“I don’t want to.”
With a standing mic, clean mat, and plush sofa, this place was like a small hideout. Yeon Cheonguk turned his gaze beyond the large window. Several twinkling stars were visible in the summer night sky.
“You know? In summer, you can’t really see the waning crescent moon.”
“What’s that?”
“The waning crescent rises late at dawn, but in summer the sun rises early, so you can only see it when everyone’s knocked out sleeping. Unless you wake up at 4 AM, you can’t see that moon. Last summer, I saw the waning crescent a couple times.”
“……That’s probably why you were bleeding from your nose in the street.”
“Ah, that’s right. You remember things like that, from last year?”
As he finished speaking, Yeon Cheonguk flinched belatedly. Last year’s events…… The eye contact with Hwang Jegu felt awkward, so he unnecessarily added more and walked toward the window.
“I originally like the waning moon. Rather than liking that moon itself, I should say I like the stars that become clearly visible on particularly dark nights. In other words… I like the darkness that allows me to see the stars.”
A dark night like tonight.
A pitch-black night because the waning crescent hasn’t risen yet.
The stars are even more vivid.
Isn’t it ironic? The darker it is all around, the more the light ripples….
“This is the first time I’ve heard a guy talk about stars and stuff other than military stories. Do you have to be this crazy to be a singer?”
Hwang Jegu observed Yeon Cheonguk deeply with curious eyes. Perhaps because the conversation started with talk of stars, all sorts of stories came and went.
When asked if he really planned to acquire an agency the moment he turned twenty, Hwang Jegu said he would. He’d seen the committee chairman hunt companies that way, and apparently it’s easy if you technically drive them into financial difficulty and threaten them well. It didn’t seem that easy, but he let it pass. Remembering something about registered age, when he asked what that meant, a surprising answer came back.
It was certain that the birth registration was delayed, but no one knew whether it was delayed by a few months, a year, or a year and a half.
No wonder he seemed like a wild guy—he was a hyung much older in age. Hwang Jegu added,
“There’s one more thing I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?”
“Who set the fire before I was left at the orphanage.”
“…….”
“After the whole family died and only I got out and was left there, I only heard it was arson. In my memory, there were two babies younger than me, I have no memory of my father at all, and my only memory of my mother is her doing something in the kitchen… which of the two fed everyone sleeping pills and set the fire to kill them all?”
Though it ended as a question, he couldn’t answer. While Yeon Cheonguk silently gazed out the window, Hwang Jegu let out a brief chuckle.
“So I really hate fire. Except for cigarette flames.”
‘Hate fire’ sounded like ‘fear fire.’
But Yeon Cheonguk kept those words to himself.
He also heard about the scars on his arms. According to Hwang Jegu’s continued words, terrible things happen more often in dark, shabby poverty. Therefore, he’d never thought of his childhood misfortune as tragic. It was natural order.
Therefore, Hwang Jegu’s life was entirely about naturally becoming strong and escaping poverty. Seizing money and power through ruthless methods was natural for him. The desire to become strong became kindling that burned his life. Those very flames spread to Yeon Cheonguk’s sleeping heart and made it blaze fiercely.
Blood ties still seemed to be infinite rage and doubt for Hwang Jegu.
It was different yet similar to the doubts Yeon Cheonguk had. Hadn’t moments of not understanding why they were born piled up to become a huge question mark?
Yeon Cheonguk said calmly,
“I just thought this way. That there must still be a reason I was born into this world.”
“That’s positive.”
“For me, that’s singing.”
“…….”
“For you, is it the pleasure of trampling someone? I don’t know. Or is it a lover?”
Hwang Jegu looked Yeon Cheonguk over for a long time, who had spat out comfort that wasn’t even comfort.
“Let’s see it. Your reason for being born.”
The musical Yeon Cheonguk had been practicing recently was ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame.’ Among those, the song he wanted to sing today, right now when he couldn’t properly offer comfort to Hwang Jegu, was the ending song <Someday>.
Completely a cappella.
He imagined hundreds of audience members in front of the standing mic. Though in truth, it was a song sung for just one person.
A man’s voice began to echo through the abandoned warehouse in the mountains.
Someday
our fight will be won then
We’ll stand in the sun then
That bright afternoon
Someday
Our struggle will be victorious
When that time comes, we’ll face the bright sun
And the day will shine even brighter
Since he started practicing musical songs, there had been significant changes in his vocalization. Also, the emotional expression that had been limited to just his face and neck expanded to movements of his entire body—that is, to acting. Had that change been quite noticeable? Hwang Jegu raised his body from where he’d been lying on the mat.
Till then
on days when the sun is gone
We’ll hang on
Wish upon the moon
Until then
Even on days when the sun disappears
We’ll hold on
And wish upon the moon
Because his shriveled-turd-like pronunciation hadn’t improved much, the lyrics probably wouldn’t be conveyed well. If expressions beyond language could be conveyed, if Yeon Cheonguk’s wish could be felt, that would be enough.
— I just hope you won’t be sadder. That’s all.
What he’d said to Hwang Jegu last summer was still valid.
A song that hadn’t stirred much emotion during practice now inspired a heartfelt passionate performance.
There are some days dark and bitter
Seems we haven’t got a prayer
But a prayer for someday better
Is the one thing we all share
There are dark and difficult days
Days when it feels like prayers go unanswered
But the prayer for a better future
Must be everyone in this world’s wish
He hadn’t known singing in a place without any interference could be this happy.
While Yeon Cheonguk started and finished three songs, Hwang Jegu sat with his hands clasped, lost in deep thought.
***
The compensated dating at the abandoned warehouse continued until summer vacation ended.
August 2003 was an unprecedentedly cool summer due to the influence of the Okhotsk Sea high pressure and Pacific high pressure. It was the rainy season all month long. Stuffy, humid air was the baseline every day. The mountain trail going up to the warehouse was damp on many days. The scent of summer rain wafted richly from wet leaves.
The warehouse was also cool enough not to need air conditioning. With a fan running, it was just like a concert hall stage.
Their summer with the rainy season was far more colorful than Broadway musicals.
That place became the lofty Notre Dame Cathedral,
Sometimes became a garbage dump where rough cats lived,
Sometimes became the castle where Hamlet lived.
The faint moonlight illuminating the night was stage lighting
School uniforms were all-purpose costumes,
And the conversations they shared were youth hotter than the heat emitted by hundreds of audience members.
When Hwang Jegu put gum wrappers between manga and sent them, Yeon Cheonguk had to go to the empty warehouse. Each time, he returned with bills in his bag. Yeon Cheonguk sold his singing voice, voice, vocal cords, oral cavity, and mouth—which he gave to no one else—to that guy and received money several times the daily wage.
If you asked whether his pride was hurt, he would answer not at all. There was no feeling of having his dignity stripped away. The reason was unknown. Because Hwang Jegu treated him well? Because he smiled? He didn’t know. Though he’d defined it as a gamble and a transaction, perhaps Yeon Cheonguk also didn’t want to let go of his connection with him.
As promised, he quit all his part-time jobs.
On the day he took Manager Kim’s car to his first vocal lesson, he deliberately brought it up right before arrival.
“Oh, Sunbae. I think I need to quit my part-time job. The college entrance exam is getting closer too… my parents are noticing on weekends. Could you find the next part-timer as quickly as possible? I’m really, really grateful for everything.”
He mixed in an appropriate white lie and expressed his intention to quit. The manager looked far more disappointed than expected. He was so regretful he didn’t even notice the light had changed, so Yeon Cheonguk told him it was green.
“Ah… this day had to come.”
“You thought I’d be by your side forever?”
The manager, who was circling near the practice room looking for parking, asked a question.
“Then you’re quitting all your other part-time jobs too.”
“Ah… no. I’m going to occasionally distribute flyers on weekday evenings. I don’t do that often anyway.”
He made up an excuse since there were occasional days he met with Hwang Jegu. His lies kept increasing. The manager tapped the gear with anxious gestures and asked,
“Weren’t you going every day until recently?”
