Cassia’s Side Story
A man in his mid-thirties lay sprawled, his face haggard. Though barely past his youth, he was prepared for death.
“Dad! I’m home. I brought your medicine, so take it quickly.”
“…”
A young girl with a bright smile burst through the shop door.
My daughter.
His only daughter, the most beautiful girl in the world. The daughter his beloved wife had entrusted to him with her dying breath.
“Dad, here’s some water.”
He struggled to take the water from her.
It had gotten to the point where it was a struggle to even use the chamber pot he kept in the corner, but he wasn't so weak that he couldn't lift a cup. It was guilt that made his hand heavy.
“Drink it quickly. You’ll get better faster.”
His daughter urged him, pressing the medicine and water into his hand.
It had been more than half a year since he had fallen ill. Even so, this kind daughter hadn't abandoned her sick father.
How did she get this medicine? How could he keep accepting this medicine she acquired for his good-for-nothing body?
In the end, unable to resist his daughter's urging, he forced himself to swallow the medicine.
His daughter emptied the overflowing chamber pot and meticulously cleaned his body with a wet towel. It was a routine that was no longer embarrassing.
After tending to him, his daughter went back to manning the shop attached to their living space.
It was a shoe shop, but no customers came. No one wanted shoes made by a sick cobbler.
He knew his daughter pretended to watch the shop while she slept on a small cot she had brought in.
His daughter went out every night. She still seemed to think he was asleep, but he had known for a long time.
He chastised his useless, bedridden body, eaten by guilt, but nothing changed.
Did she work in a tavern? But what kind of tavern opened in the middle of the night?
Orville was a big city; there might be one. He, who had lived his entire life making shoes with no friends, was sure there were places he didn't know about.
He wanted to believe that.
He thought of his wife. She had died after being beaten by thugs in a back alley for refusing to give up their money.
He heard that she had died on the spot from a blow to the head and with her last breath, she had pleaded with the stranger who found her to take care of their daughter.
To a stranger, she had entrusted her last words.
I should be the one dead.
He had tried to take care of his daughter after she lost her mother, but he had fallen ill not long after.
His daughter hadn't cried once since he had become bedridden. The child who had cried so many times after her mother's death now hid her tears from him.
She was also hiding what she was doing from him.
“Dad, have some dinner and get some rest.”
It was dinner time again. Even though he did nothing, his useless body demanded two meals a day. Meals that were not worth the price she paid for them.
His daughter placed a bowl of porridge in front of him. He really didn't want to eat, but he knew his daughter would worry if he didn't.
He ate the porridge with trembling hands.
“I heard there’s a big uproar in the Conrad Kingdom in the south.”
His daughter told him stories she had picked up here and there every day, perhaps to keep him from getting bored.
“Eric de Yeriel? Something like that. Anyway, some prince is mobilizing troops to get rid of his half-siblings.”
He nodded silently.
“Just imagine, all because he’s losing his place in the line of succession! The nobles truly have no blood or tears. They’re still his siblings… Honestly.”
His daughter shook her head.
He wanted to say a few words to his daughter before he died.
“In the end, no one knows whether those siblings were killed or what, but that prince got his way and became the heir. To go that far for the throne...”
In the end, he couldn't bring himself to speak, and dinner ended in silence. He was afraid that if he spoke, he would end up blaming his daughter, questioning her, getting angry, or making her cry.
Night fell.
His daughter, pretending to be asleep, slipped out.
He pushed himself up with difficulty and shuffled towards a small stool.
The low ceiling. The place where he had spent his entire life making shoes and sleeping. The place where he had lived with his beloved wife and raised his beautiful daughter.
And now, the place where he would take his own life.
He fell from the stool several times trying to tie the noose, but he finally succeeded.
He lay down on his bed for a moment and took a deep breath.
He had woken up briefly at dawn.
He had heard his beloved daughter returning home. She had checked on him, then washed herself in the shop.
Through the narrow gap in the door, he had seen his daughter, his beloved daughter, repeatedly scrubbing her groin.
The noose hanging from the ceiling beckoned.
I should be the one dead.
He, a father unable to even move, had pushed his daughter into this abyss. He had shamelessly swallowed the medicine she had obtained for him.
What words could he possibly leave for her that would have any meaning? Advice from a man lying in bed, accepting food and medicine, and soiling himself, held no weight.
She’s doing this because of me!
When I die, she’ll stop.
She’ll find her own life.
She’s a bright girl. She’s smarter than I ever was.
Is this how I’m going to die? A coward? If only I could write, I would leave her a letter.
He quietly slipped his head into the noose.
Cassia… I’m sorry. Be happy. You have to… live a good life.
Even that doesn’t justify anything and I hope she doesn’t come across the main character anymore but I doubt it.
ReplyDelete