Ch.22003 Investigation Record – Justice of a Bygone Era (4)

I wanted to grab him and shake him, telling him to wake up, or do anything at all, but the moment I saw his eyes gradually losing their strength, I froze just like him.

What should I do? The smell of blood is unbearable. Is there anything I can do? Countless questions rose in my mind, tangling together like carelessly piled fishing hooks. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

He wasn’t someone who gambled with tomorrow as his stake. Rather, he was the type of person who would scold me for thinking that way.

Misfortune was terribly equal to everyone and didn’t discriminate. I wanted to turn my thoughts elsewhere, but closing my eyes made me feel like I was making eye contact with him. Crushed by confusion, even grief couldn’t raise its head.

Before I knew it, Hector had approached us. When did he arrive? Seeing the gun that the fugitive had been holding now lying far away, Hector must have kicked it aside. With no one left to shoot or be shot, what difference did kicking away the gun make? I couldn’t help but feel disgusted with myself for looking around as if searching for someone to blame.

“Rose…”

Was that Paulina’s voice? Confusion had hardened my mind like a boulder, refusing to accept anything. I lifted my head to look in the direction of the voice. It was Paulina.

It wasn’t Paulina’s fault. Just looking at her like this might make her feel guilty. I rubbed my eyes. They stung with pain. My hair must have been disheveled and covering my eyes.

What a sight I must be. It seemed pathetic that I was moving around somehow without even knowing what state I was in. I pushed my hair aside and rubbed my eyes again. My hand was damp. Sweat or tears? Am I crying?

“I should have been prepared to take a bullet and covered him completely…”

I shook my head at those words. I must have been greedier than I thought. I wanted to understand what had happened before my eyes, but I didn’t want Paulina to blame herself.

“What, what are you saying, Paulina? It’s strange to blame yourself for not risking your life. So, um?”

I searched for words in my jumbled mind. I spoke as if squeezing out sentences that wouldn’t come, like when completing an article. There were no grammatical errors. Probably. No need for editing.

Seeing me struggling to speak, Paulina pulled my hand and embraced me. I couldn’t calm down. Perhaps because a gun had been fired nearby, she too—her embrace and the nape of her neck—smelled of gunpowder.

We had prepared so much before coming. Paulina had worn a suit with plate armor lining that she normally wouldn’t wear, and the Cowboy’s gun had gleamed. I still couldn’t understand why.

I pushed away from Paulina who was trying to comfort me because of the gunpowder smell. I should apologize. I should apologize, so…

It seems I wasn’t the type of person who could smile sadly in this situation and close the Cowboy’s eyes. As the gunpowder smell mixed with the scent of blood began to rise, I buried my face in Paulina’s embrace again.

Unable to believe what had happened, I glanced back at the Cowboy for a moment. His hands were still gripping the gun as if rigid, and his eyes were so tense that even Hector was having difficulty closing them.

Still in Paulina’s embrace, I was carried to the car. It was the passenger seat, where I couldn’t see the back seat where the Cowboy and I had been sitting until just a little while ago, unless I turned around.

Hector, with a self-reproachful expression, entered the house. He seemed to be calling the police, and angels were already gathering at the sound of gunfire.

The fugitive still lay discarded like trash, and the Cowboy lay there with his eyes closed but frozen in the moment he had been holding the gun. The two of them were talking with the angels.

The Cowboy became John Doe. None of us knew his name, and since the family who had employed him was dead, his identity couldn’t be confirmed. I opened the car door and got out.

Feeling like I needed to do something, I approached Hector and Paulina. I was walking forward, but they seemed to be tilting to the left. After rubbing my eyes again, I approached the angel who stood majestically.

“I’m, I’m a witness too. I was watching from the car, so I saw everything clearly. So…”

The angel, whose flame in the left eye was slightly weaker than the right, nodded as if to say I didn’t need to say more. The angel’s voice resonated.

“You don’t seem to be in a state where I can ask you what happened, but I’ll call you as a witness after you’ve rested a bit. Your name and address…”

I gave him my name and address. Despite my usually forgetful mind, I wouldn’t forget something important in a situation like this. The angel gently shook his head at my still trembling voice.

“The God-President has given neither the authority to kill nor the authority to save life to man, so you bear no guilt. There’s no need to try to take responsibility by doing something.”

The angel’s voice was warm, but it didn’t feel comforting. Could time be a healer? If time could heal, why are there always people who are hurt?

After watching the angels load the Cowboy and identify the fugitive before placing him in a body bag and flying away, I told Hector not to blame himself either. I probably rambled again.

Though it seemed like just a short while ago that I had promised myself not to act like a child, this time I hadn’t been very adult-like. I went straight home and shut myself in my room.

I wanted to know the reason. Just, I wanted to know the reason for all these disgusting feelings. I was irritated but didn’t know how to express it. So I stayed shut in, waiting for the muddy waters to settle.

Evening? Or dawn? No, the sun is still up. While I was shut in my room, unaware of the passing time, Paulina opened the door and came in.

“Rose, Mrs. Ysil called. She’d really like you to take the call… Should I tell her it’s difficult right now?”

Had she heard from Hector? The first person to call me, when I hadn’t even thought of seeking comfort from family, was Ysil. I slowly got up from the bed.

Trying not to look at the room where the Cowboy had stayed, I went out and picked up the receiver. As if knowing I had answered just from my wheezing breath, Ysil’s voice came through.

“Rose, is that you? I heard from Hector. I know that anything I say will be inadequate… but I thought talking would be better than staying shut in alone. Don’t you think?”

After clearing my throat a few times to loosen my voice, I nodded, forgetting that the person on the other end of the phone couldn’t see me. Only then did I answer.

“I guess… so? Maybe…”

Was that even an answer? Still, Ysil didn’t blame me. A situation where no one was blaming anyone felt suffocating.

“I think I know how you feel, Rose. You want to know the reason. You’re probably wondering why this happened. Don’t you know the answer?”

It was something I didn’t want to say out loud. That one word seemed so empty that I couldn’t dismiss it by saying it was just bad luck. As if knowing my answer, Ysil continued.

“It’s an answer that’s too empty to accept. But, Rose. You do the work of making things that would disappear meaninglessly not so meaningless. Do you remember what I told you when you said you wanted to become a journalist?”

“That all stories are volatile… and the person holding the camera has a duty to capture stories that would otherwise evaporate. That’s what you said…”

Though it was now my words, they were originally Ysil’s. She let out a voice mixed with praise, as if I had spoken well. Her voice was as comfortable as cool moonlight.

“That’s right, I’m glad you remember well. And, Hector said he was someone you were reporting on… Why don’t you write about him? He’s more meaningful than someone who was just sacrificed in a gunfight to catch a fugitive, and that’s why you helped him in every way. And, you’re the only one who knows that, right?”

I found a clue in her words. I seemed to understand why I felt suffocated when no one blamed me, and why I felt uneasiness and disgust along with emptiness.

It was because I could have diminished that emptiness but wasn’t doing anything. I needed to develop the photos. Print the pictures, write the article. I was the only one in New York who remembered him as more than just a strange cowboy, and his story would be in the morning paper tomorrow. If I started writing now, I could at least make it into tomorrow’s evening edition.

As a purpose was set in my jumbled mind that still seemed to retain the unpleasant smell of gunpowder, my confusion and bewilderment disappeared.

“Yes! What time is it now? I hope I haven’t been shut in until dawn…”

Hearing the life returning to my voice, Ysil’s quiet laughter came through the phone line.

“It’s only 4 o’clock. If you start writing now, you can make tomorrow’s evening edition. Right?”

The evening edition would be too late. It had to be in the morning edition. If I explained the situation to the editor, wouldn’t he work a little overtime today? I didn’t even consider whether such a request would be an inconvenience.

“No, I’ll get it in tomorrow’s morning edition! Thank you for the advice, Ysil!”

I hung up the phone, hearing her satisfied laughter fade. I needed Paulina’s help.

“Paulina! Can you call the editor and explain the situation, and ask him to wait a little? I’ll start developing the photos and then begin writing! I know what to do now!”

“It was good that I called Mrs. Ysil. I’ll do that for you, Rose.”

So Paulina had called Ysil and explained the situation? I couldn’t imagine where else I could find someone like her. I couldn’t just sit around doing nothing.

I immediately went into the darkroom and started developing the photos. I developed his picture that I had taken in the car yesterday. It was the only photo I had of him, and the only image he had wanted to be captured in.

Hearing Paulina’s voice from outside, I sat down at the typewriter I had brought into the room. It was too large for an elf to use, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t the time to think about such things.

My organized mind poured out words. I remembered what I wanted to say, what I had to say, and as the saying goes, there’s no need to hesitate when conveying the truth—the article was written smoothly.

It was too emotional to be an obituary, so it would be right to place it in the editorial section. That’s usually the kind of article I wrote. I typed away, hoping that the journalists writing the obituary would show some respect for the Cowboy.

I continued typing despite the aching in my finger joints. The sound of lines advancing, like an oven, rang incessantly, and I was able to complete the article not too late. Let me check it one last time.

‘What Did the Cowboy Who Came to the Wrong Era Leave Us?

We all remember the cowboy who wandered Fifth Avenue in New York. He was a person who didn’t fit this city, and we don’t easily forget such people.

The reason I decided to do an in-depth report on him was simply because he was someone not easily forgotten. It was a light sense of duty—everyone was curious, so let’s find out.

Yes, to me, he was just a story. So this editorial is probably also an atonement for myself, who saw a person as merely material for an article.

He was a person who didn’t fit the times. The era of cowboys and outlaws had passed, and now it was the era of law and businessmen. The spirit of pioneers had become more familiar in novels and movies.

The Cowboy jumped into such an era in search of justice. Chasing after a close cowboy friend who had killed the ranch owner’s family that had employed him, he jumped in holding the justice of a bygone era that we had forgotten.

In his face, I saw the worn portrait of a human being. I saw a portrait already aged and exhausted from the hard work of a cattle driver. But I also saw strength in his face.

Until just now, I didn’t know the reason for that strength, but now I can understand. He had that strength in his face because he was someone who could embark on a journey from the South to New York to grasp justice with his own hands. He possessed such strength because he was someone who kept his eyes open until the end and carried out the justice of a bygone era.

We don’t know his name. Most of us probably don’t know the face under his hat. And a person whose name and face we don’t know ceases to be a person. They become just a story.

So, to ensure that the Cowboy, who was a person to me, doesn’t simply become a story, and so that he can remain a person to all of us, I include his photograph with this article.

Golden Age Press, Reporter Rose Leafman.’

The content seemed fine. It was a piece filled with almost complete honesty, so there was no need to revise it. I ran out to the living room with the paper pulled from the typewriter. What time is it? It was already almost 7 o’clock, so I had to hurry.

Paulina, who had been waiting in the living room dressed in a well-fitted suit, smiled broadly at my rushing figure, which was unlike her.

“Let’s go, Paulina! The editor is waiting for us, right?”

“Of course, Rose. He said he would delay until 8 o’clock, so if we go now, we’ll be just in time. Oh, you won’t complain about my rough driving today, will you?”

I rushed out, making sure to pack the paper and the only photo of him in my reporter’s bag. Normally, we would have taken the elevator, but this time, Paulina lifted me up and started running down the stairs.

“As long as you’re fast enough, I won’t complain!”

The wind tickled my face with a speed I had never felt with my own body, and we reached the first floor in an instant. Paulina, not even out of breath, continued carrying me to the parking lot. She put me in the car and started the engine.

Although Paulina usually drove quite neatly, this time was different. She drove with her teeth clenched as if determined to get me to the newspaper office as quickly as possible. Until now, it had always taken at least 30 minutes to arrive no matter how early we left, but today, despite the evening traffic, we were able to reach the newspaper office in just 20 minutes.

I still couldn’t see Paulina’s expression because of my bangs covering my eyes, but she seemed to be smiling.

“I’ll park first and then follow you up, so go ahead. You did write an article worthy of the editor’s wait, right?”

“Of course! I didn’t complain even once!”

The editor who received my article, which I had rushed to deliver, gladly said he would publish it. Now no one will remember you as just a rumor or a story, Cowboy.