Faintly, vaguely

“All right, all right, Jeff, there’s no need to say more…” Faced with the neighbor’s reproach, Alta didn’t offer any explanation. He simply managed a bitter smile and shook his head. “It’s my fault… Hurry up, go on ahead. Morning prayers will begin soon, and the church is still quite far… Go on, steady the wooden bridge…”

“What am I supposed to help with? Can’t you manage on your own?”

Though he said this, Jeff quickly rolled up his pant legs, stepped onto the two logs, spread his arms, and teetered across the stream, landing on the far bank. As soon as he touched ground, Jeff bent down, pressed his hands onto the logs, and together with Alta, who was already prepared, they steadied the bridge, which had been a bit wobbly, until it stood firm.

“All right…” Jeff looked up from across the stream. “Sir, you can come now… Take it slow… Be careful stepping onto the bridge, it rained a bit this morning and the wood is slippery… Don’t rush, if you walk too fast, it might sway… Also… Take smaller steps, don’t look down, keep your eyes ahead just a little… And…”

And what else?

Already at the side of the bridge, hearing Jeff’s string of warnings and sensing the concern and nervousness within them, the priest paused, rubbed his eyes, and couldn’t help but carefully inspect the stream he’d crossed at least a hundred times—up, down, left, right—for quite some time.

No, he hadn’t mistaken the place!

The bridge was still short, barely more than a dozen steps;
It was still low, at most as high as a person from the water’s surface;
The storm had passed days ago, the stream below was calm, not at all fast…

…Aside from a few replaced logs, everything else was as before. It hadn’t secretly turned into a cliff, nor had lava or poison sprung up…

But… why did something feel off?

With this thought, Playa couldn’t help but grow tense, stepping onto the logs with utmost caution, almost trembling, moving slowly, pausing with every step. After a long, long while, Playa finally crossed the mere dozen steps of the bridge.

His feet touched the muddy earth at last. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his legs felt weak, and clutching Jeff’s outstretched arm for support, Playa, not even fully steady, blurted out, “Are these logs narrower than before?”

“No, after the bridge was crushed by the cow last time, we deliberately chose thicker logs.”

“Is there something wrong with freshly cut wood? Is it dangerous?”

“How could it be… All the bridges in the village use this kind of wood.”

“Then… is there a heap of gravel underneath?”

“No way. Weren’t all the stones washed down to the shallows? It’s flat here, nothing stays.”

Nothing was wrong!

Playa turned back, inspecting up, down, left, right again…

Nothing was wrong! Not a hint of danger!

But why was this bridge so frightening… No, it wasn’t the bridge that was frightening, it was Jeff… Or not Jeff, but something was off…

It made no sense!

Playa’s mind raced.

Passing the fields, the families Cleo, Adcock, Hansel—over a dozen people—listened intently to the teachings, reciting the sacred words; crossing the slope, Alta rushed over, risking everything to support him and escort him along the way. Playa sensed the earnestness and concern from these people, and though it felt strange, he could just barely rationalize it—for one thing, Los had healed their cattle, and they hoped Los might visit again…

But Jeff in front of him…

Playa thought carefully. Yes, this man was indeed a bachelor… No brothers, no friends, even the neighbors didn’t get along well. More importantly… he didn’t even own a cow!

Could it be, this wasn’t about the cattle? Or not entirely about the cattle?

A vague feeling began to stir deep within Playa’s heart…

Playa was no longer the youth who had just arrived at Eclie village. After dealing with these stubborn, ignorant, selfish yet shrewd villagers for three years, Playa could sense that Cleo, Adcock, Hansel’s intense focus, Alta’s vigilant escort, Jeff’s anxious concern—none of it was mere calculation for personal gain…

But these indistinct thoughts were hard to unravel, and Playa didn’t know how to verify them with the farmers. Just as he was thinking this, he caught in the corner of his eye that Alta had come to stand beside him, and together with Jeff, now risen, they both looked at him.

“Sir…” Noticing that the priest had come back to himself, Alta cautiously reminded, “Morning prayers… are about to start…”

“What!” Glancing quickly at the sky, Playa hastened his steps. “Oh no… I’ll be late…”

After only a few steps, hearing footsteps behind him, Playa turned to find Alta and Jeff following close. The priest waved his hand, “What are you two doing?”

“Sir, I’m going back to check the peas in the field…” “I’m going to borrow my uncle’s ox…”

“What nonsense, Alta, to see your uncle you should go up the slope… And Jeff, by the time you finished harvesting your peas, the village oxen hadn’t gotten sick yet…”

“All right, all right…” Without waiting for their replies, Playa, still walking, waved his hand again. “You’ve brought me this far, I can get back to the church on my own… The road ahead is easy, go take care of your own work… Go on, hurry and get busy…”

“This…”

Jeff and Alta exchanged glances and slowly stopped.

“Jeff, your house is just ahead… The road is easy, right?”

“It is, but sir, you’re walking so fast… I’m worried…”

“It should be fine, right? Should we go ahead after all?”

“I… I don’t think it’s good… Sir told us to mind our own business… If we go now… and make him angry…”

As they spoke, their voices were quiet, but whether it was the morning breeze or simply the silence all around, their conversation reached the priest’s ears, clear as day.

Hearing Jeff and Alta treat him like a fragile stalk of straw, intent on escorting him farther, the priest was both amused and exasperated, and quickened his pace.

In the next moment, Alta’s reply continued to come clearly.

“Nonsense, how could sir get angry? With so many oxen injured in the village, did sir get angry? When Los begged him to teach that precious method of cattle healing, did sir get angry? When everyone failed to fulfill their summer duties, did sir get angry? Sir is such a good man… would he get angry just because we followed him?”

Such a good man!

Playa’s steps faltered slightly, the vague feeling in his heart grew a little clearer, yet no definite idea formed upon careful thought.

This was only natural. Playa, who barely belonged to the noble class, was neither exceptionally gifted, nor especially persevering, nor particularly decisive. Such an ordinary novice cleric, his vision, insight, and experience were no greater than most natives of the medieval world, limited by the times and bound to mediocrity.

For three days, immersed in having acquired an effective method for healing cattle, his status in the family rising, and with a surer path to priesthood, Playa had been in a state of excitement, never venturing out, with no time to consider that by teaching Los, instructing him to heal cattle, and saving the village, the villagers now saw this “sir” as a “good man” as well.

Playa could only vaguely sense that the villagers’ attentive listening, Alta’s support, Jeff’s reminders—all felt out of the ordinary, somewhat strange.

Yet he never imagined that even just days ago, whether himself or other “sirs,” when they chattered endlessly, nearly slipped and fell from the bridge, the villagers nearby would have done everything possible to vanish without a trace.

It wasn’t that the villagers harbored deep hatred for the “sirs”; rather, generations of bitter experience had taught them that whether the “sir” was in high spirits or about to meet misfortune, any villager appearing within the “sir’s” sight was, more often than not, bound to be chosen as a convenient target for amusement or venting anger.