I stood there, clutching the old dog's leash. I don't feel like going for a walk right now, so I'll start tomorrow.
The dog that Noah brought home out of the blue was a shepherd with yellow fur and a dark chocolate-colored back and muzzle. Despite being a large dog, it had a thin back and exposed ribs, as if it hadn't eaten properly, and its overall appearance was like a steel-framed building.
Judging by its breed and the bandages on its legs, I assumed it was a retired military dog. It must have been a proud, elite dog. Its eyes were wide open, squinting, and it looked pitiful.
“What is your name?”
“I haven’t named it yet.”
“You who brought it, please name it.”
“Caesar Maximus Rotsilt.”
Noah answered confidently, without much hesitation. He must have thought it through before coming, but that name felt too awkward to pronounce, and he felt he needed to use excessive formality.
“How about chocolate? The mouth is chocolate-colored.”
Noah glanced down at me, his eyes glancing slightly, as if he didn't like it. "Huh, don't dislike it," I asked again.
“What was his original name?”
“Boaz.”
“He's been called that his whole life, so how about we call him that too?”
"All right."
Noah's voice held a hint of regret as he answered. What if he later decided to give his second child a grand name like that? For some reason, Noah's expression was slightly worried.
“Boaz, hello?”
I stroked his head and called his name, but Boaz lay face down on the stone floor of the porch, his chin resting on his forepaws, staring into space. He seemed to miss his former owner. Did he forcibly separate from him and steal him away?
“What about the original owner? I think it was a military dog, so there must have been a kennel assigned to it.”
“The family of an officer who lived with him at the garrison was killed in a bombing.”
“...What did you say?”
What a strange story! I covered my mouth with one hand and looked down at the pitiful dog.
They're indeed separated forever. He's the one who was taken away. I feel sorry for him.
I tried to get closer, gently grabbing its uninjured forepaw, but a faint sigh touched the back of my hand. The top of its closed snout trembled faintly.
"That guy understands. He knows someone who was like family is dead. This couple seems to have a hobby of taking care of the elderly."
Dr. Rugen approached, holding a mug of cocoa in one hand, and clicked his tongue in pity as he looked at Boaz.
“I don’t really have a hobby like collecting old people’s things.”
I put Noah's inhumane remark aside and picked up Boaz, who was lying face down, and examined him closely. His fur was matted, but he seemed to have been carefully cared for. Strangely, his forepaw claws were missing.
"Why are your nails like that? Do military dogs pluck their nails out? Like, you're afraid you'll hear footsteps?"
Noah shook his head at my excited voice.
"No. They said he was digging through the collapsed cement rubble. They said the bodies of the child and the major's wife were underneath."
“No, that’s not...”
I almost cried. This is the kind of film that's always been my tearjerker: a story about a dog waiting for its dead owner, or a touching film about the friendship between animals and humans.
"You must have been very sad. Let's stay together from now on. Should we take a bath first?"
Boaz's ears perked up at my gentle voice. His shaggy tail, like an old broom, quickly tucked between his hind legs and he slowly backed away. "I wonder if there's some kind of dog shampoo?"
“What do you wash your dog with?”
Noah looked at Vincent silently at my question. Vincent naturally averted his gaze and looked at Molly, who was standing behind him.
"Just grind the oats, dissolve them in water, and wash them. I often use it to wash away blood, no... dirt, or gunpowder from the fur of military dogs."
Molly immediately responded. Boaz sighed deeply, almost humanly, as if he knew the bath was confirmed. Before he washed, Noah brought him some food he'd brought separately, but he didn't even touch it.
“You have to eat. Why aren’t you eating?”
I tried to be gentle and soothing, but he just lay there, motionless. It's frustrating not being able to communicate. He seems to understand, but is he just ignoring me? Dogs usually put everything they see in their mouths.
I asked Noah with a worried look on my face.
“He doesn’t even sniff around, and he doesn’t eat even when I tell him to.”
“He listened to me.”
“He's not listening to me?”
Noah's stern gaze turned to Boaz at my discontented complaint.
“Sit down.”
The tone was heavy, as if he were giving instructions to a low-ranking soldier. At Noah's command, Boaz sat up straight and met his gaze.
“Start eating.”
Only then did Boaz put his face toward the rice bowl and begin to eat, making a slurping sound, but soon he quietly stepped back.
“You listen well.”
Noah smiled gently at me. "That dog is clearly strong and weak. He doesn't listen to those weaker than him, is that it?"
“Do you have to give strict orders like that for them to listen?”
"Habit is scary. If you compare it to a human, it's like living your whole life as a soldier."
I shook my head, wishing he didn't have to live so suffocatingly, even with his instincts. I wish he could live like a normal dog.
"I wish you'd follow me even if you didn't have to. You should live like a puppy."
Noah nodded and looked down at Boaz. The corners of his eyes were raised, a murderous look forming.
"Private Boaz, from now on, live like a dog. If you don't listen to Diana, your superior and officer, you will be court-martialed..."
“I’ll just take care of it!”
Seeing Boaz's ears droop and his eyes turn sad, I hastily stopped him. Even in these times, shouldn't I protect my rights?
Habits are truly scary. You can tell a soldier's skill is obvious even without looking.
And besides, I'm higher in rank? What a joke. I chuckled and asked him.
“But an officer? Do I have a rank?”
"Yes."
“What is it?”
Noah answered my playful question with a very serious face.
“If it’s revealed that you’re a Princess, you’ll start from the bottom.”
"... Yes?"
"Royals and members of the imperial family are required to study military science, including national defense policy and command systems, and receive officers' certificates after completing a year of service. They also serve on the battlefield, and the monarch must also assume the role of commander-in-chief in times of war."
Of course, it's only natural, since even Crown Princes and Crown Princesses go to war. There have even been instances of Kings personally participating in wars, Noah continued.
"Queen Grace wanted to learn how to pilot a fighter jet, but because she gave birth to you at a young age and became King, she ended up serving a year in the Quartermaster Corps. She even personally inspected the front lines and wrote military plans."
“Will Erita do it too?”
"Erita ran away after three weeks of training in the Royal Guard. She's supposed to serve at least twelve months, but she keeps putting it off because she doesn't want to. She'll have to finish it someday, though."
Noah finished speaking, chuckling loosely and tapping Boaz's ear with his finger. Boaz tilted his head and gently licked his hand.
“You have to eat a lot and take good care of Diana. She won’t be lonely.”
I don't know if it was because of what I said when I left Cynthia, or because I'd mentioned my love for dogs in the past. I wonder if he doesn't easily overlook my trivial remarks.
And those words are somehow lonely. They seem to be assuming a time when you're not by my side.
I wrapped a wine-colored flannel bandana around Boaz, who was now clean and fresh from his bath. Boaz seemed to enjoy the green, grassy garden, and he plopped down, panting as he looked around.
“What about a walk? His legs hurt.”
“It’s the rehabilitation stage, so I guess it’s okay as long as you don’t overdo it.”
Molly, who was brushing his tail, answered. Boaz remained calm, not barking or growling, even as the fine-toothed comb tugged at his fur. Perhaps he was afraid of Noah, who stood there, arms folded, looking down.
The Duke of Hessen's car pulled up on the porch. I raised my hand, glanced at my watch, and then remembered that Daniel was coming to visit that day. Dr. Rugen, who had been sitting on the garden bench, holding a cane, must have seen the pretty boy getting out of the car. He jumped to his feet.
“Our grandson has arrived.”
Dr. Rugen's eyes lit up with joy as he hugged Daniel, who was walking briskly toward him. It occurred to me that his real grandson might still be alive. Noah had said Dr. Rugen would despair if he found out, but judging by his appearance, he seemed to miss his grandson dearly.
"...I don't know."
While he was muttering to himself, Daniel, who was walking towards Dr. Rugen, holding his hand, opened his ruby eyes wide. It was because he saw Boaz sitting on the grass.
"Puppy?"
“He’s gentle, so you can touch him. Isn’t he cool?”
Dr. Rugen spoke with care, stroking Boaz's head with his wrinkled hand as if to illustrate. Boaz's eyes twitched and then lowered repeatedly under his rough touch.
Daniel approached the dog hesitantly, perhaps because he was afraid of its large size despite its skinny appearance, and held out his small hand.
“Woof woof. Let’s be friends.”
Daniel even tried to communicate with Boaz by making puppy sounds. Boaz's expression brightened unusually, and he wagged his tail and repeatedly licked Daniel's cheek. I felt strangely resentful. Why didn't he do that for me?
“Brother, can I play with him?”
Daniel, who was embracing Boaz as if dancing a waltz, looked up at Noah, who was standing with his arms linked. He gestured toward me.
“You should ask Diana. She’s the supreme leader of our family.”
"What's that?" I said gently, lowering my posture and meeting Daniel's gaze.
"You can play with him. But he's got a leg injury, so you have to be careful. His name is Boaz."
“Hello, Boaz, how old are you?”
Noah answered Daniel's question while he was hugging Boaz's neck and rubbing his face against it.
“Nine years old. He’s older than you.”
“Brother Boaz?”
Daniel's bewildered expression was quite adorable. I watched Dr. Rugen, Daniel, and Boaz playing on the grass. The spring breeze gently swayed the hems of my skirts. The lovely flower petals in full bloom on the trees fell and landed on Dr. Rugen's glasses, Daniel's jet-black hair, and the tip of Boaz's nose.
The unfamiliar yet nostalgic feeling I'd felt before tickled my heart. I felt a sense of excitement and a slight elation. I think I understand why we capture fond memories and fleeting moments in photographs. Perhaps it's spring. Even if I took a photo, it would be difficult to capture the pale green hues that make spring memorable, since it's in black and white.
'I saw the picture and realized what you meant.'
Suddenly, Noah's words came to mind, and I remembered the studio he had created for me. Inside the white room, there was a wooden easel, a wide canvas, a weasel-hair brush, and colorful paints.
“The petals are attached.”
Noah gently arched his eyes as he plucked a petal from my bangs and showed it to me. The faint dimples on his cheeks were beautiful. What kind of paint would I mix to create those eyes, which were cold yet warm?
I'd spent years drawing the same pictures for college entrance exams, thinking of them as mere social tools for a more glamorous academic career, and I'd spent my entire life oblivious to them. I couldn't even remember why I started drawing. It felt like I'd forgotten something important.
“Noah, I’m going to draw again.”
Suddenly, I wanted to find the true meaning of drawing.
It was a heartwarming conclusion, almost emotional, like a child sharing his hopes for the future. For a moment, Noah's face went blank, but then he broke into the same smile he had before.
"Yeah. I'll sponsor you. I'll hold an exhibition and make you a famous artist, making you a lot of money. We'll split the profits 70-30, right? You're the 70."
My emotions were slightly dampened by this man, a capitalist to the core, and I looked at him with a disapproving look. Yes, artists need patrons, after all. It was a moment when, in a life where I had been loath to do anything, I finally found something I wanted to do.
The dog that Noah brought home out of the blue was a shepherd with yellow fur and a dark chocolate-colored back and muzzle. Despite being a large dog, it had a thin back and exposed ribs, as if it hadn't eaten properly, and its overall appearance was like a steel-framed building.
Judging by its breed and the bandages on its legs, I assumed it was a retired military dog. It must have been a proud, elite dog. Its eyes were wide open, squinting, and it looked pitiful.
“What is your name?”
“I haven’t named it yet.”
“You who brought it, please name it.”
“Caesar Maximus Rotsilt.”
Noah answered confidently, without much hesitation. He must have thought it through before coming, but that name felt too awkward to pronounce, and he felt he needed to use excessive formality.
“How about chocolate? The mouth is chocolate-colored.”
Noah glanced down at me, his eyes glancing slightly, as if he didn't like it. "Huh, don't dislike it," I asked again.
“What was his original name?”
“Boaz.”
“He's been called that his whole life, so how about we call him that too?”
"All right."
Noah's voice held a hint of regret as he answered. What if he later decided to give his second child a grand name like that? For some reason, Noah's expression was slightly worried.
“Boaz, hello?”
I stroked his head and called his name, but Boaz lay face down on the stone floor of the porch, his chin resting on his forepaws, staring into space. He seemed to miss his former owner. Did he forcibly separate from him and steal him away?
“What about the original owner? I think it was a military dog, so there must have been a kennel assigned to it.”
“The family of an officer who lived with him at the garrison was killed in a bombing.”
“...What did you say?”
What a strange story! I covered my mouth with one hand and looked down at the pitiful dog.
They're indeed separated forever. He's the one who was taken away. I feel sorry for him.
I tried to get closer, gently grabbing its uninjured forepaw, but a faint sigh touched the back of my hand. The top of its closed snout trembled faintly.
"That guy understands. He knows someone who was like family is dead. This couple seems to have a hobby of taking care of the elderly."
Dr. Rugen approached, holding a mug of cocoa in one hand, and clicked his tongue in pity as he looked at Boaz.
“I don’t really have a hobby like collecting old people’s things.”
I put Noah's inhumane remark aside and picked up Boaz, who was lying face down, and examined him closely. His fur was matted, but he seemed to have been carefully cared for. Strangely, his forepaw claws were missing.
"Why are your nails like that? Do military dogs pluck their nails out? Like, you're afraid you'll hear footsteps?"
Noah shook his head at my excited voice.
"No. They said he was digging through the collapsed cement rubble. They said the bodies of the child and the major's wife were underneath."
“No, that’s not...”
I almost cried. This is the kind of film that's always been my tearjerker: a story about a dog waiting for its dead owner, or a touching film about the friendship between animals and humans.
"You must have been very sad. Let's stay together from now on. Should we take a bath first?"
Boaz's ears perked up at my gentle voice. His shaggy tail, like an old broom, quickly tucked between his hind legs and he slowly backed away. "I wonder if there's some kind of dog shampoo?"
“What do you wash your dog with?”
Noah looked at Vincent silently at my question. Vincent naturally averted his gaze and looked at Molly, who was standing behind him.
"Just grind the oats, dissolve them in water, and wash them. I often use it to wash away blood, no... dirt, or gunpowder from the fur of military dogs."
Molly immediately responded. Boaz sighed deeply, almost humanly, as if he knew the bath was confirmed. Before he washed, Noah brought him some food he'd brought separately, but he didn't even touch it.
“You have to eat. Why aren’t you eating?”
I tried to be gentle and soothing, but he just lay there, motionless. It's frustrating not being able to communicate. He seems to understand, but is he just ignoring me? Dogs usually put everything they see in their mouths.
I asked Noah with a worried look on my face.
“He doesn’t even sniff around, and he doesn’t eat even when I tell him to.”
“He listened to me.”
“He's not listening to me?”
Noah's stern gaze turned to Boaz at my discontented complaint.
“Sit down.”
The tone was heavy, as if he were giving instructions to a low-ranking soldier. At Noah's command, Boaz sat up straight and met his gaze.
“Start eating.”
Only then did Boaz put his face toward the rice bowl and begin to eat, making a slurping sound, but soon he quietly stepped back.
“You listen well.”
Noah smiled gently at me. "That dog is clearly strong and weak. He doesn't listen to those weaker than him, is that it?"
“Do you have to give strict orders like that for them to listen?”
"Habit is scary. If you compare it to a human, it's like living your whole life as a soldier."
I shook my head, wishing he didn't have to live so suffocatingly, even with his instincts. I wish he could live like a normal dog.
"I wish you'd follow me even if you didn't have to. You should live like a puppy."
Noah nodded and looked down at Boaz. The corners of his eyes were raised, a murderous look forming.
"Private Boaz, from now on, live like a dog. If you don't listen to Diana, your superior and officer, you will be court-martialed..."
“I’ll just take care of it!”
Seeing Boaz's ears droop and his eyes turn sad, I hastily stopped him. Even in these times, shouldn't I protect my rights?
Habits are truly scary. You can tell a soldier's skill is obvious even without looking.
And besides, I'm higher in rank? What a joke. I chuckled and asked him.
“But an officer? Do I have a rank?”
"Yes."
“What is it?”
Noah answered my playful question with a very serious face.
“If it’s revealed that you’re a Princess, you’ll start from the bottom.”
"... Yes?"
"Royals and members of the imperial family are required to study military science, including national defense policy and command systems, and receive officers' certificates after completing a year of service. They also serve on the battlefield, and the monarch must also assume the role of commander-in-chief in times of war."
Of course, it's only natural, since even Crown Princes and Crown Princesses go to war. There have even been instances of Kings personally participating in wars, Noah continued.
"Queen Grace wanted to learn how to pilot a fighter jet, but because she gave birth to you at a young age and became King, she ended up serving a year in the Quartermaster Corps. She even personally inspected the front lines and wrote military plans."
“Will Erita do it too?”
"Erita ran away after three weeks of training in the Royal Guard. She's supposed to serve at least twelve months, but she keeps putting it off because she doesn't want to. She'll have to finish it someday, though."
Noah finished speaking, chuckling loosely and tapping Boaz's ear with his finger. Boaz tilted his head and gently licked his hand.
“You have to eat a lot and take good care of Diana. She won’t be lonely.”
I don't know if it was because of what I said when I left Cynthia, or because I'd mentioned my love for dogs in the past. I wonder if he doesn't easily overlook my trivial remarks.
And those words are somehow lonely. They seem to be assuming a time when you're not by my side.
***
I wrapped a wine-colored flannel bandana around Boaz, who was now clean and fresh from his bath. Boaz seemed to enjoy the green, grassy garden, and he plopped down, panting as he looked around.
“What about a walk? His legs hurt.”
“It’s the rehabilitation stage, so I guess it’s okay as long as you don’t overdo it.”
Molly, who was brushing his tail, answered. Boaz remained calm, not barking or growling, even as the fine-toothed comb tugged at his fur. Perhaps he was afraid of Noah, who stood there, arms folded, looking down.
The Duke of Hessen's car pulled up on the porch. I raised my hand, glanced at my watch, and then remembered that Daniel was coming to visit that day. Dr. Rugen, who had been sitting on the garden bench, holding a cane, must have seen the pretty boy getting out of the car. He jumped to his feet.
“Our grandson has arrived.”
Dr. Rugen's eyes lit up with joy as he hugged Daniel, who was walking briskly toward him. It occurred to me that his real grandson might still be alive. Noah had said Dr. Rugen would despair if he found out, but judging by his appearance, he seemed to miss his grandson dearly.
"...I don't know."
While he was muttering to himself, Daniel, who was walking towards Dr. Rugen, holding his hand, opened his ruby eyes wide. It was because he saw Boaz sitting on the grass.
"Puppy?"
“He’s gentle, so you can touch him. Isn’t he cool?”
Dr. Rugen spoke with care, stroking Boaz's head with his wrinkled hand as if to illustrate. Boaz's eyes twitched and then lowered repeatedly under his rough touch.
Daniel approached the dog hesitantly, perhaps because he was afraid of its large size despite its skinny appearance, and held out his small hand.
“Woof woof. Let’s be friends.”
Daniel even tried to communicate with Boaz by making puppy sounds. Boaz's expression brightened unusually, and he wagged his tail and repeatedly licked Daniel's cheek. I felt strangely resentful. Why didn't he do that for me?
“Brother, can I play with him?”
Daniel, who was embracing Boaz as if dancing a waltz, looked up at Noah, who was standing with his arms linked. He gestured toward me.
“You should ask Diana. She’s the supreme leader of our family.”
"What's that?" I said gently, lowering my posture and meeting Daniel's gaze.
"You can play with him. But he's got a leg injury, so you have to be careful. His name is Boaz."
“Hello, Boaz, how old are you?”
Noah answered Daniel's question while he was hugging Boaz's neck and rubbing his face against it.
“Nine years old. He’s older than you.”
“Brother Boaz?”
Daniel's bewildered expression was quite adorable. I watched Dr. Rugen, Daniel, and Boaz playing on the grass. The spring breeze gently swayed the hems of my skirts. The lovely flower petals in full bloom on the trees fell and landed on Dr. Rugen's glasses, Daniel's jet-black hair, and the tip of Boaz's nose.
The unfamiliar yet nostalgic feeling I'd felt before tickled my heart. I felt a sense of excitement and a slight elation. I think I understand why we capture fond memories and fleeting moments in photographs. Perhaps it's spring. Even if I took a photo, it would be difficult to capture the pale green hues that make spring memorable, since it's in black and white.
'I saw the picture and realized what you meant.'
Suddenly, Noah's words came to mind, and I remembered the studio he had created for me. Inside the white room, there was a wooden easel, a wide canvas, a weasel-hair brush, and colorful paints.
“The petals are attached.”
Noah gently arched his eyes as he plucked a petal from my bangs and showed it to me. The faint dimples on his cheeks were beautiful. What kind of paint would I mix to create those eyes, which were cold yet warm?
I'd spent years drawing the same pictures for college entrance exams, thinking of them as mere social tools for a more glamorous academic career, and I'd spent my entire life oblivious to them. I couldn't even remember why I started drawing. It felt like I'd forgotten something important.
“Noah, I’m going to draw again.”
Suddenly, I wanted to find the true meaning of drawing.
It was a heartwarming conclusion, almost emotional, like a child sharing his hopes for the future. For a moment, Noah's face went blank, but then he broke into the same smile he had before.
"Yeah. I'll sponsor you. I'll hold an exhibition and make you a famous artist, making you a lot of money. We'll split the profits 70-30, right? You're the 70."
My emotions were slightly dampened by this man, a capitalist to the core, and I looked at him with a disapproving look. Yes, artists need patrons, after all. It was a moment when, in a life where I had been loath to do anything, I finally found something I wanted to do.
Comments
Post a Comment