𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 13 - 𝒜𝒻𝓉ℯ𝓇 ℬ𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓈 (6)

The cafe today carried a dreary harmony, with half of the staff sullen, tensing the air. Wujin and Rokul carried a certain distance along with a certain dolefulness, while Rubio had gone to visit his head chef, leaving behind Noir as the head cook again. At least this time he had an assistant cook who was a man similar to his age. Noir spoke not a word to him, nor did the man. He was focused on stirring the oily mixture in front of him, which contained chicken and broth along with some noodles. The interesting thing was that it was 7 pm now, a time at which the cafe was filled with people, more than usual.

Ignoring his thoughts, Noir continued stirring the pot as he heard the sound of a chopping board beside him. A few minutes later, he poured the soup into two bowls, along with a few pieces of cafe-made toast on a plate.

"Done," he said without looking at his temporary assistant.

Noir heard a bell-like sound and then the following words, "Sir. Next dish: Gumpy Bumpy Chocolate Toast."

Noir ignored the word "sir," which his fellow mate liked to use, and continued on with a gumpy bumpy toast. In the meantime, Rokul walked into the kitchen with dark circles that couldn't be hidden by his spectacles and then picked up the bowl and the plate, placing them onto a larger plate without saying a word. As he walked outside to serve, Noir uttered, "Rokul."

Rokul looked back at him.

"Wait."

Rokul nodded, slightly tensing his brows.

Noir looked to his right, at his helper, with a smile, who was already looking at him. "Could you please give me a minute? Could you handle the bread?"

What could the poor assistant chef do other than nod?

Noir shot him an apologetic look and then jogged towards the one who he had told to wait. Rokul raised his eyebrows and said, "What?"

Noir chuckled. "See, I do understand the compounding happenings around you and the stress. Trust me, I do. But we need you today. I cannot say much to Wujin, but we need you at your jolly best. Smile, and brighten up the room, please, with a bit of energy. You are the only one who can do it."

"Nice, wonderful. Praise me more. I think if I look tired, you boost me up. I will not sleep only, to hear anything good from your mouth."

Noir clapped. "Right... You are our lion, an astounding one who lights up our humble cafe. Without your presence nothing works. Either way on your way you go—the lion of Hector."

"I don't understand half of your words, but..." Rokul chirped, "Only this much?"

"Shut up and go."

In this way, the lion of Hector left and led his pack to perform their best. As a certain someone in Noir's mind would have said, he was the greatest man among all men, perhaps the second.

Noir chuckled but didn't laugh; he instead focused on his part.

Now, Noir lay on his bed facing the familiar white ceiling. In his hands, he held a phone, his fingers still on top of the send button. Sighing, he cancelled the message, and then, instead, he tapped on the profile picture. He gazed at it for a while, and then his mind wandered.

What is happening to me? he wondered. It isn't like there weren't days before without a whiff of her presence. Is it the prospect that she knows that the week will be long? Or perhaps just like her, I long the more I know of her.

Clink-!

Noir's gaze quickly shifted back to his phone, and then slowly he read a message. It was sent by Marco.

Yesterday Noir had skipped a few of his lectures; today was another such day, surrounded by people with grim expressions. Most of them were dressed in plain black dresses. Men wore a long, flowing buttonless shirt that dipped below the knees with a partition at the lower end of the sides, as if to give a bit of breathing space. Below it, they wore pajamas that were extremely loose and almost covered their feet, which held no accessory or protection. Women followed the same pattern, only with a twist in color and measurements and without a collar. The most unique aspect of this dress code was that they wore a cap. It was rectangular in shape, with a veil sticking out from the front portion covering their eyes and their nose.

The ground carried soft, supple mud with the right amount of moisture as if it had been watered a few hours ago. And standing on this earth, Noir looked ahead towards a white platform that stood around 8 meters ahead of him. The platform was a perfect square, 4 meters a side, and at the center of it stood another elevated platform, rectangular in shape, similar in color to its lower half. This elevated section was carved with designs of the sun and people plowing in fields. Upon this platform was placed a rectangular box, black in color, with the same design as below, but with the people missing. Eight individuals stood on this platform wearing similar clothing as the rest, but with their sleeves rolled up.

A priest who stood in the mud along with the general populace, without a cap, spoke in Kirsot: "Iasanhuzaran."

An old stern-looking man with elegant steps that made him look like a military officer led a young boy no older than 7 towards the rectangular box. He lifted the boy up in his arms and whispered something in his ear. The boy whose face Noir couldn't see leaned forward, then placed every finger of his right hand somewhere at the upper center of the coffin, starting from his thumb to his pinky finger. Then as the old man placed him on the ground, in a similar manner to before, his fingers ran on the left side of his chest and then on his forehead. Finally, he bowed once, then he knelt on the ground and bowed again, his forehead touching the floor. This process was followed by the rest of the members, which included Marco, only with subtle differences. The old man and another woman hadn't bowed at all, while the rest had only bowed the very first time.

The priest spoke again: "Iashuzaran."

Most of the crowd, including Noir, raised his hands mid-air, pointed towards the coffin, and then tapped their fingers in the way the boy had before and then continued the process with his chest and forehead. When he was done with the process, he glanced to his right, catching a surprised expression on Rubio's and Rokul's faces. He smiled, nodded, and then looked ahead.

The priest looked at the crowd, glancing at particular people, including Noir, Rokul, and a few others. He said, "As I can see quite a few of you from other... communities, I will speak in English in line with the spirit of Kirsot. The sun gives us life, and the sun brings us death. The sun is Kirsot, and we live, breathe, and speak under and with Kirsot. Without Kirsot we cannot exist. I would like to raise a question to you all: What does it mean to exist? And what is the meaning behind existence?" He swept his right hand across the crowd. "I want all of you to think."

I would say that existence means to exist. I am alive, and so I live. I can think, and so I can make decisions. But... I am sure the priest isn't alluding to such common sense. Hmm... would I exist if I said I don't? Would I exist if others say I do but say I don't? This line of thought is bad; words lose their meaning in this sense, and all that would remain is me turning into a philosopher. Claire would surely hate that.

Noir chuckled. A few around him cast him disapproving gazes, but he moved on as if they had misheard.

Would I exist if-

Before he could think further the priest cut in.

"I can see that some of you have an answer. We all exist because we know we exist. But if I were to say I squeeze your mind and stop you all from thinking. Would you be able to know that you exist?"

Plagarism...

"The answer would be no. But then would you not exist? I can see that a few of you are confused, but bear with me. If that were the case, then cockroaches wouldn't exist. Cockroaches can think beyond themselves, their survival, and their base instincts. They don't know they exist, yet they do. We humans live under Kirsot, and no matter how depressed you are or how saddened you are when a loved one passes away, you exist, and Kirsot exists with you. Kirsot lives in our hearts; for others, Kirsot lives in them. But it doesn't only stay with them. The sun will die one day, and so will the Kirsot in its own body. Will the heat of the sun have no use? Will its Kirsot have no use? No, it spread throughout the universe, for the universe itself is Kirsot. So does the Kirsot of others live in you, and your Kirsot lives in others, and so it will be whether you die or live. This is the meaning behind existence. Just like the ever-blazing sun, we must live our lives, witnessing the world, witnessing the beauty of it, and witnessing the cruelty in it. In this world we must be warm to others whether it is beautiful or cruel. We must share with others our Kirsot, and in that way, it will live forever more from generation to generation. And so does the Colorano family live in us, for they have shared their Kirsot, whether you know them deeply or whether you have visited this place out of formality for your colleagues. You will carry on their Kirsot. Thank you."

The sermon, or whatever it was called in Kirsot, ended. Now the people were chatting with the priest, perhaps trying to gain some insight, while most were consoling the family in a somber mood.

Rokul, Rubio, and Noir stood in a row observing it all, having decided to console later.

As Noir pondered over the priest's words, a familiar voice muttered, "Why you all cover your faces with, uh... cloth?"

Noir subconsciously answered, before someone else could, "The dead must not see the tears. Hmm... perhaps that spreads bad Kirsot? Can Kirsot be bad? Or is Kirsot just Kirso—"

Then he realized that the question was meant for someone else. When he turned to his left, he saw two gawking eyes. He said, "Well, yeah, gentlemen... Rubio, I believe that I am correct?"

"Yes... One correction, though: Kirsot cannot be good or bad. Kirsot is Kirsot. It is everything that exists in this world. But damn... you really figured it out."

"Yeah, man, you wearing the clothing and all. Cap is missing, but."

"Dude, did you purchase it?"

In this barrage of questions, Noir smiled. And when they saw him smile, for some reason their mouths shut.

Noir said, "Guys, I am not that smart..." He paused, then continued, "I had a friend........ long... ago. He was from Khirsone. I couldn't buy one for his funeral; I have always wanted to buy one for years." He chuckled as he added, "Unfortunately, I couldn't find a cap."

A brief silence took over the group before Rubio's eyes sparkled with realization.

"Is he—I see..."

Then nobody spoke for a while. Noir shifted his gaze towards Marco, who was receiving condolences from a few. He had a kid beside him looking at the rectangular box that was yet to be buried. His gaze was present, yet it was absent, yearning for something that was lost.

As soon as Noir completed this observation, Marco looked towards him at that moment, and he smiled.

Noir broke the silence. "Guys, it looks like we have to go in early."

Rokul and Rubio looked at each other and nodded before turning back to Noir.

Rubio said, patting Noir's back, "Let's go." then walked forward while Rokul muttered, "Anyway we have to work as well." walking beside him.

Noir slowly walked behind them alone, with a smile.

The wind blew, and they reached the spot. As the other talked with Marco, Noir looked at the child, whose gaze hadn't left the box. Lowering himself, Noir ruffled the kid's hair as gently as he could, causing him to turn his neck towards Noir, muttering, "Pa...?"

Noir's smile dropped as he observed the kid's expression change. The kid smiled initially with a heart-crunching glimmer in his eyes, then his expression fell. He started sniffing first, once, then twice, drawing Marcos's attention before the tears bolted out.

Marco pulled the kid into his embrace before he said, "My sister's son." Then rubbing the kid's back, he said, "It will be okay. It will be okay."

Noir wanted to inquire about the kid's name, but he smiled and said, "Marco, see you later. I would prefer not to be the head chef forever."

"I'll be back as soon as it is possible."

Then Noir looked at Rubio, who had an apologetic expression as he said, "I'll be here for a while."

From his side came a voice: "See you directly at the cafe."

Noir nodded and left, with a smile, listless.

The cafe had to go on just like usual, and Noir spoke fewer words than his usual few. Rokul looked energetic, though, and he handled the situation well. Rubio too was working contently at the bar. Wujin had her sweet smile, which melted the hearts of many still. Tiffany and she seemed to gel along well. A few other staff members were there as well; nothing in them had changed.

Noir cooked like a machine, a bit more perfect than he usually would have. Hours passed by and the day was coming to an end, and Noir left the cafe without saying goodbye. The metro ride home carried nothing but him gazing out of the window, observing his own reflection once the tunnel had come. He saw nothing but a smile on his face, as before he knew it he was on his bed. The shampoo he had used permeated into the pillow as he raised his five fingers to the sky. He muttered something softly, so soft that he couldn't hear it, and then about it, only to realize he didn't remember a letter. He gazed at the five fingers that signaled his future, as he thought of the only person who could now brighten up his world.

He looked at his phone with an intense gaze; right now it was the only path to the solution to his problems. But the solution could further slip his grasp if he walked that path, as he had been warned about conincidences. So he placed the phone below his pillow, which was cold around its edges. Noir spread his fingers as wide as he could for the last time, then he muttered, "I'll wait as long as you want."

His words were followed by not a smile or a chuckle but the darkening of his vision, sinking into a slumber that he deserved. Time flowed like a river, smoothly, for an unknown time period, and then out of nowhere, its flow was disrupted by a sweet sound. A clink was heard, and just as usual, the inane fool heard a thud in his chest. This thud calmed down after reminding himself that the aftershocks of failed expectations were worse. Yet, as he grabbed his phone, the thuds grew louder again, completely out of his control. A smile grew on his face, real, as he observed the notification, which showed a profile picture and a name. It was his favorite name, the beautiful face, and as his heart melted like clay, he tapped it with a childlike haste. "2019" was typed in without a command, and then the chat revealed itself, without wasting a second.

Then he saw a single message that caused his phone to slip, landing on his chest. His expectations weren't dashed like he had secretly hoped; they had shattered. "Shattered" was a simple word for what comes after bliss has no words.