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Chapter 9
Soon after we cleared the table, the whole house was filled with the smell of sugar being boiled down. Breathing in the sweet scent, I pulled down Ruth’s bandage to check the wound I hadn’t properly looked at in the morning while sorting bread. The raw wound was still large enough to leave a scar.
Lulu came close and handed me medicine. I took the disinfectant from her hand, soaked it on cotton, and wiped the wound. Ruth bit his lip.
“Ugh…”
I moved my hands a little faster and applied the medicine, patting it on and wrapping the bandage. Ruth gripped the sofa so tightly his knuckles turned white. A disturbing tearing sound came from somewhere. Ruth and I both turned toward the sound at the same time.
“…I’ll fix it.”
Ruth muttered while pointing at the sofa, which now had a hole in it, like he was looking for a place to hide. I tightened the bandage properly and opened my notebook.
[Can you sew?]
“I think… I can.”
You think you can? I narrowed my eyes. Sewing wasn’t something that simple. Ruth nodded as if trying to convince himself.
“I’ll try it now.”
At my gesture, Lulu quickly brought thread, a needle, and a piece of cloth to patch the hole. Ruth placed the cloth over the tear and, with a calm expression, tried threading the needle, struggling awkwardly to pass the thread through the tiny hole. Lulu fluttered over and landed on my lap, watching his struggle.
The thread kept missing the eye of the needle, so Ruth wet the end of the thread with his saliva and carefully tried again.
“Huu…”
Once the thread finally went through, Ruth wiped his sweat and looked between the cloth, the sofa, and the threaded needle.
“…If I just stick this in, won’t the thread come out again?”
I only shrugged without answering. Ruth stared at my hands, hoping for guidance, but I didn’t write anything in my notebook. Giving up on hints, he finally pressed the needle into the cloth on the sofa.
“Uh, how do I pull the needle out?”
See?
I quietly laughed while hugging Lulu tightly. Ruth’s cheeks slowly turned red. I stopped laughing only after Lulu was nearly crushed in my arms. I took the cloth and needle from Ruth, tied a knot in the thread, and quickly stitched the sofa.
“…I think I can do it now.”
As if trying to regain his pride, Ruth hesitantly held out his hand. I handed him the needle without hesitation, and he carefully started sewing again. Watching his slow movements and crooked stitches, his expression grew more and more strained, while Lulu rolled on the floor laughing.
“…What is Lulu saying?”
[She’s laughing at you.]
Ruth looked hurt and dropped the needle. I patted his shoulder as encouragement.
[You can do it. Cheer up.]
“This doesn’t feel like something you can fix with encouragement.”
Ruth frowned slightly, picking up the dangling needle and comparing my stitching with his.
“One looks like it was done by an adult… and the other like a child did it…”
[Which one looks like the child’s work?]
I shook my notebook with a hidden smile. Ruth, face warm with embarrassment, replied,
“Now I see you’re quite mischievous. Don’t ask if you already know.”
[Are you sulking?]
“I’m not.”
He muttered lowly, then stabbed the needle in again with determination.
“I’m not sulking.”
But his sewing skill still didn’t magically improve. After a few more messy stitches, Ruth sighed and dropped the needle again. I briefly considered cutting it out and redoing it properly, but seeing his face turning red like a strawberry, I simply tied it off neatly and finished it for him. Ruth couldn’t even look at his disastrous result.
[It’s okay. Everyone has things they’re good at and bad at.]
“…I wish you’d just pretend not to notice.”
I laughed again silently, and Ruth poked at his own sewing work. Then he poked it again—about to make another hole. I tried to stop him, but a soft poke sounded anyway. He quickly pulled his hand back and covered the hole while glancing at me.
[I already saw it.]
“…I’ll fix it.”
I just smiled without answering, and Ruth let out a dry laugh as if he found it funny himself. “Bring another piece of cloth.” At my words, Lulu tapped Ruth’s hand and went to fetch a scrap of fabric from the workshop.
I placed the cloth over the hole again and stitched it smoothly.
The two different-colored fabrics now attached neatly to the sofa looked oddly cute. Ruth glanced at it and said hesitantly,
“…I’m sorry.”
I blinked.
Ruth hesitated, then added,
“…When I get my memories back… I’ll buy you a new one.”
I patted his shoulder lightly, meaning it was fine. I sent Lulu to put away the needle and thread, and then Lily shouted loudly from the kitchen.
“Stop playing and come help!”
Lulu complained after hearing that.
“If she’ll do it herself anyway!”
Following the grumbling Lulu into the kitchen, Pinocchio was mechanically cutting peaches. The kitchen was a mess. Ruth quietly followed and peeked inside.
Lily waved a ladle while stirring a pot. Fruits—grapes, strawberries, apples—were scattered all over the cutting board.
“Cut them quickly.”
Lulu climbed onto the table slowly, lined up the grapes, then started rolling on a rolling pin.
The grapes burst, spraying juice everywhere. Luckily, Lulu didn’t get stained—but Lulu was white, so stains would be troublesome. I silently hoped not a single drop would hit him.
“Do we have to do this too?”
Ruth asked quietly. Pinocchio immediately nodded and shoved a kitchen knife into Ruth’s hand, pushing him toward the apples. It seemed even Pinocchio didn’t want to work. Ruth awkwardly held the knife and slowly started cutting.
I stood beside him, crushing strawberries. Ruth kept glancing at Lily while cutting the apples. A strong sour-sweet smell filled the air. It looked like blueberries were being boiled.
“How much more do I cut?”
Ruth muttered, pressing the knife flat and leaning his weight onto it. Before long, the apples turned into mush. Lulu panicked, slipped off the rolling pin, and got covered in grape juice.
Ah, that’s going to stain.
Lulu shook himself off, but it was useless. The grapes were ruined, and Lulu was half purple now. I walked over to him.
Lulu shouted.
“I’m a purple duck too!”
No, you’re not okay. You’re half white, half purple right now.
Lulu shivered after hearing that. I grabbed him and wrote on his body with grape juice.
[I’m going to wash you.]
Ruth awkwardly waved goodbye.
Lulu completely lost motivation once he entered the bathroom. I soaked him in water and took out soap. When was the last time I washed him? It felt vague—it was definitely time.
Resigned, Lulu splashed weakly.
I scrubbed him with soap until all the grape juice came off, squeezing and rinsing him thoroughly. When I pressed his beak, he reflexively flapped his wings and splashed water onto my face. Water dripped down my face, and Lulu quietly folded his wings.
After a long wash, he was finally clean. I hung him on the clothesline and returned to the kitchen.
Lily was pointing angrily at Ruth.
I glanced at Pinocchio. He pretended not to see anything while cleaning grapes.
Ruth fumbled and gestured when he saw me.
“Can you translate… please?”
Lily stomped on the table.
“This guy didn’t cut apples—he turned them into mush!”
The apples on the board were somewhere between juice and pulp.
I patted Lily’s head.
Calm down. This is fine, right?
“Still! You should at least know how to cut apples properly!”
[Just ignore her, Ruth.]
My biased judgment made Lily hit my hand lightly in protest, but it didn’t hurt at all.
Suddenly Ruth said,
“It smells burnt.”
Lily panicked, jumped down from my arms, turned off the fire, and stirred the pot. I leaned closer. The blueberry color was already so dark it was hard to tell, but when I tasted it, there was a faint burnt flavor.
I gestured to Ruth and gave him a bite.
Ruth nodded.
“It’s really just a little burnt…”
He stopped mid-sentence, then glanced behind me.
“…But I’ll eat anything anyway.”
He coughed awkwardly.
Behind him, Lily silently scraped the bottom of the pot as if threatening it. It was a shame to throw it away since it was almost finished. After tasting it again, I told Lily to put the slightly burnt blueberry jam into jars.
Pinocchio sneered from behind.
“A doll making food and burning it!”
Lily trembled but said nothing.
The apples were already mashed, so we just added sugar and simmered them. When Lily started cooking them quietly, Ruth picked up some raspberries.
“Do I crush these too?”
Before I could shake my head, Pinocchio snatched them away. Left without work, Ruth leaned back on a wooden chair.
Then—knock knock.
Someone was at the door.
I wiped my hands and went outside. Theo was standing there holding several fish tied together.
“Wow, it smells sweet. Making jam?”
I nodded lightly.
“My mom told me to bring these.”
He handed me three fish. They were already salted.
I nodded again.
[Please thank her.]
“Got it.”
Theo bowed slightly, then looked over toward Ruth before leaving. I looked away. Ruth awkwardly returned the greeting.
Theo walked toward Annie’s house next door, probably delivering to every house.
When I closed the door, Pinocchio immediately took the fish from my hands.
Probably going to rest in the storage room.
Cut peaches were still scattered around. I sat down where Pinocchio had been and started slicing peaches in half. Ruth twitched beside me.
Without thinking, I put a peach piece into his mouth.
A habit from childhood—when I used to sit next to my mother while she cut fruit, she would always feed me a piece.
Ruth held the peach in his mouth blankly and muttered,
“…I was going to cut it.”
