Chapter Translation

“Coming back from fishing?”

“Yes!”

“Show off a bit.”

The children eagerly displayed the fish they had caught.

“Quite a haul!”

The boys scratched their heads and grinned sheepishly.

“You lot caught so much, there’s nothing left for us! You should’ve saved some for us to catch.”

Ian shouted, feigning anger. The children giggled.

“Thanks to my sons, tonight’s dinner will be hearty. Hurry and tell your mother.”

They bowed deeply again and ran home. The small ears peeking out from under their flat caps were all pomegranate-red.

Once the children were gone, Ian turned his gaze to his nephew sitting beside him. Henry was smiling.

“How did they manage to catch fish half their size?”

“All the men in this town, from six to eighty, are fishermen.”

“Impressive. But why are you in such a sorry state, Uncle?”

Henry glanced down at Ian’s empty fishing net.

“And you?”

Henry’s net was just as empty.

“Don’t we need to focus more on fishing? At this rate, we’ll go home empty-handed.”

“So what? If we don’t catch anything, we can just buy a few from a passing fisherman.”

“Tch, Uncle, you’re always so half-hearted about catching anything.”

“True. Your father always complained about me, too. ‘Why’s my brother-in-law so uninterested in hunting? Is he even a man?’ As if men are born obsessed with hunting.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

“Then your aunt must be married to a woman. Ask Laura. She’d know best whether I’m a man or not.”

Henry burst out laughing.

Ian looked at his fishing float, rubbing his index and middle fingers together—a gesture he’d repeated at least two hundred times while casting his rod.

“Quitting smoking must be pretty tough.”

“Back in my rowing days, we’d row twelve hours a day before nationals. This is exactly twice as hard.”

“That bad? Good heavens.”

“Don’t even start. It’s hard to quit.”

Henry replied primly.

“Don’t worry. Unlike you, Uncle, I don’t start bad habits in the first place.”

Ian turned to Henry, who was grinning with dimples. Ian pinched and shook Henry’s cheek.

“Smart aleck.”

They both chuckled.

Ian and Henry, bantering like this, were no different from the twelve-year-old boys who had just passed by. Having spent their childhood and adolescence together, even as grown men, sitting side by side like this brought them back to those innocent days—days with worries but no burdens, no adult responsibilities despite not being treated as adults.

“How was your talk with your mother?”

Henry, who had been gazing peacefully at a maple leaf drifting down the stream, turned to his uncle.

“Did Aunt tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“…It was awful.”

Henry let out a sigh.

“Mother seems utterly convinced I caught some venereal disease in Paris. According to her fortune-telling, I’m sick from some decadent love affair. Guess what she said? I should scrub my groin twice a day with boiled mercury water, or my seed pouch will rot, and our line will end.”

“Your sister, honestly. It’s true they use mercury vapor for syphilis, but scrubbing like that would really end your line.”

“Uncle, can’t you tell Mother to stop with the card readings? She goes to church every Sunday—what’s she doing?”

“You could tell her yourself.”

“She doesn’t listen to me.”

“If her eldest son can’t stop her, how’s her younger brother supposed to? Unless your father descends from heaven himself, your sister will do as she pleases. No, even Father might fail. She’d swear to quit, but the moment Father returns to heaven, she’d lay out velvet and arrange her cards like a clock—to divine whether Father made it back safely. That’s your mother. She’d do what she wants even if lightning struck her head.”

“That’s true. She’s got a stubborn streak. Though it’s mostly for trivial things.”

“You should be grateful for that. If your sister was a control freak gripping the family, you’d never have gone to Paris, let alone gotten a university education. You’d be married to some rich girl your mother picked, spending your youth mediating fights between a stubborn mother-in-law and a haughty wife.”

Henry nodded but still looked dissatisfied.

“Was there another fight you didn’t mention?”

“…”

“Talk when you’re ready.”

Ian lifted his rod to check the bait.

“Uncle.”

After a brief silence, Henry spoke.

“Sometimes, doesn’t Mother’s card reading give you chills? It’s eerily accurate.”

Ian thought for a moment. Come to think of it, his sister’s predictions often came true not long after.

Take his marriage to Laura, for example. Though the timing wasn’t exact, Ian, a lonely bachelor rotting in the manor, heard the prophecy that he’d marry within a year—and a year later, he was wed to an angel with sunset-red hair.

“Sounds like her cards exposed a secret you wanted to hide.”

“…”

“Really? Did you lose your virtue in Paris?”

Ian said it jokingly, but Henry’s face stiffened.

“What? You fell in love?”

Henry looked away, silently admitting it.

Ian felt strange. By age and physique, Henry was already a man. But acknowledging that gave Ian intense cognitive dissonance.

It was hard to accept and even harder to believe. The little Henry who sang “Uncle Ian, Uncle Ian” with his tiny mouth was now a grown man.

To Ian, Henry was still a kid, like Daniel or George. No matter how tall he grew or how old he got, that wouldn’t change.

Henry mumbled defensively.

“It wasn’t in some filthy place. In my year and a half in Paris, I never once went to a brothel or a club like Moulin Rouge. You believe I didn’t catch any bad disease, right, Uncle?”

“Of course. You’re a clean kid.”

Ian rubbed his face. He never imagined having this talk with little Henry.

“But it wasn’t a normal romance, was it? You don’t seem engaged.”

Henry nodded.

“Henry, I think this: chastity is as valuable for men as for women. It’s best to stay pure for your lifelong partner before marriage. For your future wife’s sake, I hope you avoid fleeting loves.”

“Don’t worry. It’s already over.”

“Did you come back to England to escape that woman?”

Henry gave a wry smile and shook his head.

“It ended long before I returned.”

“If possible, I’d think marrying her would be best.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because I was just her plaything.”

Ian frowned and looked at his nephew. Henry lowered his eyes, his long lashes casting deep shadows.

“Tell me, Henry. What happened in Paris?”

“…If you promise not to tell Mother.”

Ian nodded.

Henry began to speak slowly, recounting the three months with Céline, who left an unhealed wound in his life half a year ago.

Céline was a twenty-two-year-old actress and playwright who modeled for an art commune. With beautiful black hair and a dancer’s slender figure, her striking looks and lively personality made her popular. Henry often invited her to gatherings with friends, as her witty banter livened up the evenings.

One night, after drinking too much with friends, Henry blacked out. When he woke, he was in Céline’s house.

Both he and Céline, lying beside him, were naked.

Though he felt no rational attraction to her, Henry believed he had to take responsibility for sharing her bed and proposed on the spot. Céline accepted.

They began living together. That’s when Céline’s true nature surfaced.

Céline had already seen through Henry completely. A conservative Anglican who viewed premarital intimacy as sinful. Honest, empathetic, and naive. A perfect target.

Using his personality, Céline manipulated Henry as she pleased.

After their encounters, Henry’s body was covered in marks—all left by Céline.

Céline claimed she had a disorder: if she couldn’t restrain others, she’d harm herself. Henry had never heard of such a condition. She showed him vivid scars on her body. Feeling pity, Henry let her do as she wanted.

The violence escalated. Céline brought ropes and a horsewhip to bed. Despite his strength, Henry didn’t resist. He was already powerless in their dynamic. His sense of duty turned to guilt. It was all his fault—for being with her, for failing to cure her condition.

He was with Céline nightly but felt only shame and pain, no pleasure.

Their relationship ended when an army officer, stationed abroad for years, returned to France. He was Céline’s father.

Céline had been married for ten years. She’d even lied about her age—she was thirty-two.

Instead of challenging Henry to a duel, her husband sat him down and explained.

“Young man, please take her away. I’m terrified of Céline. Living with her, I’ll either die or lose a limb. I have to stay with her in Paris, but I’d rather live with a corpse.”

Covered in whip marks, Henry shook his head.

“I’m sorry I can’t save you from your trials.”