1. The Meaning of a Name (12)
As we entered the deserted road, I came to a halt.
"Why... didn't you clarify?"
The old man, who had been walking ahead, also stopped and looked back.
"Clarify what?"
"People are misunderstanding me as your granddaughter. Why didn't you correct them?"
"Wasn't that why you followed me?"
His tone sounded almost mocking. A surge of emotion welled up inside me. So I raised my voice without realizing.
"No, I didn't!"
In the distance, a bird fluttered its wings. Trees thickly lined both sides of the road, and only the sound of wind brushing past could be heard on the deserted path. Tree shadows swayed gently. Within them, the old man also seemed to sway uneasily.
"I... I never wanted such a thing. Not even once."
No, that's not right. The one swaying is me. My voice, uttered anxiously, echoed back. The reverberating sound returned to pierce my ears. My fists, clenched tight without my noticing, trembled violently.
I couldn't say I'd never dreamed of rising in status, but that wasn't my purpose in choosing this now. I chose it because I needed it. If it hadn't been absolutely necessary for the path I must walk, I would never have desired it.
"I... said no..."
Suddenly, all of this felt miserable. Earlier, when people called me 'Miss,' I should have felt pleased, yet every time I heard that title, it felt like a heavy stone settling in my heart. This entire situation was overwhelming. The conscience remaining in one corner pricked at me incessantly. The path ahead would not allow me to be called 'Paula.' I would be remembered as someone else.
'I' would disappear forever from this world.
The old man's words endlessly constricted me. I looked down at the ground and let out a suffocating breath.
The old man's shoes appeared on the shadowed ground. When I glanced up slightly, he was watching me, leaning on his cane.
"How terribly troublesome."
Another reprimand. Surging with emotion again, I muttered an insincere apology with a hint of sarcasm and bowed my head deeply.
"Raise your head this instant!"
Startled by sudden pain, I involuntarily lifted my head. The old man struck his cane and shouted at me to straighten my back this time. I responded immediately, straightening my spine rigidly. Then the old man took my clenched fist and placed it on his forearm. I stared at him with wide eyes.
"Didn't you say you'd already decided, even if it meant being criticized? Where did that spirit go, the one that talked back so stubbornly?"
"Sir..."
"Don't waver. There's nothing to fear. In the end, it's just living. Whatever it may be, if you need it, just walk forward. Then someday you'll achieve it."
His indifferent, matter-of-fact comfort somehow struck a chord in my heart. The old man resumed walking. I awkwardly held onto his forearm as I followed along. Only the rhythmic tapping of the old man's cane echoed through the tree-lined path.
After finishing the walk and escorting the old man to his room, I returned to my own room and sat on the bed. Suddenly, I felt so exhausted. Pressing down my heavy eyelids, I untied the stifling cords of my dress, when suddenly a flower basket placed on top of the box caught my eye.
A flower basket too? Wondering, I approached and found it filled to the brim with vibrant, lush flowers. Just as I thought Ethan might have sent it, I noticed a letter tucked among the blossoms.
Casually, I took out the letter and tore open the envelope. But what was written on the paper inside was just a single short sentence. Moreover, it wasn't even Ethan's handwriting.
[I miss you.]
Seeing the final period pressed heavily into the paper, laughter burst from me involuntarily. It felt like he was complaining about why I hadn't sent any letters all this time. The straight yet sharp-ending handwriting reflected its sender's feelings. He had promised to write often but had been so preoccupied these past few days that he forgot. I could clearly picture his disgruntled face.
I rushed out of the room and headed straight for Emma. When I asked if she could get me paper, envelopes, ink, and a pen, she looked puzzled for a moment before soon preparing them for me. I sat at the desk placed in one corner of the room, spread out the paper, and dipped the nib into ink. Then I slowly wrote letters onto the paper.
[I miss you too.]
It felt insufficient. After some thought, I dipped the nib into the ink again.
[I miss you too! So much!]
On the final letters, I pressed down firmly with the ink to convey my feelings. Just as he had suppressed his emotions to write a single-line letter, I also held back all the things I wanted to say and wrote exactly two lines. He would probably grumble about what this was when he received my reply. Still, he would be happy. Imagining Vincent reading this letter, a foolish smile crept across my face.
The stone that had been pressing down on my heart all this time disappeared. And in its place, the excitement of being able to be with Vincent filled the void. My heart swelled with emotion.
I folded the letter neatly and placed it in the envelope. After sealing it with a stamp, I found myself wishing Vincent could see it soon. It was already late, so I'd send the letter first thing in the morning. Since it seemed to have been delivered through Ethan, I could ask him as well. If it were up to my heart, I would have gone to see him in person instead of sending a letter. I hugged the letter tightly in Vincent's stead.
Suddenly, I missed him so terribly.
***
I pondered a problem I had never properly confronted before. I feared it might already be too late, but I realized if not now, there would be no opportunity to think about it. I thought being with Vincent alone would be enough. But he wished for happiness even further beyond. To achieve that, Ethan presented a way to obtain a new identity. I thought I should accept it if it was necessary to be with everyone. After all, there's no situation that satisfies everyone completely.
But if that happens, what becomes of the woman named Paula?
Will she just disappear from this world forever?
Upon realizing that, I began to question whether this was truly the happiness I desired.
As always, I had my meals and passed the time by taking walks nearby. Though 'walk' was a generous term—I didn't go far like last time but merely lingered around the mansion—still, that alone relieved quite a bit of my stifling feelings. And before I knew it, the old man began accompanying me.
With so few people in this mansion, the time I spent with the old man naturally increased. After our uncomfortable conversation that day, I had avoided him out of awkwardness, but I soon realized there was nowhere to run. So I grew accustomed to being around him.
We'd share meals or walks, or I'd sit beside him and chatter away with stories he couldn't hear the answers to, or bring piles of books to read. There were quite a few readable books in this place. At first, the old man found my behavior bewildering and somewhat bothersome, but soon he grew accustomed to my presence. Spending time with him like that became part of my daily routine.
Last night, the old man had a seizure, leaving the mansion in commotion. Fortunately, we passed the critical moment, but the doctor said he needed rest for a full day. Emma, John, and I took turns watching over him. Thankfully, as time passed, color seemed to return to the old man's face.
I sat in the chair beside the bed, reading a book. When the old man opened his eyes midway and observed me, his dry lips moved.
"You seem accustomed to this."
I lifted my gaze from the book and looked at him.
"You mean attending to someone?"
"I mean taking care of a person."
At those words, I quietly blinked. Then I smiled faintly.
"I've had many times when people precious to me were ill."
The habit of caring for my younger siblings remained. So looking after the old man wasn't difficult either. The old man, who had been staring intently at me, exhaled hoarsely in rough breaths.
"Tell me about yourself."
"My story? It's not particularly interesting."
"That's fine. Tell me anything."
The old man showed a willingness to listen. Caught off guard by the sudden request, I couldn't easily begin speaking. I hadn't expected to hear him ask me to share my story, and I didn't have anything particular to say. So the old man calmly waited as I hesitated.
Finally, I slowly parted my lips.
"When I was young, there was a mountain behind our village. There..."
I told him about climbing the mountain behind the village in my childhood. It was a high place for a child to walk. So I toddled up with my short legs. Later, my second sibling followed, and on days when my fourth sibling felt a bit better, I brought them along. When I brought my fourth sibling, my third sibling grumbled about what we were doing but ended up trailing behind us. I couldn't bring the youngest because they were still a baby.
That was one of the rather few happy memories of my life. As I spoke, a small laugh escaped me. My young siblings were so endearing in those moments. I chattered on about the events of that day. The old man quietly listened to my rambling stories.
"You must have been close with your siblings."
"We were, for the most part, though there were siblings I wasn't close with."
A unpleasant memory surfaced. I shook my head and laughed.
"Well, everyone's like that, I suppose."
"Do you enjoy reading books?"
The topic shifted to the book in my hand. I nodded.
"Yes. I like it very much."
"I enjoy it too. When I was young, sitting alone in a place with no one and reading a book, the day always felt special."
"I think I understand that feeling."
It felt as though I had become the protagonist in a book. I loved that feeling, which made me fall even deeper into reading. I smiled and agreed with the old man's words.
"Have you thought about what I said?"
The old man suddenly brought up the uncomfortable topic. I erased the smile from my face and straightened my back.
"To be honest, I'm not sure. What would be best."
I thought he would say something if I gave a half-hearted answer, but contrary to my expectations, the old man said nothing. I looked at him curiously.
"You're not going to say anything?"
"What do you want me to say?"
It wasn't that, but... When I shook my head, the old man laughed softly. For the first time, the old man showed a smile. At the unfamiliar sight, my eyes widened.
Unaware of my gaze, the old man turned his body. Realizing he was trying to sit up, I propped a pillow behind his back. Leaning against the pillow, the old man gazed out the window. The clear sky was gradually staining red.
"When I heard the news that my only daughter had been in an accident, it felt as if my world had collapsed. I cursed the heavens, asking why they didn't take this old wretch instead and took my beautiful daughter away."
A heavy voice flowed out softly. I closed the book I was holding and listened attentively to the old man.
"The granddaughter in my daughter's womb became my entire life. Whenever I saw a face so like my daughter's, my heart ached, yet at the same time, I hated the child. Because if my daughter hadn't had my granddaughter in her womb, she could have lived. But my daughter wanted to save her child, and I had no choice but to grant my daughter's wish. I regretted it. So deeply."
Those words took my breath away.
"I hated my granddaughter who resembled my daughter. I couldn't even bear the sight of her. Born by devouring my daughter, her fretful wailing seemed like a protest against life itself. There was no love. Despite having such a worthless grandfather, from the moment my young granddaughter could toddle, she watched my moods and tried her utmost to show only her good side. I was a pathetic grandfather, and she was a kind child."
"I wouldn't even grant her request to go for a walk together, holding hands."
"......"
"When she asked to go see her mother, I would get angry. Telling her to know her place."
"......"
"I merely turned away as that small child withered alone in her room."
"......"
"Then she caught a cold, and her condition rapidly deteriorated. I thought it was just a simple cold, but it developed into pneumonia. A child with a frail body didn't have the strength to endure it. Only when I saw that child gasping as if she would breathe her last at any moment did I finally regret what I had done. By then, it was already too late."
The old man's face gradually became colored with regret. It was the same expression John and Emma had when they recalled Florence. A face filled with such profound pain.
"Even so, that small child gripped my hand tightly and called me 'Grandfather.' Her hand clasped in mine was so small and withered that I wanted to repent. But even my granddaughter couldn't wait for her wicked grandfather. Soon she followed her mother."
"......"
"Sometimes, when I recall that child sitting alone like this, it feels as though my heart is being torn apart."
Only then could I understand the nature of the guilt residing in the old man's heart. All along, he had wanted to apologize to his granddaughter for his past misdeeds.
"I didn't hold a funeral for my granddaughter. To keep her by my side forever, and so I would remember her for a long time."
The yellow light streaming into the room dyed the weary, aged face red. Death cast a deep shadow behind him. Many thoughts passed through him. Joyous memories, sorrowful memories, regrets that had long festered and finally formed pus. I realized that regret had remained in the old man's life as well.
"It was only after growing old that I realized my life had gone wrong. I still regret not being able to properly hold that one small hand."
The old man's face looked exhausted and weary. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to offer clumsy comfort. After hesitating for a moment, I gently covered the back of the old man's hand. And just as he had done for me before, I patted the wrinkled hand softly.
The old man looked at me.