#005. The Man Who Was Swept Down the River (2)
“I was telling the story of the rainbow.”
Viola.
She was the person who bore the most traces of time on her face and body in Sector 50.
Rumor had it that she was over 100 years old.
Even if that were an exaggeration, everyone agreed she was the oldest person in the slums.
The respect she received from the slum residents stemmed from this reason.
The average lifespan in the slums was only around forty years, so surviving for so long was seen as proof of great experience and wisdom.
Even gang members did not dare to extort her or pick fights with her.
“I guess kids asked you to tell the rainbow story again.”
“Yes. They love that story. I wonder how many times they can hear it without getting bored.”
Viola said with a smile.
She told mysterious stories to passersby and received coins based on their satisfaction.
Most of her audience was children.
A small coin lay in the tin can next to her.
It was surely placed there by Josephin.
Even though it was only a one-shilling coin, the smallest unit of currency, it was probably the best a young kid could give to show his gratitude.
“The rainbow story? The one that appears in the sky?”
“Yes, yes. I wonder how many times they’ve heard it already.”
Ray recalled the words Josephin had once exclaimed excitedly to him.
“Brother! Brother! They say there’s a rainbow somewhere in the sky!”
“What’s a rainbow?”
The little kid animatedly explained what a rainbow was.
On a clear day after rain, a long band of colorful light sometimes appeared in the sky.
“I’ve never seen one.”
“Even if it stops raining, clouds gather quickly. We just haven’t found it yet.”
A half-eaten donut with vibrant colors, that was Ray’s impression of a rainbow after listening to Josephin’s explanation.
“Isn’t it supposed to be beautiful? If you find the end of the rainbow stuck in the ground, you can make a wish! Any wish will come true!”
“By the way, today the Cruter gang was eyeing my donut. From afar, with greedy looks. I can’t let that happen. I’ll have to go hit them tomorrow.”
“Ah! Come on! Listen seriously!”
Ray snapped out of his thoughts.
He spoke in a flat tone.
“Don’t tell stories to our kids. If they keep dreaming, it’ll be hard for them to adapt to the streets.”
Dreaming.
Imagining events that couldn’t happen or possessions that couldn’t be obtained in reality.
Ray had never dreamed.
Because he had no emotions, he wasn’t able to imagine something and feel joy or excitement.
But he knew this much.
The more dreams one had, the harder it became to survive on the streets.
There were no exceptions.
Children who couldn’t root themselves in reality and floated in a world of dreams usually died before reaching adulthood.
Like a balloon rising high into the sky, unable to withstand the pressure and bursting.
Viola smiled gently.
“If children don’t dream, who will dream?”
“Well, adults don’t dream. Children shouldn’t either.”
“I don’t think so. Children have the privilege to draw anything in their minds.”
“…….”
Ray’s gaze turned toward Viola’s closed eyes.
She was blind.
There were many related stories about her.
Some said she lost her sight when a crow pecked her eyes out during an adventure.
Others said she had mechanical eyes but was reluctant to show them.
In any case, it was hard to believe that she had an ordinary past given how long she had lived.
…Above all else.
A deep purple mana always resided within Viola’s chest.
‘She must have come from outside Sector 50.’
Purple mana never flowed into people’s vessels.
Viola was the only exception.
That was why Ray couldn’t take his eyes off the vessel in her chest whenever he met her.
‘What kind of emotion does purple represent?’
It wasn’t difficult to deduce the corresponding emotions for mana of other colors.
There were plenty of samples with mana, and people usually expressed their emotions through actions immediately.
Years of observation.
At the end of that, Ray could pair most colors of mana with their associated emotions.
But purple mana was different.
The only sample was Viola herself.
And from just looking at her outward appearance, he couldn’t tell what thoughts or feelings she harbored.
After staring at Viola for a while, Ray turned away and left.
“You should move to another street. There might be a war brewing.”
He left with those dry words behind.
The can shimmered in the sparse sunlight.
Ray had never once placed his coins inside it.
*
*
*
As usual, it was cloudy weather.
Afternoon on Street 17.
Creeeak— Creeeak—
Ray pushed a delivery cart across the street.
It was a job he found as casual labor.
Hector’s food warehouse was temporarily unavailable, and the scrap-filled junkyard had already been scoured that morning.
If you didn’t work, you would starve.
That was an obvious rule in the slum.
“Hii, hiiik.”
One of Ron’s gang members glanced at him from an alley and quickly ran away when their eyes met.
The winner and loser from the fight at the junkyard a few days ago were clearly delineated.
‘They probably won’t dare to challenge me for a while.’
If he had lost that fight, the situation would have been reversed.
He likely wouldn’t have found a job today either.
He would have faced the risk of losing his hideout and would have had to retreat from Street 17, his main area of activity.
Creeeak— Creeeak—
Ray silently pushed the cart, sweating profusely.
Though he felt no pain or distress, objectively speaking, nothing came easily to him.
The bridge could only be used as a hideout after clearing away heaps of trash for quite some time.
His ability to move freely on Street 17 had been earned through countless confrontations with other groups.
That was why Ray couldn’t leave Street 17 and the bridge to escape from war.
It would be extremely inefficient to abandon what he had built up so far.
Creeeak— Creeeak—
The empty shopping district echoed only with the sound of the cart being pulled.
Some shops hung “closed” signs or even completely vacated their premises.
There were quite a few such places.
They had sensed signs of war and fled early to another numbered street.
Creeeak— clunk.
The cart stopped in front of a shabby café.
When Ray knocked on the door, a weary-looking man appeared.
“I’m here for delivery. Four boxes of milk and six boxes of beer, right?”
“Oh, it’s you? Ron said he’d be the one delivering next time.”
Ron can’t come out.
Both of his legs are broken.
Ray kept that thought to himself.
He looked at the shopkeeper organizing items and asked,
“Aren’t you evacuating?”
“My shop is here; where would I go?”
“Isn’t it inefficient to order so many items? You won’t be able to serve customers for a while.”
“Why wouldn’t I be able to serve? There’s still one table occupied right now. And there’s also a chance that war won’t break out.”
Ray tilted his head.
It seemed unusual for someone to enjoy drinks at a café during such ominous times; they must have nerves of steel.
“Are they customers from another sector?”
“No, they’re locals.”
“What do you mean there’s a chance war won’t break out?”
“It means if things go well.”
At that moment, the shopkeeper glanced inside through the door and said,
“Oh, looks like their conversation has ended.”
The shopkeeper moved aside as he pushed the cart next to the door.
Soon after, a group of men stepped out of the café.
“Boss, here’s the lighter.”
“Okay.”
Chik—
The moment Ray saw one of their faces, he instinctively pulled up his hood to cover his face and head.
A man with a scarred face who exuded a sinister and gaunt impression.
It was Hector, who occupied half of Sector 50 alongside Niles.
He was also the owner of the warehouse from which Ray regularly stole food.
“Huh?”
Hector narrowed his eyes upon spotting Ray.
Surely he hadn’t been recognized.
Ray had never shown his face or drawn any attention to himself in Hector’s territory.
But he couldn’t be sure.
Just in case, he subtly positioned himself for a quick escape.
“Boss, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just admiring the kid for working so hard on a street where everyone else is scrambling to run away.”
Hector grinned and handed something to Ray.
“Keep working hard. Struggle with all your might. That’s the only way to get anything out of life. Here, go buy yourself some candy.”
It was a 1,000-shilling coin.
Enough to buy about ten packs of cheap candy.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hector’s group headed toward a parked car.
One of Hector’s men looked back at Ray.
“…Hmm.”
The man was a tall, 190-centimeter skinhead.
He was Humphrey, a executive in Hector’s gang.
Humphrey’s eyes focused on Ray’s earlobe, which was visible beneath his hood.
It was the earlobe he’d injured in a fight on a rainy night in the warehouse.
“…”
The way Humphrey’s eyes narrowed made it clear he’d recognized him.
Ray could instinctively sense the narrowing gaze of Humphrey.
He couldn’t possibly have been recognized.
There was no room left to deceive the opponent.
Ray tightened his grip on the handle of the folding knife hidden in his pocket, his entire body on high alert.
How many seconds passed like that?
“Humphrey. Aren’t you coming?”
“Yes, coming.”
Humphrey took a quick glance at Ray’s face before turning his body towards the vehicle.
Vroom—
The vehicle disappeared down the street.
Why was that?
Why did he pass by as if he didn’t notice?
It was clear that the emotions Humphrey harbored were curiosity and anticipation.
However, it was still difficult for Ray to grasp intentions based on emotions alone.
At that moment, another voice came from behind him.
“What happened?”
“It’s over.”
Turning his head, Ray saw Niles talking with the shopkeeper.
“They’re asking for too much over there.”
Niles took out a cigarette with a bitter expression.
He wanted to avoid war as much as possible.
Once it broke out, the damage would be severe, whether it be to people or property.
Using guns against Hector’s men who invaded Street 17 was a warning of sorts.
A warning that they would never back down from war.
However, Hector didn’t budge an inch during today’s negotiations.
The boundaries of the newly designated territory.
The tax rates imposed on protection fees for each management area.
While there was a lot of conversation exchanged, there was no substance to it.
Hector demanded unreasonable conditions akin to ‘organization absorption,’ leaving Niles with no choice but war.
The café owner, understanding Niles’s implication, shook his head in dismay.
“So, the negotiations fell through.”
“We’ve faced the worst possible outcome.”
“That’s unfortunate. If you have to pay protection fees anyway, it would be better to pay your organization.”
In Sector 50, taking and being taken was the natural law.
Without someone’s protection, one couldn’t run a business anyway.
Niles’s organizational policy was one of coexistence rather than domination, so what the café owner just said reflected the common thought of the shops in Street 17.
Lost in thought, Niles noticed Ray fiddling with some coins.
Seeing the delivery cart beside him, he chuckled and said,
“Are you still alive? After all that trouble a few days ago, you’re back at work?”
“Is war confirmed?”
“It seems so. Don’t come out of your hideout for a while. You might get hit by stray bullets and die for no reason.”
Ray nodded.
He was well aware of this fact.
There were certain things in the world that would inevitably happen, no matter how hard one struggled.
*
*
*
Swish—
It was a night when black rain fell.
Even without the curfew imposed across Street 17, it was weather unsuitable for going outside.
“War. It needs to end quickly.”
“Still, I don’t think it will end within a week.”
Pale and Ray conversed while watching raindrops fall outside the tent.
The younger siblings were curled up inside the tent, sleeping while hugging each other.
It had been two days since Niles and Hector entered a standoff along the boundary between Street 17 and Street 18.
The gunpowder was ready to be ignited.
At any moment, if one side showed a gap, gunfire would erupt.
“Ray. Which side do you think will win?”
“I don’t know.”
The military strength of both organizations was evenly matched, making it hard to predict a victory for either side.
“If you were to wish for one side’s victory?”
If that had been the question, he could have answered easily.
Before their friendship built over time, Niles had at least possessed a minimum level of morality compared to Hector.
He wasn’t someone who would kill his subordinates on a whim or capture and sell street orphans.
At least he wouldn’t engage in such acts.
“I just hope it passes quickly.”
“I hope so too.”
This heavy rain pouring down.
This sticky air flowing through the night.
This war that can only end when one side is erased from the streets.
All of it without exception.
Only then could they return to scavenge for food again.
“Wait. Did you hear that?”
“I heard it.”
That was when they heard a strange sound.
The two boys stopped their conversation and listened intently.
Grrr—
It was not the familiar sound of screams, gunfire, or rain that they had heard before.
It was an eerie sound.
It sounded like air resonating inside an empty machine or perhaps the chilling cry of some unknown beast.
The sound came from the direction of the street.
