One Silver Coin For a Pound of Demon

Chapter 30

Draft
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Lemuel still smoked.

He lit a cigarette, took a few breaths, and milky white smoke filled the air. After only a few puffs of the cigarette, it was left cold between Lemuel's fingers.

It's not that you didn't tell Lemuel about the past. He told you anecdotes about relatives and friends and the battlefield, and you returned your battlefield knowledge, you told him how deep the crusaders go in hell, and the ecology of the underground. This time, Lemuel asked you to tell him the full details. He asked about your itinerary and about your past relationships with other people. He's finally discovering how much abnormality was hiding in what you see as normal and unspoken.

No one can approach the Son without permission, no one will ask how the Son is doing, so this unprecedented thing isn't forbidden. You can tell him, and you tell him you did.

You describe to him your day-to-day schedule, that before the age of fourteen you were above ground, and after the age of fourteen you spent most of your time underground. You tell him about your father, your brothers—they aren't Sons, but other apprentices of your father, more like your caregivers or sparring partners in fact— a dog named Lightning, the nun who disappeared after kissing your forehead, and the said chapel. Lemuel asked you to talk about the people around you, but you don't have much to talk about in this regard. More than ten years of experience only took a few cigarettes.

Very few people left you with stories to tell, and when they do, those people disappear quickly. The funny thing is, the less worth mentioning someone is, the longer they stay with you. These people don't say one more word more or do more, they are blurred in your memory, like silent screws on a machine.

Lemuel snuffed the last cigarette in the ashtray without even taking a puff. He stood up and sat down again, fidgeting as if tormented by something crawling inside him, unable to find his way out. You stop and wonder if you've talked too much to made him uncomfortable.

"...White cat." Lemuel says in the end.

You look at him, he doesn't look at you, as if looking at you will make something repressed burst out. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He seems to have a lot to say, too much, it's stuck in his throat, and he can only talk about insignificant things.

"There used to be a circus in the north counties, exhibiting the 'Blessed by God' white cat," he said. "It's said that it has lived for more than 40 years and was famous at the time. It was carried in a silk basket and dressed in expensive clothes, it ate the best food, exhibited everywhere, and made a lot of money... Later, the matter was finally exposed, it wasn't a long-lived white cat, but many, many generations of white cats with the same name. Anyway, people don't distinguish the cat's face, as long as the coat color and name are the same."

Lemuel paused briefly and continued: "The year my sister became a full-time teacher, we encountered another circus exhibiting white cats. It's still the same trick, 'Come and see the long-lived cat blessed by God, you can live up to a hundred years with a glance', it's still very much in business. Do people really believe in immortal cats? Then are those who buy the tickets fools? No, they just want to see rare things and need something to worship."

The story stops there, and Lemuel shakes his head, as if he felt that it's meaningless to say this. He wipes his face and finally looks at you.

"If the Son is such a thing," He says, frowning, "Why are you here?"

"Because of God..."

"Don't say that!" Lemuel interrupts you. Unlike what he's saying, his voice wasn't angry, but almost pleading. He looks you in the eyes and says, "Enoch, tell me."