Caesar's Diary (2)

Chapter Summary: Caesar raised Gratian with love. However, Estravan noticed that Gratian was indeed abnormal.

That day, I took Gratian to the supermarket. While we were shopping, a man in a tattered robe lunged at us. I saw he was holding a knife. I grabbed Gratian and dodged the first blow; the man in the robe had a stubble beard, and his dark hands were covered in animal fat, gleaming under the blade. I guessed he was a butcher. The second blow came when he pulled a gun from his robe pocket. Gratian suddenly broke free from my embrace, grabbing my arm and pulling me backward. A violent explosion followed, and the man was instantly blown to pieces. Blood, chunks of flesh, and broken bone fragments littered the ground. Two security officers rushed out, guns drawn. "Are you alright?" they asked.

It wasn't me they were asking, it was Gratian.

His face was grim. "I'm fine."

"What kind of security measures did you take beforehand? And the guns. With such a commotion, what if Caesar gets hurt?"

His tone, demeanor, and voice were nothing like those of a seven-year-old. I automatically assumed it was because he had been in contact with these security bureau employees too much, and like a child in puberty, he had an inflated sense of self-importance and acted like the king of the world.

The security personnel replied, "We are very sorry. This person has modified his body into an explosive device. It will explode once his heart stops beating. We were concerned that the explosives might harm you, so we used remote disposal to detonate it in advance. You were protected by Mr. Ganymede just now, and we determined that the explosion would not harm you."

“But it will hurt Caesar!” the boy yelled.

“Gratian,” I patted his head, raising my arm slightly higher than before to reach him. “I’m fine.”

“Your shoulder is bleeding,” he said.

I was stunned. Then I felt a burning pain in my right shoulder; it was warm to the touch and bleeding profusely. Gratian's voice was tense; the security personnel didn't seem to apologize. Their apology was directed only at Gratian: "Our job is simply to protect you."

That evening I baked the pizza. Gratian, however, didn't eat much; he didn't have much of an appetite. This supermarket anecdote was later repeatedly cited in the news. Gratian's birth was seen as a miracle bestowed upon humanity; many loved him, while others hated him intensely. Radical religious groups believed his flesh, bones, and every hair were blasphemous to their true God. How could humanity disrespect God's arrangements and laws, arbitrarily modifying the bodies and brains God had ordained for us? Conservative elders, on the other hand, said that humanity's ancient tradition was for men and women to unite, form families, and procreate—the cornerstone of national and social stability. Artificial wombs, gene screening, and editing of new humans violated ethics and deviated from the divine way revered by their ancestors.

Many more people said it was unfair. "Gradians are the new humans. Perfect, intelligent, and strong. So what are we? Why don't we have the chance to evolve, and why do we have to take the money we earn to support something that has everything it wants and doesn't have to worry about food or clothing? Is it to make us ordinary humans seem so small and insignificant in front of the great new humans? Are ordinary humans slaves to the new humans?"

The argument escalated into a civil war. However, this "civil war" resembled more of a terrorist attack within the country. They had no organization, no leader, no platform, and no demands. They were resentful and only wanted Gratian dead.

My lab was vandalized.

When Estravan came to see me, I said, "If you're here on behalf of the Allied government to offer condolences, then forget it."

He said, “No, I’ve come to see you personally. As a friend.” I invited him in. He sat down.

He brought a war orphan to me and said, “Caligula. Say hello to your uncle.”

I protested, "I'm busy enough taking care of one child!"

Estravan said, "I've come to give Gratian a playmate. You see, he only clings to you all day and doesn't interact with anyone else. This isn't good for a child's development."

Before he could finish speaking, Gratian glared at him.

“My name is Caesar Ganimed. You can call me Caesar,” I said.

The boy wasn't afraid of people at all; his dark eyes stared straight at me.

"This is Gratian. Gratian, from today onwards, you will be living with Caligula. You two must get along well."

The two little brats glared at each other. It was Gratian who looked away first, shouting, "Don't look at me like that! You lowly wretch!"

I was horrified. Estravan, who was drinking the black tea I had made for him, choked on the water.

“Gratian! How dare you speak to him like that? He is your friend,” I said.

“He isn’t,” Gratian said bitterly. “He doesn’t like me. Like a snake in a cave doesn’t like a lion with a shiny coat.”

“Stop letting him watch ‘Animal World’ or anything like that,” Estravan said, rubbing his forehead. “Look at the mess that’s been stuffed into the kid’s head. Comparing himself and everyone else to man-eating beasts?”

I cried out that I was innocent. "He just likes watching science documentaries. I didn't specifically show them to him!"

"Besides, he's just a kid, why are you arguing with him about these things?"

I turned to Gratian and said gently, “You can’t call him a ‘commoner.’ Everyone is equal. Apologize to Caligula.”

Gratian apologized. "Alright, I'm sorry. I was wrong, Caligula... Caligula."

Caligula finally revealed his first expression since entering the room: a smile. He showed two rows of incomplete baby teeth. "You're so hypocritical. You clearly don't think you're wrong."

"However, I like your smile. It's beautiful, but fake."

"Hello, Gratian."

Caligula's father died in the "Civil War." He sided with the Allied government, supporting gene editing and the New Human program; he was a soldier, but didn't die on the battlefield; he lived until the end of the war, lame in one leg, and returned home to find his son in a dimly lit, musty-stuffed little house, slumped over the table, rubbing his eyes, exhausted. Caligula had a congenital eye defect, unable to see clearly in bright light. In the light, the soldier saw his son's diseased, grayish left eye. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, drew his gun, and fired a shot at the boy's blurry figure in the shadows. The boy screamed, attracting the neighbors. The soldier was stopped by the crowd, and ultimately, the man shot himself.

"His father roared before he died," Little Caligula whispered, clutching a cup of hot coffee, "—'Kill all the old humans!'"

“My dad hates me. He wasn’t like this before; before he joined the government army. When I was a child, I was bullied by my classmates because of a problem with one eye. One day when I came home, he saw me hiding in a corner and crying. My dad told me that my left eye was a ‘gift from God.’”

“He wasn’t like this before,” Caligula said, glancing at me as if hoping I would tell him why his father had become like that; or perhaps hoping I would sympathize with him and offer comfort.

I looked at Caligula with sadness, feeling sorry for him.

“Yes. Kill all the old humans. Your father himself was one of the old humans,” Gratian said quickly.

"So he committed suicide."

“He hates me, and he hates himself. We are all from the old human race,” Caligula said.

Gratian fell silent. He buried his head in his coffee cup.

Estravan often brought gifts to Gratian. At first, they were snacks and toys, but later they came books, ranging from ancient books from the Common Era, such as Julius Caesar's *Commentaries on the Gallic War* and Mommsen's *History of Rome*, to advanced mathematics, astrophysics, relativity, string theory, and so on. The titles gradually veered in directions I couldn't understand at all. I told him to bring fewer books for the child, as they're bad for his eyes, and that children his age should spend more time playing outside.

“It won’t take up too much of his time,” Estravan replied. “You should notice that he can finish a book in less than a morning.”

I said that what he should learn should be left to artificial intelligence and algorithms to determine; it's a waste of time for us to do it this way.

"Algorithms won't tell him where the Romans came from, or who Planck and Einstein were. They'll only teach him the most 'useful' knowledge, like quantum mechanics. And then what? He might never even realize that he's still a human being."

"What's wrong with that?" I asked with a smile. "Because they're not human, so what?"

I saw a hint of worry on Estravan's face when I got to this point. I said, "If computers determine that this knowledge is useful, and our human 'relics'—the humanities, art, and history—are useless, then we should trust the computer's judgment. Databases don't lie; they know better than we do how to educate a genius."

Our argument ended without resolution. He wasn't one to enjoy discussing things with others, and neither was I. Until one day, he suddenly stopped me, "Wait."

"Are you free now? I have something to tell you."

"Yes," I said, "but I have a seminar at 3:30." "Now?"

“Did you know that Gratian built a ‘treehouse’? I just came back from there.”

"You're going to his 'treehouse'?" I found it a bit funny; that's something only children do. Gratian and Caligula came to my lab the other day, asking for a knife and a shovel. They said they were going to chop wood in the woods to build a little workshop for hiding things.

But he didn't laugh. "Last week, I saw Gratian standing at your door with a blood-soaked dead cat in his hand. I went over and greeted him, 'This...did you do this?' I was shocked. Looking at the bloodied carcass of the dead cat. The cat's belly had been completely ripped open, white skeletons stuck with dark red flesh, and its internal organs spilling out onto the ground."

He saw me. He looked flustered. He said, 'No, no, that's not it.'

"It was some kids from next door. Caligula and I saw them just now. Caligula was furious, chased after them, and yelled that he was going to get revenge on the kitten."

I said, 'Then what are you doing standing here?'

He said, 'I need to give the kitten a proper burial. I can't let its body lie there in the sun. It's too pitiful.' He lowered his head.

"Hmm," I said. "Have you been standing here the whole time?"

I mean, where was he when those kids next door were abusing cats?

'I...I was just in Caesar's room.'

'Are you with Caligula?'

No. Alone.

I noticed the dead cat's chest was wide open, bone spurs piercing the flesh, revealing it to be empty. Its heart had been ripped out. The incision connecting the heart to the aorta was smooth. I looked away and said, 'Never mind the cat. Go wash your hands. They're filthy, covered in blood.'

He said okay. I walked away. Turning back, I saw him put down the cat's carcass and sit by the water pipe in the yard, washing his hands. The clear water flowing from the tap was stained a bright red by the blood, and the sunlight reflected on the surface, making the shimmering waves look like golden-red fish scales. The dead cat's heart was placed at his feet. He had been holding it in his right hand, hiding it behind his thigh, avoiding my view.

Gratian was perceptive; he immediately noticed me watching him. He looked up at me and asked, 'What is it? Is there something else?'

Under the tap, clear water gushed down his elbows and wrists, dripping onto the scorching, wet cement floor.

'You should bury the dead cat,' I said.

'You're right.' He said, lifting the cat's body, its furry hind legs swaying limply.

This is a male cat. It has not been neutered.

I noticed that his words in response to me were starting to become cold and hard.

'Look, it has thorns underneath.'

Gratian said, "It's been raining almost all month, except for today. A while ago, the air was very humid, with a fresh scent of green leaves and vegetation. I always heard female cats meowing; they were in heat. Sometimes the meows were particularly shrill; they had passed their courtship period and were mating with a male cat they liked. I observed their positions: the male cat entered quickly, biting the female cat's nape. The female cat didn't move, but she was howling desperately. I thought the female cats were meowing because of pleasure, but no, what was inside them was huge, engorged with blood, and had barbs; they were in pain."

'But why didn't the mother cat run away? I'm puzzled. The back of the neck isn't a fatal spot.'

"So you're studying this dead male cat," I said.

I didn't ask, "Did you cut the cat's belly open?" There was no need to ask; I felt the child understood what I really wanted to ask. His intuition in certain areas is frighteningly accurate.

'Studying an inanimate object?' His tone carried a hint of disdain. A childlike voice.

'Otherwise, why did you put your anklet on it?'

A deep blue lock was fastened to the cat's paw, the transparent yet profound blue of papyrus, a blue somewhere between the cosmic background and a cloudless night sky. Very rare. It seemed he and Caligula treasured this color in their 'treehouse.' My memory isn't very good, and I don't quite recall where they collected it from; I'd seen them everywhere in Heyson during this time. He eventually amassed a huge collection, including cardboard scraps, plastic bottle caps, and twisted, large and small steel supports; the surfaces of the supports gleamed with a faint, bluish metallic sheen.

The boy was finally speechless.

He brought you up, saying, 'Caesar's coming back. I'll go make him a cup of coffee.'

I don’t know if Gratian killed the cat, maybe he did, maybe he didn’t; but he did something very strange at the time, he kept the cat’s body and treated it as his toy.

Just now, I walked through the woods to your house, and I saw Gratian among the dead leaves, dragging the body of the cat from last week. After a week, the limbs had decomposed, emitting a foul odor. The odor was faint; the boy had clearly already disposed of the cat's body; the carcass was stiff, bloodless. Very clean. He was piecing something together: screws, buttons, small batteries, and delicate, thin steel supports. He first inserted the supports into the dead cat's body, then pulled out the cartilage, joints, blood vessels, and mucous membranes. Holding a screwdriver larger than his hand, he forcefully twisted the cat's head upright, filling the cat's cavities with metal parts. Finally, he sewed up the abdomen. He did all this very quickly. His pupils swirled with an inorganic, icy blue, his face calm to the point of being ferocious. It was a very peculiar expression, how to describe it… If one were to travel back to the beginning of creation and see a creator on the shore piecing together a four-legged animal. This animal is actually a human being. What kind of expression would you see on the Creator's face at this moment? Painters of the Common Era painted many scenes of God's creation, the moment when God's fingers touched those of Adam, the first human being, but why didn't they depict God's appearance when He created Adam? I feel that I see this expression on Gratian's face, the expression of God when He created humankind…”

"Okay." I pressed my forehead. He had finished telling me a story.

“Gradien was just a child. He was curious about the world and life, so he did a little experiment himself. What does that prove? It just means that this child is different from most children.”

“He was different from most people to begin with.” He paused for a moment. “A monster.”

"What?" I didn't hear clearly.

“It’s nothing.” Estravan resumed his usual indifferent and aloof attitude.

"But you know what? That cat, the cat that had been dead for a week. It did move when Gratian pulled the pincers out of its throat. It moved for a second. Or even less, but for a fleeting moment I saw a glint in its fluorescent green eyes; it seemed to come alive very briefly. Then Gratian released its grip on the cat's neck, and the cat quickly slumped its head, its limbs shattering into pieces, falling onto the grass mixed with pus, blood, and a foul odor. This time, Gratian merely glanced at the rotting flesh, slowly gathering many biting insects, and left without looking back."

——tbc——