The Third Notebook
…So then who was it unique to?
I don’t know how many times I read it.
Before, I think I’d sympathized with the village shepherd.
“Justice, love, fidelity—they’re really worthless when you think about it.” It’s all ridiculous.
Every time I think that, that line comes to me.
“Someone trusted him. Someone trusted him.”
To me, that line seemed like the whispers of the devil. As you lend your ear to the sweet ring of those words, you turn yourself into a monster of trust. You chant in your heart that you will allow no betrayal.
It’s the realization of your own vile nature that makes you desperately attempt to paint over it. When you cover it up, others see your facade as your true self, and that eventually becomes taken for granted. It becomes who you really are.
If you start suspecting that’s all there is to it, then there’s no end to it. You can never make the judgment yourself.
So I just kept waiting, thinking someone would have to see through that. And in the process, I eventually came to sympathize with the wicked and ruthless king instead.
The one who said he cannot trust people.
But the end of the story is as everyone knows.
However…
What really happened at the end?
The king said you cannot rely on the hearts of men. I bet the wicked and ruthless king still doesn’t believe in the existence of that fidelity, even now. He might try it, but he can’t quite bring himself to believe it, and even when it’s presented to him so plainly, he won’t trust it—isn’t that why he just wants to get inside them to try again, to destroy them?
If you’re struck on the cheek for doubting, then who is it who most deserves to be struck?
I closed the book and turned my gaze out the window.
Already, the uncertain sun had descended beneath the horizon, and the final remnants of light were gone.
Fidelity. Or possibly, the truth.
How can you say for sure that’s not an empty delusion?
Is there even such a thing as something real?
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