7. The Younger Brother
The house where the man who became a Madman lived was a semi-basement apartment with a single, narrow window. Stepping down the stairs and opening the iron front door, the damp smell of mold immediately assaulted the nostrils. Shoes, umbrellas, empty bottles, and plastic bags were strewn across the entrance, leaving no room to step. The wallpaper was torn, and patches of bluish mold blooming here and there looked like bruises on the walls. Past the narrow hallway was a tiny room, barely ten square meters, filled with several cardboard boxes and a makeshift clothing rack sagging under a mountain of clothes. There was no visible space for a refrigerator. A sliver of sunlight filtered through the narrow window, crawling down the wall to illuminate a golden trumpet resting atop one of the boxes. Though the gold plating was peeling in places, revealing silver underneath, there were no dents or cracks; it had clearly been treated with great care.
"Don't move!"
A boy's clear, ringing voice came from behind.
"One more step and I'll shoot! Who are you?!"
There wasn't a hint of hesitation in the young boy's voice. Cornered by a toy gun held by a seven-year-old, the Hunter found himself in a loss for words on how to resolve the situation. He scratched his head awkwardly.
"Uh… well… you see… I'm looking for… something…"
"What? Looking for what?"
"Right… here… somewhere… definitely…"
"What are you looking for?!"
"I mean… that is…"
The Hunter turned his head to look at the boy.
"My eye."
In front of the boy, the man—whose eye sockets appeared hollow and black—began gesturing toward the ground as if searching for his eyeballs. The boy promptly fainted. Startled by the boy's collapse, the Hunter stopped his search, deactivated the holographic mask covering his face, and scratched his head in embarrassment.
When the boy opened his eyes again, it was late afternoon, and the sun was setting. A pungent, spicy aroma hit his nose, snapping him awake. Turning toward the smell, he saw a plain-faced man placing a pot onto a small dining table. The boy stared at the man blankly.
"Let's eat."
He spoke as if nothing had happened.
"Uh… about that…"
"Come on. I'm hungry."
The man was grinning. Though the boy was deeply suspicious, the spicy scent was a direct hit to his uncontrollable hunger, and his mouth began to water. As the lid was lifted, steam billowed out. Ignoring the boy's hesitation, the man picked up his chopsticks, lifted a bundle of noodles, blew on them, and slurped them down. The boy's stomach let out a loud growl. The moment the man reached for a second mouthful, the boy dashed to the pot, fished out some noodles, and began eating the ramen, blowing on it frantically. Though momentarily surprised by the sudden movement, the man watched the boy eat with a satisfied expression.
"Mister, you're a cop, right?"
The boy spoke while chewing, not even looking at the man. The man pondered how to respond.
"You're here for my brother, aren't you? I know. Strange men have been loitering around the house for days."
The man was about to explain his actual profession, but hearing the boy's words, he decided it might be better to just let it slide.
"Why are you looking for my brother? He isn't a bad person. Aren't the police supposed to catch bad people?"
Indeed. Police were originally meant to catch bad people. The boy's question was aggressive toward the police and defensive of his brother. Since his brother, currently a Semi-Madman, hadn't harmed anyone yet, there was technically no reason to arrest him. One cannot arrest a person based on a prediction of them becoming 'bad.'
"It's… a form of protection, I suppose."
It was a convenient phrase. The police catch bad people, but they also protect those at high risk of being exposed to crime. But protection from what? Who would dare threaten a man on the verge of becoming a Madman? There were people: Headquarters and the Hunters. The moment the boy's brother turned into a Madman, they would fire a bullet into his head without hesitation. In that case, were the Headquarters and the Hunters the 'bad people'?
"My brother is rarely home. He's always out making money."
The boy accepted his guardian's absence with a calm stoicism. He seemed to know exactly how to manage on his own. He placed the empty pot in the sink, applied detergent to a sponge with his small hands, and began scrubbing. The sink was high, making it look difficult, but the boy washed the dishes skillfully, as if it were a routine. After placing the clean pot on the shelf, he strapped a small utility pouch around his waist and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to collect empty bottles. If I don't go now, others will take them first."
The man was taken aback. The boy's composure in leaving a stranger alone in his house suggested, in a way, that there was nothing left in the home worth taking. Feeling awkward about staying alone (though he had entered the same way), the man decided to follow the boy. The boy grabbed a two-wheeled carrier parked by the door, climbed the semi-basement stairs, and stepped out into the street.
"Do you go around like this by yourself every day?"
"When my brother is here, we go together!"
Imagining the two brothers roaming the streets every night to collect bottles brought a bitter yet warm smile to the man's face. The boy walked around, scanning the neighborhood for discarded bottles. From a recycling bin, he fished out a short, yellow cylindrical bottle. It was an energy drink supplied for free by the 'Tony' corporation. The other bottles seemed to be of no interest to him.
"My brother… he doesn't talk very well."
The man looked at the boy with curiosity, as if he had just received a new piece of intelligence.
"Is it… a disability?" "He's not disabled! It's just…"
The boy stopped walking and looked up at the man.
"He's just a bit slower than others."
The man felt a certain resentment in the boy's voice. He couldn't tell if it was directed at the world or at a specific person, but it was thick with the bitterness of not being understood. It was unclear how being 'slower' was interpreted. It could mean a lethargic personality, or it could be a euphemism for being less capable than others. He didn't know exactly how much inconvenience this slowness caused, but one thing was certain: it wasn't a trait people tended to like.
By the time an hour had passed, the boy's carrier was bulging with collected bottles. They had climbed from the bottom of the village all the way to Govan Hill, the ridge located in the heart of the town. Upon reaching the top, the boy set the carrier down and sat on a roadside bench. From their vantage point, the entire Strausga region stretched out before them. The black night sky, the dark city, and the lights twinkling in between.
"This is quite the workout!"
The man spoke, finally catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"You're a weakling, mister. I'm not tired at all!"
"Is that so? Impressive."
The man gazed at the city's night view. He found it ironic that the city looked so quiet and beautiful from afar, yet once you were inside, it was so noisy and everyone was so desperate to tear each other apart.
"My brother. He's good at the trumpet. When we come here… he looks out over there and plays."
"The trumpet?"
"We have one at home. A golden trumpet."
The man recalled the peeling golden trumpet he had seen in the boy's small room.
"Is your brother a professional trumpet player?"
"No. He just plays it. Before I was born… he said our dad used to play it for him."
The boy mimicked the motion of playing a trumpet with his fists. The man chuckled at the sight.
"He plays the same thing every single time."
"Do you know how to play it too?"
"No. But I can sing it. Da-dan-da-da~"
The boy sang the tune from memory. It was hard to tell exactly what song it was, but the repetitive phrases made it clear he was remembering a specific melody. The man wondered what the brother thought about as he played that trumpet, looking out at the city in the middle of the night while collecting bottles.
"I wonder what your brother is doing right now."
The man asked. At his words, the boy's face darkened as if the harsh reality had suddenly come rushing back. The man didn't ask anything else. The two sat in silence, watching the city lights flicker out one by one.