Chapter 17

Draft

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You brought back a new cup, it's made of stainless steel so it won't break if it's hit hard. You also bought a wool cup cover, just the right size to keep the stainless steel cup from getting hot. It's a leftover item from a Christmas sale, a reindeer with an oversized red nose was woven to it.

Lemuel held the cup and rubbed his hands, his claws dragged on the cup and sometimes caught the wool. You think it's cute and always stare, at first he looks back in confusion, then he ignores you¹. Lemuel has given up trying to understand you, he seems convinced that you're ill, even after you showed him your medical report.

In one spring evening, you were awakened again by movement in the living room.

You walk into the living room, Lemuel isn't lying on the sofa, he's leaning on the window and looking out. You just realize that the movement you just heard wasn't because of a nightmare, but the sound of him getting up and opening the window. You walk into the living room in a conditioned reflex, but you can't execute the rest of the steps [push him to wake him up - sit for ten minutes], which left you standing there for a while. You wonder if you should go back.

Lemuel seems a little surprised seeing you, but he didn't stop. He continues drawing a cigarette from the pack, put it in his mouth, and light it with a lighter. With a click, the flames rise and fall, leaving behind little sparks that remain in the dark night, drawing an arc in Lemuel's hand, like a firefly flying around his fingers.

He doesn't say anything, so you walk over.

You sit in that chair, which is a few meters from the sofa and less than a meter from the window. You can clearly see the fire reflected in Lemuel's eyes, the smoke goes on and off with his movements, but it's not enough to illumate his face. It's early in the morning, and still far from dawn. The dim light from outside only deepens Lemuel's outline. You sit in the dark and somehow feel safe.

You know the dark isn't safe, the vision of demons at night were much better than that of a human's, and every cleric knows that they should always ensure its bright enough at night. But knowing is one thing, feeling is another. Perhaps it was the lights that reminded you of the flames in the fireplace. That year, all means of transportation were paralyzed due to the snowstorm, you couldn't be transferred to another battlefield immediately.

You could only borrow a residential house, and you were stuck to the warm fire for half the winter. You never saw any demons in those ten days. The old lady who lived in the house knitted a scarf for you. She sits in the rocking chair, the fire reflected in her dim eyes, when the adults weren't around she would hang the scarf around your neck to determine how long she needed to knit it. The scarf was very warm.

But you didn't get that scarf, anything you have to handle needs to be scrutinized for any malicious intent, or even just careless manufacturing that could cause you damage. In any case, the Holy See prepares only the most suitable for you.

"We were still at Northumberland this time last year," Lemuel said. "It has the best wind when beating the demons in cold weather. Those things don't adapt well to the temperature on Earth fortunately, we were able to push them all the way back to their hometown." Once he took the initiative to talk about his past, you suddenly snapped back from your distraction and listened with a bated breath.

"In theory, it shouldn't have been our job, the Crusaders are responsible for 'going to hell', but no one can predict what'll happen on the battlefield. Those who stick to the rules die." Lemuel say calmly, "Anyway, we were accidentally bombarded with a newly opened gate of hell, there were as many demons as there were cockroaches in a basement. We could either dance up and down with them or wait to be torn up, so I told the chaplain to shut it and took my men down there with me. It was so fucking hot, seven people died."

Hell is very hot, like a crater, it's difficult for humans to survive in it for long periods of time, let alone fight. The reason for going to hell. Even now, ordinary chaplains cannot protect themselves once descended, let alone others like the clergymen of the Crusaders.

"There was a huge tortoise shell under there- or something like a tortoise shell, you can still survive if you hide in it. Those little rabbits were scorching hot and trashy snacks. We moved back and forth a dozen times, met a group of thirty or so men, and then the ground caught fire." Lemuel hold the cigarette in his mouth, his words are slurred, "The fire burned for more than ten minutes, and when it was finished, I went back and the place we'd been in looked like it just had a brabeque party. It was so fierce that the people who were still there became overcooked along with their rations, the canned goods had all been blown up, and meat and vegetables were all over the place. If a demon had come, they'd be happy enough to die, the dishes have all set up."

He stopped and said no more.

You think of what you should say, you say: "Please don't swear."

Lemuel gave you a silent look and puffed out cigarette smoke in your face.

The smoke spreads through the air and hits your face. You don't smoke, no one had smoked in front of you, but you don't cough. You've inhaled a lot of gunpowder smoke, this kind of smoke smell isn't a problem. Your expression doesn't change amongst the smoke, and Lemuel clicks his tongue as if disappointed.

"And then?" You ask cooperatively.

"Afterwards, we went up." Lemuel continued, "They were lucky, they didn't encounter demons, and thirty or so people were still alive."

You notice that he didn't say "us", he said "them".

"They said that they're fortunate and thanked me for saving their lives. Later on..." Lemuel mutters vaguely, "They said 'Sure enough', no one can go in hell and live. I'm a demon and maybe I wanted to take them to hell on purpose, all those dead soldiers had been given to my accomplices as snacks. So it was my bad luck and their good luck that I happened to save a group of bastards."

Lemuel sneers.

Oddly enough, aside from the snarky taunts, he looked genuinely amused. The story ends as comically as those soldiers burned alive in hell to be the demon's side dishes.

If you had known human storytelling better, you would probably better understand some of the reasons why Lemuel wasn't popular. He has a pungent and cruel sense of humour, and is strong enough to afford being strict with others. Stubborn and arbitrary, he'd probably be a nasty tyrant to those under him, even if he acts to protect them and save their lives.

"Do you regret saving them?" You ask.

Lemuel is silent for a while before saying: "no".

"It's my job to save them," He says.

"What if you knew what would happen later?" You ask again.

"Then I'll retire early and take on a loan to force Maria and Fern to move." He says angrily.

"You didn't answer me." You ask persistently, "If you knew what they'd do in the future, would you still save them?"

"I'll save them from another group." Lemuel says a little irritably, "When they went down at that time they had forty or fifty people, and they'll always be my soldiers... What the hell do you want to hear?"

You don't know what you want to hear, but he's already given you an answer.

What would you do if you were him?

You'll probably save them too and explain before letting them down, reassuring them after taking them back up. Even if the wasted time caused more casualties, once you've take on the responsibility of saving them, you'll save them completely. You'll save the dead and show a sad expression. Just by listening to Lemuel's retelling, you could already pinpoint a lot of "incorrect" and "unfinished" processes. If you were him, you'd never be so bareboned. You know what to do with the men, even if you have no compassion for those people.

Soldiers die on the battlefield, what's there to pity? What's so pitiful? Firewood is burned in the furnace. People always die, it doesn't matter when or where.

But Lemuel, even after being raped by his comrades and subordinates, still calls them "my people". He talks about his soldiers with an unconscious intimacy, and you feel acutely that this officer who scoffs at the rules and thinks that the only ones who stick to the rules are dead men has motives different from yours. They weren't out of duty.

Does this further prove that rules are more important?

Yes, even if there was no such thing as awakening, a well-loved priest will be far more successful than an officer who was treated that way after an accident. However, you just feel that Lemuel's better, you don't know why.

"Forget it, I don't want to understand you." Lemuel says to himself, shaking his head, "God knows what you want with me, are you writing an observation documentary?"

He looks out the window again, The outstretched finger flicked, shaking off a long piece of soot to the ground. Silence returnes to you again, this time it doesn't make you comfortable. Lemuel has told you a story, and you think you should pay him back. What were you doing this day last year? You can't remember, maybe it's because every day is so similar.

"That tortoise shell," You say after thinking about it, "Is the shell of the red elephant tortoise. They live in places in hell where the temperature is relatively low, they belong to the class of perennial herbs..."

"Herbs?!" Lemuel say in surprise.

"Yes, it's one of the carnivorous plants unique to hell." You continue, "What you've met was the shell that remained after the natural death of a red elephant tortoise. If it was still alive, there'll be more than ten vines inside the shell, it will capture passing creatures, but its vines don't have the strength of its husk. Hitting that junction when it stretches, using a prayer or bazooka, can make it give up prey."

"I'm starting to think thay you're talking nonsense." Lemuel speaks, "You're talking like you've seen it with your own eyes."

"I have." You clarify, "Red elephant tortoise is a relatively common hell plant."

Lemuel glares at you like you've said something inappropriate. The cigarette burns his hand, he puts it out hastily and you hand him an ashtray.

"Yeah, reversing a smashed skull, I've never meet a chaplain who can do that." He whispers, "Clergy of the Crusaders? You're so young, how could they let you fight in the army?"

"God's will," You say.

"What?" Lemuel asks.

"It's God's will," You say solemnly, "God has directed my way."

Lemuel is speechless, you look at each other for a moment, and he sighs.

"Keep talking about that red tortoise," He says.

You're glad he understands.

You explain to him the living habits of red elephant tortoises, from their position in the ecological chain of hell, to how to kill them, to their practical value and so on. Lemuel's face is blank at first, and then he begins to look a little interested. You're happy about that. This is your rare area of expertise, and you have a lot to say. You talk like this for most of the night, until the east skies turned bright and the sun rose.

In the second half of that night, you were the one doing all the talking. You talk about red elephant tortoises to ordinary demons, from the most common to the higher-level varieties. Lemuel held his chin and listened to you, sometimes showing surprise. You mentioned that the scientific name of a monster that lives in lava is "Holy Delicious Shrimp", because it has a script-like pattern on its shell and is delicious. Lemuel burst out laughing at this.

That was the first time you saw him laugh like that, not bitter, not sarcastic, not malicious. His laughter resonated in his chest, and that sounded... warm? His laughter drove away the cold, heavy air for a moment, like a torch being waved in the air. You thought it was incredible, like seeing a fire rekindle on damp, rotting wood.

You suddenly understand why you've bought Lemuel in the first place.

Even as he charged for the butcher's knife, there was a fiery power about him. Lemuel's that kind of person, he swings the bottle over his father, he leads an army to face their death, he becomes the devil and survives², he leaps on the butcher's knife, he bites the gun, he laughs... he won't just disappeared without a sound. When the flames go out, the sparks would make a final jump, tearing the dark night apart.

Your hands are cold and numb, and you don't know the shape of anything you've touched. You want to touch this flame, even if you'll get burned, the pain will be a very precious experience for you.

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Notes:

1- Orginal was goes with you

2- Not sure about this

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PastTimer: It's raining and my cat has brought a rat inside my room