The First Good Night

Song Suhee, Park Yugeon, and I sat at the long table, waiting for Park Yonghak and Park Jongin. They were probably still talking through the semiconductor business. I had lived a whole life without ever hearing of someone who spent that kind of money as a present for his own father. Anyway.

And yet, the instant I heard the chairman's words, it felt as if I were the one receiving the gift. Why wouldn't it? I had just become ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an early investor in Hyeon-gang Semiconductor, the company that would rise to stand first in the world. Sixty billion won was as sure as looking at a fire to come back in the trillions. I could have dropped to the floor and bowed.

Heh heh heh.

I'd told myself that even if I wanted to put money in, I had to hold back, or I'd only draw the wrong kind of attention. And here fortune had come rolling in of its own accord.

I was turning all of that over when footsteps crossed the floor. Chairman Park stepped into the kitchen, and Park Jongin followed with a heavy face. Jongin looked at me first. He must have heard about the investment already. Apology and gratitude lay tangled in his eyes.

Once the family was seated, the chairman lifted his spoon in high spirits, and the meal began. As a rule, no one spoke while eating. The chairman set great store by table manners.

"Jihun. You."

Today, for some reason, he was the one to speak first.

"Off away from home—what's the thing you want to eat most?"

"The doenjang stew Mom makes."

As if she had read my mind, a soybean-paste stew, its broth drawn from clams and mushrooms, was already on the table.

"Nothing else come to you?"

"I missed sungnyung, too. That scorched-rice water, after the meal's done and your stomach can rest..."

"Sungnyung? You serious?"

"......?"

"Ain't sweet tteokgalbi the best thing in the world to an eleven-year-old's mouth?"

"I'm not so sure."

The words were barely out before one of the kitchen women brought in a great platter. On it lay several patties of grilled short rib, cooked just right.

Ah. One look, and the whole calculation came clear. They'd thrown something together in a hurry because the grandson was home.

Anybody knows what kids like. Just bring out the tteokgalbi.

The idea had almost certainly been the chairman's. That dissatisfied look in his eye was enough to guess the rest. Well, then.

"It really is tteokgalbi?"

"Why? Wasn't the stew enough?"

"Come on, I couldn't start fussing over the side dishes my first day back in Korea. I was hoping there'd be some sweet meat, actually."

Fortunately, Park Yugeon was practically drooling too. Perhaps the chairman felt the sincerity in our reaction. A slow pride crept over his face.

"There, see? I said it. A boy ain't got anything better than tteokgalbi."

The chairman looked pleased with the whole world. Beside him, it was another matter.

"......"

Park Jongin's expression stayed as complicated as ever.

Hm.

The funding trouble was more or less solved. Even so, it was his son's money he would be spending. Of course his heart wouldn't sit easy. I looked away as if I hadn't noticed and took a great bite of the tteokgalbi. At once the chairman's hearty voice boomed back toward the kitchen.

"Look at the rascal put it away. What're you standing there for? Bring another plate."

After the meal, I was heading for my room when a voice came from behind me.

"Jihun."

It was Park Jongin.

"Talk with your dad a minute?"

I nodded.

"Want to go to your room?"

"Mm. A walk in the yard would be fine."

"All right. Let's go out."

Father and son walked the yard side by side. It was the first time such a thing had happened since I was given this second life. He was a man who shut himself in his office and buried himself in research. He might never be the tender sort of father, but as a father one could respect, he was more than enough.

"I heard from your grandfather."

"......"

"You said you'd help your dad with the money you earned?"

I looked up at Park Jongin. Sleep ten hours in a whole week, and a face went gaunt like that.

"Honestly, this is a first for me too, and it's awkward. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Pretending it doesn't matter and putting on dignity feels wrong, and thanking you while I burn with resolve feels embarrassing."

A father this honest with an eleven-year-old. For a while Park Jongin said nothing. Instead he matched my pace and walked along beside me.

We had gone once around the garden and were about to step back inside when I stopped.

"Dad."

"You said it earlier. That I was helping you."

"......"

"I'm not helping."

"Then what?"

"I got lucky and made money this time, but I don't think luck like that keeps coming."

Park Jongin waited, calm, for me to go on.

"And right then Grandfather made me an offer. What if I invested in your business, he said. I was so glad."

"Glad?"

"It's a company with the most capable manager there is. By the time I get to college, it'll have grown several times over. Of course I'm glad."

I meant it. I had watched Hyeon-gang's success with my own eyes. It couldn't be anything but sincere.

Park Jongin gave no answer. Instead he closed his hand around my small one and held it tight.

"Cold?"

"I'm fine."

"Food sitting all right? You ate a lot of that tteokgalbi."

"A little heavy, but this much is nothing..."

We went inside on talk as ordinary as that. I was grateful he didn't pour out bluster about paying me back several times over, just to paper over a moment's awkwardness. I was grateful again that the weight of the money never put a servile look on his face.

A father worth respecting. Yes. Perhaps what I had needed, in the life before this one, was someone like him.

"You'll be busy starting tomorrow, won't you?"

"And you?"

"I think I'll be a little busy myself."

"All right. Let's get inside."

At the foot of the stairs to the second floor, I offered a greeting I had never once given in my life.

"Good night, Dad."

The next morning, Jo Sudeok had stayed up the whole night painting. What he was painting was that very meeting—the private audience with Chairman Park Yonghak.

"Hooo..."

The fatigue of the flight hadn't lifted in the slightest. He ought to have gone home and slept, but he kept a stubborn grip on the brush. There was the chairman's gaze, which had set his whole body prickling; the roar that had shaken him to the bone; the rebuke that had sent a chill down his spine. He wanted every one of those feelings on the canvas, whole.

His first choice was abstraction. He had wanted the tangled emotion in many colors.

"This isn't nearly enough..."

Soon enough he had to change his manner. Should he try a great tiger? Painting a giant's foot might be the better choice. Jo Sudeok poured out every image that rose in his head, but sadly he couldn't leave behind a single piece he liked. What could he do? Today wasn't the only day he would ever have. For now, home was the only answer.

Close my eyes, and come back out.

He dragged his tired body out of the studio. He was just heading for the office to gather his things when a bell shrilled, loud and insistent.

Riiing!

Who, at this hour? Phone or no phone, Jo Sudeok wanted to get inside and be done. But what if it was the president? He snatched up the receiver.

At that point Jo Sudeok let out a long sigh. The man must have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠decided this was the moment to take him down a peg.

The call ended there.

"Hooo..."

Eight billion. If it was the best land, expensive was only natural.

Still, the worst I can do is break even. I ought to try for a cut.

Maybe because they had said they would call right back, Jo Sudeok, who had meant to leave, sat down in the chair for the moment. Raising his voice had driven sleep off long ago. He switched on the small television at one end of the bookshelf. A television in a research office might seem odd, but he was a professor of Western painting. On the excuse of audiovisual materials, he had even hooked up a VCR.

"......"

He had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turned it on because the room was too quiet. That didn't mean the picture was getting through to him.

How much time passed like that? Advertisement after advertisement drifted across the screen, and a news logo was just rising when the bell he had been waiting for went off.

Riiing!

Jo Sudeok snapped his eyes to the phone.

He said all that, but his voice didn't sound bad. Jo Sudeok hung up and checked the clock first. Ten in the morning. Not an hour when a call would be an imposition. So he dialed at once.

Hm?

The tone rang on, and no one answered. This was the main house of Hyeon-gang. They kept staff just to take the calls; it almost never went past five seconds.

"......"

In the end the call never connected. What was this? Jo Sudeok stared at the receiver, thrown. Had their phone broken? He was rattled enough to wonder that. He dialed again. Still nothing.

And right then, as his lost gaze came to rest on the television, the words printed huge along the bottom of the screen caught his eye.