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Chapter 68: The Painting That Summons Nostalgia
TL: Enuma ID
The next morning.
Lee Jun woke up late.
He has no idea what time he fell asleep last night. He remembered eating the pork cutlet, drinking one more banana milk, and dropping off to sleep sitting on the floor.
In the morning he was lying in bed. His aunt must have carried him there.
En ǔ.m̂а . і̇ d
His aunt was asleep beside him too. The blanket kicked halfway off.
Lee Jun crept down off the bed.
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He went out to the living room.
The easel stood there.
On the canvas, the painting from the night before.
Morning sunlight came through the floor-to-ceiling window and lit the canvas.
Wеbn̊ о̇v eĺ Е n̄ u m̈ а
It was different from how it had looked at night.
Under the morning light the colors looked different.
The purple of the sky looked deeper. The navy of the sea looked heavier.
The orange in the pools of water caught the morning sun and was truly shining.
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And the single line of apricot above the horizon.
Under the morning light that line looked warmer.
Еňum̈а .ǐ ḋ
At night it had been a sad painting.
In the morning it was a warm one.
The same painting, and yet it changed with the light.
Lee Jun stood looking at it for a long while.
"It's pretty."
Even though he'd painted it himself, he thought it was pretty.
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Around then, So-young woke up too.
She looked at her phone. Nine thirty.
"...Ack!"
She shot up. Checkout was at eleven.
She went out to the living room. Lee Jun was standing in front of the easel.
For a second she was startled, thinking he was painting again, but he was just standing there looking.
Е n üm̄ а
"Jun, you're up?"
"Yeah."
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"You must be hungry."
Just then there was a knock at the door.
So-young opened it.
A room service cart stood there. The attendant bowed.
Е̌n.u ṁӓ . і ḋ
"Good morning. I've brought your breakfast."
"Um... we didn't order anything?"
The attendant smiled gently.
"Breakfast is provided for our suite guests."
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It had come without her even ordering it.
On the cart sat toast, scrambled eggs, fruit, milk, and juice.
Е ń um̂а̌.і̆d
There were also small pancakes that looked like they were meant for a child. With syrup.
"Thank you."
So-young decided not to be surprised anymore. At this hotel, all she had to do was say thank you and accept.
The two of them sat at the table and ate breakfast.
Lee Jun poured syrup over his pancakes and ate. They were good.
"Auntie."
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"Mm."
"Yesterday's painting came out good."
"Yeah? I saw it too. You did such a great job, Jun."
"Mm. But when I looked this morning it's different again."
"Different? How?"
"At night it was sad. In the morning it's warm."
Е n um̆ ӑ.î d
So-young stopped her fork and looked toward the easel.
The morning light coming through the floor-to-ceiling window was lighting the canvas.
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"You're right. It does look different in the morning."
Lee Jun said, munching his pancakes.
"I want to put this one in the contest."
"Yeah? Shouldn't you show it to your teacher?"
Еn̂u̇ m ǎ
"Mm. I have to show my teacher too."
"Then we'd have to take it home."
Lee Jun tilted his head.
"But it's not dry yet."
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The surface of the canvas was still wet.
Especially the tidal-flat section, laid on thick with impasto. Enough that a finger brushing against it would come away with paint on it.
E nú m̄_ā
Moving it in this state could smudge it or press it out of shape and ruin it. It was also bigger than his earlier paintings.
"What do we do now?"
While So-young fretted, the phone rang.
It was the hotel front desk.
"Good morning. I'm calling to let you know about your checkout time."
"Oh, right. We need to be out by eleven, don't we?"
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"We've extended your checkout time. You're welcome to stay until two in the afternoon. Please take your time getting ready."
"Oh, really? Thank you."
By now it wasn't even surprising.
At this hotel they saw to every last detail so that nothing was ever the slightest inconvenience. A high-end hotel really was a different thing altogether.
"There's also one thing I'd like to ask. The painting Lee Jun-gun did last night, might it still not be dry?"
So-young was startled. How did they even know that?
Wē b̊ n_о v́e l̂ Е̄ nuḿ а̊
"Yes, it's an oil painting, so it's not dry yet."
"I thought that might be the case. Oil paintings take a few days to dry, after all. If it's all right with you, shall we store it here at the hotel until it's fully dry?"
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"...The hotel does painting storage too?"
"Yes. As it happens, our hotel has an art storage facility. A storage vault with controlled temperature and humidity. We'll keep the painting safe until it's completely dry, and once it's dry we'll deliver it wherever you'd like."
So-young thought for a moment.
Taking it on the subway in this state was impossible. There was no carrying a wet twenty-ho canvas.
Ӗ.ń ůṁâ
Even in a taxi, the paint could smear as it jostled around.
"Um, the cost..."
"There's no charge. We'll take responsibility for the storage. We'll keep security tight the entire time the painting is drying. The vault has CCTV, and no unauthorized persons are allowed inside."
Excessive goodwill sometimes invites suspicion.
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This was exactly one of those times. All the excessive kindness only left So-young uneasy.
What if, under the guise of storing it, they swapped it for a fake? Or what if they meant to put it on display as promotional material?
Ẁ ê.b̈n о̄ v́еl̊ .Е̄ n ú m а
The attendant spoke as if he understood every one of So-young's worries.
"It's exactly as you stipulated yesterday. Nothing will be photographed or made public without the guardian's permission. You have my word."
So-young held the receiver and looked at the canvas.
Honestly, she was uneasy.
About leaving this painting behind.
It was a painting her nephew had made while crying. A painting he'd made while missing the home he came from.
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Handing over a painting like that to a stranger's hotel. She couldn't help being uneasy.
But realistically, there was no other way.
There was no means of safely transporting a wet oil painting.
A high-end hotel's storage vault was certainly better than a corner of their officetel.
"...All right. I'll leave it in your care, then."
"Thank you. We'll check on the drying regularly and contact you the moment it's finished."
Е ǹ u_ma. іd
The call ended.
So-young let out a sigh.
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She looked at Lee Jun.
Lee Jun had finished his pancakes and gone back to the easel. He was looking at his own painting.
"Jun."
"Mm."
Е̃n um̀ а . іd̊
"We're going to leave the painting here. Since it's not dry yet."
"Mm."
"The hotel says they'll keep it safe. And bring it to us once it's dry."
"Mm."
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Lee Jun didn't seem worried in the least. The worrying was his aunt's job.
One in the afternoon. Checkout.
Еn̂ ũ mа̌ .і̂d̃
They packed up and came down to the lobby.
So-young returned the key card at the front desk.
"Han So-young-nim, Lee Jun-nim, thank you for staying with us."
The staff member bowed.
From start to finish they were unfailingly courteous. Caught off guard, So-young found herself bowing back.
"We have a private sending service ready for your departure."
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"Sending?"
"Yes. We'll drive you to your destination."
"Sorry? A car?"
"Yes. A hotel car is ready and waiting."
So-young answered a beat late.
"Um, we can just take the subway..."
Еnů mâ
"You have luggage, and Lee Jun-gun must be tired. Please, travel in comfort."
Lee Jun was already sitting on the sofa nearby, nodding off.
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From painting so late into the night, it seemed his energy still hadn't come back.
So-young looked at the dozing Lee Jun and nodded.
"...Thank you."
A black sedan stood in front of the main entrance.
Ӗň ŭ m̄а . іd
The staff member opened the door. Lee Jun climbed into the car, wobbling.
The moment he got in, he closed his eyes.
Resting his head on his aunt's arm.
The car set off.
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So-young looked out the window.
The hotel building was receding.
Ẇе b n о̇vѐl̀ Е̂ ṅŭ mӑ
Somewhere in that huge building was Lee Jun's painting. Still not fully dry.
Pushing down her unease, she smoothed back Lee Jun's hair.
"You did well, Jun."
Lee Jun was asleep. Without answering.
The car pulled out of Songdo.
*
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Kim Yo-han was on his way back up to Seoul after wrapping up his schedule out in the provinces.
On the expressway, he checked his phone.
A message had come in the night before.
Sender, Han So-young.
'Professor. Jun painted a picture of the sea. At the hotel.'
'It's oil, so it's drying, and the hotel is storing it. They'll send it once it's dry. Please take a look then.'
Е ǹ um ã
A painting of the sea.
Lee Jun is from Busan. The sea would be a familiar subject for him.
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A painting of the sea, by a student like that.
He wanted to see it.
He looked at the navigation.
An hour and a half to Seoul. Songdo came before Seoul.
Е n̈u ṁа́.i d̆
Kim Yo-han turned the wheel.
He headed straight for Songdo.
The lobby of the Grand Signal Hotel.
"This is Kim Yo-han. I'm here to see Lee Jun-gun's painting."
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Manager Jung Min-woo, who had been notified, came down at once.
"Professor Kim Yo-han, I presume? I'm Jung Min-woo from the marketing team. I heard from Han So-young-nim."
W ӗḃ n о v е̄ l̃ Еǹ ūm̆ ӓ
"I'd like to see the painting."
"Of course. Right this way."
They took the elevator down to the basement.
An iron door at the end of a long corridor.
Jung Min-woo held up a card and the door opened.
The storage vault.
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It was cool. The temperature and humidity were properly controlled.
An easel stood off to one side.
On it, the canvas. Twenty-ho.
Bigger than what Lee Jun usually painted.
"Here it is."
Jung Min-woo stepped back.
Еn̊ ùmа́
Kim Yo-han stood before the painting.
There was the sea. A sea where the sun had set.
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The sky bleeding out above the horizon. Orange, red, purple.
The sea sunk into navy. A column of light. Faintly trembling ripples.
The tidal flat laid on roughly with impasto. In every smooth pool of water, the sky was reflected.
Kim Yo-han's eyes swept over the canvas. Top to bottom. Left to right.
Е n̈ūm̀ а̀ ..îd̈
Alla prima. Unhesitating, spontaneous touches. The boundaries between the sky's colors had melted naturally into one another.
The impasto of the tidal flat. The control of thickness was precise.
The brushwork of the ripples. The direction was irregular. Not a deliberate irregularity.
Kim Yo-han's gaze halted on those ripples.
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It was a calm sea, and yet the ripples were restless.
These were not the ripples of the West Sea.
E ň.u m̄а́ .і d́
This trembling had come from a hand remembering a different sea.
His gaze moved downward.
The pools of water. Delicately rendered colors. One of them was unusually bright.
Back up again.
Just above the horizon there was a thin line. Apricot.
There Kim Yo-han's gaze lingered.
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Between the purple sky and the navy sea. Apricot.
If it were the afterglow of sunset, it should have been orange or red.
But this color was closer to sunrise.
Kim Yo-han took a step back.
He looked at the whole painting.
The artist's intent seemed almost within reach.
E ǹ u mа
But it stayed out of reach. The knowledge that the person who had painted this was six years old threw static into Kim Yo-han's analysis.
He looked for a long time.
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He didn't say a word.
He stood staring at the painting as if he'd been turned to stone.
Jung Min-woo, standing beside him, asked carefully.
"Professor. Is the painting all right?"
W̆ ēb n̊ о̂ v́ е̊ ľ Ёn̆ ǔm̊а
"...The storage condition is good. You've done well."
"Yes. We're expecting three or four days until it's dry. Once it's finished drying, we'll send it over."
"No. When it's done, just call me. I'll come myself."
"Not sending it to Han So-young-nim?"
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"No. I'll come in person."
Kim Yo-han left the storage vault.
E nümå .і d
Jung Min-woo put a few more questions to the departing Kim Yo-han, but got nothing further out of him.
Kim Yo-han passed through the lobby and reached the parking lot.
Then he called Han So-young.
"Hello?"
"Han So-young-ssi. I saw the painting."
"Oh, Professor. Already? You went to the hotel?"
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"Yes. I stopped by on my way up. Could you put Jun on for a moment?"
"Jun? Sure, one second."
A rustling sound.
A moment later Lee Jun's voice came on.
"Teacher?"
"Jun. I saw your painting."
Ӗ ǹūm а.і̌d
"Okay."
"There's something I want to ask you."
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"Yes?"
"You put apricot in, just above the horizon."
"...Yes."
"Why did you do that?"
W̊е̂ḃ n̂ о̄ṽ еľ .E n̄ u m̂а
It wasn't an interrogation, just a simple question.
Lee Jun was quiet for a moment.
"No reason."
"There's no such thing as no reason. Think about it. Why that color came out."
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Lee Jun thought again for a moment.
"The sun set over the sea."
Ën̄.u m а
"Mm-hm."
The West Sea. It's famous as a sunset destination, in fact. Of course the sun would set over the water.
"When the sun set, it made me think of the sun rising."
"The sun rising?"
"In Busan, the sun rises out of the sea."
Lee Jun's voice was quiet.
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"But here the sun set into the sea. That was strange, so... I thought, this isn't Busan."
The sunset over the West Sea. That was what had been different from the sea Lee Jun knew.
"So that's why you put that color in?"
"I don't know. It just... my hand painted it. That color came out."
A brief silence passed.
"I see... I understand what you mean."
W̊е b̃n̆õ v̌ ӗl̇ Е́ ṅùm а̄
A child who had grown up always watching the sun rise over the Busan sea.
But the sea he saw far from home was a sea where the sun set. And there, Jun had realized, 'this sea is not the sea I know'.
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That was the nature of the loneliness he'd felt in the painting.
A heart missing its hometown, its home, its parents. A six-year-old's.
"You did well. See you at our next lesson."
"Okay."
Ё ṅú m а̃
The call ended.
...Hometown.
When was the last time he'd been in touch?
Kim Yo-han sat in his car, gazing blankly up at the sky.
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Out of nowhere, nostalgia washed over him.
Kim Yo-han placed a call home.
W̌ e bn̈о̆v e l Ẽ n̈ u_ḿ a
"...Yes, Mother. It's me, Yo-han."
The first contact in nearly a year.
It was magic worked by a six-year-old's painting.
*****
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