The Tsunami That Broke My Wall - Chapter 5

Understanding Warmth

Sandoria was an unknown child. I thought she was treating me kindly, but at a decisive moment, she exposed herself sharply. She didn’t mean to embarrass me, but sometimes she would go out of her way to answer something the teacher hadn’t asked. I thought she was simply good at giving answers, but it wasn’t long after I noticed that Sandoria deliberately showed off.

I neither hated nor liked Sandoria. However, I envied that child’s hair, proper posture, and elegant steps. Unlike me, who is blunt, she is kind to everyone, and I don’t even dare to imitate her.

But this was the same child who grabbed my wrist roughly. She dragged me away from my mother’s room and pushed me into the maid’s kitchen. And after confirming that no one was there, she pointed out my appearance in an angry voice.

“That’s only for the maids. Do you really have to take it this morning?”

Sandoria threw the bread from my arms back into the basket. I could see why Sandoria was angry. I too was messed up, like Sandoria’s face. I was angry because I was embarrassed. 

“Can’t I eat it?”

“It wasn’t left for just anyone to eat. It’s up to the maids. On top of that, you even ate earlier.”

“It’s all mine. Everything”

I wanted to be close to Sandoria as much as I admired her. But I realized now was that we couldn’t get close from the beginning. I sensed it. The answer was revealed when I connected mother’s conversation with Sandoria’s attitude. 

(T/N: She sensed that she discovered the answer was revealed (why they brought lara there) after her mom’s convo and Sandoria’s superior attitude.)

“I heard it.”

I knew Sandoria would be hurt, but I said it.

“What?”

“Who exchanged you and me?”

My eyes gleamed as I stepped forward.

“I thought you could be my sister.”

The child stepped back. Sandoria didn’t realize she dropped the bread as she was backed into the corner of the kitchen. She completely lost hold of the breadbasket when her back hit the wall. The distance between us narrowed. Sandoria’s eyes were as weak as a gentle sheep.

“You must have grown up really nicely.”

Have I ever had a fight with a noble lady who had her nails trimmed every day? Whether this was mine or that this child stole it, I was more embarrassed than angered at her at that moment. 

I was caught secretly coming down and stealing bread after eating as much as a bird feeds to imitate her, and I was caught. No matter how I acted or dressed up I couldn’t hide that I was a pickpocket. 

“I’m jealous. You grew up without suffering.”

So maybe I stabbed a sharp knife into this gentle sheep who lost her nails. My cold voice hit the child’s shoulder. I left the kitchen as if that was all I had to say. 

Sandoria couldn’t even make a sound. She was a child who constantly seemed to walk on thin ice. When I looked back, the child was burying her face in her knees. 

Three days later, our relationship became clear. We’re cousins. Sandoria was the daughter of my grandfather’s eldest son, and I’m the daughter of his younger son. Sandoria’s mother was a maid. It may have been a night’s sleep for my uncle, and a misfortune for the maid. 

When my uncle died, my father became the successor, and Sandoria and I were born at the same time. How did she feel? What was the reason for exchanging her daughter, who was just a newborn, with me?

Unfortunately, the dead were silent. It was the people living who were left to clean things up. In an accident that no one could answer, I grew up poorly, and Sandoria became the daughter of a sinner. That’s when I found out. That the pain I suffered was proportional to Sandoria’s tears to come. 

I should have been a little more affectionate that day.
 

* * * 

I’ve never had a family before. Growing up as an orphan, the only thing I encountered about family was through fairy tales. After stealing books, we’d read all night, joking that each other’s parents would have been witches.

Even in fairy tales, parents who didn’t act like good parents came out. Parents who sold their children to witches, or those who left their child at the foot of a mountain, or those who were abused by the people who adopted them. 

Most of the children in the back alley were orphans, so such fairy tales were not popular. Instead, children’s books that we found popular were the ones that allowed us to have sweet dreams, even if for a short while. The type where our parents eagerly sought us, or those where our parents were kings of a neighboring country.

In a way, I could say that I was successful among dogs. Isn’t my life like something out of a fairy tale? The princess who was swapped at birth, forced to live as a beggar, and when the time came to confront the fake daughter who took her original spot, she didn’t kill her, but, well, it was that kind of fairy tale.

However, the princess in the fairy tale was not as happy as expected. Of course, the body was comfortable. Even if I stand still, I’m washed, put to sleep, have clothes put on, and if I just say a word, a meal will come out, and I will dress according to my mood and the weather.

So, what made me depressed was a kind of contentious grudge. For some reason I still felt like I was a bloody beggar, not a princess. No matter how good the clothes I put on, no matter how much my mother or grandfather called my name, the stains of my past could not be washed out.

Sandoria, who looked like death warmed over*, was worthy of the title princess. At that age, she already learnt four foreign languages she can speak. She never gets excited recklessly, and the servants sincerely liked the child. They’d been together for a long time, ever since she was a baby. 

(*It’s a way of saying someone looks very tired or sick or close to death.)

In a portrait I saw by chance, there was a girl who sat between her mother and father, of whom I’d never seen, smiling happily. My father was said to have passed away six years ago. 

My mother and grandfather are still unfamiliar to me, but my father was already deceased. It was sad that I wasn’t saddened by that fact. What was visible was easy to get. But no matter what I did, my father’s voice, expression, and touch could not be returned.

These days, I go out and imitate Sandoria’s elegant gait. When I walked, I adjusted my neck and straightened my back that was bent like a turtle. I’d recall the Sandoria of that day. Her eyes and lips scornfully criticized me for stealing bread, and me, who responded like a fool. 

I took a few steps and stopped. 

“Aah…S—”

Why did I try to hurt her so much? Whenever I thought of that day, I wanted to dig a hole for myself. 

I was a bedbug* who only goofed around without doing anything all day. Adults would soon notice. What could I bring that was of real use, the fact is I’m a thief who couldn’t be used anywhere.

(*To be a bedbug means to leech/sponge off of someone.)

“Iara.”

Lying with my head on the fountain, I sat up. It was my grandfather who stood with his hands behind him.

“Do you want me to show you something good?”

“Something good?”

“Yes.”

My grandfather offered his hand to me. My hand reached out while thinking about whether to take hold of it or not. In an instant, grandfather lifted me to my feet. 

“Come here.” 

Grandfather said, ‘I came out for a walk because my back was stiff.’ I replied, ‘Yes.’ We went down a path lined with purple flowers.  

The road was too cramped for two people to walk side by side. It was like a path that a gardener walked by to water. I had no choice but to walk ahead, and my grandfather followed behind.

“Your steps have  become more elegant.”

He must have seen me practicing as I walked my ass off. I scratched my thigh after I wiped my nose roughly. I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t keep still.

“I didn’t copy anyone.”

“Who did you copy!”

“It’s not true.”

“Who was it? Is it your mother Sisi? Ria?”

Ria. It’s probably a nickname for Sandoria. It was natural for grandfather to call out her nickname.

“I like your steps, too.”

I used to walk like a drunk person so I could bump into others to steal gold coins from their inner pocket. That habit was ingrained in my gait. No matter how much I stretched my legs, I was like a chicken, jealous of a swan. 

I wanted to stop talking about my gait. If you compare things one at a time, is that the only difference between me and that child? I bit my tongue and picked up my pace.

“Iara.”

“Yes.”

“Look ahead.”

A long wall appeared. Looking up, I saw the end of the wall covered by clouds. It will probably take several days and nights to cross this wall. It could be climbed to climb, but it would be difficult for the body to recover if I sprained a foot. If it is not an ordinary wall, it is impossible to climb to the end.

“Is this what you’re going to show me?”

“Of course.”

What is it? I shouldn’t even dream of getting outside this wall. When I frowned with my arms folded, my grandfather’s big hand popped out from behind. 

“Iara.”

Grandpa had his eyes closed with his hands on the wall. I didn’t know what he was doing, so I stood there blankly. Then my grandfather opened one eye and looked at me.

“Come here.”

I was deceived by my grandfather’s kind smile. The nobleman, whose days are flower gardens, would enjoy this kind of thing. I approached it while swallowing a sigh.

“Hand.”

I placed my hand on the wall, without expectations. I thought it was going to be a stone wall, but the outside was soft, as if I was holding on to a thick piece of wool. I could feel the beating of the wall under my palm. Doong doong. I got numb from the pulse that was delivered. It meant that the wall could breathe.

“Is it alive?”

“It’s alive.”

“How?”

Grandfather put his ear to the wall. Without saying much, he urged me with his eyes. In an awkward position I brought my ear to the wall.

There was a rustling sound of soil. There were birds chirping, the sound of the gentle earth breeze, a lullaby to put a baby to sleep, and a flock of sheep crying in a field. 

“This wall surrounds the whole land of the dome.”

The wall seemed to capture all the sounds of the land and conveyed them to me. Like running from land to land with a rough beating heart. What I couldn’t see was delivered to me in a whisper. It took away my confusion. As my senses were pulled into the wall. I couldn’t remove my ear from it.  

“The wall is connected to the whole dome. ‘Yereka’ means ‘keeper of the wall.’ Above all else, we are the descendants of Wittervaldo, who are in charge of the Western Wall.”

Grandfather calmly took his ear from the wall, removed his hands, and straightened his posture. Instead, my grandfather’s hand grasped my shoulder.

“And you’re my granddaughter.”

The wind ruffled my grandfather’s hair and brushed over me. Just like the grass swayed in the wind, my heart fluttered uncontrollably. Grandpa smiled at me.

“How far apart we were. It doesn’t matter.”

It was then that I really saw the wall for the first time. I knew my grandfather, and I knew the warmth of his hands. The sound of the wall, of my heart, and the look in my grandfather’s eyes when he called me granddaughter. I understood it for the first time that day.

Grandpa guided me up the wall. It was a road with small steps that led to a place known only by successors. If I went up the stairs, I could climb the wall without difficulty. 

It was barren above the thick wall. Standing there where there was nothing, Grandpa showed me what was beneath. The west faced the sea, and this was the western end. 

I could observe the flowing sea without a settlement in sight. It was the first time in my life to view the sea. The pitch-dark sea slammed into the wall. It repeatedly sank like a gentle beast even after spreading its grip as if it would swallow the wall.

“Iara.”

“Yes.”

“Now you have to protect this wall.”

“From what?”

Grandfather didn’t answer. He said it’s a story that I don’t need to know yet. When grandfather spoke those words, his expression was quite serious. I couldn’t ask more questions.

After that, I often went up there and watched the waves crashing against the wall. Within this castle, I found this place to be my sanctum. The waves were pleasantly noisy, enough to steal my dizzy mind.

****