Cursed Bunny(35)

The youth looked behind him. The gap that the bald man had pushed him through was now blocked.

Without taking his eyes off the dog’s bloody stare, he started to shuffle sideways, step by slow step.

And another step.

Just as he turned his head to seek another escape, the black dog made a soundless leap for the youth’s neck.

As the dog’s teeth arced through the air toward him, the youth felt the shockwave of every bone and joint breaking within him. Even in the painful throes of being shattered into a thousand pieces, during that single leap he could still hear the sound of every individual break and crack, one after another.

The dog’s teeth, which aimed for his throat, and its claws, eager to rip his flesh, smashed against something hard, and the dog rebounded off, thwarted in its attack. After rolling on the ground, the dog righted itself and continued to growl. As the youth stood up to meet the dog’s gaze again, he could detect within its bloodshot eyes a hint of hesitation.

But the dog was sick. Following the dictates of the disease deep within its brain, the dog, still foaming at the mouth, howled as it charged at the youth again.

He couldn’t remember what happened next. When he came to, the large black dog was nothing but a lump of leather and fur drenched in blood, tossed to the side on the dusty ground.

The crowd roared. There were those who had hastily left or turned around and threw up. Those who hadn’t vomited or left were like the sick dog when it was alive, flashing their bloodshot eyes and making loud, incomprehensible noises and wildly clapping.

The bald man came into the arena and bowed. More shouts and applause. As the youth stood there dazed, the man grabbed his arm and led him out. Only when the bald man’s followers approached the youth and began to towel him off did the youth realize he was covered in his own sweat and the dog’s blood.

“Good job.” The bald man was all grins, deeply satisfied about something. “You did well. Just keep doing what you do. Maybe show a bit more restraint next time, yeah?”

The man lifted his thick, white hand and slapped it playfully on the nape of the youth’s neck. The palm of his hand had pressed down precisely on the scar, but the contact had been quick and light, which made the youth feel less scared than before.

From the people who had wiped away the sweat and blood, came offerings of water and dried meat. He gulped down the water in a frenzy and chewed the salty, tough flesh and thought about how different the man’s light and friendly touch just now had been from when he had pressed down hard on the scar the first time he led him away. He couldn’t understand how, but on some level, he knew that he had been given a compliment by another human being for the first time.

VIII

He was taken village to village and entered into fights. The youth did not understand what was going on, but he was a good fighter.

His opponent would be another big dog or a captured wolf, sometimes a boar; once, he had to fight a bear. Whatever his opponent, the only things he could remember of the fights themselves were the fear and tension, the pain of his body shattering into pieces, and a piercing sound of breakage. Then, strangely enough, he would come to and the beast would be lying with its neck broken or stomach ripped open, its guts spilled all over the ground.

“Restraint, my dear boy, restraint.” The bald man, his pale and plump face stretched by an ear-to-ear grin, would chant the words like they were a mantra. “It’s all very fine and well to rip open your opponent when it’s an animal, but if you do that to another man, the mess afterwards is such a fuss to clean up.” Then, the man would take a look at the youth’s uncomprehending, staring face, and toss him another bit of dried meat. “A rank idiot you are … There’s some way to teach you so you’d understand, all right.”

One day, the man brought over another man who had the same shining bald head but was about twice the size in muscle alone.

Shaven completely—hair, beard, and even eyebrows—the muscular man with the shining face whispered something to the bald man before entering the arena and standing before the youth.

Unsure of what to do, the youth simply stared at the man. The beasts he fought would have blood in their gaze, raise their hackles, or be foaming at the mouth with their claws unsheathed. Their intention to attack was clear, and there was nothing else to do other than to get out of the way or defend yourself. But fighting a man was completely different. The completely shaven, muscled man was grinning like the bald man as he spread his arms wide in a friendly gesture and looked at the youth.

“Come over here, kid. Let’s have some fun.”

The youth didn’t know what this meant. He hesitated. A glance at the muscled man’s smiling face, and then a glance at the bald man outside the fence who was watching them.

The bald man kept grinning. “Attack, you idiot. Attack him.” He made punching gestures with his white, fat fists.

The youth could understand that gesture, at least. This being the first time he was fighting a man, there was something about the situation that made him hold back at first, but in the end, he followed instructions and lunged at the bald, muscled man.

The man stepped aside with an agility that belied his bulky appearance. The youth turned and lunged again. The older man deftly deflected him with his left palm. Momentum made the youth sprawl to the ground. The muscled man gripped the back of the youth’s neck.

Freezing where he was, the moment the muscled man pressed down on the scars on the nape of his neck, he lost all ability to move.