Leslie looked like she was thinking of saying something, but she changed her mind. She squeezed Byam's knee.
"I'm thinking of going into industry," said Leslie.
Byam had no idea what she meant.
"You would be great at that," it said, meaning it.
§
It turned out Byam was right: Leslie was great at working in industry, and her success meant they could move into a bigger place, near Leslie's sister. This worked out well—after Jean's divorce, they helped out with Eun-hye, who perplexed Byam by declaring it her favourite aunt.
A mere 10 years after Leslie had been denied tenure, she was saying it had been a blessing in disguise: "I would never have known there was a world outside academia."
They had stopped talking about dragons by then. Leslie had gotten over her fixation with them.
"I'm fixated?" she’d said. "You're the one who worked for thousands of years – "
"I don't want to talk about it," Byam had said. When this didn't work, it simply started vanishing whenever Leslie brought it up. Eventually, she stopped bringing it up.
Over time, she seemed to forget what Byam really was. Even Byam started to forget. When Leslie found her first white hair, Byam grew a few too, to make her feel better. Wrinkles were more challenging; it could never seem to get quite the right number. ("You look like a sage," said Leslie, when she was done laughing at its first attempt. "I'm only 48!")
Byam's former life receded into insignificance, the thwarted yearning of its earlier days nearly effaced.
The years went by quickly.
§
Leslie didn't talk much these days. It tired her, as everything tired her. She spent most of her time asleep, the rest looking out of the window. She didn't often tell Byam what was going through her head.
So it was a surprise when she said, without precursor:
"Why does the yeouiju matter so much?"
It took a moment before Byam understood what she was talking about. It hadn't thought of the cintamani in years. But then the surge of bitterness and longing was as fresh as ever, even in the midst of its grief.
"It's in the name, isn't it?" said Byam. "’The jewel that grants all wishes.’"
"Do you have a lot of wishes that need granting?"
Byam could think of some, but to tell Leslie about them would only distress her. It wasn't like Leslie wanted to die.
Before, Byam had always thought that humans must be used to dying, since they did it all the time. But now it had got to know them better, it saw they had no idea how to deal with it.
This was unfortunate, because Byam didn't know either.
"I guess I just always imagined I'd have one some day," it said. It tried to remember what it had felt like before it had given up on becoming a dragon and acquiring its own cintamani. "It was like… if I didn't have that hope, life would have no meaning."
Leslie nodded. She was still gazing out of the window. "You should try again."
"Let's not worry about it now – "
"You have thousands of years," said Leslie. "You shouldn't just give up." She looked Byam in the eye. "Don't you still want to be a dragon?"
Byam would have liked to say no. It was unfair of Leslie to awaken all these dormant feelings in it at a time when it already had too many feelings to contend with.
"Eun-hye should be here soon," it said. Leslie's niece was almost the same age Leslie had been when Byam had first come to her office with murder in its heart. Eun-hye had a child herself now, which still seemed implausible to Byam. "She's bringing Sam, won't that be nice?"
"Don't talk to me like I'm an old person," said Leslie, annoyed. "I'm dying, not decrepit. Come on, Byam. I thought repression was a human thing."
"That shows how much you know," said Byam. "When you've been a failure for 3,000 years, you get good at repressing things!"
"I'm just saying –"
"I don't know why you're – " Byam scrubbed its face. "Am I not good enough as I am?"
"Of course you're good enough," said Leslie. "If you're happy, then that's fine. But you should know you can be anything you want to be. That's all. I don't want you to let fear hold you back."
Byam was silent.
Leslie said, "I only want to know you'll be OK after I'm dead."
"I wish you'd stop saying that," said Byam.
"I know."
"I don't want you to die."
"I know."
Byam laid its head on the bed. If it closed its eyes it could almost pretend they were home, with the cat snoozing on Leslie's feet.
After a while it said, without opening its eyes, "What's your next form going to be?"
"I don't know," said Leslie. "We don't get told in advance." She grinned. "Maybe I'll be an imugi."
"Don't say such things," said Byam, aghast. "You haven't been that bad!"
This made Leslie laugh, which made her cough, so Byam called the nurse, and then Eun-hye came with her little boy, so there was no more talk of dragons, or cintamani, or reversing a pragmatic surrender to the inevitable.
That night the old dreams started again—the ones where Byam was a dragon. But they were a relief compared to the dreams it had been having lately.
It didn't mention them to Leslie. She would only say, "I told you so."
§
For a long moment after Byam woke, it was confused. The cintamani still hung in the air before it. Then it blinked and the orb revealed itself to be a lamp by the hospital bed.
Leslie was awake, her eyes on Byam. "Hey."
Byam wiped the drool from its cheek, sitting up. "Do you want anything? Water, or – "
"No," said Leslie. Her voice was thin, a mere thread of sound. "I was just watching you sleep like a creeper."
But then she paused. "There is something, actually."
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to."
"If there's anything I can give you," said Byam, "you'll get it."
Still Leslie hesitated.
"Could I see you?" she said finally. "In your true form, I mean."
There was a
