Chapter 19 | Extra Chapter From Lemuel's Perspective

Draft

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(Interchapter)

The strangest thing is that sometimes he reminds Lemuel of his sister.

No doubt they weren't at all alike; Maria was as flexible as paper, intelligent, and with heartfelt tenderness, but the father, Lemuel, can't tell what kind of person he is, but at least he can say what kind of person he's not. When he goes out, his robe will be always neat, with a gentle and sincere smile on his face. But at home, when there's no one, he'll still wear the robe (Lemuel hasn't seen him wear anything else) but his face won't have any more smiles, like his eyes.

If Lemuel was still an ordinary person, maybe his veteran's intuition would let him sense something wrong with the priest, but Lemuel wouldn't think too deeply about it, just like the town's residents who all adore the father. But when they met, Lemuel was already a demon, with a status similar to the priest's furniture the priest naturally had no intention of disguising himself around him. The gentle priest's hands were as steady as a butcher's, he mended Lemuel like he was sewing a garment with open threads. As he stood in front of Lemuel, staring at the latter and pondering something, the former soldier felt like he was seeing a lepidopterist holding a pin, thinking about which part of the butterfly should be nailed first.

He's nothing like Maria, whether inwardly or outwardly. Lemuel's sister had soft and curly brown hair, better than the finest wool. Her eyes were like caramel and honey in the sun, Lemuel felt that she was a living angel who had came to the world, but the priest...

Even in slander, it'd be unwise to target the priest's appearance. He wasn't hideous, on the contrary, even if Lemuel was restored to his former self, a stranger needing help would still probably prefer going to the priest instead of the soldier. The priest looks like something that had walked out of a calendar or clergy propaganda posters. His robe is neat and simple, his hair combed back, donning a sympathetic smile, "God loves the world". Blond hair would be too frivolous, brown or red were too reminiscent of the secular world, straight hair as black as crow feathers is just right, making him appear more steady and intelligent. Those sky-blue eyes are clear and clean, because of the priest's temperament, the slightest trace of excellence in him will be considered superhuman, holy and noble, extraordinarily compassionate.

But Lemuel thinks that he's similar to his sister.

When he was about twelve years old, Lemuel and his sister went out to hide from their alcoholic father, when they encountered a couple who's car had broken down in the middle of the road. Lemuel helped fixed their car. The husband was generous with money, and the wife stuffed Maria with a chunk of pumpkin pie. "I can't eat any more, I'll get fat." She giggled and patted Maria on the head.

It was quite a large piece of pumpkin pie, freshly cut and still hot inside. Maria swallowed twice to keep it from flowing out of her open mouth. She took a bite carefully, her eyes lit up, and she looked extremely happy. "It's so sweet!" she said, holding the pumpkin pie to Lemuel, "Brother, look, it's so sweet!"

Lemuel still remembered that his mother was very good at making pumpkin pie. It was sweet and warm, very delicious, but unfortunately she died before Maria could remember. When Lemuel's father became addicted to the bottle, baked goods became a luxury in their home. Maria grinned over the piece of pumpkin pie, eating it slowly and carefully, even though Lemuel had given her the whole piece.

The priest also ate slowly and carefully, hissing and gasping from the heat yet reluctant to stop, his blue eyes blinked and fluttered, like a puppy with a wet nose and eyes. When he wasn't at work, his hair wouldn't be neatly combed, the strands scattered by his eyebrows made him look younger.

Maybe he really is very young, just usually too prudent and lacking the liveliness of a young man. If there's anyone suitable for performing miracles at birth that he knows, they'll probably look like this. Lemuel suspects that he had the typical appearance of a clergyman since the age of eight till eighty. But this matter didn't make him think that the behavior of the "priest" is more childish. When he gratefully eats something very ordinary, or just stands in the kitchen, craning his neck and tilting his head to look into the pot, soft ripples appear in Remuel's heart.

The former soldier wanted to throw him somewhere warm and safe, fill his bowl with something warm, and feed him well. Lemuel thinks of his sister, so he has a desire to protect, or maybe Lemuel has a desire to protect, and then thinks of his sister. But in fact, people like the priest don't need Lemuel's protection. No one needs Lemuel's protection, he can't protect anyone, not even himself.

The fact that Lemuel could sit across the table and even breathe, all depends on the priest's... mercy? Interest? Lemuel didn't know. The priest changed his attitude abruptly, he began to smile at him like he does to other people, he put Lemuel from the bathroom to the living room. Of course, he could change again for reasons Lemuel wouldn't understand. Lemuel couldn't think of a reason for his magnanimity, so he naturally couldn't avoid a future where he takes back his grace.

Lemuel's savings and home were destroyed by the demons, his military badge was left on the battlefield. His name was there on the list of dead soldiers, so he'd probably be buried in the Soldier's Cemetery. Since all his relatives and friends had already died, death had become only a step away. Lemuel lives inside the priest's house, he eats the food he provides, wears the clothes he buys, smokes his cigarettes, and uses his electricity, occasionally, Lemuel calculates how much he owes the priest and how he could pay it all back.

No one would hire a demon, stealing wouldn't be allowed, a priest had a schedule of chores that he could do well enough on his own, Lemuel wouldn't do better. If Lemuel was regarded as a chef, his salary could probably offset the cost of meals, and at most, the cost of sleeping on the sofa. It changes day by day, and what he owes before can never be repaid. And Lemuel owes more than this tangible debt. For example, whenever the priest gets up in the middle of the night to pull him out of his nightmares, turning on the lights, and letting the dreams full of screams retreat from the brightness. Lemuel knows that this is what he owed him once.

Lemuel wonders when the day of repayment would come, and sometimes he'd haggle with himself in his mind, thinking about what he could give. One hand, yes, hopefully not the dominant one, or hopefully the dominant one that would cost more. One leg, yes, he didn't have much range in motion now anyway. Two arms and two legs? In that case, he'll lose a large part of his mobility, it'll leave him more dependent on the priest. He hoped it wouldn't be that. But one hand and one leg is acceptable. In regards to his eyes, he just wished that he could keep one, otherwise he might become trapped in the nightmares forever. The priest could mute or deaf him, being both deaf and mute would be bad, but it'd still be barely acceptable.

The priest can test prayers on him, he'd think, or take an organ or two. The priest could starve him, beat him, fuck him, let someone else fuck him, but hopefully not too many people, no more than three at least. No more than three at a time. He could stay in the bathroom and touch nothing. He could keep his mouth shut and be quiet. When he has nightmares, the priest doesn't have to come and wake him up- in fact, Lemuel has long wanted to tell the priest that there's no need to worry about him at times like that. It wasn't necessary to spend the priest's limited mercy or interest on such a thing, he can survive it.

However, every time the priest tears open the cocoon of the nightmares, the deep breath after makes him feel like he just escaped from death, he really couldn't speak the lie "everything is fine". If he doesn't grit his teeth, the sound of his teeth chattering would be heard at any point in the living room.

These stimulated bargains make Lemuel's stomach tick, but the worst part is if he has no debts. Only free men have debts. A meal for a meal, and a nightmare to endure a night of staying here a few more days, how can there such be a good thing? The truth is that the priest bought him with money and saved his life in some way, he's a demon who has nowhere to go, everyone can yell at him, and the priest can do whatever he wants with him. He could do all the things that Lemuel could and couldn't accept, whether it's shooting him or throwing him out. The contract that Lemuel has altered in his mind wouldn't exist at all, it's purely fot self-comfort.

When a person buys items for their pet, he wouldn't care about whether the pet now owes him money or not. Similarly, when the owner wants to end everything, he doesn't have to care about what the pet thinks. The pet doesn't even have to do anything wrong, it could be that the owner is just tired of it.

Can this be the reason why he feels that the priest is similar to his sister, he hopes that the priest would need protection so that he could be useful? This thought made Lemuel disgusted at himself, he suspect that there's something wrong with his brain. If he told the soldier a year ago that he'd rather one day die than to be kicked out of a room, that he'd be grateful just because someone was willing to speak to him, that he'd be craving and begging like crazy for companionship, wanting the warmth of an ordinary non-malicious touch, Sergeant Lemuel would've scoffed, judging him as utterly insane.

So Lemuel chose not to think about anything.

He always does this when encountering difficult things, thinking about nothing, doing what was needed, strutting towards the end with his head held high and his eyes closed. Fern said he was brave and tenacious, Maria complained about his blind optimism and escapism, but when he tried his best to think and couldn't come up with a solution, the best choice would be to happily run to the cliffs, at least on the way to the cliffs, he could still maintain a good mood.

Lemuel lived here, watching TV, exercising, chatting with his roommate, and thinking about what to eat today. The priest will bring back the ingredients according to his shopping list. They have a lot of stories to tell, coming and going and getting along well. The weather's getting hotter and hotter, and Lemuel's hair is getting longer and longer. He always pulls it back when he's cooking, thinking that it should be cut. As a result, the priest bought him a hair band the next day, so he felt that it was okay to keep it.

Lemuel added bottles of wine to his shopping list the day before his sister's birthday, he was so drunk that night he hoped it'd make him sleep through the next day, or wake him up with a head-wrenching headache. The next day he woke up at around ten in the morning, lying on the sofa with a blanket over him and a glass of milk on the table, it tasted a little sweet, probably because it's been mixed with honey. The thermos cup was filled with water at just the right temperature, and there was sliced watermelon under a glass cover in the kitchen (there's a sticky note next to it that reads "please eat"). Lemuel didn't have much of a headache, probably thanks to the awakening of the demon bloodline, but he still ate the watermelon.

At noon the priest came back with a cake. Lemuel knows that the priest doesn't eat sweets, he wouldn't buy anything Lemuel didn't ask for, and today wasn't a day where the believers would send pastries. He watched in confusion as the priest pushed the cake in front of him and took out a very large amount of candles.

"Today is Miss Maria's birthday," The priest said, adding, "You mentioned it before."

Lemuel felt a lump form in his throat, he opened his mouth, but said nothing. The priest unpacked, and the sunlight from the window fell on the cake and on the priest's hair like a fucking halo. Lemuel stared at him like a fool, from the gleaming hair to the stigmata on his forehead- they've appeared there since Lemuel's death, but it seemed like only he could see it, it doesn't seem necessary for the priest to perform miracles anymore- to that handsome face. Most of the time Lemuel didn't look at the priest's face, he didn't want to know what kind of person the priest was, and he had enough troubles himself.

But some things can't be ignored, no matter how much you want to avoid thinking about it. The truth is, whatever comes to mind, the priest had been very gentle and considerate after that turning point, he obviously didn't hold the attitude an owner has towards pets. He listens to him, he runs barefoot into the living room in the middle of the night to dispel his nightmares for him, he lacks common sense in strange places, but was content with the most ordinary food... If the priest was someone else, things might have not been so bad, but unfortunately there were no ifs in this world.

He was in a daze for too long, and the priest's face showed a little unease. "Sorry," He said, "If this upsets you..."

"No, no, thank you," Lemuel said hurriedly. "Thank you, thank you."

Wrong time, wrong place, wrong person, thought Lemuel. He felt like he was falling deeper, before getting smashed into pieces, it feels so light and sweet.

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PastTimer: My recently most hated thing is static electricity