KEG 54

***

When I arrived at Room 3, the son who had requested the death was crying.

The child was unable to witness the old man’s final moments. Outside the hospital room, he simply prayed as the old man faded away.

I witnessed the old man’s final moments.

Lying on the bed, he was barely able to tap his fingers. It seemed as though he was trying to convey a message in Morse code.

I didn’t know Morse code. I didn’t know what he wanted to say.

I only remembered the rhythm.

.– .- -. – – — .-… … …- .

The old man blinked as if he was saying goodbye.

I made the sign of the cross on my chest.

Room 3 became empty.

I cleaned up the empty Room 3.

That was my job.

***

That day was Colonel Kim Hanseong’s funeral.

“Ah, Hunter Baek Yejun! Please come this way!”

I followed the event staff member who was guiding me to my assigned seat.

“Hunter, thank you for coming out in the rain.”

“The people preparing for the event must have had a much harder time than I did.”

We exchanged small talk and laughed, which was out of place at a funeral.

The rain falling at the tail end of autumn left a striking impression with its damp scent of grass. It smelled like the leaves that had seemed as though they would remain green forever, now decayed into fallen leaves. They drifted like drowned ghosts.

“He was a hero respected by everyone.”

Kim Hanseong’s funeral was held with great pomp right in the middle of Gwanghwamun Square.

His remains were placed inside the latest armored vehicle and paraded through the city, escorted by an armored unit and high-class active-duty Espers.

“Oh… Look at that.”

“What should I do? I’m crying…”

Passersby mourned as the funeral procession passed by. Some took photos and videos, others sighed, and still others ignored it as they walked past.

It was not the peaceful death he had hoped for.

“Move out of the way!”

A broadcast van following the procession shouted at a pedestrian who had suddenly stepped into the way.

“You’re blocking the Hunters from the shot! Move!”

His death was displayed like a work of art in a gallery.

And from now on, it would keep showing in various media [unauthorized copy]outlets, dissected and imbued with meaning through the eyes of others.

Rest would likely remain a distant prospect for him.

“To honor the deceased’s noble dedication, we have decided to publish his memoirs in accordance with the wishes of his family.”

Kim Hanseong’s son announced the publication plan during the funeral service held on a special stage set up in Gwanghwamun Square. The crowd applauded his statement, and a barrage of camera flashes erupted.

“We are also working with the Ministry of Education to include his story in school textbooks.”

Kim Hanseong became a hero in death.

To become a hero is to be trapped within the printed word. His life would be defined by a few characters, a few words, a few lines.

“My father will now remain as the living history of the Republic of Korea and an eternal national asset.”

Even in death, he could not die.

Did he know this would happen?

“Hunter Baek Yejun, could you say a few words?”

As I slipped out after listening to the speech from the front row, a reporter with unauthorized copy a camera approached me. Whether I avoided the spotlight here or not, it would make headlines either way.

What action would be the right choice for Kim Hanseong?

“He was a guiding light for all of us.”

In the end, I made a choice for myself.

“I believe it is the destiny of those left behind to carry on his noble legacy without tarnishing it.”

My interview will be published, adorned with boring platitudes. His death was set to be used as a high-quality ribbon to wrap me up.

“You must miss him terribly.”

The reporter feigned empathy with a sympathetic expression and tone. I let out a hollow laugh at the superficial remark disguised as empathy.

I didn’t know how my laughter had been reflected, but I heard the sound of the camera zooming out.

“I miss him terribly.”

I simply said what he wanted to hear and lowered my gaze.

In my downward gaze, the rain-soaked floral arrangements looked out stolen content of place. Lying among the plastic flowers, Kim Hanseong smiled in a high-definition photo so vivid it was almost grotesque.

“I still can’t believe my mentor has left.”

I was the favorite disciple who had come to this memorial service to satisfy my own desires.

The stench of rotting, waterlogged leaves was nauseating.

“Thank you for your efforts. Your words are truly dignified.”

The reporter relaxed the furrowed brow he had been squinting in pity and spoke. Then, he immediately turned his back, approached another Hunter, and spoke to them.

I also turned my back and walked away without looking back. Something black caught my eye as I walked.

“…Is that a crow?”

A figure that looked even darker than the rest in the sea of black-clad people.

Without even an umbrella, it simply stared up at the portrait photo on the giant electronic billboard at Gwanghwamun.

It was the person at the center of Colonel Kim Hanseong’s last request.

-I need money to die.

An unexpected text from a man who’d never contacted me while alive.

-He’s asking for half of my entire fortune. Mine is already tied up in a testamentary trust, so just handle for me. Launder it nicely. Make it clean money.

I asked myself if he had lost his mind from a long stay in the hospital. But I didn’t see a reason not to comply.

I didn’t reply; instead, I sent a suitable amount to the person Kim Hanseong had mentioned. It was offshore fund money that wouldn’t show up on domestic financial networks.

Shortly after I sent the money, his last text arrived.

-It’s not your fault.

And so Kim Hanseong died.

I looked up at the dark figure.

That man, so ominous and grotesque.

“Ha Seongho.”

That very ominous and grotesque man.

He closed his eyes and stood still. It looked like he were praying, or perhaps rainwater had gotten into his eyes and was causing him pain.

“So what are you doing right now?”

I wanted to ask. Why was he closing his eyes? What was he thinking?

However, the man had disappeared while I was thinking for a moment.

Did he really fly away because he was a crow?

“I’ll just go find you.”

I was curious about him.

***

After eating lunch and brushing my teeth, I was about to take a break when the little teacher came to find me and led me away to study.

“Ahjussi, shall we do English today, or art?”

The little teacher asked while showing me thumbnails of a few lecture videos on his tablet.

“Which one is easier?”

I didn’t prefer things I couldn’t understand.

I thought it was simply because I was not very smart. I had always been particularly weak at things that required cultural literacy and background knowledge, so it was my fault.

“Hmm… Since art is in Korean, it’ll probably be easier to understand than English, right?”

The little teacher tapped on the art lecture thumbnail. We shared a pair of earbuds, waited a moment, and the art lecture began.

“Les Demoiselles d’Avignon. A work by Picasso.”

The instructor displayed the painting on the screen.

I still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. All I could see were five naked figures with distorted faces.

“This painting is a rebellion against the Renaissance style that had persisted for 500 years. It’s a revolution and a leap toward a new era.”

The instructor explained that the distorted faces were a reinterpretation of perspective.

“Haamm…”

“Ahjussi, your mouth is going to split open.”

“It must be nice to be able to eat so much.”

It had been two weeks since I returned to work at the ward.

Although one of my arms hadn’t fully healed, I could now move it and perform simple tasks.

“In particular, this work clearly shows that it was inspired by African masks.”

I could see the faces of the two women on the right side of the painting.

They definitely looked more like baboons than human faces. I wasn’t sure if I should call it ridiculous or just plain creepy.

“People used to say they looked like monsters.”

The teacher stared at the painting on the screen. A deep furrow formed between his brows. I pressed my hand against it to smooth it out.

“They look prettier than real monsters.”

“Hmm… I’ll give you that.”

Compared to the bizarre monsters I’d encountered over the years, they looked like fairies.

The controversial piece that had once caused such a stir had lost its radical emotional impact, leaving only the spirit of experimentation.

I wonder if today’s monsters will be viewed differently in the future. If emotion is stripped away from the chaos that has befallen the world, what will remain?

“I don’t get it no matter how I look at it. Let’s look at something else.”

“That’s why we’re looking at art instead of studying English. Just bear with it.”

The little teacher refocused on the tablet screen. I briefly pulled the shared earbuds out of my ears and picked my ear a little. The instructor’s soft voice was making me sleepy.

“Postmodernism. Take notes, underline it all.”

The instructor drew a red highlight line on the screen. The teacher placed a ruler against the textbook and drew a line.

It was an unfamiliar word. I didn’t even know why it was important.

“What is postmodernism?”

“Weren’t you listening to the lecture?”

“I was picking my ear.”

The teacher let out a deep sigh and read the text in the textbook.

“It’s a rejection of the authority of reason and truth established by Modernism. A critical attitude that rejects a fixed perspective and acknowledges fragmented diversity.”

“Do you even know what that means as you read it?”

“Um…”

I watched his rice-cake-like fingers scratch his cheek in distress, then turned my head away.

I checked the clock; it was still 1:40 p.m. I had about 20 minutes to spare before heading back to work. Even if I was a little late, I could just have Lee Yuksam cover for me.

“The demoiselles look cold.”

I muttered as I climbed onto the teacher’s bed and lay down. Then I pulled the blanket over myself. The hospital room was comfortable and slightly cool, so the blanket was just right.