Extra

Grandmother, did you know there’s a house at the end following the cliff beyond the mountain ridge?

I discovered it by chance while walking the forest with Father—though not as big as the lord’s castle, it’s a spacious, cozy cabin. The way it was built so properly caught my eye, so I couldn’t help entering. It was so quiet and the war had just ended, so I thought it was empty.

Entering the foyer leads to a wide living room, and on the left was a frame bigger than me with the sea painted on it. But looking closely, it was moving!

Actually it wasn’t a frame but a window, and not a painting but the sea visible outside the window.

I see the sea every day too, but looking down from high up, it was endlessly beautiful and captivated my gaze.

The problem starts here.

Clinging to the window, gazing endlessly at the sea breaking in sunlight like a first love met at seven, inspiration suddenly struck. I took out the notebook I’d brought with my bow. My poetry notebook.

Of course, Father wants me to become a hunter, but everyone except Father knows I can’t even draw a bowstring properly, right? I have no talent. If you’re going to nag that I have no talent for poetry either, save it. My dream is to be a painter. Poetry and painting have similarities, though I have no talent for painting either.

Well, I can dream, can’t I?

Anyway, I took out the tightly wrapped charcoal and wrote down my heart stolen by the sea. When appropriate adjectives didn’t come to mind, I drew recklessly. I signed everywhere preparing for when it sells expensively in the future, so I’ll give you some too, Grandmother.

Unfortunately, I can’t give many. Someone struck my head and interrupted my creative work!

Turning around, there was a huge man who was very handsome but looked foul-tempered. I don’t say this because my bald little brother says daily ‘handsome men are foul-tempered.’ Unlike my little brother, he really looked sculpted, but his gaze was so fierce I nearly pissed myself.

“Carrying around things that don’t suit you.”

Wow, he didn’t even yell but it was a terrifyingly scary tone. While I was frightened, that guy snatched my bow and broke it just like that. Honestly, I was really shocked. That bow was made from deer antlers containing Father’s wishes, so it’s incredibly sturdy.

I thought I’d die like that, but my work seemed to catch his interest. He even snatched my notebook, sat down with a thud, and looked at it for a while. He flipped pages quickly, frowning, sneering (I was really angry then!), or staring intently at me after reading a few lines.

Nearly an hour passed like that. After looking through the entire notebook, he asked me.

“Did you write all this?”

Most were transcriptions of famous masters’ poems, but I lied saying yes. That guy didn’t seem particularly deep in literary cultivation, and it seemed necessary to survive.

When I said yes, he made an offer I couldn’t refuse. He said he’d been exchanging letters with someone lately, but doing it daily seemed to be running dry.

So he’d tried writing poetry, but seemed to have no talent. So he wanted me to come at this time every day and teach him how to write ‘well.’

I had no reason to refuse. First, this place had the sea that inspired me, and surprisingly, that guy cooked incredibly well. As you’d expect, when my stomach growled, he grumbled while bringing out potato soup, freshly baked bread, and properly grilled bacon. Good heavens, it was the best I’d ever eaten.

Anyway, I went there daily for him. Only after a week did I learn this terrifying, foul-tempered guy with nothing but his shell wanted to write poetry for his wife.

I thought he’d fail. First, the pen was too small for his hands. He wrote smaller than ants on paper smaller than his palm trying not to show me, and his stinginess didn’t look like the type to be loved by women.

Still, he’d managed to marry, so curiosity suddenly surged.

Just who was this guy’s wife? I was so, so curious. So I confessed to Teacher Rosaline, whom the children of our village including me love dearly, about my secret deal and asked to worry together.

The teacher looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and advised.

“How about having him recite existing poems without straining? That alone would be enough to convey his heart.”

I said the guy’s pride would never allow that. Then Teacher Rosaline added not to be scared and try asking that man tomorrow. I said I would though I knew it wouldn’t work.

But something amazing happened. The next day, that guy hesitantly asked me to recommend good poems! I had no choice but to resolve to secretly hide near his house. I had to prove the teacher was truly a wizard. My curiosity about him died instantly.

But while secretly waiting by the outer wall, I dozed off. And I got to learn all the truth I’d been curious about at once.

First, I learned who his wife was.

Second, that Teacher Rosaline wasn’t a wizard.

Right, his wife was Teacher Rosaline. By my smart head’s guess, Teacher Rosaline hadn’t cast magic but carefully persuaded her husband after hearing my story.

But even knowing the truth, I couldn’t leave. The world’s most beautiful and kind Teacher Rosaline couldn’t have married such a man, right?

He might be a wicked wizard who’d bewitched Teacher Rosaline.

But what returned was only the sound of him carefully enunciating each letter in recitation.

“Shall I compare you to a summer’s day? You are more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”¹William Shakespeare – Sonnet 18

Good heavens, I nearly fainted on the spot. Like gathering scattered flames to make a picture, such a rich yet clumsy voice. I couldn’t believe a voice could sound red without seeing it with my eyes. He was a guy who only knew how to say ‘Hey.’ and ‘Pathetic.’

I was convinced it was a spell. So I secretly watched them through a small window gap. Teacher Rosaline sat in a chair, and he sat on the floor with his face against the teacher’s thigh (like a big dog) looking up at her.

“But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st.”

Taking only important parts of the poem as he pleased. I thought the teacher would surely say something. But the teacher stroked his cheek and smiled. With that smile we and my friends love most.

“So long as I can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee, Romeo.”

Kind teacher only continued by similarly transforming the poem he’d spoken. He smiled broadly with a truly harmless face.

This is why I’ve been wandering outside alone these past weeks. So, Grandmother. Please tell Father well. That I have no intention of becoming a hunter either.

To just state the conclusion, I decided to draw the two people instead of the sea. At least to my eyes, they were more beautiful than the sea.

Romeo and Rosaline, looking more ordinary than ever.

『Romeo and Rosaline』 The End