Charles Wicker

2-A nostalgic concoction

Charles Wicker was having a crisis in his life. He was lying down on his bed while he groaned, his old body was unable to keep up with the activity he needed to do just to have a warm water to take a bath. It all started when the old man decided to have his body cleaned so he could go out. Luckily, having a dream about his old body somehow returned the bits of memories he had of his past life. Because of that, Charles managed to assemble the bits of how to take a bath.

So, as per his memories, he started off by turning on the heater to heat up the water inside the bathroom connected to his bedroom, and then bringing the water into the bathtub. He wanted to repeat it for several more rounds just to fill the bathtub, yet Charles didn’t realize how much of a work hauling a medium sized bucket filled with water at the age of 70 was.

Despite the endeavour of filling up the bathtub with hot water, the old man is determined to clean his body. He pushed on with the task in hand and finally managed to fill about more than half of the bathtub. He then began to clean his body with the water he managed to obtain.

Right after he took a clean bath, he was already gasping for air. Charles Wicker was not a young man anymore, he was already 70 years old and was about to turn 71 in 4 months, so everything he did was utterly taxing for him.

“I’m too old for this...” Charles mumbled to himself. His limbs felt weak, and the spirit that he got from the thoughts of going out to buy some food had completely diminished over his fatigue. Maybe he should just scour the kitchen to look for something to eat after this.

The old man was staring at the ceiling of his bedroom—initially wanting to rest a bit before putting on clothes—yet he gradually fell in a trance. When starting the second round of his life, Charles tried to forget all the hardships he had faced in his previous life, because he was certain that he wouldn’t have to live that way anymore. How wrong he was. At the very least, he knew that being lazy wouldn’t give him any merit. And at the very least, he wasn’t a noble who didn’t know how to take care of himself during his previous life.

He was a farmer’s son. That was enough to explain the hardships that he faced. The food was never lavish, yet Charles could count the days where he was left hungry, as there would always be food on the table, be it simple or not. Even his clothing, too, wasn’t as lavish as his current clothes, yet he was never left naked nor cold. Now that he looked again at his previous life, everything seemed perfectly done that way it had been. The fault lies within him and his ungratefulness, that is.

The scene of his dead body came back to his mind. Those clothes that he wore at that time were his favourite clothes. A brown oversized tunic made of hemp which was a hand-me-down from his older brother. The black pants he wore were also a hand-me-down, yet it was his favourite after wearing no pants for so long. Hempen fabric was thick and scratchy on the skin, and was a fabric that most peasants wear, yet the man in his dreams was carrying him in his arms even though his body was cold and the injury that he sustained looked gruesome.

He didn’t remember having that kind of injury. Or did that happen right after he lost his consciousness in the process of travelling into another life? Because it was about that time when he prayed to the divinity to have his life changed.

Just who is that man?

Charles snapped out of his ponder when he heard his tummy grumbling. He heaved a short sigh as a response. As it seemed, he had to satiate his hunger before doing anything else. He got up from bed and now was making his way to the closet to wear some new clothes. Before, the servants would always be the ones who bathed and donned him, but now that he’s all alone, he had to do it all by himself.

Charles finally managed to wear decent and warm clothes after spending about ten minutes struggling to wear his thick cardigan. Every part of his joints cracked the moment he put his hand inside the sleeve of the cardigan, and it sounded again at each complicated movement he made. He had never felt so tired, yet when he saw his own reflection in the mirror, he was pretty satisfied with the result.

Charles Wicker was a pleasantly attractive person. If not for his crappy behavior, people would have loved seeing those frosty blue eyes of his and those soft caramel hair of his young self. Now that he’s old, that caramel hair is now replaced with pale white, yet his eyes are still gleaming their original colour.

“Hmm…?” Charles leaned in closer to the dusty full body mirror in his bedroom. “That was strange. Has my eye colour ever been this bright?” He muttered to himself. He soon shook that thought off as a mere suspicion before leaving his room.

The old man sauntered carefully in the direction of the kitchen, trying to take things slow as he wouldn’t be able to walk as fast as he was before.

After taking some time wandering the hallways, Charles managed to enter the kitchen. Like many other places in the mansion, the kitchen was considerably dusty, but not as dusty as Charles had assumed. It might be because the last maid cleaned the kitchen a bit before she left.

Inside the space, he saw some ingredients he could use; a few small pumpkins and some flour that smelled almost stale. Charles scanned the entire area before, then went to the cupboard to find other ingredients.

Charles wanted to have lavish food like when he was still a remarkable noble, but now all that’s left are these ingredients and his old self who’s crippled in terms of movement. But because of his rumbling stomach, he mustered his strength to cook something for himself.

He remembered when he was young, he would sometimes help his mother cook in the kitchen. The food was delicious, but cooking is burdensome in its own prospect. Charles never entered the kitchen after he started his second life.

Trying to turn on the stove and cutting the ingredients, little by little, the enjoyment of using his hands to create something on his own piled up.

The sound of utensils clashing with each other filled the air as the old man started piling up the unevenly cut pumpkin pieces into the smallest pot he could find, which could fit his head. Then he rummaged through the containers in the hope of finding milk. Luckily, there was about a small jar left, but the old man had to be careful of not getting sick because the milk was about to expire. In a span of several minutes, the old Count managed to somehow whip up an edible pumpkin porridge for him to eat. Charles then sat on one of the dusty stools and enjoyed his first warm meal amidst the cold weather.

A bit sour and a little too sweet, but warm nonetheless. Charles praised his achievement while he continued to eat the porridge. The taste wasn’t that bad if he were to take into account all the years he stopped touching a stove to cook.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. Charles was wondering why it was hard to swallow the perfectly boiled and soft pumpkin, when he saw warm droplets falling down his clothes. He sniffled a bit, before slowly reducing it into a silent sob.

He missed being in a warm place and having warm food, with clean lodgings and clothes. Yet the strength that he took for granted was now taken away from him, leaving only the little bits of life left. He was too old to even do anything by himself if it wasn’t laborious.

“What can this old man do…” He heaved a sigh as he gazed through the small window of the kitchen, contemplating his life.