I Am a Lunatic (1)
I am a lunatic. That was Cloud's usual thought.
Well, to be fair, when every last soul in the village pointed fingers at him and called him a madman, he'd come to believe it was true. He was convinced, absolutely, that he was different from everyone else.
And it wasn't only his mind that set him apart. For one thing, there was his name — embarrassing from the very first syllable.
Cloud, of all things.
It wasn't a fetal name or a pet name, yet here he was, a full-grown adult stuck with a name that sounded like baby babble. He was probably the only person in the whole world so afflicted.
Cloud hated Cloud.
Worse still, if you looked the word up, cloud was a term from the ogres' tongue — it referred to the balls dangling between a male ogre's legs.
One day he cornered his father and demanded to know why on earth he'd been saddled with such a name.
"When you came sliding out of your mother's belly, everyone who saw your little pecker couldn't stop singing its praises. Said it was the size of an ogre's."
In short: a completely pointless reason.
It was a name so meaningless it made him want to hurl himself off a cliff on the spot. Furious, Cloud stormed out of the house that day and didn't come back for three days.
He slept in secret in stables and storerooms scattered around the village, ate the livestock the villagers raised, and by day picked out only empty houses, stealing food from their kitchens. It was the greatest revenge a child his age could manage.
Cloud hadn't been a bad seed from the start.
At least until the age of two, he must have been a good boy. As an infant he'd been as bright and unblemished as any other baby, lying in his crib and radiating cuteness from every pore. Back then, his warm-hearted mother had always been at his side — playing with him, nursing him at her breast, tending him with utter devotion whenever he fell ill.
But that mother passed away before he was old enough to fix her face in his memory. She was in her early twenties, in the very flower of her youth.
It was all so long ago that Cloud still couldn't recall her face.
That was when the emptiness first took root in a corner of his heart.
And that loneliness never had a chance to heal. His father was a shepherd who tended the temple's sheep, so he came home once a week at best — or, in bad stretches, stayed away for over a month at a time.
Young Cloud was always left in the care of the beautiful young widow next door, and he spent most of his days in her company. Her name was Barbara, and she was sweet and kind — but nothing could replace the warmth a mother and father give under one roof. Never able to be with his parents day to day, Cloud carried that hollow ache with him always.
And that hollow ache turned him into what the village called a problem child. The older he grew, the more trouble he stirred up, practically every other day — mostly mischievous pranks.
Even a problem child dismissed as an immature troublemaker knew one-sided love.
The object of his was Barbara's daughter, Emilia, who had spent much of her childhood at his side.
Barbara had always been the most beautiful of the village's married women, and her daughter took after her: slender, small-faced, a beauty in the making.
But Emilia had someone else in her heart — a boy named Adelio, Cloud's friend and exact same age.
Adelio was the village's most notorious womanizer, and even knowing it, women swarmed around him without end. The reason was simple: his father was the richest man in the village, a merchant doing brisk business across the region. Thanks to that solid family backing, Adelio was popular with every girl in sight, and in his early twenties he'd entered the military academy in the capital and proudly passed the officer's examination.
Like every other maiden in the village, Emilia too must have found Adelio's background far more attractive and alluring than Cloud's wretchedly poor existence.
Now twenty-five, Cloud was a pathetic excuse for a man — no marriage to his name, no real income to speak of. Call it a wandering star in his fate: he drifted from place to place all day long, too scatterbrained to stay put anywhere. Whenever the money in his pocket ran dry, helping the villagers with their chores was the whole of his livelihood.
And into that situation, a few days ago, Adelio — newly minted officer — came home in triumph from the capital. The first place he visited was none other than Barbara's house. Where Emilia lived.
"Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"
Dressed in a dazzling military uniform, down on one knee before Emilia as she stood shyly in the doorway, Adelio delivered a picture-perfect proposal — and the villagers erupted in fervent cheers and thunderous applause.
The only one among them who felt like he was plunging off a cliff was Cloud.
Fuck this. I'm never living in this godforsaken shithole again.
Clenching both fists, he swore to leave the village.
"Hey, dummy. Did it hit you that hard?"
A woman's voice piped up beside him. He turned to find a sun-blackened girl standing there, looking for all the world like a farmhand boy.
Her name was Sara.
Sara worked at the village inn, spending her days touting for travelers in search of a bed. A full day's work under the blazing sun had left her skin deeply tanned; her hair was chopped ruthlessly short, right down past her ears, and the ragged clothes she wore gave her the look of a country bumpkin — plain and unlovely to any eye.
Four years his junior, she'd known him well since they were children.
"I feel like shit right now, so piss off."
"Why? Mad because Emilia's getting married?"
"Drop dead."
Cloud scowled, but Sara cackled openly, making a show of it.
"What do you even see in that girl? She'd chase after anyone with a pulse."
Sara was sharp enough; she'd known about Cloud's feelings for Emilia for a long time.
"If you're that broken up about it, what about me? Say the word and I'll marry you. Right this instant."
"Piss off. I told you I'm not in the mood for jokes."
Cloud shoved past her shoulder and walked on.
Watching him stride away, Sara scrunched up her face, looking hurt.
"You sorry-ass bastard."
Cursing wasn't enough for her. Gritting her teeth, she ran after him and smacked him square on the back of the head.
"Ow!"
"You deserve a beating, that's what."
Cloud rubbed the back of his head, scowling.
"Ah, for fuck's sake — drop dead already, seriously."
"Where do you think you're running off to?"
"I'm leaving because you keep talking shit. Happy now?"
"Did you not hear what I said? Running off without even answering me. I said I'd bear your babies!"
"Crazy bitch."
Sara shot back without missing a beat.
"Crazy bastard!"
"Lunatic bitch."
"Lunatic bastard!"
"Fuck off."
"You fuck off!"
"Piss off."
"You piss off!"
"Fine. I'll piss off, then."
Cloud turned on his heel and started walking.
Left behind, Sara shouted at his back, face twisted with frustration.
"Then stay single your whole life, you idiot!"
"Yeah. Thanks."
Cloud waved a hand without turning around, as if to say he'd heard her.
Beneath the night sky, a drunk Cloud smiled a bleak little smile as he staggered along on one hollow step after another.
He'd drunk without limit at the village tavern, and now he was thoroughly, magnificently wasted.
Before long, his feet carried him to Barbara's house.
He couldn't say why his feet had brought him here instead of home. Maybe because it was a familiar place he'd come and gone from since childhood? Either way, right now he didn't want to see Emilia. He just wanted someone's comfort — to lie down in a bed and drift into easy sleep.
If only his dead mother would appear and sing him a lullaby.
The one who stood in her place was Emilia's mother, Barbara. The one who'd cared for him every day when he was little...
With such thoughts in his head, he knocked meekly on the door.
Soon the door opened, and Barbara appeared from within.
"Cloud, dear. Where have you been all day?"
A shawl draped over her shoulders, she greeted him with a worried look.
"I've been searching for you all day long. Come inside, quickly now."
Head bowed, Cloud entered without a word.
"Have you had dinner?"
"I made do with bar snacks. I'm fine."
Cloud made straight for his room.
The room had once been the study of Emilia's father — Barbara's late husband — but for some twenty years now it had been treated as Cloud's own. In any case, on his way there he caught his foot on a chair leg in the living room and went down with a tremendous crash.
"Oh dear, Cloud! Are you all right?"
Startled, Barbara hurried over and helped him up.
"How much did you drink, exactly?"
"No idea. I was aiming for enough to die, but I ran out of money, so I'm still alive."
"Is it because of Emilia?"
To the question that struck dead center, Cloud gave no answer. After a long pause, he asked one of his own instead.
"...Where's Emilia?"
"She's over at the Cottons'. They invited her for dinner."
Cotton was Adelio's father.
Tasting that plummeting sensation all over again, Cloud shouldered past Barbara and tried to make for his room. But Barbara caught him by the sleeve and stopped him short.
"Have a cup of honey water before you go lie down. I'll mix it right up."
Cloud meant to refuse — but found himself nodding instead.
Leaning on her support, he made his way to the kitchen and sank into a chair. Having carefully seated him, Barbara hurried to the cupboard, took out the honey, scooped up a spoonful, and dolloped it into an empty bowl.
Now in her mid-forties, she had nursed him at her breast when he was a baby, listened to his troubles all through adolescence, and whenever he stirred up trouble in the village, she'd roll up her sleeves and sort it out for him like a true mother.
That was why Cloud liked Barbara. Being with her made him feel at ease, and when anger had him worked up, her presence calmed his heart.
"Adelio is a son of a bitch."
"Hm?"
"I said Adelio's a son of a bitch. He knew perfectly well that I was in love with Emilia."
Barbara glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at Cloud where he sat at the table.
"Our Cloud will meet a wonderful woman someday too. Someone kinder and prettier than Emilia."
"I don't want to blame Emilia. If it were anyone else, I could understand. But why did it have to be Adelio, of all people?"
Cloud spoke with his gaze fixed blankly on the table.
"Truth is, that bastard Adelio slept with Mrs. Chellare too — the woman who lives across from the village chief."
"Chellare? You mean the wife of Trikel, the carpenter?"
"Yes. She's got a husband and a kid, and she was sneaking off with Adelio behind their backs. And that's not all. Women he's seduced — maidens and married women alike — are all over this village. With all that going on, how can you not worry about Emilia, Auntie?"
At that, Barbara's hands went still, and she gazed out at the darkness beyond the window.
"You're right. But this world is a hard and frightening place for two women to live in alone. Honestly, I think the fault for hurting you like this is mine more than anyone's."
Barbara said it like a sigh escaping her, then bent back to her task. Cloud wanted to ask what she meant, but swallowed the words that had risen to his throat. He already knew the reason. Barbara, too, must have secretly longed for a better life than the one she had. In this village, the only man who could lift the fortunes of mother and daughter was Adelio. Everyone else was nothing but dirt-poor farmers.
Having swallowed his words, Cloud simply watched Barbara's back with drunken eyes. Saying more would only waste feeling on nothing; it seemed far easier on his heart to drink his honey water and go to bed.
...
But as he sat there blankly, he suddenly found lust simmering up in him, sly and unbidden, as his eyes settled on Barbara's backside. Her rear, swaying with every movement, was pleasingly large; age had softened the dramatic pinch of her waist, but she still carried a hips-and-waist line full of volume.
Come to think of it, her breasts were quite large as well. Why had he looked at that chest all these years without feeling a thing? Only now did it dawn on him: she had full, beautiful breasts, a sensual figure — a flower not yet withered.
Gulp.
Cloud swallowed without meaning to.
But he quickly shook his head hard and fixed his gaze somewhere else.
It's the alcohol. Has to be. The booze is making me feel this way.
Even as he thought it, he couldn't shake the temptation. Just as his eyes drifted back toward Barbara's rear, she suddenly turned her head around.
Their eyes met. Flustered, Cloud averted his gaze and feigned nonchalance.
"Ahem! Sitting still this long is making me a little dizzy."
Barbara gave a small smile and brought the bowl of honey water over, setting it on the table.
"Drink up. It'll settle your stomach."
Without a word, Cloud picked up the bowl with both hands, brought it to his lips, and gulped it all down. He emptied it clean, then hastily got to his feet.
"Thank you for the drink."
"Going straight to bed?"
"Yes."
Avoiding her eyes, Cloud fled into his room like a man escaping a crime scene.
He locked the door, perched on the edge of the bed, and slipped a hand into his pants. His cock was already thickening, half-hard. Gripping it tight, he cast a glance at the pile of crumpled cloths stacked in the corner — every last one a tissue spent on jacking off.
He considered doing it right then and there, but quickly gave up on the idea and flopped onto the bed instead. Someone was getting married, and here he was, holed up in a cramped little room about to jerk off. The thought made him sick with self-pity.
"If I even had someone..."
Cloud rolled onto his side and curled up like a shrimp. But the moment he closed his eyes, Barbara's plump rear kept flashing before them. The excitement blooming in his chest refused to die down.
Damn it all. She's the woman who's looked after me all these years, you rotten piece of shit.
He thumped himself on the head and cursed himself roundly, but it was no use.
Unable in the end to resist the temptation, he finally slipped his hand back into his pants, took hold of his cock — stiffer now than before — and began to stroke.
"Ah, fuck it..."
His life was gutter-trash, so he decided to play it just as filthy.
He pictured himself yanking up Barbara's skirt from behind as she mixed honey water in the kitchen, driving his burning cock into her.
His breath grew ragged, his whole body ablaze.
"Hah, hah! Yes, Auntie Barbara...! Your pussy's fucking incredible...!"
Just as he pumped his fist up and down for all he was worth, ready to detonate in one blast the spirit bomb he'd gathered in his loins...!
Knock, knock. A knock sounded at the door.
"Cloud, dear? Are you asleep?"