Episode 4. She Was. (2)
The children—my brothers and sisters—were always hurrying about.
My mother rose early every morning and spent the entire day working the fields, and my eldest brother, Luca, who was only ten years old, had begun following her out to work as well.
Once the oldest started working, the job of looking after the rest of us fell to my second brother, Noah, who loved goofing off more than anything.
“Just take the potatoes out of the sack and boil them! I’m going out for a bit, so Sophia, you take care of the kids!”
And, as always, he would dump the work on Sophia, my third sister, before heading out the door.
None of us really expected much from him. Compared with the eldest, who had always been responsible, the second had never once seemed dependable.
“Um, Aria…. How do you even boil these potatoes…?”
After Mother, Luca, and Noah all disappeared for the day, Sophia muttered that in a timid voice.
Once the three oldest were gone, all that remained were children aged five, four, and three, in that order.
With a quiet sigh, I walked toward the kitchen.
“...I’ll do it. You should rest, Sister.”
Even if this body belonged to a child, my mind was that of an adult, so it seemed only right that I handle it myself.
Still, Sophia seemed to feel guilty about making me do it.
“N-no, I should learn too. Let’s do it together. And Leo, take out three potatoes from the sack.”
“Okay, big sister.”
I watched the two children shuffle into the kitchen, insisting we do it together.
Looking at them—at this scene, at this daily life repeating itself again and again—I found myself growing more and more restless.
Time moved far too slowly.
As I had said before, I was only three years old now. The fact that I was too young to leave the village on my own was maddening.
Hurry up.
If time would only pass faster, I could go find you.
I felt like I would die if I kept wasting time like this.
I had to leave and search for you right away.
Only by finding some trace of you somewhere in this world would I finally feel able to breathe.
Lost in those thoughts, I heard Sophia’s frantic voice.
“A-Aria…! Your hand! You cut your hand!”
That snapped me back to myself.
Blood was running from the finger I’d been using to peel the potatoes.
“...Ah.”
It was red.
Just like your blood.
Don’t... run...
His voice always seemed to come back to me then.
Your face, smiling even as blood foamed from the wound in your chest and you told me not to cry, to run, drifted through my mind like a ghost.
My eyes trembled.
I hated red.
Blood slid down, soaking the hem of my clothes and staining them crimson once more.
“A-Aria…? Aria!”
The smell of blood filled the air.
I couldn’t tell whether it was my own or yours.
But before I could sort it out, your face rose again in my thoughts.
Love...
I closed my eyes, listening to the voice that had said you loved me even to the very end.
Thud.
Something collapsed somewhere.
I wanted to see you, even if only in a dream.
My mother and eldest brother didn’t return until night had fallen.
I had long since awakened by then, but I only stood there blankly to greet them. The moment Mother stepped inside and sensed that something was wrong, she looked over all of us children in turn.
After hearing the whole story—that Noah had gone out to play instead of watching us, and that I had ended up cutting my hand and collapsing—Mother walked straight over to my second brother.
Smack—
I didn’t see the blow because I was still dazed, but it must have been the sound of Noah being slapped.
“Noah, I told you to feed the children and then go out and play. Was that so hard to understand?”
“I-I’m sorry….”
His frightened voice followed under Mother’s icy tone.
“So my words were a joke to you? Was it funny when I asked you to help because I was busy?”
“No, that’s not—”
The air in the house sank like a stone.
And I hated that atmosphere.
That heavy, suffocating mood that filled the house whenever Mother and I argued about marriage.
It was disgusting, having that same scene return again.
So I quietly stepped forward and said, “I’m the one who got hurt because I was being stubborn and wanted to try boiling the potatoes.”
“Haa…. Aria, it was your brother’s fault. You shouldn’t cover for him just because he left your little siblings alone to go off and play, baby.”
I had no intention of covering for him.
To me, they were still no different from strangers.
But I despised that cramped, nauseating atmosphere.
“Even if my brother had been here, I probably would’ve begged to try it myself, so it’s my fault.”
“...All right. I understand, baby, so hurry up and lie down and rest. I’ll boil the potatoes for tomorrow’s lunch in advance before I go out.”
“Yes.”
And so I half-forced the matter to a close. Even after I fell asleep, Mother’s sighs kept filling the house.
********
I had no father.
More precisely, I had been told he went missing not long after I was born.
Mother had been born and raised in this village, while Father had supposedly been an adventurer who worked outside it.
Ten years ago, Father had stopped in Penrin Village by chance, fallen in love with Mother at first sight, and settled down after they conceived their first child—an obvious sort of story.
After that, as the children multiplied and money grew tight, Father supposedly went back outside the village, just as he had during his adventuring days, in order to earn a living.
And now, even with me already three years old, there had been no word from him for two full years. I suspected he was dead.
Otherwise, he might simply have abandoned Mother and the rest of us and vanished, though Mother and the children refused to believe that for a second.
I had no intention of bringing it up for no reason.
But if I had to say why I was mentioning Father at all, it was because his disappearance had made our household even poorer.
In a home like that, where even two meals a day were hard to manage and potatoes were practically the only food we had, my siblings and Mother could expect nothing on their birthdays beyond a few words of congratulations.
It was a pitiful sight, thankful for even a little oat gruel that the neighbors next door shared with us now and then because they were glad we were all still alive.
So I hadn’t expected anything for my birthday either.
I was only three, after all—a burden, good for almost nothing. If anything, I should have been trying to stay quiet and out of the way.
At least, that was what I thought.
My brothers, sisters, and Mother didn’t seem to agree.
Sophia had secretly told me that in Penrin Village, a third birthday was an especially important day.
Since, in the old days, most children never even made it past the age of three, they held a small celebration at home to bless the life of any child who survived that long.
And so, in the early evening, after returning from the fields ahead of schedule, Mother’s hands held a tiny cut of meat.
The children’s eyes shone brightly at the little lump of flesh.
It had been more than half a year since we’d last eaten meat, so for the children it must have been something truly precious.
“I’m sorry, baby. I tried to prepare as much as I could, but this was all I managed.”
Mother said it with an apologetic look, and I could only nod quietly.
Part of it was because my head was swimming at the sight of the red meat, but more than that, it was because a voice had already been stirring the inside of my mind.
Sorry. I didn’t have enough money, so this was all I could prepare.
It had been your first birthday after we met.
Because I knew you were an orphan, because I knew how hard things were for you, I had told you there was no need to go out of your way to celebrate my birthday.
And yet you had stubbornly saved up money and handed me a gift anyway.
You gave me a hairpin set with a tiny gemstone and apologized as you placed it in my hands. It was so beautiful.
I had been so happy just to receive that much.
Even four years later, by the last time we were together, I was still wearing that hairpin.
“Baby, I’ll fry the meat for you right away. Happy birthday, my daughter.”
At Mother’s voice—
I made seaweed soup, so at least eat at home before you go. And happy birthday.
Your voice kept overlapping with hers.
And then I broke into tears.
Once the first tear I’d been holding back finally fell, I could no longer stop myself from sobbing.
“Baby, why are you crying? Don’t cry. Come on, quickly—there, there, and eat your meat.”
“A-Aria…! Why are you crying all of a sudden!”
“Aria, don’t cryyy…. Hic, waaah…!”
Mother and the children seemed to think these were tears of emotion.
They thought I, who had gone through the whole day expressionless until just before evening, had been moved to tears by a lump of meat.
But I was only crying from grief.
You were in every part of my life.
Even on my birthday, the one I spent at the age of three, all I could think about was you.
What was that little piece of meat to me? I had only looked at something with no connection to you at all.
What were Mother’s words and voice to me? She had only wished me a happy third birthday.
And yet even that was enough to bring you back to mind.
I truly felt like I was going insane.
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