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Chapter 4: The Fake and the Real
TL: Enuma ID
That night, his aunt didn't go home.
It was Chuseok day. They set the low table in the cramped room, and the four of them sat around it.
Jeon, japchae, namul. Since it was a sashimi restaurant, there was a plate of sashimi too.
Dad poured soju. A glass for his aunt, too.
Wеb ñ_о́v̆ еl̊ Е̄nu m а
"Have a drink."
"Sure, brother-in-law."
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun was eating.
More precisely, he was holding his spoon, but his eyes were on the sketchbook in his lap. His hands itched to draw something with the new pastels.
Mom took the sketchbook away.
"I told you, no drawing while you eat."
Е̄num̄а̇
Lee Jun didn't resist.
Instead, his left hand, the one not holding the spoon, moved faintly against his thigh.
The grown-ups' conversation went back and forth over the table.
Talk of the shop. Talk of Seoul. Talk of his aunt's webtoon.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
So-young took a sip of soju and spoke.
It was something she'd had to brace herself for.
Еn̆ um а̃
"Sis, brother-in-law. About Jun's drawings, from earlier."
Mom's chopsticks stopped.
Dad looked up as he picked up a piece of sashimi.
"What about the drawings?"
So-young showed them the photos she'd taken in the room earlier, on her phone.
The drawings that had been spread out on the floor. She'd photographed them in chronological order.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"These came out from under the dresser and the linen chest. Jun drew every one of them."
Dad took the phone and swiped through the photos.
Mom looked on beside him.
"The crayon ones he started at three, then it goes to colored pencil, then watercolor. He keeps repeating the same picture and getting a little better with each one."
Dad was swiping through when he stopped.
A watercolor of the fish tank.
Е̂nůḿ â . і d̀
"This our tank from the shop?"
"Yeah."
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Dad studied it for a long while.
Then he set the phone down and drank his soju.
"It's good. So?"
So-young drew a breath.
Е̌ ǹ ù m̀а . і_ď
"Jun needs a proper art education."
Silence settled over the table.
"......And what's a proper art education?"
Mom asked. Her voice had dropped lower.
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"Not just some neighborhood academy. Someone who can really teach him. Art-school professor level."
"A professor? How old is this kid?"
Е̄ ṅ um̀а
"Five. That's exactly why it matters. At this age......"
"So-young."
Mom cut her off.
"It's not that I don't get what you're saying. But how are we supposed to afford an art professor on what we make? You know we can barely scrape together enough for an academy as it is."
"I'll look into it. The cost......"
"It's not just about money."
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Dad said it, setting down his soju glass.
His voice was quiet.
"What are you trying to make a five-year-old do? Why not just let him do what he likes?"
"Brother-in-law, this isn't just liking it."
"I know Jun likes to draw. That's fine. But if he likes it, why not just leave him be? Always making him do this, teaching him that. Is that really the right thing for a five-year-old? What if you push him into it and he ends up hating it?"
So-young was at a loss for words.
Ẃ е b́ nо̆ ṽ е̃ l Е̄n̄ ü m̊ а
Her brother-in-law wasn't wrong. He's five. Too young to be made to do anything.
But that five-year-old had spent two years drawing hundreds of pages on his own and hiding every one of them.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Without showing anyone, without telling anyone, all by himself.
He hadn't even shown his own parents. This isn't right.
He's figuring out the properties of his tools by himself and applying them. He's a child with that kind of talent. A child who loves drawing enough to fill hundreds of pages alone.
And yet, for him to draw all alone, never connecting with a single soul, isn't that too cruel a thing for this child?
Ӗǹu m̆а̌
"Brother-in-law, just look closely at one of them for me."
So-young pulled up the watercolor of the fish tank on her phone.
"See how the water's bright up top and dark at the bottom? He drew that by observing the direction of the light. The fluorescent light shines from above, so the top is brighter. And those little white dots on the fish scales, that's him capturing the reflection of light. There's no way a five-year-old does this on his own."
"So."
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Dad said it again.
"So what is it you want to do."
Е̇ n̄ um̌ а̀ .i̊ ḋ
His tone wasn't angry.
It was the tone of a man who didn't know what to do.
He ran a sashimi restaurant.
Gripping a knife and cleaning fish was the whole of the world he knew.
He knew there was a world called art, but he didn't know what one was supposed to do inside it.
So-young changed tack.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"I'll handle everything. You two don't have to do a thing. Just let me take Jun."
Mom looked at So-young.
"Take him? What are you talking about?"
"In Seoul. I can look after Jun and give him an art education."
The table went quiet.
Lee Jun had stopped his spoon too and was watching the grown-ups.
Е̌ n̄um̌а
"Seoul?"
Mom's voice rose.
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"You want to take a five-year-old kid all the way to Seoul?"
"Not right away, but maybe around when he starts elementary school."
"So-young, have you ever raised a child?"
There was an edge in Mom's voice.
Е̂n u mа̇ ._іd̈
"How are you going to mind a child while you're drawing webtoons? You think I don't know you pull all-nighters working? Can you feed him on time? What about school? Laundry? When he's sick?"
So-young couldn't answer.
It was true. At deadline time, she'd often go three nights in a row without sleep.
She barely threw her own meals together; she wasn't even sure herself whether looking after a child was realistically possible.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"And there's our pride as parents to think of, too."
Dad said, fiddling with his soju glass.
Ӗn ŭ m̂ а
"Handing your own kid off to someone else? That's not something a parent does."
"Brother-in-law, that's not what I mean."
"What would people say? That we passed the kid off to his aunt. That his parents couldn't raise him, so they handed him along."
So-young closed her mouth.
She'd gone and touched a Busan man's pride.
Like this, there was no getting through to him anymore.
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A heavy silence spread over the table.
The jeon was going cold. The soju was going warm.
Lee Jun sat quietly.
Listening to the grown-ups talk.
[.......]
The Shadow was quiet too.
E̊n̄ üm а̇
Mom sighed.
"So-young, I know how you feel. But this is something we need time to think about."
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So-young nodded.
She knew she mustn't push any harder.
"Okay. I understand, Sis."
That night, So-young laid out a bedroll beside Lee Jun and lay down.
W̄е̄ b ṅ о̄vе̌ l Е̃ n ům̌а
Lee Jun was already asleep. Still clutching a new pastel in his hand. Cobalt Blue, wedged between his little fingers.
So-young looked at the ceiling and thought.
What should I do.
What can I do for this child.
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A nephew born with the very talent she'd longed for as a girl, the kind she'd wished for even in her dreams.
That she hadn't the ability to guide a child like Jun the right way, his aunt could only feel sorry.
W̊ е̌ b n о̌vе̇ l̆ Еn üm̊ а̌
*
When morning came, a commotion rose up from the first floor.
The day after a holiday is one of the busiest times for a sashimi restaurant.
On the last day of the Chuseok break, tourists who've come to Busan for the holiday flock in to eat sashimi.
Dad had gone down to the first floor since before dawn, and Mom soon followed.
Only Lee Jun and So-young were left on the second floor.
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"Jun, want to come out with Auntie?"
Lee Jun was drawing with the pastels.
He looked up at So-young. His eyes were flat with disinterest.
"Let's go look at some pictures. Big ones."
"......"
Lee Jun wasn't interested.
Ѐ n̂ u̇_m̈ а..і d
He liked the pastels. Right now he was exploring the feel of the new tool.
What was happening on this paper right now mattered more than going outside.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
[Pictures?! We're going to see pictures?!]
The Shadow, on the other hand, was overjoyed.
More excited than ever, it was shouting and dancing.
[Let's go let's go let's go! Hurry, let's go! She said pictures! Real pictures!]
Е̌ṅu m̌á
"No."
Lee Jun said.
[Aw, why?! Why not?! She said pictures! Pictures, pictures!]
So-young crouched down in front of Lee Jun.
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"Jun. Do you think Auntie would lie to you?"
Lee Jun looked at her.
W̊е̃ b̂ n о̌ v e l̃ Е ǹ ům.а̌
"Has Auntie ever brought you anything useless?"
She never had.
His aunt was someone who brought art supplies every time she came. She wasn't someone who did pointless things.
"They've got a painting as big as a whole wall. An amazing painting. Let's just go and look. If it's no good, we'll come right back."
Lee Jun looked down at the pastels for a moment.
Then he got up, reluctantly.
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He didn't put the pastel down. He slipped it into his pocket.
[Yes! We're going!]
The Shadow gave a leap.
So-young took Lee Jun's hand and went down the stairs.
As they passed through the sashimi restaurant on the first floor, Dad was cleaning fish.
He saw So-young and just nodded. It meant, go on, then.
Ẃē b n о̊ ṽe l̇ Е̂ ń ů m̆ а̃
They took a taxi.
Destination: BEXCO.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Busan's streets slid past the window.
Lee Jun watched out the window. His face was blank.
[What kind of painting will it be? Oil? Watercolor? How big is it? Really as big as a wall?]
The Shadow chattered away to itself without pause.
Ѐ n̈ úm̂ ӓ. і̀d
Lee Jun didn't answer.
He fiddled with the pastel in his pocket. He wanted to hurry home and draw.
A banner hung in front of the BEXCO convention center.
'Monet, Journey of Light - An Immersive Impressionism Experience'
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
"......Monet?"
[Tch. So the 'pictures' were just some rich old geezer's paintings?]
En ûm̈ а . ĭd̆
The Shadow, which had been thrilled at the word 'pictures'.
But now that they'd actually come, it seemed full of complaints.
[Still, well, nothing to be done. Jun wants to see them, so I've got no choice but to take a look.]
There were a lot of people.
Because of the Chuseok holidays, families were lined up to get in. Children ran around.
So-young showed the tickets she'd booked in advance and went inside. Holding Lee Jun's hand.
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Past the entrance came a dark corridor.
Light rippled across the walls and floor.
Footage of light reflecting off water flowed on every side.
Lee Jun looked around.
It was video. Moving pictures.
[......What is this.]
E ń û m̆.а̀. íḋ
The Shadow muttered in a deflated voice.
[This isn't a painting.]
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They passed through the corridor and entered a wide hall.
Monet's paintings were projected, enormous, across all four walls.
Water Lilies. Sunrise. Rouen Cathedral. Haystacks.
The colors changed slowly. From morning into evening. The light on the water wavered.
Ẁë b no v е̃ ĺ_ Е n ù mа
Music played underneath. Piano.
Visitors sat on the floor, gazing up. Children walked across the light.
[This is video. Not a painting. They photograph a painting and beam it onto the wall with a projector.]
The Shadow grumbled in a disappointed voice.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lee Jun wasn't much moved either.
The footage was pretty, but it wasn't a painting.
Ē.nů m̀ ä .і̂ d̂_
It was moving light. Not something that could be painted.
The projector's blurred light didn't reach Lee Jun.
So-young studied Lee Jun's face.
"No good?"
Just as Lee Jun was about to nod.
He spotted something on one wall of the hall.
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An area where no video was projected. A space lit on its own.
Framed pieces hung on the wall. It was a section displaying large reproductions.
Lee Jun's feet turned that way.
He let go of So-young's hand and walked over.
The first painting was a reproduction of 'Impression, Sunrise'.
About a meter wide.
Е́ ǹûm а̄
A painting Monet made in 1872.
A fog-laden harbor. An orange sun. Light reflected on the water.
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Lee Jun stood before it.
His mouth, which had been calmly shut, fell open in a daze.
[......This is printed on canvas. It's ink, not paint. Touch it, it'll be flat.]
The Shadow nagged at his side again.
Е ṅ u̇ ḿ а .і d
Lee Jun wasn't listening.
An orange sun was breaking through the fog.
Orange light scattered across the water in three streaks.
The fog wasn't gray. Blue and purple and gray were mixed together in it.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
The shapes of the boats were blurred. They were dissolving into the fog.
It wasn't a small picture.
Е̃n u m а̇. і̂ d
Not the thumb-sized image from a magazine.
A painting so big that even with his arms spread wide he couldn't reach across it stood right in front of him.
Lee Jun stepped closer.
[I'm telling you, it's a knockoff. The real painting is in France. This is a print.]
The Shadow was the same as ever. And again, none of it reached Lee Jun's ears.
The light rippling on the water.
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Lee Jun was looking at it.
Orange streaks floated on the water.
They were broken. Not connected lines, but short fragments laid over the ripples.
Because the water was moving. Because the light was shaking.
Broken light. Trembling water.
Lee Jun held his breath.
Ẃеb́ n о v е l Е n ũ ṁ а̌.
The fish tank in the first-floor sashimi restaurant came to mind.
The way the fluorescent light struck the surface and shook on the water.
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The way the light scattered when a fish passed through.
How he'd tried to paint that in watercolor.
This man had seen it too.
This man had seen the light on the water too.
Е n u m а̀. ī ď
And he'd painted it.
Lee Jun walked to the next painting.
"Ah."
It was Water Lilies.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
Lily pads floated on the pond. The sky was reflected in the water.
The water was blue but it wasn't blue. Green and purple and pink were mixed into it.
Ẇ е̃ b̈ ń о́ vӗl̂ Ĕnǔ ḿ а̊
Light had settled on the lily pads.
[This one's a print too. See, no brushstrokes. It's flat. In the real Water Lilies, the paint itself gives off light.]
The Shadow kept complaining.
But mixed into its complaints was important information.
Lee Jun's eyes ran over the surface of the painting.
That a real painting has the thickness of paint.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
That it has brushstrokes.
That the light seems to come from the paint itself.
This reproduction doesn't have that.
But there were things this reproduction did have.
Color.
Composition.
Ẽn um̊ ӓ
How the light on the water had been broken apart and placed.
How the colors change when the sky reflects in the water.
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Lee Jun stood motionless before Water Lilies.
[Hey, hey. What's the matter? I told you it's a knockoff. You don't need to look at it so seriously.]
The Shadow waved its hands in front of Lee Jun. Its two white eyes moved with worry.
Lee Jun didn't answer.
Ӗn̊ū.ṁa.id
The next painting.
'Rouen Cathedral.'
A series of the same building painted at different times of day hung side by side.
The morning cathedral was pink. The noon cathedral was yellow. The sunset cathedral was orange.
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The same building. Different colors.
Lee Jun looked back and forth between the three paintings.
Ё n̂ ǔ m̀ а . іd
The alley wall.
The alley wall Lee Jun had watched from the window.
Warm colors where the light touched, cool colors in the shade.
What the Shadow had taught him.
This man had seen the same thing.
He'd looked at the same wall in the morning, at midday, in the evening.
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He'd understood that when the light changes, the wall changes.
So he'd painted it. The same wall. At different times. Over and over.
It was the same thing Lee Jun had been doing.
Drawing the same swirl over and over, dozens of times.
Observing the same tank at different times of day.
Lee Jun's eyes welled up.
Е̂n̂ ü mӑ. і̇ d̂
[Huh? Hey, what's wrong with you?]
The Shadow was flustered.
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Lee Jun didn't cry.
But something was welling up inside him.
This man painted like me.
No, I painted like this man.
Ën̊ um̌а̇
What the Shadow taught me was here in this painting too.
I'd seen the light scattered on the water too.
I'd seen the light cast on the wall too.
I'd painted the same thing over and over too.
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This man exists.
There was someone like me.
Е́n̄ ǔma .і̌ d̀
Lee Jun stood before the last painting.
A large reproduction of Water Lilies.
It was over two meters wide.
There was no boundary between water and sky.
Above was water and below was water.
Only the lily pads marked which way was up.
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Color was everything. There was almost no form.
[This is...... closer to abstract. He didn't paint an object, he painted light.
Still...... a knockoff's a knockoff, thouuugh.......]
Even the Shadow couldn't go on this time.
Knockoff or not, there was no denying the power this painting had.
Lee Jun sank down in front of it.
Е.ǹ u m̌ á .іd̆
He sat on the floor and looked up.
The Water Lilies, over two meters across, rippled before his eyes.
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It was a reproduction. No paint. No brushstrokes. No texture.
And yet.
There was something inside it.
Something this man had left behind was carrying through, even in a reproduction.
Ẇ e b̈n оv̆_е̇ l̇ Ё.nů m а̃
The way he split the light.
The way he laid down color.
The way he saw water.
"......"
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The pastel slipped out of Lee Jun's pocket.
Cobalt Blue.
Еǹu̇m̆ȧ
He gripped it. Without thinking.
He wanted to paint.
Right now.
This water. This light.
So-young was watching Lee Jun from a few steps back.
Here was this child, sunk down in front of a reproduction.
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A five-year-old, sitting on the floor, gazing up at Water Lilies.
A pastel clutched in his hand.
And it was only a reproduction.
And Jun was reacting like this.
A single thought lodged in So-young's mind.
'What would happen if I showed him the real thing.'
Wе̄ b̆nоv̆ѐl̃ E ñ ū m̌å
In Seoul there's the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art.
There's the Leeum Museum.
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Frieze Seoul is held there. Original works by overseas artists come.
In Busan, this is all there is.
Reproductions. Video. Experience exhibitions.
This child needs the real thing.
Е̌n̄ ü m̊ ӑ . i d
So-young made up her mind.
That she had to get him to Seoul, one way or another.
Lee Jun was still sitting in front of Water Lilies.
Visitors glanced at him as they passed. A little kid sitting on the floor. A little kid clutching something in his hand.
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[Jun.]
The Shadow said quietly.
È n̈ u ṁа̂ . íd̄.
[I'll admit it. Knockoff or not...... this is a great work.]
Lee Jun didn't answer.
He just kept looking at Water Lilies.
Where was the painting this man had truly made?
Not a print, not a reproduction, a painting with real paint laid on it.
A painting that would be bumpy to the touch. A painting whose paint gave off light.
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That was what Lee Jun wanted to see.
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