What is lost can simply be found again.
What has been poured out can simply be refilled.
If it has worn away, it can simply be replaced with something new.
But right now, that is not possible.
I cannot find it again, cannot refill what has become empty, and cannot discard the old to replace it with the new. This is what drove Camilla mad.
When a person disappears, they can simply be found again. But lost connections cannot be replaced.
Then, what about Camilla’s sister? Camillia.
How can I fill her empty space?
Camilla stared blankly at Camillia, who lay as if dead. It did not take long for all the investigations to conclude.
Her sister, Camillia, was determined to have fallen after leaning out of the window. No one questioned that conclusion.
Everyone who shared the same hospital room had proven alibis. Two nurses who checked the room five minutes before Camillia fell testified that everyone except Camillia was asleep.
In the first place, those who shared that hospital room were all military chaplains or disabled veterans. While it would be insincere to claim that there were no mentally unstable individuals, at least Camillia would not be murdered by anyone.
Camillia was a priest. No one thought she would commit suicide.
Suicide was a grave sin. It might be viewed in the same light as murder. Perhaps people were being lenient due to the circumstances surrounding Camillia. A priest committing suicide would never end simply as a “minor accident.”
“…Why?”
But, Camilla could understand. Camillia, though a foolish sister, was not the careless type who would carelessly lean out of a window and fall. Having experienced a war where human lives were swept away like fallen leaves, she was instead a person who was sensitive to safety.
The thought that someone might have pushed her was dismissed from the beginning. Camillia was a gentle soul. While she might offer comforting words to those who were hurting, she would not have uttered cruel words that would cause someone to hold a grudge.
All thoughts pointed to one place. Camilla found it hard to turn her gaze away from that fact.
“Why did you make that choice…?”
Camillia had fallen of her own accord.
But, why on earth?
She still had her young, beloved younger siblings. There was even their mother, who had become all alone.
And then, there was Camilla, who visited almost every day.
She had a loving family. Yet, was it so painful that she could not even think of that? Was that why she made such a choice?
Camilla stood before Camillia’s bedside, unsure of what to do. She didn’t even know what to say and could not understand why Camillia wouldn’t wake up.
“U-uh, sister….”
Camilla slowly approached her. She cautiously reached out and touched Camillia’s neatly placed hands on the bed.
Camillia’s hands were warm. But at the same time, they felt cold.
The warmth that should have been conveyed through her hands, the warmth of love that Camillia had always shown, was nowhere to be felt. Camillia seemed as though her soul had perished.
Camilla longed for that warm feeling, that lively greeting that had always come from her soul. The intertwined fingers could not satisfy that desire.
Camilla buried her face in Camillia’s abdomen. The warmth felt through the slightly scratchy hospital blanket was indeed warm, yet still failed to fulfill what Camilla desired.
Why had Camillia made such a choice? What feelings had she harbored all along while welcoming Camilla? What battles had Camillia been fighting alone?
She knew that the gazes of people were painful. Those looks, which held no true understanding of the facts or the experiences of those who fought in the war, were like sharpened blades. Every time Camilla walked outside, it felt as if she was walking on the edge of a knife.
But, but… was Camillia not immune to such things? Even if her family worried about being exposed to those gazes, had she not become accustomed to the feelings of hatred directed solely at herself?
What on earth had driven her to such a state? What lowly insects kept pushing Camillia endlessly towards the cliff?
Camilla did not know. She couldn’t understand but…
“I, I will… avenge you, sister…”
Countless complicated and intricate plans filled Camilla’s mind. But lacking the means to execute them and a proper target, however elaborate and intricate the thoughts were, they ultimately turned to mere distractions, endlessly swirling in the sea of her thoughts. Camilla was slowly floating above the turbulent emotions that only directed her gaze at Camillia.
Camilla’s hand released the interlocked fingers of Camillia. The hand of Camillia, now devoid of its central point, fell limply. On the appropriately firm hospital bed, Camillia lay just as she did before, calm and still.
Camilla’s gaze returned. The peaceful face of Camillia, who looked like she was in a death-like sleep, came into view. The bandaged head sent a jolt to her heart just from looking at it.
Finally, Camilla noticed something beside Camillia’s bed on the nightstand. There lay a familiar leather-bound notebook.
A sturdy notebook, seemingly able to withstand great shock, covered in tough leather. Camilla stared at it as if entranced.
“This is….”
It was not Camillia’s belongings. Camillia did not carry such a notebook.
And Camilla had seen this object before. In this very place, at St. Antonio Hospital.
Although it was not Camillia’s, it was something Camilla had seen somewhere in St. Antonio Hospital. The familiar notebook was firmly impressed in Camilla’s memory.
Before she could continue to think, Camilla’s hand instinctively reached out. Though it would be obvious that if it was not Camillia’s, then it must have been left behind by someone, Camilla silently held the notebook in her hands, fiddling with it.
The military ID was attached. A number was written on it, and a faintly embossed name caught Camilla’s eye. Slowly, she ran her thumb over that embossed name.
Lucio Antorelli, Lucio Antorelli….
It was a familiar name. Wasn’t it the name of the person who had shared a hospital room with Camillia?
Only then did Camilla recall what kind of object was held in her hand. The notebook used by the person sharing the hospital room with Camillia. According to Camillia, didn’t they say it was a diary?
Camilla could not understand why this was left on Camillia’s nightstand. This was a single-patient ICU. In other words, it was entirely Camillia’s room.
There was no reason for the belongings of a military chaplain named Lucio Antorelli to be here.
Camilla had no bad habit of sneaking peeks at someone else’s diary, but she could not stop herself from slowly moving her hand to open the notebook. No, she didn’t even think to stop.
As if entranced, Camilla picked up the notebook, and similarly, she opened it as if in a daze. Neatly written entries in a meticulous hand appeared before her.
It was a diary written from the early days of the war. The slightly worn paper clearly showed the traces left by the tumultuous times. Camilla flipped through the notebook page by page.
[ Imperial Year 1917, August 15. ]
Among the pages being turned, a particular part stood out. Though it was an old, tattered diary, the page that was most worn. Camilla, without thinking, paused on that page.
[ Yesterday, Helena died. ]
A familiar name caught her eye, causing her to flinch.
[ It was my fault. I caused Helena’s death. I, I… ]
She paused again at the part about making her die.
[ I killed her. I, I caused Helena’s death. If it weren’t for me, Helena might not have died. ]
The diary entry of Father Lucio Antorelli from August 15, 1917, conveyed a desperation that struck deeply, even though it was merely a scrap of paper. Why was that?
[ Why did you make such a choice? Did you not care about those who would be left behind? What on earth, what on earth… ]
Was it because the paper was torn? The sight of the diary, painstakingly pieced together, catching her attention? The smudged ink revealing traces of tears? Or perhaps the sporadic, dark stains of old blood?
Or could it be the content written in the diary.
[ Why did you make such a choice? Helena. ]
Could it be that Camillia’s current predicament, exhausted and weary, resonated deeply with these words?
Slowly, Camilla brushed her fingers over the diary. The rough, torn paper’s texture.
After a while, she placed her finger on the name that had particularly large tear stains. Helena, Helena, Helena—.
[ Helena was a professor at the Caldera Imperial Academy. ]
…Professor Helena.
[ Please allow me to bear that burden. When everything is over… I will surely keep the promise we made. ]
When she regained her senses, Camilla’s breaths had noticeably quickened. She hurriedly flipped through the diary.
As the pages turned, the steadily written dates continued to flow by. September, October, December, March….
As the years changed, and the months shifted a while longer.
[ December 3, 1919. ]
The previous December arrived—the last page of the diary that had been written.
[ To those whom Camillia loves who will be reading this diary, I confess. ]
The mixed emotions that had been bouncing around came to channel cleanly and flow forward.
[ I killed Acolyte Camillia. ]
Camilla had found the target on which to pour out her injustices as she roamed lost and confused.
*
Camilla’s gaze shattered as it connected with mine.
“How strange. To suddenly appear like this, wanting to convey an apology…. That’s quite something, isn’t it?”
“…Is it strange?”
“It is strange. Very strange. After all, you previously just ran away, leaving only your diary behind, didn’t you?”
Like a coward.
Camilla’s words pierced something within me. With their sharpness, I felt a pain I could not endure.
“Did you really think that by confessing everything, I would simply nod along and accept it?”
“…….”
What is the source of sin?
It is in the human heart, deep within.
Elusive and unpredictable, like a scoundrel, the source beyond personality.
“My sister was kinder than anyone else.”
The gulf of emotion.
“That’s why it was shocking. The very fact that my sister, Acolyte Camillia… attempted to take her own life.”
Everything stemmed from there.
The sin of the ‘person’ named Lucio Antorelli, and the evils of that true nature hidden deep within.
“So, I would like to ask you. Head Priest Antoinneri.”
Everything hides there.
“Why?”
“…….”
“Why did you do it?”
Then, is this a side road leading to the future?
Or a return to the past.
Or perhaps, something from which one cannot escape, no matter how much they struggle…
“Why?”
Is it the present?
