Chapter 19: Deep Worries (1) "Hyung! Thank you again today!"
"Yeah, yeah. Come again tomorrow."
"Goodness, what do we do, taking things every day like this."
"It's fine. Don't feel burdened. Haha."
"Thanks to you sirs, my daughter's gotten her strength back! Truly—truly, thank you!"
"Ah, that's a relief. Here—today I'll give you your share of the convenience meal too, so don't go hungry alone. Eat with your daughter."
After seeing off the middle-aged man in clothes that now had more patches than original fabric, we started packing up the stall.
Mmm—nice. Another insanely fulfilling day.
Since no one knows when the Revolution will erupt and people's lives will become as disposable as flies, I started this charity work to build a breakwater—something that might keep me from getting dragged to the guillotine by an enraged populace in the future. And as my social connections widened, more and more people began participating.
Because even knowing the future just a little, I really have no desire to watch familiar faces get executed at the guillotine.
Especially my closest ones: Napoleon-hyung and Mathieu-hyung.
As for Grouchy… well, he pisses me off when he veers off into the fourth dimension, but I'll be generous and call him a friend too. Anyway, I really don't want to even think about those people dying.
So the meal-provision charity run by "People of the Harvest" became, after my strong insistence, a regular activity of the Equality Legion—no, the Equality Club, after we renamed it to something a bit "less aggressive."
At first, there were people who complained with their mouths hanging open—"Why do we gotta do that? I don't wanna!"
But after seeing a few times the bright smiles of the disadvantaged neighbors who lit up at the helping hands being offered, even those people quietly felt satisfied—like, yeah, we're doing something good—and the number of folks who resented it dropped a lot.
Well, who in this world wants to receive negative feelings from others? Everyone wants to see only good things, and receive only good feelings.
If only the world were always a place you could live in smiling.
Suddenly, the image of that middle-aged man in worn clothes—leaving just a moment ago with a huge grin, carrying food for his sick daughter—came back to me.
It's bitter.
I haven't craved a cigarette this much since Pierre and Georges—those bastards, my half-brothers—used to torment me.
Back then I wanted to smoke because I was pissed off. Now I want to smoke just to blow away this bitter feeling. That's the only difference.
But my serious thoughts scattered into thin air when someone smacked my back—wham!
"Gah! Don't hit my back!"
"Wahahaha! Guillaume! What are you worrying about, staring up at the sky with a face like you ate shit?!"
At some point, Grouchy had finished packing up the stall and swaggered over to talk to me.
No, seriously—everything else is fine, but why is everyone always so desperate to hit my back? Did I smear honey on it or something?
Come to think of it, Mathieu-hyung said the other day—
"Guillaume. Your back, you know… there's something… something about it. Like a magical pull that drags in people's palms?"
What "something," my ass.
The only thing on my back is the occasional pimple—what the hell is he talking about?
Ah, maybe I should've just stopped caring whether people get guillotined or not.
"Ah, it's nothing. More importantly, are we done cleaning up?"
"Wahahaha! What do you take Lord Grouchy for? Of course I finished everything before coming over!"
"Good. Then let's take it back to the business. We're done for today."
"Understood! I'll head out right away! Hahaha!"
With that, Grouchy started moving toward the stall. I turned my head and looked up at the sky again.
That man has endless energy. It's hard to keep up—seriously.
"More importantly," Grouchy said.
I turned back toward the voice. Grouchy was stacking things onto a cart for easier transport, so I could only see his back.
"Yes?"
"Aren't you going to tell me what you're worried about?"
"…It's nothing worth making a big deal out of, so…"
"That's strange. The Guillaume I know has never worn that kind of face."
What's with him? Did he eat something wrong?
"…."
"Even when those rude scoundrels picked a fight with you, and even when you rode a horse for the first time, the Guillaume I know had sharpness and confidence in his eyes."
"…But you weren't there when I fought Hugo."
"Ahem. There are people in this world who can sit behind a curtain and know what's happening hundreds of kilometers away. Of course, I'm one of them."
"Ah… yes."
Uh… hearing nonsense like this, maybe it really is the usual Grouchy.
"But right now, I can't find either sharpness or confidence in your eyes."
"…."
"What happened?"
Grouchy finished loading the cart, then turned around and looked at me—not with his usual playful gaze, but with a serious one.
"If you don't want to say, you don't have to. I just felt sorry, as a friend, seeing you worry alone. Everyone has at least one concern they don't really want to show others, don't they?"
Ha. He's sharp for someone who's supposed to be Grouchy. Was I really that obvious?
"…I'll tell you once we get back to the business. It's a bit too cold to talk about it here."
"Hahaha! Good! Good! Then let's get moving!"
Saying that, Grouchy grabbed the cart and sprinted off with all his might.
Watching his back, I briefly averted my eyes and looked up at the sky.
Early winter of 1785—the sky over Paris was blue.
After talking with Grouchy and leaving the business, the last light of sunset had already faded from the sky.
I didn't say anything dramatic to him. Just that I felt sorry seeing the poor of Paris, that I worried about what lay ahead—stuff like that.
There was no point talking about the Revolution and all that to some young nobleman who didn't even know anything—it wouldn't solve anything anyway.
Soon, as evening arrived, the light of oil lamps and candles people had lit seeped out through windows, and a warm feeling wrapped around the streets of Paris.
Of course, those flames were nothing compared to 21st-century streetlights.
Still, the emotion of natural firelight in every home was worlds apart from the flat atmosphere of streetlights.
If it were the 21st century, you couldn't imagine streets like this.
Ah—no, maybe you could? It might actually match 21st-century Instagram aesthetics.
Walking through the dark, yet warm streets of Paris, I arrived home and saw a carriage parked out front.
"Huh? What is this. Someone visiting the boardinghouse?"
"Hm? Guillaume?! Is that you, Guillaume?!"
The person inside the carriage heard my muttered voice and opened the carriage door as he spoke.
"Uh…? Bishop Serge? What brings you here?"
The person inside the carriage was someone I knew very well.
Bishop Serge from my hometown.
Uh, but he looks a bit more… well-fed…? Has he been craving food lately?
"What brings me here? I wanted to see how you've been, Guillaume, and there's someone I want to introduce to you, so I came! Wahaha!"
Bishop Serge said that and vigorously shook my hand.
Ugh—always overflowing with fighting spirit, seriously.
As soon as the bishop finished speaking, a man in clerical robes—probably in his mid-thirties—stepped out of the carriage, offered his hand, and said,
"So you are young Guillaume. I've heard a great deal about you from Serge. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Ah… yes. Hello."
"I am Emmanuel Sieyès, Serge's senior priest. I have many things I want to ask you, and many things I want to say, so I took the liberty of coming to you at this late hour."
"Mm… It's cold outside, so let's go in and talk."
"Thank you. I'll impose for a moment."
When I opened the boardinghouse door, Serge and Sieyès both dipped their heads slightly in thanks and went inside.
I took off my outerwear, then lit the oil lamp on my table and the fireplace.
The room that had been cold from the early-winter chill gradually began to warm as the fire caught.
Madame Pluie—saying we had guests—prepared tea even this late at night. When I took a sip, I felt my body melt.
Setting the cup—about half-finished—on the table, I asked,
"But what is it you wanted to talk to me about, that you came all this way?"
Sieyès heard that, set down his own tea, and smiled.
"Haha. I heard about a bold fellow who said France as it is now is practically Sodom and Gomorrah, and I wanted to meet him."
What the hell. How does this man know what I said?
I tilted my head slightly and looked at Bishop Serge.
Bishop Serge met my eyes, then subtly turned away and started whistling.
Did I say before that he wasn't a bad person? I take that back. Spreading around something we said privately, just the two of us.
I looked back at Sieyès and said in a low voice,
"…That doesn't sound like something you can bring up lightly."
"What's so serious about that? It's less than saying the world wasn't made with nobles and kings in it to begin with, isn't it? Haha."
No—Serge, how much have you been running your mouth?!
In this razor-sharp monarchy era, if I talk like that carelessly, my head will roll!
I turned to Serge again and stared straight at him.
Serge flinched, then started clearing his throat repeatedly and looking out the window. Ugh, annoying.
"…So are you here to have me hauled into court?"
Mm. Wouldn't it be a liiiittle dangerous to be locked up with other prisoners? Should I ask for solitary confinement instead?
"Huh? Why would I haul you in? I think the same as you. Hahaha."
Sieyès laughed loudly at my words.
"Ah, you must be thinking of me as some cruel inquisitor or security inspector.
Don't worry. I'm the same sort as you."
"The same sort as me… meaning what…?"
He seemed to consider it briefly, then said in a low voice,
"Someone who thinks the king, the clergy, and the nobles all need to be swept away once, perhaps?"
"Pffft—khek! Cough, cough!"
The instant Sieyès finished speaking, Serge spat out the tea he'd been drinking and stared at Sieyès with a shocked look.
"B-brother! N-no, hyung! Wh-what blasphemous nonsense is that?!"
"What's wrong, Serge? You came to me last time and told me what you'd learned—I just made it a little more 'aggressive,' that's all. Hahaha!"
Sieyès laughed loudly.
"Anyway."
Then, suddenly lowering his voice, he fixed me with a serious gaze and continued.
"You don't seem greatly shaken by this. As if it's not the first time you've heard it."
"…Because I've been thinking it's something that will happen soon."
He's someone who would've heard everything I said to Serge anyway. If I keep hiding and pretending I don't know, I'll just tire myself out.
"…Why do you think something so terrible will happen?"
Sieyès clasped his hands and rested his chin on them as he spoke.
"It'll be a long story—are you okay with that? It's not just one or two reasons."
"Haha! If I'd known, I would've asked the boardinghouse owner for coffee instead of tea."
That night, the light in our room never went out.
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