How much does it hurt?

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Shavonne carefully recalled the pains he had felt before. It hurt when the orphanage director slapped him, it hurt when three orphans stomped on his back, but above all, it hurt the most when he fell down the stairs at thirteen.

One step, another step. With each of the fifteen steps, it felt like every bone in his body was breaking. He didn’t end up with any major external injuries, but that was all. The pain that seemed to shake his entire body left him unable to move for a full month.

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Would it hurt as much as Shavonne had felt then?

He wasn’t sure. Maybe it would hurt much more. Unlike Shavonne, who had minor external injuries, the man had suffered horrific external injuries that were almost unbearable to look at.

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Are there any painkillers? Without painkillers, even breathing would be torture… His thoughts chained one after another. He tried to comfort himself not to worry unnecessarily, but it didn’t work at all. Even banging his head against the pillow, pulling the blanket over his head, or curling up like a shrimp under the blanket didn’t quiet his worries.

By the time he made up his mind, it was already dawn. A sickly blue twilight, like the face of a dead person, was spreading beyond the blanket.

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He searched the supply room. He combed through it meticulously like searching for lice, but couldn’t find any painkillers. When he asked the manager, he said that painkillers were as expensive as three months’ salary for a warder, so they were only supplied when someone was sick.

“Is someone sick?”

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The guard’s voice was thoroughly gruff as he looked Shavonne up and down. Had rumors of Shavonne’s conflict with the guards already reached the manager guard’s ears? Shavonne, who had been thinking about this, quickly shook his head at the manager’s seemingly suspicious gaze. “No. No one is sick.”

That was true. The guards were all healthy, without exception. Not a single person had even caught a common cold, let alone been injured. But Shavonne wasn’t worried at all. Well. Why worry when you can make up a sick person if there isn’t one?

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Of course, he didn’t mean to hurt someone else. Everything had to be done within limits that Shavonne could handle. If he harmed others, he wouldn’t be able to keep within those limits. That meant that the only person Shavonne could harm was Shavonne himself.

Hoping for a bruise, he banged his toe against the door. Bang. When there was no change, he banged it hard again. Bang. He screamed involuntarily. He quickly checked his toe, half worried and half hopeful, but as expected, there was no injury.

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Hoping for a bump, he hit his head against the wall. Bang. When there was no change, he hit it hard again. Bang. His forehead tingled, but that was all. Whether his forehead was sturdy or what, there wasn’t even a single injury, let alone a bump.

Hoping to be covered in wounds, he punched his face. Thwack. His cheekbone stung. Thwack. His cheek hurt. Thwack. His jaw ached. He threw a punch towards his nose, but again, no wound appeared. Only a few drops of nosebleed fell.

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What should I do? At this rate, I won’t be able to get painkillers… Shavonne, who had been staring blankly at his bloodied self in the mirror, suddenly had a thought flash through his mind and ran to the supply room. When he returned, there was an object in Shavonne’s hand that hadn’t been there before. It was a baton.

Shavonne stood in front of the mirror. He looked at his face in the mirror, then at the baton, then back at his face. A deep breath caught in his throat and disappeared.

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Shavonne raised the baton. He struck.

Is all this really worth it?

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It was a thought that had persisted throughout. When he checked the purple bruise made by the baton in the mirror, when he asked for painkillers and was refused, when he received an unexpected bundle of onions instead of painkillers. And now. Even now, as he was visiting the solitary cell and offering onions to the man.

“Try eating this.”

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The man didn’t eat. He just huddled against the wall, shoulders hunched as if frightened. Even when he ate some himself to demonstrate that it was safe, he didn’t budge. Shavonne hesitated for a moment, then pushed a piece of onion through the gap in the man’s iron muzzle. “Take a bite,” he instructed, then immediately added, just in case, “Of the onion, I mean. Not my hand.”

The man’s eyes slowly turned towards Shavonne, three steps away. He hadn’t noticed from afar, but the man’s eyes were golden. Not the pale brown that is often mistaken for gold, but real gold. If someone were to sculpt irises out of gold, they would probably be that color.

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He remembered that the orphanage director had a gold brooch. He always kept it in his pocket without ever wearing it, but whenever he had time, he would always take it out and look at it. He didn’t touch it, didn’t polish it, just looked at it.

Doesn’t he ever get tired of it? How can he look at the brooch so carefully every time, and not just once or twice? He had thought that, but now he seemed to understand why. That golden color never got boring no matter how much you looked at it. Rather, the more you looked, the more you wanted to keep looking. The next moment, if Shavonne hadn’t been shocked by the man swallowing the onion without chewing, he would have been endlessly gazing into the man’s eyes.

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I’ll be back. Even after he said goodbye and left, he couldn’t stop thinking about the man’s eyes. He couldn’t understand why the man’s golden eyes wouldn’t leave his mind, unlike his body covered in wounds. Why? Shavonne, who had been tossing and turning all night with the blanket pulled over his head, concluded that he must be the type who likes gold.

But before he knew it, it wasn’t just the man’s golden eyes that wouldn’t leave his mind.

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― Hello?

At the greeting, a head lifted up as if he had been waiting.

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― You won’t even greet me?

At the complaint, his shoulders rose as if he had done something wrong.

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― Well then, hello to you too. I hope you’re doing well.

In response, the two hands hesitated, intertwining fingers nervously.

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The man’s entire body, sensitively reacting to each word of Shavonne, along with his golden eyes, remained deeply etched in his mind, refusing to fade. Contrary to his thinking that it would fade with time, it only became more vivid as days passed, showing no signs of improvement.

Only then did such a thought occur. Perhaps what he liked wasn’t gold after all.

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Shavonne decided not to wonder about what he liked. If it was an unbearable truth, it was better not to even harbor curiosity.

It was just pity. Not affection for family, not friendship for friends, not fondness for a lover, just pity. Shavonne repeated this fact over and over. If he didn’t, it felt like he would forget.

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He brought books. Out of pity.

He brought a typewriter and notebook too. Out of pity.

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He taught him the letters. Out of pity.

He gave him a name. Out of pity.

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He called him by that name. Out of pity.

But was it out of compassion that he dreamed of him leaving the penitentiary?

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Was it merely out of compassion that he dreamed of him escaping from a solitary cell no more than eight steps in width and length, to wander in a wider world, and dreamed of being by his side?

While unable to grasp the situation, the dream flowed aimlessly. Not knowing it would be a daydream that would disappear in less than a month, just like that.

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***

One day, the money of the orphanage director had been stolen three times. First 1 rona, then 3 ronas, and then 10 ronas.

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The culprit was Cedric, but the director beat Cedric in front of all the orphans. His butt became bloody from the beating, but no one dared to intervene. It was obvious they would end up the same if they did.

Only after Cedric lost consciousness from thirty minutes of continuous beating did the director put down the stick. Then, looking around at the orphans with pale faces, he said that anyone could deviate once. Even twice could happen. But, one shouldn’t do it three times.

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The longer the tail, the easier it is to get caught. That’s what the director had said.

In that sense, Shavonne had a long tail. Very long. What was meant to be just one visit became two, what was meant to be just two visits became three…, and so he visited the solitary cell every day without fail.

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If someone were to ask why he did such a foolish thing, he would answer that it was because of his eyes. His eyes were always wet while looking at Shavonne as he was about to return to the dormitory at roll call time. Seeing those eyes, he couldn’t help but promise, ‘I’ll be back.’

Then, on the way back from meeting him, someone suddenly blocked his path.

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“Where have you been?”

It was Vice Warden Burns. Shavonne slightly averted his eyes from the sharp gaze falling from above and answered.

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“I went to the bathroom for a moment…”

“For a moment?” Burns’ voice rose as if he had heard something insane. “Do you need an hour to go to the bathroom?”

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…Should I have made up something else? While quickly racking his brain for how to cover it up, Burns spoke first.

“You’ve been with the dog, haven’t you?”

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Thump. It felt like his heart had dropped. But he couldn’t show it, so Shavonne tried to feign innocence.

“What do you mean?”

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“Do you think we’re dumb? Did you think no one would know that you go out every time we sleep and come back before the night roll call?”

Shavonne then realized. ‘You’ve been with the dog, haven’t you?’ wasn’t a question. It was a confirmation to verify a fact already known.

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Burns already knew where Shavonne was going and who he was meeting. Perhaps, not just Burns, but all the guards he referred to as ‘we’.

A chill ran down his spine. There was no use telling the truth now. Far from being understood, he would only face more trouble for changing his statement. It was already overwhelming to deal with the current ones, let alone getting even more.

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If that’s the case, I’d rather…

“Mr. Burns, what exactly are you saying?”

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He continued to deny. Of course, the miracle of Burns backing down didn’t happen. Nor did the miracle of Burns doubting his own assertion and thinking, ‘Did I misunderstand?’. Burns simply said the following with a sneer,

“Fine, deny it all you want now. You won’t be able to do it anymore in the future, even if you want to.”

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Won’t be able to do it anymore in the future, even if he wants to. Shavonne blinked, not understanding. By the time he tried to ask the meaning of those words, Burns had already left his sight.

The meaning of those words became clear the next evening, in the Vice Warden’s office.

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“Are you Shavonne?”

The person who suddenly summoned Shavonne was a man with a rough face. The Vice Warden, was it? Shavonne had heard that he was someone who wouldn’t meet low-ranking guards like himself, let alone a guard in training, so he didn’t know why he had been summoned.

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Shavonne quietly studied the Vice Warden’s face. A reddish-purple complexion. He couldn’t tell if that was his natural complexion or if he was angry.

If he was excited, what could be the reason? Thinking this, Shavonne carefully opened his mouth.

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“Yes, that’s me. But I don’t know why you’ve called me…”

Shavonne always asked about the business first when meeting someone new. Everyone liked it because it saved time. The orphanage director who assigned cleaning tasks liked it, and the orphans who asked about how much he had left to clean liked it. The auditor who came to investigate the situation liked it, and the assemblyman who visited out of courtesy liked it. There were no exceptions. Except for one person, the Vice Warden right in front of him now.

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Before he could finish saying ‘But I don’t know why you’ve called me…’, he was grabbed by the collar and slammed to the floor. When he tried to get up, something hard struck his back. As if the impact traveled along his spine, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even twitch a finger or toe.

While he was groaning, it struck the back of his head again. Only when he saw the soil particles falling in front of his eyes did he realize. A boot. What was hitting Shavonne was none other than the Vice Warden’s boot.

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Counterattack was not allowed. Resistance was not allowed. The only thing left was to avoid it. The more he tried to avoid, the harsher the kicks became. Whether it was his face or body, nothing was spared. Once, he was kicked squarely in the eyelids, nose, and lips, causing him to fall face down with a silent scream. He had never thought he was particularly good at physical fights, but he never knew he would be beaten like this without being able to offer any resistance.

It was a beating that lasted a full five hours. After the beating ended, a fierce voice fell over Shavonne’s head as he lay helplessly sprawled. Due to his fading consciousness, he could barely understand, but the words dog, secret meeting, and violation were clearly heard.

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The Vice Warden grabbed Shavonne’s hair and yanked it to make him look at him. His reddish-purple face filled Shavonne’s vision.

“As soon as day breaks, I’m going to kick you out. You don’t have any objections, do you?”

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Before he could answer, his hair was released. Shavonne fell face-first onto the floor. His bruised nose hurt.

“Get out.”

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The Vice Warden jerked his chin towards the door. Shavonne barely managed to get up. Every time he exerted force, it felt like every muscle in his body was shattering, but he somehow gathered the belongings he had dropped during the beating and bowed slightly. “I’ll be going then.” His voice was so hoarse that even he found it unfamiliar.

After leaving the Vice Warden’s office, Shavonne didn’t go to the guards’ dormitory or Lewellyn’s solitary cell. He went to the bathroom that was always deserted due to its isolated location.

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In front of the mirror. Shavonne gripped the corner of the sink and glared at a point in the air. No matter how much he tried to calm himself, he just couldn’t.

They’re… kicking me out?

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Of course, it wasn’t an incomprehensible measure. Rather, it was appropriate. After all, Shavonne was someone who had violated the rules within the penitentiary.

But still…

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No, no. No matter how much I add ‘but still,’ reality won’t change.

His dismissal as a form of punishment was unavoidable. After being kicked out, Shavonne might end up wandering the streets as he did before, or he might starve to death, or freeze to death. However, more than all of these, what weighed on his mind was Lewellyn.

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If Shavonne is gone, who will clean Lewellyn’s wounds?

If Shavonne is gone, who will listen to Lewellyn’s words?

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If Shavonne is gone, who will read Lewellyn’s writing?

If Shavonne is gone, who will… ‘have compassion’ for Lewellyn?

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Shavonne dropped his head. It was already evening. A faint moon was rising beyond the window.

***

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He went to see Lewellyn.

Someone might ask why. Shavonne could give several answers. That he needed to say goodbye, or if Lewellyn didn’t understand the concept of ‘last,’ he would have to explain somehow, or that he needed to sort out the ‘compassion’ he had been holding for Lewellyn. But if he had to pick one, it was because he had promised, ‘I’ll come again.’

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Fortunately, there was no one watching Shavonne. Well, of course. No one would have imagined that Shavonne, who had been beaten flat for five hours for meeting Lewellyn without permission, would dare to visit Lewellyn that day.

He unlocked the padlock. At first, he had fumbled, not knowing how to pick it, but now he could do it with his eyes closed, he had become so skilled. Everything was familiar. A month. It was such a short time, a blink of an eye in the span of a lifetime, yet why had it become so easily familiar? A thought, whether regret or resentment, rose and slowly sank.

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He entered the solitary cell. As expected, Lewellyn couldn’t take his eyes off Shavonne’s battered face. Shavonne just avoided his gaze. Shavonne had no intention of explaining the situation. No, he shouldn’t. That was the last consideration Shavonne could give to Lewellyn, who would be left alone.

Telling the situation to Lewellyn who would be left alone, and not telling the situation. If he heard the situation, Lewellyn would know the truth. At the same time, he would gain sorrow. Furthermore, he might gain self-loathing, frustration, or guilt. If he didn’t hear the situation, Lewellyn wouldn’t know the truth. Perhaps he might resent Shavonne even more than not knowing the truth.

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Struggling in self-loathing, frustration, and guilt for a lifetime, or struggling in resentment. It was obvious which was better. The latter. At least with the latter, he wouldn’t have to hate himself.

There were already too many people who hated Lewellyn. He couldn’t let Lewellyn himself hate Lewellyn too.

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“Should I read you a book?”

Shavonne tried to speak cheerfully, as if nothing had happened.

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“What do you want to read? 《The Little Mermaid》? Or《The Steadfast Tin Soldier》? The words in ‘The Steadfast Tin Soldier’ are a bit easier…”

“Hurt.”

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His words were cut off. Shavonne stopped fiddling with his face and looked at Lewellyn. Hurt. Only then, after he had repeated it, did he ask a question.

“…Are you saying that you’re hurt?”

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Lewellyn remained silent. He hadn’t said he was hurt. He had said that it must hurt. Shavonne’s expression became strange. A weak laugh escaped through his teeth.

“Hah, why would you be hurt? I’m the one who got hit.”

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Laughing made his split lip ache. Lewellyn, who always laughed along when Shavonne laughed, didn’t this time. Lewellyn looked straight at Shavonne’s face and said,

“Hurt.”

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The smile faded from Shavonne’s lips. He could no longer laugh.

He brought books. Out of pity.

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He brought a typewriter and notebook too. Out of pity.

He taught him the letters. Out of pity.

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He gave him a name. Out of pity.

He called him by that name. Out of pity.

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But was it also out of pity that he dreamed of him leaving the penitentiary?

Was it just out of pity that he dreamed of him escaping from the solitary cell not even eight steps wide and long, to wander a wider world, and that he dreamed of being by his side?

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― Hurt.

After those words, was it also just out of pity that he kissed him?

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Tossing and turning all night, Shavonne struggled to remind himself, as he had done before, that it was just pity. Not affection for family, not friendship for a friend, not fondness for a lover, but just pity. If last time he had reminded himself for fear of forgetting that fact, this time it was because he felt like he would crumble if he didn’t. It felt like something holding Shavonne up, something very important, would collapse.

With his eyes tightly shut, he repeated to himself. It’s just pity. He’s not my family, not my friend, not my lover.

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He’s not.

He’s nothing to me.

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It was a long night with only a silent darkness.