# 7
7. The Count's Damnably Crazy Master (7)
Though I was locked in a battle of wills with him for fear of being thrown out if I didn't do something, I honestly thought I'd be punished if caught. In my mind, it was a life-or-death gamble. So why? As I followed her in bewilderment, Isabella's voice flowed out.
'Paula, are you aware that quite a many servants have passed through this place?'
'Ah, yes. I've heard bits and pieces.'
'Given the circumstances, I tried to be even more thorough than usual in screening candidates and bringing them in carefully. But every person I brought in failed to properly attend to the Master. His condition only worsened. Still, I had to keep hiring, but then strange rumors started circulating secretly, making it even harder to recruit new people. Bringing in Paula, who hadn't even received proper training, and assigning her to this task—there was that reason as well.'
Then Isabella stopped walking and turned around. I stopped as well, still clutching my apron over my nose as I faced her. My eyes blinked through the gap of my slightly parted bangs.
'We can't keep replacing people every time, so it's time to change our approach.'
'Then...'
'As long as his body isn't harmed, I leave attending to him entirely in your hands. Do as you see fit.'
That was close to an implicit approval of my actions. Honestly, I never thought she'd turn a blind eye. How bad must the rumors have been?
Anyway, it was good for me. I had absolutely no intention of harming his body. If anything, I wanted to make him healthier. But that process was by no means easy.
He would freak out if anyone touched his body, shoving them away and throwing things while yelling to get out. Breaking and hurling everything he got his hands on left neither the floor nor the furniture intact. Moreover, when he ran out of things to throw, he would scream at the top of his lungs or, unable to contain his temper, try to scratch his own neck and chest hard enough to tear the skin. I'd broken into a sweat many times trying to stop him.
At this point, it was a matter of who would wear out first.
Then when night fell, groans would seep through the thin walls. Sounds of resistance, weeping in pain. My light sleeping meant I woke even at those faint sounds. Listening to that voice that seemed ready to extinguish at any moment, I'd find myself opening my eyes and staring blankly into the darkness. The sleep that had fled did not easily return.
He was fighting.
With death.
Thinking that gave rise to a strange sense of kinship.
Faintly and persistently, even one more day. That was how I wanted to live. While some people in this hellish existence wanted to close their eyes sooner, I was not one of them.
I wanted to live. There was a time I desperately wished for death, but now I wanted to live. Even if it was a hellish life, choosing death would be cowardly. I didn't care if people pointed fingers at me for looking strange, or cursed me for being dirty. I wanted to survive even if it meant bowing my head and bending my body.
People called someone like me a stubborn wretch. I was fine being called that.
Even if by chance I caught the eye of an old gentleman passing by and ended up entering the prestigious Count's household as a maid, and the Master I came to serve was blind and had a personality far more damnably crazy than imaginable.
When I entered Vincent's room, things flew at me as expected. A cup that swept past to the right smashed against the door with a crash. A clock that swept past to the left hit the wall and rolled on the floor. Not to be outdone, a pillow flew and struck my face directly before falling. The impact sent the silver tray I was holding tumbling forward. The dessert piled on top spilling everywhere was something I had foreseen.
Watching him throw every fit imaginable today with detachment, I pondered what to do in my head. Advance and retreat. First I bent down to wipe up the mashed dessert that had fallen on the floor. Immediately another pillow flew and hit my face.
The moment the pillow dropped, I made up my mind. I had to say something, even if just a word.
So as I was getting up, I heard a suppressed groan. Vincent was curling up. The venom from moments ago had vanished.
No, his state was strange.
"Master!"
Vincent was clutching his chest and gasping for breath.
Seeing his pale face, I immediately rummaged through my apron pocket. Then I took out a small device and put it between his lips. When I pressed the protruding part on top, he barely managed to start breathing.
While attending to him lately, I had experienced various alarming situations. One of them was when he suddenly couldn't breathe, like now.
The first time I experienced this, I was so panicked I ran straight to get Isabella. When I told her about Vincent's condition, she immediately called the physician. It turned out there was a personal physician living here exclusively for the Master.
The physician examined Vincent, who was clutching his chest in agony, and immediately administered treatment. He put a small device in his mouth just like I did now. Then he pressed down on the protruding part at the top and helped him breathe, and Vincent soon stabilized.
When I asked the departing doctor what it was, he said it was a breathing assist device.
'I'll prepare an extra one for you. Keep it on hand at all times.'
This small device, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, had saved him.
According to the physician, being unable to see put his nerves on edge, fatigue had accumulated accordingly, and with not eating proper meals or going outside, his body had become considerably weakened. That made him more susceptible to illness as well.
To overcome this, he needed to eat regular meals, go outside to get some sunlight, and do at least light exercise, but Vincent remained holed up in his room. It would be one thing if he at least took his medicine properly, but he refused to do even that and just endured.
Like someone trying to die.
What's so bad about not being able to see? But when I imagined myself unable to see, it was terrifying. How horrifying would it be to live relying solely on sounds in a space of pure darkness?
Of course, you could feel things by groping with your hands, smell scents, and still have your sense of taste. But none of that could overcome the terror of not being able to see. Moreover, he had nearly died. That fear must be beyond what I could imagine.
Still, don't die.
It wasn't pity. I simply didn't want to clean up the corpse of the Master I was attending.
But I knew. Every night he was thrashing about, fighting to live.
Now that he was finally breathing on his own, I removed the breathing device from his mouth. I put it back in my pocket and observed his condition as he lay on the bed. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his bloodless face looked exhausted. Still, his breathing was steadier than before.
When I tried to wipe away the cold sweat, he sharply swatted my hand away. Though his eyes were directed at the ceiling, his furrowed brow revealed his displeasure.
"Don't touch me."
"Seeing that you can speak, you must be feeling better."
"I'd feel even better if only you weren't here."
That mouth of his, honestly.
"You must enjoy suffering in pain."
"Get lost."
"Please have your meal."
Instead of the dropped dessert, I had brought breakfast. As always, a white gruel thin as water. Holding the bowl of gruel in one hand and a spoon in the other, I approached him. I decided not to show my face painted with resolve.
"Get a—hack!"
"Yes, yes."
I expertly grabbed his face as he tried to dodge my touch and scooped up gruel to put in his mouth. I would have liked to insert my fingers to hold him in place, but I couldn't. Last time I put my fingers in, I nearly lost them to his teeth.
I wanted to feed him calmly, but his resistance was so fierce that before I knew it, I was pouring the bowl directly into his mouth. The gruel that didn't enter his mouth spilled down, making the sheets a mess. His face and neck were also covered in gruel, creating a disaster.
"No, mmph, na, ack!"
"Just a little more."
"Le, go, let... let go!"
Unable to endure any longer, he kicked me with his foot. Focused on feeding him the gruel, I couldn't resist the sudden force and fell backward. We'd been struggling near the edge of the bed, so I dropped straight to the floor.
"Ugh."
Ouch! I grabbed the back of my head that had hit the floor and groaned. My vision blurred. The bowl that had fallen beside my face spun round and round before stopping.
The gruel had splashed from the floor to the bed, creating a white trail. His clothes were also messily stained with gruel. Nevertheless, he pulled the sheet over himself. The gruel on his cheek pattered onto the sheet.
How am I going to wash that? A sigh escaped me at the struggle that would ensue.
"You're crazy."
"The sheets are dirty. Your clothes too. It'd be better to change into new ones."
Holding the empty bowl, I looked for the spoon but couldn't see where it had fallen. Eventually I gave up and brought fresh sheets and sleepwear. His personality was so damnably crazy that I'd realized it was better to do everything at once rather than in sequence, so I had prepared them together.
"Don't touch my body."
"If you change yourself, I won't touch you."
After a moment's hesitation, I thrust the new sleepwear at him. He pressed himself against the wall and watched me warily. I shook the sleepwear back and forth, but when he refused to take it, I finally climbed onto the bed to force him to change, and he snatched it from me quickly.
For some reason, he quietly tried to change clothes, so I swiftly brought a small basin filled with lukewarm water. Since he refused to bathe, it was to soak a towel and wipe his body.
"Wait a moment."
When I tried to stop him from changing clothes while still in his dirty state, he sharply swatted my hand away. It made a loud slapping sound. Vincent then glared fiercely, but I wasn't particularly startled. This too was a familiar action.
"If you change as you are, it'll still be dirty. Wipe yourself with this first, then change."
I placed the wet towel in his hand. He hesitated for a moment, and when I said I'd wipe him myself then, he finally started wiping his own face.
But the towel only wiped the wrong places. Even when I corrected him, he only made a show of wiping perfunctorily.
I ended up snatching the wet towel and wiping the gruel-stained parts myself. He immediately pulled back. But there was nowhere to escape. I silently wiped the gruel from his face, neck, and hair, then got off the bed.
I needed to change the bedsheets too, so I glanced at him, but he showed no signs of moving aside. After stealing a few glances, I yanked the sheet hard. Even sensing my intention for him to move, he feigned ignorance and didn't budge.
In the end, a contest of strength ensued between me trying to strip it and him resisting. Then in one instant, the sheet slipped free. Thanks to that, I fell backward and smashed the back of my head on the floor for the second time.