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Chapter 1: The Shadow and the Swirl
TL: Enuma ID
I remember the first day a picture spoke to me.
I was maybe two. My aunt sat me on her lap and read me a picture book.
The pretty aunt who'd come down from Seoul for the holiday.
I was her first nephew, she said, and she doted on me. And of course I loved her too.
Е̃n u̇_m̆ а.id
Our home was a small sashimi restaurant in Busan. The first floor was the shop, the second floor was where we lived.
While Mom and Dad ran the business downstairs, I stayed up on the second floor by myself.
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The restaurant never closed for a holiday. If anything, holidays were busier.
"Where did you go, shadow?"
My aunt's voice as she read was lovely to listen to.
Every time she turned a page, there was that nice little rustling sound.
W̃ еb̆ nо̄ v̌е l̊ Ĕn üṁ а̇
In the picture book, the boy went looking for his shadow.
He wandered all over the house searching, but the shadow was nowhere.
Not under the bed, not in the closet.
The shadow was standing in front of a wall.
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"'I wanted to draw, too,' the shadow answered."
The shadow in the storybook. A black silhouette with two white eyes.
W̆ е́b nö v̄e l̂ Е̂ n̂u m.а̂
The eyes blinked.
[You, can you see me?]
That's what the Shadow said to me.
My aunt kept reading the storybook, but I wasn't listening.
I just kept staring at the Shadow in the picture book.
[You can see me, can't you? Right?]
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The Shadow waved its hand and spoke again.
The page turned. But the Shadow was there on the next page too.
The Shadow had no expression.
And yet somehow, to my eyes, it looked like it was beaming.
"Thank you, shadow. Don't ever leave me again.
That's what I said to the shadow. The End!
Е n u̇m a
Fun, wasn't it, Jun?"
"Aah-ooh."
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"Did you now? Did our little Jun have fun too? Aww!"
My aunt squeezed me tight, like she couldn't get enough of how cute I was.
Just then I was staring quietly at the corner of the room.
My shadow was there. My shadow, stretched long across the floor by the fluorescent light.
W е b̊ ǹ o vе̂ l̀ Еnu m̄ a
What should have been nothing but a black smudge was looking at me, with two white eyes, just like the shadow in the storybook.
*
The Shadow was still beside me, even after my aunt left.
[Look. Over there.]
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
the Shadow said.
And my eyes would go that way. I'd see something I hadn't been able to see before.
Е̃ńu m̂ӑ.і̄ d.
Light was coming through a gap in the window curtains.
In the morning it was yellow, by midday it turned white, and in the evening it became orange.
I hadn't known before. That light had color.
[Look at that one too.]
Down in the first-floor sashimi restaurant, the scales of the fish in the tank were blue and green and silver all at once.
They shifted depending on the angle of view. The color changed, too, whenever a fish turned its body.
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The moment Dad sliced into a fish, the cut surface glinted in the light.
It wasn't pink. There was orange mixed in.
[Pretty, isn't it?]
the Shadow asked.
I nodded.
Everything in sight was beautiful.
E ǹ_ûḿ ǎ.іd̄
One day, I found a red stick in Mom's vanity drawer.
The thing Mom put on her lips. It was lipstick.
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[Let's draw! Draw me, me!]
the Shadow said, and I drew on the wallpaper with the lipstick.
The Shadow that always followed me.
"Eeeek?!"
W̆ еb ṅ о̊v́е l̄ Ёn ǔ mа̊
And then I got in trouble with Mom.
Drawing on the walls, it turned out, was not allowed.
I cried.
If only I'd drawn it better, I wouldn't have gotten in trouble.
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After that, every time the Shadow said let's draw something, I shook my head.
I'd decided not to draw anything until I could draw it better.
Е̃n ūm̌а̄
*
A year later, my aunt came again.
This time she came up holding two square boxes.
Crayons and a sketchbook.
"Jun, come here. Auntie bought you a present!"
When the box opened, the crayons were lined up in a row.
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Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple.
And in between them, more colors I didn't know the names of.
My heart sped up. I wanted to touch them.
But I didn't reach out.
Because the memory of drawing on the wall came back.
"Not drawing? Guess Jun doesn't really like drawing."
Ẅ е̌ ḃ n̆ о̊ v еl Е̂n̆ ŭ m̊ ǎ
Mom said.
"Oh, come on, no way. He's my nephew, after all."
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Aunt picked up a crayon instead.
She drew a cat. Just a few quick strokes, and there was a cat, sitting right there.
[Ohh.]
"Ta-da! What else should I draw? Auntie'll draw you anything."
Ĕnu ṁa. і d
I brought the picture book over. And I pointed at the shadow.
"All right, watch this."
Aunt picked up the black crayon.
A shadow appeared in no time. A shadow that looked a lot like the one in the storybook.
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[......]
"It's not right."
Ѐ nŭm̂ а̊.і̊d̀
At my words, Aunt's hand stopped.
I laid the storybook and Aunt's drawing side by side.
One by one I pointed out each spot: where the outline of the head was different, where the top of the eyes was cut off, where the feet pointed the wrong way.
"Here and here and here. Different."
[That's right, I'm better-looking than that!]
"Ha, haha. Our Jun's got quite an eye, doesn't he. Auntie'll draw it again."
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Aunt drew it again.
I pointed out the differences again.
Every time I pointed at another spot, Aunt drew it again.
Aunt drew the same picture over and over, seven times.
"There! How about now?"
"...Closer. A little."
Еn̊_ům ȧ. їd́
"You little rascal!"
Aunt set down the crayon and cupped my face in both hands.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
She was smiling. But her hands were trembling.
"Goodness, who does this child even take after?"
"Jun's just got a good eye, that's all."
[Of course. Look who taught him.]
Е́ nû mа̄
"......Almost too good for his own good, maybe."
Aunt went back the next day.
The crayons and the sketchbook stayed behind, in the corner of my room.
* * *
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Down in the first-floor sashimi restaurant, there sat a shabby magazine.
Whether a customer had left it behind or Mom had brought it from somewhere, no one knows.
Е̂n̄.ǔ m á . і d
It looked like a travel magazine. There was a photo of a European street on the cover, and a coffee stain on one crumpled corner.
Lee Jun touched the magazine purely out of curiosity.
A three-year-old whose entire day amounted to crouching in the corner of the shop.
Anything new drew his interest, simply for being new.
The glossy cover gleamed under the fluorescent light.
With his small hands, Lee Jun pulled the magazine over and set it on his lap.
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He turned the pages. He couldn't read the words.
There were photos.
Buildings. Food. Smiling faces.
The child flipped past them without much interest.
On one page, his hand stopped.
In the middle of the article text, a small picture was tucked in.
Ê ǹ ǔ m а̃.і̇d̃
A little larger than two thumbs laid side by side.
Something was written below it in small letters, but Lee Jun couldn't read it.
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Only the small picture caught his eye.
It was blue.
A deep blue. Inside it, something was swirling.
It was the sky. The sky was moving.
Еn̂ ŭm а̇_
It was spinning round and round. And here and there between, yellow dots were shining.
They were stars. The stars were shining.
[Th, this is......]
Today, of all days, the Shadow had little to say.
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That Lee Jun was silent was nothing unusual.
He held the magazine in both hands and peered at the tiny picture. Close enough for the tip of his nose to brush the paper.
Е̂ n ūm̈ а
A crude magazine print.
The colors were muddy. The paper was so poor that the dots showed.
It surely held less than a quarter of the colors the original painting had.
But to Lee Jun's eyes, it was enough.
He could see the swirl. A vast swirl that wound around the whole sky.
Inside it, blue and black and purple tangled together. And in Lee Jun's eyes, too, the colors churned.
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The stars weren't yellow. Within the yellow was orange, and within the orange was white.
Around the stars, light was spreading. Bleeding out like ink dropped into water.
And below. Something black and pointed was piercing the sky.
It looked like a tree. It also looked like a flame. Behind it lay a small village. Rooftops.
Lights were on in the windows. A yellow glow.
[Ah......]
W е̄bn̆о́ v̄ ё l̈ Е̊ n ù m а
The Shadow started to say something, then stopped.
As if not to break the child's concentration.
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Lee Jun didn't move.
He stared at the tiny picture, so still it was impossible to tell whether he was even breathing.
* * *
The child wouldn't let go of the magazine.
W̆ е ḃ ǹо̆v́_e_l Е̌n̂ u̇ m̊ а
"Jun, let's eat."
Even when Mom carried him up to the second floor and set out a meal, Lee Jun wouldn't let go of the magazine.
He gripped a spoon in one hand, and with the other he pressed down on the magazine in his lap to keep it from closing.
He opened his mouth to bring the spoon to it, then froze, eyes still on the magazine.
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"Look at him. Is it really that great?"
Mom didn't think much of it.
Е̂ ń ü m̆а́_._і d̊
When a little kid latched onto something, it was common for it to last a few days. Last time he'd sat in front of the fish tank all day long; this time he'd simply moved on to a magazine. That was all Mom made of it.
The next day, too, Lee Jun was holding the magazine.
And the day after that as well.
Sitting, or lying, on the floor of the second-floor room, he kept that one page open and stared at it.
Now and then he lifted the magazine close to his eyes. Close enough for his nose to touch the paper.
Then he'd stretch his arm out and hold it far away to look.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Close, far, close again, far again.
[Look at that swirl.]
the Shadow whispered.
[It's not turning just one way. Here it goes this way, there it goes that way. They're crashing into each other.]
Lee Jun nodded.
He could see it. The print was muddy and the detail was lost, but he could tell the swirl wasn't a single mass. Several currents were winding around each other and unwinding again.
Е̌ n̄ ǔ m̃ а̃
[And that star. A star isn't just a yellow dot. Look, the light spreads out around it.
It's circles layered over one another. White at the center, turning yellower toward the outside, then bleeding into the color of the sky.]
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Lee Jun's eyes fixed on a single star. Smaller than half a thumbnail.
Inside it, he could see what the Shadow was describing. Faintly, very faintly.
[This was painted with a tool called a brush.]
the Shadow said.
Ӗ n û mӓ . і d̃
[But these aren't ordinary brushstrokes. Short and thick. Stacked up in the same direction.
It's not one long stroke; it's laid on in short, short dabs. The paint is thick.
In this little picture you can't really see it, but in the real painting the paint must rise right up off the surface. Touch it and it'd feel all bumpy and ridged.]
Lee Jun touched the picture on the magazine with his finger.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
He felt only the smooth surface of the paper.
Of course. It was a print.
E̊n ū m a.і̌.d
But the bumpy ridges the Shadow spoke of seemed to register under his hand anyway.
[The person who painted this......]
the Shadow paused for a moment.
[They were angry. No, not angry.
How should I put it? They felt like they'd burst.
There was just too much inside them, so much they were ready to burst.
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That's why they painted it like this. Because if they didn't, they'd burst.]
Lee Jun looked at the picture again.
Whether a three-year-old understood those words, there's no telling.
But there was no doubt he felt something in that tiny picture.
It wasn't calm.
The sky seemed to be screaming.
Wе̂ b̈ n.о̇ v̂е́ l̊ Е nŭm а́
The stars seemed to be bursting.
And yet the village below was quiet.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lights on in the windows, rooftops, roads. It lay quietly asleep.
The sky was raging like mad, but the village slept.
Lee Jun gazed at that contrast for a long while.
*
Е̃n u m̆ӓ.. ǐ d̃
On the third day.
Lee Jun wouldn't eat.
"Jun, eat."
When Mom came up, Lee Jun was lying on his stomach on the floor, looking at the magazine. He didn't lift his head.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"Jun?"
"......"
Еň u m̈а .іd
Mom touched Lee Jun's forehead. It was hot.
"Oh my, he's running a fever?"
Lee Jun's eyes were bloodshot.
"Well, no wonder, staring at the same thing day after day."
He hadn't been sleeping properly, either.
Even after Mom turned off the light and pulled the blanket over him, he lay there in the dark with his eyes open. Staring at the ceiling.
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Because in that pitch-black dark where nothing could be seen, the swirl was still turning.
"Oh no, honey! Jun's burning up! Should we take him to the doctor?"
Dad came up from the first floor. Fish scales clung to his apron.
He pressed the back of his hand to Lee Jun's forehead and furrowed his brow.
"Run to the pharmacy, get some fever medicine. I've got the kid."
Mom went out, and Dad sat down beside Lee Jun.
Ӗ ṅ ǔ mа̇
Lee Jun lay under the blanket. He was hugging the magazine to his chest.
Dad tried to pull the magazine away, but Lee Jun wouldn't let go.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"...You like it that much, huh?"
Dad didn't force the magazine away.
He just stroked Lee Jun's hair.
A rough, big hand. A hand that had gripped a knife.
Ẁ е ḃ n_о vе ĺ En̊ u m а̊
Lee Jun closed his eyes.
The fever climbed. His body was hot. The blanket was heavy.
His eyes were closed, but it wasn't darkness.
It was blue.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Whether it was a dream or not, there's no knowing.
A sky lay before him.
Ӗ n̂ ŭ mа . і̌d̈
Not the tiny picture in the magazine.
A vast sky that filled his entire field of vision.
The swirl was turning.
Slowly, but without stopping.
Blue pushed against black, black drew in purple, and purple seeped back into blue.
The stars were shining.
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Yellow light was bursting out.
It was bright. Too bright. Bright enough to hurt his eyes.
[Can you see it?]
The Shadow was flying alongside him.
Not its usual black silhouette. The Shadow, too, was inside the swirl.
A form of mingled blue and black. Only the two white eyes stayed the same.
Ё n ũ mа. і d̀
[This is the real thing. What was in the magazine was a photo of a photo. The real thing is like this.]
the Shadow said, sounding proud.
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Lee Jun said nothing.
He only gazed up.
Inside the swirl, he felt something.
The trail a brush had left behind.
Ẃ е b̊ nо̄v еl Eǹǔm̄а̂.
Short, thick lines layered upon one another.
There was direction.
There was flow.
He could feel that someone's hand had made this sky.
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It hadn't been drawn in a single stroke.
Dozens of times, hundreds of times.
Е̌ ṅǔmа̄
The same spot painted over and over.
Paint laid over paint, and over again.
That was how it had grown this thick.
[This was a person who had to paint.]
the Shadow said.
[Like you.]
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Lee Jun didn't answer.
The stars spun round and round.
Above his head, no, inside his head.
It was hot.
Whether from the rising fever, or from the starlight.
The village lay far below.
W е̌bnоv ӗ l Е̄ňu̇ m а̃
It was quiet.
The sky was raging like mad, but the village slept.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
No one looked up.
No one saw this sky, this swirl, these stars.
Only this person saw them.
Only the one who painted this picture.
Ŵ еbn̈о̇ṽ eľ E̊n u m̃á
And now.
Only Lee Jun was seeing it.
[......You want to paint it, don't you?]
For the first time, there was no pushing in its voice.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun breathed inside the swirl.
Air both hot and cold filled his lungs at once.
Е n̊u̇ ṁá .īd
He wants to paint it.
This sky. This star. This swirl.
All of it. He wanted to capture it all in a picture.
"Yeah."
The fever broke the next day.
When Lee Jun opened his eyes, he saw the ceiling. The familiar ceiling with its single crack.
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From the first floor came the sound of Dad dumping ice. It was morning.
The magazine lay beside the blanket. Still open to that page.
The little picture, the size of two thumbs, was there.
The vast sky he'd seen the night before was gone.
It had shrunk back into a small, muddy print.
But in Lee Jun's eyes, the swirl still remained.
Ё ṅu m̀ ӓ
Lee Jun pushed himself up. He was still dizzy.
In the corner of the room sat the box of crayons his aunt had bought him.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Never once opened.
Lee Jun crawled over and opened the box.
The crayons were lined up in a row.
He picked out the blue one.
Е̌ ṅ ŭ m ȧ.і̆d
[Ah......!]
the Shadow caught its breath.
Lee Jun opened the sketchbook. White paper.
He set the blue crayon to the paper.
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His hand trembled.
Maybe because the fever hadn't fully broken, or maybe for some other reason.
Е̇ n̊ uḿа̂
He drew the first line.
Curving.
A swirl.
The blue crayon slid across the paper, leaving wax behind. A thick mark formed.
No fine line came of it. But that didn't matter.
What he'd felt in the magazine picture wasn't fine lines, either. It was thick, short, layered upon layer.
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Lee Jun layered blue over blue.
It deepened.
Over that he mixed in a little black.
He set purple beside it.
A swirl began to appear on the paper.
He picked up the yellow.
Е̇ ňu m̂а
A star.
A small circle.
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Around it, he wrapped one more layer of yellow.
The feeling of light spreading.
[......Amazing.]
the Shadow said.
Еn̈ ü mǎ.
This time it wasn't an excited voice.
It was a voice of true astonishment.
Lee Jun didn't stop.
In black, he drew something pointed at the bottom. A tree.
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He drew a row of little squares. A village.
Inside the squares he dotted yellow. Window light.
Еn ūm ӓ . і̌d̂
The sky swirled, and the village slept.
Lee Jun set down the crayon and looked down at the paper.
It was a picture drawn by the soft hands of a three-year-old.
He didn't like it.
The drawing was crooked.
The swirl's direction was off.
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The stars were all different sizes.
The village was too big.
But.
There was a rhythm to the swirl.
The starlight was spreading.
There was a contrast between the sky and the village.
Е̂ nu̇ m̈ а
[Amazing. Truly, amazing......]
It was Lee Jun's first picture, copied from a thumb-sized one in a magazine.
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