Building a Campfire
She built a campfire.
"Is this how you do it…?"
She set charcoal in the middle.
"It's not the charcoal we used back in Edelon, but the scent is nice enough."
Beside it she raised a little wall of stone so the clams could roast properly. The stones were broad and flat enough, yet still uneven; the whole contraption looked none too stable. Aria murmured under her breath, caught in a strange, wistful mood.
"Bricks would have been better…"
The mermaid compared the fire before her with the one from her childhood memories, then looked down at her own hands, blackened with charcoal dust.
"……"
A long moment passed before she spoke again.
"…It's different from back then."
Preparing a campfire with that tiny body had been so hard.
"I always think of the old days, of course—but feeling this peaceful is an entirely unfamiliar experience."
Suddenly Aria was seized by the delusion that she must be dreaming. The cold-blooded sage. The incarnation of the sea. Judge of every saltwater creature. Master of the world called the Abyss and of its great game board—there was no reason such a being would ever again kindle a small, shabby campfire like this.
And yet here she was, repeating the gentlest act of her life with these blood-soaked hands…
"It doesn't feel real at all."
She had never even imagined it possible. There had been no reason to.
"It feels strange, somehow."
Perhaps all of this was nothing more than a dream spun by a single mermaid who had never managed to erase her old habits and had simply fallen into a long sleep. She had dreamed such things before; it wasn't so very strange.
Watching the wavering flames, Aria murmured at last,
"Well… I suppose it doesn't matter…"
She made no hasty attempt to separate truth from falsehood in the present situation. For Aria—who had never valued illusions and had always faced reality alone—it was an uncharacteristic choice. Yet if this was a dream, then the delusion was worth savoring simply as delusion.
"Ji-oh."
Trailing the hem of a dress that did not belong in a place like this, Aria headed for the cabin kitchen.
"The place for roasting clams is ready. We only need to set the wire rack on top."
"I've finished all the prep as well. The stew is nearly done too."
"Then we mean to eat outdoors?"
"There's a campfire, and the weather is fine. Wouldn't that be far more enjoyable?"
"You are right."
There had been so many days like this. They would go to the noisy marketplace together, choose whatever ingredients caught their fancy that day, and Ji-oh would cook the things that pleased the young merfolk. He had been the only adult in that little house—and its only cook.
Aria and Iser would stand beside him, looking up at their tall teacher, learning human wisdom or chattering nonsense. An untidy, lively atmosphere. And when that happened, their teacher would always ask for help.
"Aria, would you give me a hand as well? Teacher's hands aren't enough…"
"Give me the clams."
Receiving the tray heaped with cleaned shellfish from Ji-oh, Aria continued,
"This has always been my job."
Grilled clams had always been Aria's responsibility.
"I'll roast them properly, so don't worry."
"It's reassuring to have you, Aria."
"…Is it?"
"I'll look forward to delicious grilled clams."
"……"
Aria's lips moved as if to speak, then she simply turned and went back outside.
The Aria of those days had been frail and physically weak, yet even more full of greed. Ji-oh's cooking had seemed to her the very essence of human wisdom, and she had demanded a role of her own with childish stubbornness.
I tried so hard back then to get the campfire job from Teacher as well. Even when I was helping with the cooking, he never let me do anything that might hurt me…
It had felt as though he did not trust her competence, and she had sulked over it. Giovanni had insisted on taking every dangerous task, large or small, upon himself. It had looked like proof of distrust.
Only after he died did she understand. Teacher had simply cherished his young mermaid students too much to let them be hurt. That had nothing to do with trust.
"……"
The little mermaid who had not known that had eventually claimed even the campfire-lighting duty for herself.
"Funny."
The fact that such a ridiculous role still remained left her feeling strangely buoyant, as if she had floated free of reality. An unfamiliar sensation. She had never abandoned the task herself, yet she had never imagined she would take it up again even after death…
"……"
"Kkuu?"
"…I told you not to act familiar, Sir Gentleman."
"Kkukkukku."
"Does none of this bother you at all?"
The teddy bear sitting by the campfire and clapping its paws looked thoroughly insignificant. Her tone was flat, without particular feeling, yet the heart with which Aria regarded the faded, worn-out doll was anything but calm.
"Truly nothing at all?"
Aria had covered the sun with the sea.
"I put a great deal of effort into it. I hated the sun so much I drowned every one of your children. I didn't even dare touch Ji-oh after he had melted like water…"
"……"
"Yes. I lacked courage. Feeling anger for the first time in my life, I was not in my right mind—I might have destroyed his remains in some fashion or other—so I was only careful."
"……"
"It was you who lost your warmth to the thrashing of a mere mermaid who could not even live on land, you who lost every child… and yet seeing you so serene now is so absurd it becomes ridiculous."
Everything was like that.
"Why is everything so peaceful?"
This forest, its master Ji-oh, the insignificant creatures and the vast beings he kept beside him like family in a children's game—all of them were simply, helplessly peaceful.
Aria looked down at the soft doll that stably contained a colossal rank of being.
"Do you not resent me?"
"Kkuu."
"This is why the race of gods is so revolting."
One should never expect emotion or exchange from them. A priest offering sacrifice to a god was nearly the only way a human could communicate with the divine. One could not converse with a god, could not face one, could neither understand nor exchange feelings. Therefore a god would never bother to resent a mere mermaid either.
"You're even emptier than a monster like me."
And yet they spoke of mercy and love—how mismatched a lot they were.
"Harassing the sun isn't something just anyone can do. Can't you give me a reaction worth the effort? Sorrow, resentment, irritation… there are plenty of options."
"Kkukkukku…"
"Are you laughing?"
It was irritating.
"……"
Though the quality of it was quite different from her noble younger brother's, Aria nevertheless kept a gentlemanly smile as she murmured,
"I never resented you either."
It was the truth. The clever mermaid had known precisely who was at fault. Fools blinded by greed and honor had caused the disaster; she, her brother, and Giovanni had merely been unlucky enough to be caught in it. If there was anger, its object could only have been the nature of humans, so easily corrupted and so ready to betray.
"That world was simply too terrible."
No human had ever shown eternity. Even she, who had herself been transformed into rage, had loathed it.
"It was something I could only endure if the sea covered everything, all the way to the sky…"
That was why.
"……"
"Yes, Father."
It was a fact she had learned only much later, even as a mermaid.
"The Sun God and the Abyssal God were once one body, weren't they? In the end you were my father as well."
"Kkuukku."
"Or rather, since you are a divided existence, perhaps I should call you Uncle. What would you prefer I call you?"
"Kkukku."
"Uncle? Heavens, how creepy. I was only joking."
It was a disgustingly peaceful word.
"At this point even I am losing my mind."
It was a rare occurrence. In a lifetime spent in perfect clarity of mind, she had been thrown into confusion only twice: the first time when Ji-oh had taken Aria's side rather than humanity's, and the second when she had confirmed Ji-oh's corpse, unrecognizable even in form. And now, in this dreamlike situation, Aria was once again falling into confusion.
"I don't think I belong here…"
A scornful laugh escaped her of its own accord.
"……"
The spring breeze was soft as it brushed past.
"…How ticklish of you."
"Aria, is everything ready?"
"Yes."
This place was the belly of their gentle teacher. That knowledge felt a little distant, almost dizzying.
"How is it?"
"It's cooked through nicely."
After tasting the stew, Ji-oh continued,
"A little bland for my palate, though."
"Teacher always liked spicy things…"
"I simply eat them without complaint—calling it 'like' would be rather embarrassing."
The tomatoes he had used this time were far sweeter than usual, leaving a flat note. Ji-oh took a dried Galaxy Mary from the cupboard, ground it finely, and sprinkled it over a portion of stew he had ladled out.
"Perfect."
It was moderately spicy, moderately sharp. There was a nutty sweetness, the salty depth that had leached from the aged ham, and a refined bitterness from the vegetable stock drawn out of carrots and other produce.
"Ah."
Rustle.
Clink, clink.
Crunch…
"Looks like they like it."
Whether because the Galaxy Mary glittered or because it, too, was a fruit of sorts, several water birds that had flown over from the nest discreetly pilfered a few berries. Ji-oh turned a blind eye to his friends' petty theft.
They're cute, so it's fine.
As long as they didn't steal at anyone else's house. He patted the water birds that splashed their greetings and spoke again.
"I was a little worried since it's been so long since I made it, but the stew turned out quite satisfying."
"You haven't made any in the meantime? You enjoy cooking, Teacher."
"I was dead, so not particularly…?"
After all, Giovanni had only recently been overlaid upon Seo Ji-oh.
"……"
"That was a thoughtless remark, Iser. Soften your expression."
"No, it is I who…"
"Please calm yourself."
There was a brief stir, but in any case the stew truly was satisfying.
"I like that there are clams in it, and I also like that there's meat. Iser, do you still prefer the seafood version?"
"…I no longer have much that could be called appetite, so it is hard to say, but yes. If I must choose, the seafood side still feels far more familiar."
"You say you have no appetite, yet you ate a tomato the size of a pumpkin without trouble."
"That was…"
After a moment of serious consideration, Iser answered brazenly,
"The tomato was delicious."
"I grew it."
"As expected of Teacher."
"Right."
Regardless of the merfolk's general preferences, Ji-oh himself preferred the version with meat a little more.
When we lived in the village, meat was definitely hard to come by.
It had been a seaside village, so meat cost far more than seafood. Even as a noble, he had been the unsupported youngest son, and whatever he had he spent on medical tools or donated entirely, so he had never lived in luxury. Meat like this was quite welcome.
The sausage filling, casing removed, had grown nicely tender after simmering in the stew; if he cooked it longer at a lower temperature, the texture would become even softer.
"The dried meat stays firm, as expected of dried meat."
"I rather like it that way myself…"
"Well then, I think we're ready for dinner."
With Iser's help, Ji-oh carried the two large pots out to the yard. Someone had already prepared suitable wooden chairs and a table from somewhere, and the atmosphere brightened at once.
"There we go."
The stew pots settled beside the campfire.
"Let's eat."
"Kkuruk."
"Honey, do not think about climbing into the pot."
"Kkung kkung kkung…"
"I have no intention of drinking water steeped with you."
Ji-oh scooped up stew—Honey and all—after the bird had plopped into the pot, and set the bowl near the fire. Honey, still sitting in the bowl, began absorbing the stew. So thoroughly had it soaked that it became impossible to tell where stew ended and Honey began.
"Dana, don't steal Oppa's stew—eat your own fresh portion."
"Meung-mang-mang-mang-mang-mang…"
"Good girl."
Dana, who had been sniffing at Honey's melted bowl, trotted over with springy steps at Ji-oh's call and settled in front of her own dish. The stew seemed to suit both animals' tastes; the amount was gradually diminishing.
"If anyone wants more flavor, I'll leave the pepper here—add it yourselves."
He set the finely ground Galaxy Mary on the table. Aria tilted her head.
"Pepper?"
"Yes, pepper."
"Isn't it completely different?"
"The taste is similar."
"It is edible, I trust?"
"Surely you don't think I would recommend something inedible."
"……"
"Aria?"
After a brief silence Aria nodded.
"You never used to play tricks with food, but…"
"Why are you saying something so obvious with such gravity?"
"Sometimes Teacher's actions are impossible to predict."
And it was not because of Ji-oh's lively charm that she felt uneasy.
It doesn't look like a simple ingredient.
Not that it seemed inedible—rather, the aura it gave off suggested a precious medicinal herb more than something to be used so casually. In some dimensions they would have called a thing like this an elixir of immortality.
"…You really do find the strangest things."
"They grow all over the forest."
"Ah, all over?"
"Is that a problem?"
"……"
Aria looked around, then shook her head.
"No. What problem could there be."
It was a world filled with things precious enough to make greedy, petty humans—whose very nature was neither generous nor free of greed—lose their minds. If just anyone could come and go here, problems would certainly arise. Yet even humans, whose evolution had no upper limit, would never be able to crawl into this terrifying dimension on vulgar desire alone.
Unless it is greed close to conviction, they won't even be able to approach this dimension. Just imagining humans coveting Teacher's nest makes me nauseous… but it will almost never come to pass.
Aria calculated the possibility that Giovanni might once again be persecuted by humans, and accepted the stew her teacher ladled out for her. The wooden bowl was truly warm. Warmth spread through her fingertips where she held it, and a faint ticklishness blossomed like a sprout.
"……"
"It's a seafood stew—is that all right?"
"Yes. I prefer this over the meat version."
An appetite-whetting aroma rose. She had not thought herself particularly hungry, yet the sharp, characteristic scent of tomato stew made her stomach feel hollow. She wanted to fill that emptiness completely with the stew before her. The simple desire to eat something was truly something she had not felt in a very long time. Her complicated thoughts began to loosen gently.
…Strangely, even when Ji-oh's cooking is strongly scented, I never dislike it. My sense of preference has grown faint now, yet still… why is that…
The soft clink of utensils that held just enough gentle warmth to warm one's fingertips. That peaceful, humble murmur tickled her heart with an almost eerie carefulness.
Is it because I've returned home?
Strictly speaking this place was not even the deep sea, and therefore not home—yet because Giovanni was here she felt a strange homesickness and atmosphere. It was a sensation difficult to define. Even while belonging to the place, she felt as if she stood a step apart; even while sharing the time, it felt empty and ungraspable, and therefore longed for. The emotion was truly unfamiliar—something she had never felt even in that deep, dark sea.
…This person would not have forgiven us. And yet he bestows such kindness. To say it is because divinity twisted him… Giovanni was always this strange to begin with.
The unfamiliar sensation was so vivid she had to clench and unclench her hands several times.
"……"
It felt as though she should not be this comfortable. She had grown so terrifyingly listless that she could not leave this serene air.
(To be continued)