The beast in the man's chest was still tight.
The memorial service for the tavern owner's son was over. They stood up and the owner invited him to have a beer.
"No, I came out on my own," the man said.
The boss looked slightly surprised, but only slightly. He sighed and said, "Then I can only advise you to go back early."
The man didn't answer, but limped out with a cane.
During his wandering days in the desert, he had broken his lower leg, so he quickly got used to this way of walking.
When he walked out of the church, the feeling of life passing by reappeared in his mind, and the man immediately realized that his time was running out.
So he turned around and waved goodbye to his boss.
The man's breathing began to become faster and faster each time. He stood still and tried to take deep breaths, and finally relieved the feeling.
"It's time to go back, I've been out for too long," the man murmured.
He turned a corner. The place was dimly lit and so narrow that it could barely accommodate one person.
The man's steps were slow, fearing that moving too fast would speed up his breathing, and the candlestick around his waist was tied securely.
Behind him, a dark figure cautiously approached him.
A small hand aimed at the rusty candlestick and quickly moved towards it.
Snapped.
The man turned around quickly and grabbed the child's wrist tightly.
He grew up stealing bread, and after so many years, he is still very familiar with it.
"You want to steal something?" The man stared directly at the child.
The boy was immediately stared at, as if being stared at by a lion, and he was trembling.
"Sir..." The boy didn't know why, but he could only nod in front of this fierce man.
"Why?" The man said in a low voice, sounding like a roar.
The boy was dumbfounded and didn't know how to speak.
The man stared at him fiercely, his brows furrowed and his beast-like pupils trembling.
This seemed like torture, but the man was not only torturing the boy, he was also torturing Ailan Biyin, and he was also torturing the man himself.
That child wouldn't know that the man in front of him was even more panicked deep down in his soul than he was.
"Why?" The man's tone was fierce.
The child suddenly had an idea and almost cried: "I just think it's fun, I just think it's fun, I want that candlestick."
The former consul was stunned for a moment.
The man's upset mood instantly calmed down.
"You said it was just for fun, nothing else?" The man's tone was much softer.
The child couldn't understand why the man was so fierce just now, but now he calmed down. He could only nod obediently and said repeatedly: "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, the Lord will bless you, sir."
"It's not because of hunger or poverty, it's not because of illness and urgent need for money, it's not because of any pain or misery?" the man confirmed again.
"No...just for fun...I'm sorry, sir, I was wrong." The boy said as seriously as possible.
The man breathed a sigh of relief.
"I will let you go, but you have to remember..." The man let go of his hand, and the child's wrist was red.
"Remember, remember what..." the child asked fearfully.
He raised his fingers and made a ring salute to the child. He was so weak that his arms were shaking slightly, and he put his fingertips on the child's forehead.
“The Lord saves your soul from now on.”
After he said this,
Suddenly I felt that my life was relaxing.
The beast crept down and closed its eyes peacefully.
So, the man turned around, tapped his cane on the ground, and left without looking back.
.....................
As the man struggled to climb behind the utility room window, he was panting uncontrollably.
He didn't expect that he would be so weak that his body was no different than that of an old man.
The man leaned against the wall to rest for a while. How could he go out before, and how could he go back now?
When he grabbed the handrail of the stairs and walked up to the floor where his room was, he almost spent all his energy.
The man walked back to the ward door and pushed open the wooden door.
Cassell actually stood beside the hospital bed.
They were surprised to see each other.
"Why are you back?" It was the man who reacted first.
"I...had an inexplicable premonition, like...the Lord's guidance." Cassel walked over and helped the man with the broken leg onto the hospital bed.
After the man lay on it, he untied the candlestick from his belt and held it in his hands.
"Casel, you know, I was out for a while."
Cassell nodded and said: "When I saw no one here, I didn't panic at all. I had a hunch that you were only out for a short while."
"Your premonition is surprisingly accurate," the man said.
"Maybe just this time, what did you go to see?"
The man raised his face and stared at Cassel. His eyelids were weak and it took some effort to hold them up: "Many, many... I went to see a mother and baby, citizens in the tavern, for their little son. The old man who held the memorial service...and the child who stole my things."
"Lord, he dared to steal from a consul." After Cassel finished speaking, he corrected his wording with a smile, "Former consul."
"It doesn't matter that he stole my things." After thinking about it, the man smiled.
"You smiled. I always felt that you were not very used to laughing." Cassel said.
After knowing each other for so many years, the man often showed a serious face to others.
"Because there are many times when I need to be more serious." The man said, suppressing his smile.
Cassell thought for a while and asked: "You said that's not important, so what is important?"
What's important...
The man thought about it carefully and couldn't explain it at the moment. He could only say: "I don't know."
"Oh, that's boring."
"Yes, many things are meaningless." The man couldn't help but close his eyes.
Drowsiness surged from his fingertips, and he wanted to fall asleep.
But when he thought of something, he suddenly woke up and propped himself up with his hands.
After sleeping and waking up, the man became even weaker.
"I said, Cassell, I'm dying."
Cassell's expression froze.
The new consul forced a smile on his face and said helplessly: "I..."
Before he finished speaking, the man interrupted him and said forcefully: "You don't have to call a doctor or a priest. You have to accept it."
Cassel had no choice but to nod, but didn't know what to say.
It was the man who spoke first.
"At the end of our lives, let's talk about poetry."
Cassel looked at him.
"You're still writing that long poem, right?" the man asked.
"Yes, there was a delay for a while, but now, everything is going well, the whole kingdom is in chaos, and we are preparing to take action," Cassel said.
Then, he was a little surprised and said: "I didn't know you knew poetry..."
"Yes, I don't understand, but let's talk about it. The poem to Alambien."
Cassel straightened up. He pulled his chair closer and leaned closer.
"Then let's talk," Cassell said. "Let's start with the beginning."
"Yes, at the beginning, how did you write it?" The man's tone was calm.
"The beginning of a poem is like a woman's eyebrows, which are the most captivating to people's hearts." Cassell said briskly.
"I can understand this metaphor, but I would rather hear the original text." The man said helplessly.
"Okay," Cassell cleared his throat, "'This poem begins with an uprising that is doomed to fail.'"
"not bad."
"Why?"
"It's different from what others wrote." The man said simply.
Cassel was a little helpless.
The man raised his hand, grasped the candlestick tightly, coughed, his head felt a little dizzy, and said, "Keep talking."
"The next thing I wrote about was the uprising. I haven't finished the poem yet, so I ended it here."
"Yes, that failed uprising, we lived through it."
"There is you, there is me Cassel, there is Colvin, there is Keck..." At this point, Cassel hesitated.
"And Myron," the man paused and said, "We can't use the present to deny him."
"Okay, then you have to have an image. Give Myron an image. Maybe everyone should have one." Cassel said quickly.
"I'll leave it to you to think about it," the man said.
"What about yourself? What should your image be?" Cassel glanced at the candlestick in his hand and asked, "Candlelight? After all, you have always been our leader."
The man shook his head vigorously.
Cassel closed his mouth and waited for his answer.
He took a deep breath on the bed and said slowly: "Candlestick."
"Why..."
"The candlelight is upon you."
Thus, the image of this man without a name was finalized.
Cassel and the man then continued talking about the long poem.
What should be included in a long poem, what should be written, in this long conversation, from the uprising to the implementation of the new law, from facing the greatest threat to conquering the royal capital... it was almost finalized, only the ending was left.
And as time passed, the more the man continued to talk, the weaker he became.
Cassel noticed this too, and his voice began to tremble.
The man held the candlestick in his arms.
"I have nothing to say about the ending." The man said softly.
“It wouldn’t be a good ending without your actual words,” Cassell insisted.
The man pondered for a moment, letting the little time left pass by.
After a long time, he was exhausted and said: "Everything is logical."
"That's the only thing?"
"That's all." The man confirmed.
The man completely leaned back on the bed. From just now to now, he has been supporting his body with his palms.
He kissed the candlestick softly and held it to his chest.
The premonition in Cassel's mind trembled.
"Thank you, it's a perfect death," the man said.
Cassel's eyes were moist.
"Then," the man was dying, "it's time for me to go."
The Lord is above.
He used the last bit of strength in his life to smile at his old friend for many years.
Cassell's eyes were sore and he was crying.
Yes, this man without a name just lost his life.
Cassell looked at the rusty candlestick held tightly by the man.
He didn't know what to say. It really didn't feel real that the man who had just been talking about poetry with him for a long time, his leader and friend for many years, passed away like this.
Cassell's eyes were wet, and even his throat was wet.
He left and rested peacefully.
Cassel clasped his hands together. He didn't know what he was praying for, but he just felt that he should wait quietly like this.
On the wooden window lattice, the light blue curtains were blown by the breeze.
"Nora Ridge."
A voice came from a distant place, penetrated everything, and sounded at this moment.
Cassell opened his eyes and looked at everything in front of him in disbelief.
The man held the candlestick tightly and lit it himself.
The warm candlelight burns...
To guide this tortured soul.
