Chapter 51
The performance continued. Just when it seemed one song was about to end, the girl began playing another in succession. Two songs that felt as though they were one, yet were opposites.
The structure was similar.
A song that seemed to hint that something had happened, and that she had changed because of it. A farewell to a mired past and a paean to a new future.
The chiming guitar sang without pause for several minutes, then soon fell silent. Just before thunderous applause erupted, the girl raised a hand slightly.
“I’m sorry, but there’s one more song left. Please save your applause until afterward.”
Suyeon walked over, picked up the electric guitar again, and adjusted the amp. In the expectant silence, the guitar began to sound, little by little.
In the night sky where ash had fallen
the countless stars that had shone
swayed one by one
and opened the window of tomorrow night
“This…”
Junhong narrowed his eyes. It was the only one of Teacher Myeongjeon’s songs ever included in karaoke machines. Whenever they occasionally went to karaoke together after drinking, this was the song he had seen Myeongjeon sing.
The song was an ordinary old blues number, the kind that did not reveal its sadness directly. Aside from faint fragments of emotion showing through, all it had was lively guitar and drum sounds.
Yesterday’s me, wistfully,
welcoming the happiness that slowly cut me open,
chased the time
I had wished for countless times long ago.
Junhong felt that most songs from that era were like that. Of course, he had not lived through that era…
Perhaps it was because they believed that even grief enough to tear one’s guts apart would eventually disappear if buried in the sands of time. Or perhaps they thought that not showing it was maturity.
At least that seemed to be what Teacher Myeongjeon had believed. A man who made even sad songs sound unsad, following the old ways just as they were. A man who revered the past and turned away from the future.
Today, and tomorrow, too,
perhaps I’ll always remain this way.
Yesterday, and the day after tomorrow, too,
perhaps I wished and wished again.
But that girl was different.
She expressed emotion honestly and boldly. A performance and song like a raging torrent. Remorse surging skyward. The regret that had burned so fiercely was turning to ash before anyone knew it.
What I saw that morning
may have been a bird in front of the house.
People simply listened with their eyes closed.
* * *
“Thank you.”
After finishing the song and coming down, Suyeon was approached by many people during the brief break in the concert, and they began talking to her.
“That was such a wonderful song!!” “How long have you been playing guitar?” “I think our country’s future is looking bright.” Suyeon answered all their questions briefly or laughed them off before heading toward the waiting room.
But the conversations coming from the waiting room were somewhat different in nature from the earlier ones.
While most people were praising ‘Ha Suyeon’s’ guitar skills and ‘Seo Myeongjeon’s’ teaching ability, some made remarks filled with suspicion.
Questions like, “Was that really composed by Myeongjeon hyung?” and “Didn’t she compose it?” were mixed with sarcastic comments such as, “She’s awfully devoted to her teacher.”
Being suspicious was only natural. Who wouldn’t be? A man who had never shown any talent for composition for decades suddenly took on a disciple just before dying, awakened, and wrote a decent song? It was hard to believe.
An ordinary person might believe such a story, but these were musicians. They knew how difficult it was for something like that to happen. Rather than believe it, it was easier to assume that an old master, overcome by greed in his twilight years, had stolen his disciple’s work.
“Young lady. I’m truly sorry, but I don’t mean to insult your teacher or anything. I’d like you to calm down and listen.”
An old musician who had been close to ‘Seo Myeongjeon’ in his youth but had become his adversary at some point asked Suyeon a question in a trembling voice.
“Did Myeongjeon really write that song?”
His gaze carried the question, ‘Isn’t it actually that you wrote it, or had a hand in it?’ Suyeon answered with a slight smile.
“Yes.”
With that, she pulled out a very old composition notebook. It was hard to tell whether the handwriting was ‘Seo Myeongjeon’s’ or not, but the pages were filled with an old-fashioned, timeworn script that clearly belonged to someone who had learned to write a very long time ago.
“Teacher didn’t compose it completely on his own. As you can see here, there are quite a few parts that differ from the song I performed. Here, too, and here.”
The places Suyeon pointed out really were the portions she had sung differently. They were written in rounded, unmistakably ‘high school girl’s handwriting.’
But they were not the main melody. The main melody remained unchanged from beginning to end.
“The other songs are the same. The parts I changed are only sections.”
“Did you ever hear when he wrote this?”
“No, I never heard anything about it. In the first place, this notebook…”
Suyeon pointed to the guitar case she had brought. A hidden secret pocket inside the case.
“I took it out of there. I didn’t know there was anything inside. I found it while rummaging through things after hearing they were holding a memorial concert for my teacher.”
After saying that, Suyeon looked at the notebook. It was quite worn with age. Seeing the faint redness in Suyeon’s eyes, people were reminded of someone’s final years.
Years spent walking the wrong path. An early life full of conceit, knowing only that he was right, followed by middle years spent refusing to acknowledge that something was wrong. Then came the latter part of his life, after he realized he could no longer turn back.
And in those final years, he took in a disciple and was spurred on by her talent. He stepped down from the path he had walked for decades and secretly wrote new songs in his spare moments.
But the song never saw the light of day while he was alive. The teacher died, and it remained lost in the darkness.
Until his disciple brought it out again and performed it here, today. Until the very person who had inspired him performed it.
Someone sniffed. Someone else opened their mouth wide as if yawning at nothing, blinked rapidly, or secretly wiped at the corners of their eyes. For some reason, there were many people like that.
Among them, Suyeon was smiling faintly, as if reminiscing over the final moments of her teacher’s life.
* * *
‘Was that too much?’
At first, the whole thing had started simply so he could say, ‘For all that, his composing skills were at least average.’ There might not have been much point in protecting a dead man’s honor, but he had been Myeongjeon—Seo Myeongjeon, at any rate—so wasn’t it natural for him to be angry?
But judging by the situation unfolding now, he had already gone far beyond what he had intended.
Most of the old men who streamed or uploaded videos on YouTube were saying things like, “We underestimated Myeongjeon, but seeing him write a song like that in his later years, it really made me wish he were still alive. I miss Myeongjeon.”
‘He couldn’t have written a song like that if he’d actually been alive…’
Myeongjeon closed the laptop and twisted a lock of his hair.
When he had been alive as ‘Seo Myeongjeon,’ looking back now, his mind seemed to have grown a little rigid. This is that genre, so I have to write it with this kind of feeling and in this way. Even when something with a good feel emerged while writing, he would think, No, this isn’t what I wanted, so let’s throw it away and return to the original… It had been a repetition of things like that.
But after becoming ‘Ha Suyeon,’ along with the creativity and talent this girl had possessed from the start… well, whatever you called them, he felt as though his mind had become more flexible. Or perhaps he could now accept things he had once found uncomfortable or simply hadn’t wanted to accept.
Therefore, the song he had shown at the ‘Seo Myeongjeon Memorial Concert’ was a song he had been able to write because he had become ‘Ha Suyeon.’ It was a song he could never have written as ‘Seo Myeongjeon.’
‘Well, it had already happened, so there was nothing he could do.’
That aside, Myeongjeon had felt lately as though he was acting on impulse, doing things he definitely would not have done before.
‘Come to think of it… if this girl’s talent is influencing me, could her personality be influencing me as well?’
With the laptop still closed, Myeongjeon thought quietly. It seemed entirely possible.
* * *
“Ha Suyeon!”
When a blow to the shoulder from beside him jolted Myeongjeon awake, he let out a strangled “Gah.” The music teacher was glaring at him, while Dain beside him wore a look that said he deserved it and laughed at him.
“Even so, sleeping that blatantly is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Uh… ah… I’m sorry.”
Myeongjeon lowered his head once and grabbed his music textbook. Did high school students these days even study music? Weren’t they busy with the CSAT and all that? Everyone besides him was fooling around too, so why was he the only one being singled out?
“Then next class, we’ll have the instrumental performance assessment. Choose one of the songs I assigned earlier. If you don’t have an instrument, you can bring a recorder or danso; if you know how to play an instrument, bring your own.”
The music teacher said that as class was ending. Unlike Myeongjeon, who thought, ‘I guess I’ll just bring a recorder and play it…,’ Dain looked absolutely thrilled.
“Suyeon, bring your guitar and play for us!”
“Why would I?”
Dain had expected Suyeon to seize the chance to show off her skills, saying, “Oh, should I? Heh heh heh.” But Suyeon’s answer was completely different. Her eyes made it clear that she had no intention whatsoever.
“Why not? You should show them at least once at a time like this.”
“It’s a hassle… The guitar’s really heavy, and besides, it’s not like I need to score that highly.”
Myeongjeon muttered, “Do I really have to go that far…?” But Dain showed no sign of leaving him alone until she got the answer she wanted…