Chapter 6
“To Enoch Greer, who’s acting a little strange.
So, you mean when you’re cooking in the kitchen, you wear old maid uniforms? Or have I finally lost my ability to read words properly?
Wait, hold on. Explain in more detail! You’re not wearing a skirt, are you? The way you vaguely mumbled something about a ‘black outfit’ was suspicious! Tell me now—is it pants or a skirt?
I’m already imagining you in a skirt.
Clearly, living in this damn place has messed with my head. Sorry. I’m not usually like this… And for the record, I wouldn’t dislike you just because you wore a skirt, okay? When fireplaces can talk and crows can give critiques, you can wear a skirt too.
But then why is the person next to me looking at me with a sour face, asking if something good happened? What? Am I not allowed to have something good happen to me?
—H.A.”
“To Miss Helen, who’s acting even stranger.
What? A skirt? What are you talking about? Do you mean a bell-shaped garment that spreads without any fastening?
No! Of course not! How could I wear such an uncomfortable thing! Like I said, we even have to ride brooms through the sky! How could I ride a broom wearing something fluttery like that? Same goes for cooking—it’d be too… drafty, wouldn’t it?
A skirt can undermine a wizard’s dignity. Not only me, but other witches and wizards would never wear one in public. But I will admit—they’re quite comfortable to sleep in. I use them often for that.
Do you like wearing skirts, Helen? And why exactly do you seem happy at the thought of me in a skirt? Is there something special about skirts?
I guess your favorite garment must be the skirt! That’s why you want me to wear one, right?
Sorry to disappoint you, but at least I’m not lying to you.
But really—how much do you like skirts that someone next to you could notice how happy you looked?
A night drawing old maid uniforms.
Enoch Greer”
“To Miss Helen, who suddenly vanished.
I’m writing this looking like a total beggar—absolutely disgraceful! I’ve got soot all over me!
Why, you ask? I just had a fight with my fireplace.
Our correspondence had been going smoothly, and then suddenly it stopped! I thought something was wrong with the fireplace! So I checked it… but it suddenly got mad, said it wasn’t at fault, and that it was because you hadn’t written. Then it blew soot all over me!
Anyway, I barely calmed it down and now I’m writing again. But really—you didn’t send me a letter? Seems like it’s not the fireplace’s fault after all.
Still, I didn’t want to believe you’d stopped writing to me. Did you suddenly start disliking me? Did I disappoint you somehow? Or… was it because I honestly told you I don’t wear skirts?
Exchanging letters with you was a big joy in my daily life. While working, I’d imagine what reply you might send next; at home, I’d just wait for flames to flicker in the fireplace. But now that there’s no news, there’s this emptiness I can’t shake.
If I’ve done something wrong, please kindly tell me! Or just get angry! I’m sure I’ve made a mistake, but I don’t know what it is, and it’s keeping me up at night.
If, by chance, you no longer wish to exchange letters, then even this one would be a burden to you—like an unwanted guest knocking at your door.
I’ll always respect your wishes. Because I like you.
Yes, it’s embarrassing, but I had to write it! I realized I’d never once said anything about my feelings in all my letters to you, and I regretted it. I must have assumed you’d just know without me saying it.
I regret saying this only now, but anyway—I really liked you! If you read this, please know that. If you understand my feelings and remember me, that’s enough for me.
I was happy to have known you, Helen.
If you ever get bored or miss my magic, write to me anytime.
My fireplace will always be open.
A night when the crow offers comfort.
Enoch Greer”
“To idiot Enoch.
Do you think I could reply after that? My desires were exposed to a man I’ve never even seen! This is your fault for not explaining properly! What were you thinking?!
I’m finished. All my efforts to act normal have gone to waste. You heard me giggling over the image of a grown man cooking in a maid’s uniform—what would you think of me now? Honestly—tell me. You thought I was a pervert, didn’t you?
And even if I deny it now, what’s the point? What kind of woman wants to dress a man in an old maid’s uniform if not a pervert?
But whatever. Every woman has one or two unmentionable desires—it’s normal. It’s only wrong if you reveal them. But I told you. Damn it.
I was so embarrassed I wanted to cut off contact, figuring you wouldn’t want to write to a perverted woman. But what? You were waiting for my letter? And you like me?
What?? Are you serious? If you can say you like me after reading that ridiculous letter of mine, then you’re just like me! A normal person would avoid me, but you—‘like me’?!
This is one of the messiest relationships I’ve ever had. I think we’re done. Keeping up something this disastrous just isn’t right.
Still—thank you for giving me good memories.
Even if I returned them with perverted nonsense.
Sorry, Enoch. I was so embarrassed I had to write in our language, knowing you probably couldn’t read it. Really, I’m sorry!
—H.A.”
“To dear Miss Helen.
I truly had no idea you thought that way! But now I’m relieved! At least it’s clear I wasn’t the one who messed up!
Helen, it’s fine. Really! Knowing you have that preference—it honestly doesn’t matter at all! So don’t worry, okay? There are far stranger people out there; this is nothing.
You worried I might dislike you, but I was thinking the exact same thing about myself! Now that neither of us dislikes the other, this whole affair is resolved. I’m so happy to be receiving your letters again!
We can still be friends, right?
I’ll be waiting for your reply!
An evening of sheer happiness.
Enoch Greer”
“How did you read my letter?
Do you know our language?
—H.A.”
“To dear Miss Helen.
Of course—it’s my language too!
Why? Is it surprising that I understood you?
Enoch Greer”
