The Pale Smoke

That afternoon, Jorgen and Dean found the little hut in the mountains. It was very old and looked like an ugly, rotten log from a distance. In front of the hut was an open space covered with two furs full of worms. Jorgen recognized that they were wolf skins. The door of the hut was tightly closed, with three windows, two of which were sealed. Jorgen looked in through the only window that was open.

"Is anyone there?"

There was no response. Jorgen repeated again, then an elderly voice that was hard to distinguish answered him.

"Who is it?"

"Just passersby. Looking for a place to rest."

"Come in. The door is unlocked."

When Jorgen pushed open the door, he thought it would fall down immediately and turn into mist on the floor. There was almost no light in the hut.

"I can't see you." said the aged voice.

"I can't see you either. Too dark." Jorgen said.

"Is it dawn yet? I don't know. Maybe there's still oil in my lamp. Wait a moment."

Jorgen and Dean exchanged glances but did not speak. A moment later, a circle of pale yellow light lit up in the corner of the hut, shaped like an open five-fingered hand. The light illuminated the face of the hut owner.

The old man had his eyes closed, with deep sunken eye sockets. His face, furrowed with wrinkles, looked as if it had once fallen onto a pile of rusty nails. He sat with a sawed-off shotgun resting beside his knees.

"Can you see now?" the old man said.

"Thank you. Now it's bright."

The old man lowered his head to the left, then slowly raised it again and said, "Have you come to kill me?"

Jorgen frowned.

"No. We're just passing by."

The old man opened his mouth as if he had been thirsty all day waiting for rain, pondering something. He then said, "Ah. Then you must be tired. This road has never been easy for years. Find a place to sit."

The old man entertained them with a meal. He hung an iron pot in the middle of the hut, where porridge bubbled on the surface. He took a wide-mouthed iron mug in his left hand and scooped porridge into it with a spoon in his right hand, then placed it in front of Jorgen. Then Dean's.

When Jorgen grasped the mug, he found that the old man had touched his hand. The old man's rough fingertips pressed and pinched the back of Jorgen's hand between his forefinger and middle finger.

"Young man. How old are you? Twenty-five?"

"Correct."

"How about you?" the old man asked Dean.

"Thirty-two."

The old man nodded. "Eat."

The old man took a sip of porridge into his parched throat, then said, "You are not hunters."

"I used to hunt, wild boars, deer and such, but I don't do that anymore." Jorgen said.

"Now you hunt men. Right?"

Jorgen did not answer.

"What's your name?"

"Jorgen."

"What about this one?"

"No need to tell you."

"I can tell," the old man nodded, "although I can no longer see, I just know. Those like me."

"Like you?"

"Killers. We chase our targets and take their lives as trophies."

"I think you're mistaken," Jorgen said, "I have killed before. And will kill again if necessary. But not as you said."

"Is there a difference? I doubt it. When you get to my age, you'll understand. Ah, when was the last time I talked to someone? I don't remember..."

The old man told Jorgen and Dean his story.

Fifty years ago, he and his wife settled here. He hunted and his wife processed the peeled fur, then carried it to South Sea Town to sell. Of course, South Sea Town was just a poor fishing village at that time. Cash transactions were rare, and fur and meat were often exchanged for cloth, thread, and fish.

"We lived for ten years but had no children. What did it matter? Some men would blame and beat their women for not having children. Those men were beasts. My wife was so gentle and lovely, I would do anything for her to live well. "

Their fur products were of high quality and gradually attracted some itinerant merchants. The merchants could afford cash and came to visit the couple directly to get the goods first.

Before long, he realized that instead of trading fur with the merchants, it was better to take the cash directly from them.

"It was all for my wife. She was weak and had to work day and night to satisfy those insatiable merchants. The money earned at the cost of her health, I did not want.

"The first time, there was a little trouble. See this?" The old man held up his right palm, missing the little finger. "I had to lie to my wife, saying I accidentally cut it off while fixing the wolf trap. Seeing her sad and crying for me, I was determined never to lose my hand again."

Their days became affluent very quickly. Each time he brought the merchants out alone and came back with a handful of shiny copper coins. He told her that all the fur had been sold in the big city, so he could exchange it for so much money—which did not stop her growing suspicions.

One day, she followed him and saw how he did the work he had become so familiar with.

"She cried and called me 'devil', 'monster'. That really broke my heart. No matter how I explained that it was for her, she would not listen, and ran away from me as if I would hurt her. Our marriage ended that way—she fell off a cliff that day. I don't know if she slipped or committed suicide. I did not go to find her remains, strangely, I should have done so.

"From that day on, I never did that work again. That was my way of mourning her. Then I lived alone for over twenty years. My God, the days were too long... I also went to town to find women, but eventually gave up. No one could compare to her. And the townspeople began to suspect me because of the merchants' disappearances, so I never went again."

His solitary life continued until the day he saw the pale smoke.

"I don't know what it was, I just saw it. I went to where the smoke was rising and found a child in the cave. He was covered in blood and dying. I carried him up and found that his right arm," he gestured with his fingers near the right shoulder, "was cut off from here."

Jorgen looked at Dean. His breathing quickened slightly, his eyes staring straight at the old man.

"I took him home, bandaged him, and used the best herbs I got from the merchants. With such a serious injury, he was able to get out of bed and walk around in a month, and two months later he began to help me with chores. What a good boy! I began to think of adopting him as my son. Right, his name was Jalo Camille.

"Later, two strangers suddenly came to me, saying they wanted to buy him. He was just an armless boy, what did they want to buy him for? I didn't know. I wanted to refuse, but the money I had earned over the years was spent, and I grew older day by day and found hunting difficult. In the end I... my God, it was a painful decision."

"Did you sell him?" Dean said.

"Let me finish, young man. That night, they all stayed at my house, planning to take him away early in the morning. The money had been paid. I couldn't sleep, my heart was pounding hard, very uncomfortable. I put my hand on my chest, and suddenly heard a voice. It came from inside me. It was telling me: 'There is a way for you to be relieved. Jalo will stay, and the money will stay too. Release me, I am part of you, no matter how hidden. I can bring back the old you.'

He paused for half a minute, as if reliving the feeling.

"I took a knife and a gun and went to the buyers' room. Just as I was about to do it, Jalo appeared and did this to me."

He used his forefingers to lift his weary eyelids. Where the eyeballs were, there were only deep black holes. Then he lowered his hands, palms down on his knees.

"When he stabbed the knife into the corner of my eye, his face was full of excitement. I immediately realized that he harbored the same thing in his heart as me. The kindness of the past two months was an illusion. Now the real person who understood him had come, and he was ready to leave me. Perhaps sparing my life was his thanks. I struggled in the dark for I don't know how many days, cursing him, cursing the world, vowing to kill more people. But that was just meaningless complaining. The demon in my heart had died, defeated by something more evil and devoured. I no longer had the ability to harm others. "

He put his palm on his chest.

"I so wanted it back, but I couldn't. Just as the heart would never beat again. How about you? Young man. Put your hand on your heart too. You will eventually hear that voice... because we are beyond redemption."

Jorgen put down the iron cup.

I'm not.

It was dark, and Jorgen and Dean left the old man's house. As they rode away, the old man came out of the house and said to them:

"I'd like to ask you a favor, young men."

"Go ahead."

"Can you kill me?"

The old man looked up waiting for an answer, as if simply asking someone else to do ordinary chores like chopping wood.

"Why?"

"Because I'm too old to pull the trigger myself and can't do it. You see, I can't even find the gun. It was just at my feet."

"No," Jorgen said, "we won't kill you."

They rode away from the hut. The old man stood outside for a long time. A gust of wind blew by, nudging the rotten wolf skins on the ground.

"As you said, I didn't expect to find such a person," Jorgen said to Dean. "The two buyers he mentioned should be Syndicate members. You don't look too good, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Did you notice the pale smoke he mentioned?"

"I was just thinking about what that was."

"That was me. After throwing Jalo into the cave, I lit a signal flare."

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought...I thought that might attract someone to save Jalo's life. At the same time, I was going to take one of his arms to Panthonia and pretend I had killed him. I'm always like this, choosing a seemingly comprehensive solution in a cowardly way. In over ten years I haven't changed at all. Four years ago I repeated the same mistake, taking those three babies away from Dalia, thinking I could solve the problem. It ended up a mess."

"Enough, Dean. It's useless to say these things."

"Jorgen, I really wish I could be as decisive as you, without any hesitation. Perhaps from the beginning, I should have chosen a more direct way, either killed Jalo or ran away with him. Any choice would have been better than now."

"I'm not as indecisive as you say." Scenes of reuniting with Shelley flashed through Jorgen's mind. "But this time we have no choice but to lose our faith. You have to make up your mind, Dean. For you, killing Jalo and saving Dalia are two goals, not one. You can only choose one goal at a time."

"What about you? Jorgen. Are killing Jalo and saving Shelley two goals for you too?"

"No," Jorgen said. "I also want you and Dalia alive."

They said no more. After running for another minute, the two men almost simultaneously stopped their horses.

Not far ahead in the ravine, a wisp of pale smoke slowly rose and seeped into the dark blue sky. It looked like an inseparable part of the air, as if it had appeared countless times over the past eighteen years.

"He's waiting for us." Jorgen said.