Freedom, Unpoisoned

It’s a beautiful day, when they take the ferry to Naoshima. No-one has tried to contact them since their arrival in Japan. In-hye has finished the painting for Hyo-rin’s mother, and having shipped it, is now free. Whatever Won Sang-a does now, or whatever In-hye’s sisters do – it’s none of In-hye and Hyo-rin’s concern. They can do whatever they want to.

And so they take the ferry. The air is crisp, but the sky is radiantly clear, and they stand on the top deck to enjoy it, giggling like children when the sea spray hits their faces. Hyo-rin’s laughter is a continual delight to In-hye.

On the bus ride from the ferry terminal, Hyo-rin looks out the window and point out everything little thing, and that is a delight too. It’s funny; Hyo-rin is the one who has travelled before – holidays and sightseeing and all the things In-hye has missed out on in life – but she still reacts as if it’s all new. It’s one of the things In-hye loves about her.

They get off at the museum on top of the hill. This is the part In-hye has been looking forward to – rather than its scenery, pretty though it is, what the island is most known for is its art installations. This particular museum has a series of Monets that In-hye has been looking forward to.

She’s a little bemused, however, to discover the museum is underground.

‘I like it,’ Hyo-rin says, as they enter the building. The inner walls are high, smooth concrete. ‘It feels clean.’

‘It’s … unusual,’ In-hye says. The air is cool, and prickles her neck. This space is nothing like the Closed Room; there’s no pretence at hominess. Still it makes In-hye uneasy.

Hyo-rin sees that; she takes In-hye’s hand as they walk. ‘Are you excited for the Monets?’ she says. ‘You’ve seen his work before, right?’

‘Sure,’ In-hye says. She’s been to the museum in Seoul many times.

That was a different experience from this.

They have to take off their shoes before they can see the paintings. That action unmoors In-hye, and when she steps through to the exhibit room, she forgets the oppression of the building. The room is full of light, and on the wall opposite them –

In-hye is struck dumb.

She hadn’t realised any of the paintings would be so large. Water Lily Pond, the painting facing her, must be three metres across: large enough to fall into. And the colours, the deep teals and lilac shadings, make her feel as if her soul has been immersed.

She stares at the painting for a good minute. Hyo-rin doesn’t interrupt.

At last In-hye breaks away, because there are other paintings to attend to. She views each of the smaller paintings in turn, first from a distance and then up close. Each painting is lovely, but still it is that largest, grandest painting that draws In-hye back. She stands as close as she dares, tracing the texture of the brushwork greedily with her eyes. She would follow it with her fingers if she could. In-hye feels an ache in her chest, envy and enchantment all at once.

She could look at that painting forever.

They can’t, however, linger – the museum has other visitors waiting. In-hye drags her slippers as they leave, and Hyo-rin sees that, her expression amused and understanding at the same time.

‘We can come back round if you like,’ Hyo-rin says. ‘Once we’ve been through the rest of the museum.’

In-hye sets her shoulders, not liking that her desire was so obvious. ‘We’ll see more once we get to Paris,’ she says, dismissively. Though who can say they’ll get that far?

No. They have to get that far. In-hye can’t imagine stopping anywhere short of that.

They follow the route of the museum up and down the unblemished concrete stairs in silence. Sometimes their path leads them back outside, into courtyards of light and fresh air. It does nothing to make the architecture less unnerving.

The next exhibit is a de Maria. This work is sculptural: a massive golden sphere placed midway up a wide flight of stairs. Golden pillars line the walls, as if in a foreign temple. No visitors are allowed up.

In-hye’s first reaction is to hate it. And then to consider why she hates it. If the artist’s intention was (she presumes) to invoke a sense of awe, then why should it make her feel small –

Hyo-rin’s mind is on a different track. ‘If someone gave it a push,’ she says, ‘we’d all get squashed standing down here.’

In-hye meets her eyes and both girls burst into laughter. In-hye knows they are drawing attention, but no-one tells them off. When she glances at the nearby museum attendant, she thinks the woman is enjoying their reaction.

The final set of works are by Turrell, each playing with light in a different way. The last is a room with the ceiling cut out, an open rectangle looking up at the sky. Today that sky is bright and blue and nothing else.

In-hye and Hyo-rin walk into the centre of that space and look up together.

‘There’s not even any clouds,’ Hyo-rin says. ‘It would be better if there were clouds.’

‘Or at night time. Do you think they host sleepovers?’

‘I don’t think I’d want to sleep in here. It might rain.’ Hyo-rin gazes up at the rectangle of light. A single bird flies across, and her eyes follow it. ‘Do you think this sort of thing is really art?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

They pull back from the centre of the room to sit on the low concrete bench that lines the walls. It’s as if they’re at an open-air theatre.

Hyo-rin kicks out her feet and turns her gaze back up. ‘Anyone could cut a hole into their ceiling and it would be the same thing.’

‘Maybe at your house,’ In-hye says. She can imagine Sang-a showing the space off to guests. ‘At my house that would just be a hole in the ceiling. It already leaks.’

Hyo-rin nudges In-hye with her elbow. ‘Those aren’t our houses, remember? Our house is on a little island in Finland. It’s not built yet.’

‘Right. With the Moomins.’

‘You know,’ Hyo-rin says, ‘thinking of the Moomins … I read that Tove Jannsen lived with another woman on one of those islands. Just in the summers, before they went back to the mainland. She was an artist too. Um …’

Inhe looks at Hyo-rin’s remembering face, trying to recall the woman’s name. In-hye wants to pinch her cheeks she’s so cute. ‘Were they lesbians?’ she asks. She hasn’t said the word to Hyo-rin before.

‘Um, I think so.’ Hyo-rin is shy of meeting her eyes. ‘That’s what I read. But I thought that’s what we could do. Have a little house that’s just us in the summer, and then travel the rest of the year.’ She gives a little nod, satisfied with her conclusion. In-hye feels herself grow warm.

‘And will our house have the ceiling cut out?’ In-hye asks.

Hyo-rin’s smile bursts. ‘No!’ she says. ‘We’ll have to travel for that.’

They leave the museum after that, giggling. It’s strange, In-hye thinks, that someone set up a whole museum for the sake of so few works. Had this cold and beautiful building designed just for that. It’s not as if this is a small gallery in the middle of a big city. Anyone who comes here has to make an effort to do so.

In-hye imagines being one of those artists. Having her work be a destination.

Outside, they make their way downhill on foot, find a series of outdoor sculptures along the way. The outdoor works are more fun than the museum, because you can walk right up to them – even inside them – and no-one’s watching to make sure you don’t touch. In-hye and Hyo-rin take photos together, the bright sky in the background, great pumpkins behind them.

In-hye might prefer to be in a gallery, but with Hyo-rin it’s fun like this too.

It’s pretty much a perfect day. Exploring the island, with its sculptures, the museums (larger and smaller than the first) and the old houses that have been turned into art installations. At the end of the day, In-hye and Hyo-rin eat salt candies together while they wait in the ferry terminal for the boat.

When has In-hye had days like these before? When has Hyo-rin? Even if Hyo-rin has had overseas trips, her travels have been in the shadow of those two monsters called grown-ups.

They hold hands while they wait, and when they get on the boat, Hyo-rin leans her head against In-hye, and she dozes off there, for a while.

---

Back in the city, they are back in those monsters’ reach. In-hye and Hyo-rin stop at a tempura restaurant near their hotel for dinner, and In-hye picks up her phone while Hyo-rin is in the bathroom. Even though they’ve agreed not to, she checks the news back home. She’s mostly thinking of her sisters. But today, it is Park Jae-sang’s name in the headlines.

He’s dead.

Hyo-rin’s father is dead.

With a sick feeling, In-hye scrolls the article. She doesn’t take in any of the words, only pausing on the image they have there, of Jae-sang on the top of an abandoned building. In-hye has the feeling she knows which building it is.

Hyo-rin is coming back to the table. There’s a lightness in her step that didn’t exist back in Korea; In-hye doesn’t want to see it disappear. She turns her phone face down and reaches for the menu instead.

‘What do you want to try?’ In-hye says. ‘It all looks good, right?’ It comes to her so naturally to hide things, but she feels like she’s telling a lie. Hyo-rin looks quizzically at her.

‘In-hye, did something happen?’

So much for In-hye’s poker face. ‘You could tell?’

‘Your voice and your face don’t match.’ Hyo-rin pulls in her seat. ‘Is it your sisters?’ She’s concerned, still innocent.

In-hye shakes her head. Wordlessly, she picks up her phone, goes into the article and offers it up to Hyo-rin.

She sees Hyo-rin take in the headline. The phone slips from her hand.

Guilt pools in In-hye’s stomach. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I know we said we wouldn’t check the news.’

Hyo-rin’s face is frozen in that moment of shock. She doesn’t move, not to pick up the phone or return it to In-hye.

After a moment, In-hye says gently, ‘Do you want to go home?’ She’s not sure if she means the hotel or Seoul. The question cuts through Hyo-rin’s daze. She lifts her eyes to meet In-hye’s, and she shakes her head.

‘I think,’ Hyo-rin says, ‘I knew this would happen. Only I didn’t think it would be so soon.’

In-hye should have a reaction too. It’s Hyo-rin’s father, after all, who had offered her so much. He tried to use her too, but In-hye always knew that was the deal.

In-hye had lived in the same house as him. Even if he was a monster, she should feel something now.

But she doesn’t. Or she feels as much as Park Jae-sang might have done. He was used to getting rid of people in his way; maybe it was unpleasant, but it was, from his perspective, necessary.

If Park Jae-sang is dead, that’s one less route for In-hye and Hyo-rin to be dragged back home.

Hyo-rin seems remarkably calm given the occasion. Her lips tremble, and she swallows hard, but she’s not having a panic attack. She passes In-hye back her phone.

‘Do you still want to eat here?’ In-hye says. ‘We can leave.’

Hyo-rin shakes her head. She looks down at the menu. ‘I’d like to have the Ocean set,’ she says. ‘You should pick a different one.’

Hyo-rin is trying to keep her voice firm, but her eyes are glistening. In-hye wants to pick her up in her arms and swaddle her from the world, but she knows that’s not what Hyo-rin needs.

‘We may as well eat here as at the hotel,’ Hyo-rin says. ‘We need to eat.’

They order, and if the waitress notices Hyo-rin is on the verge of tears, she doesn’t say anything.

In-hye slouches in her seat. ‘I hate it. It was such a nice day.’ It would be heartless to say Hyo-rin’s dad has spoiled things by dying, but that’s how it seems.

‘It’s still a nice day,’ Hyo-rin says. ‘If I were back home, I’d really be losing it about now.’ She flashes In-hye a weak smile. Her teeth are very cute when she smiles. In-hye always wondered why she never had her teeth fixed, but she likes her slightly crooked smile.

Then Hyo-rin drops her gaze, and she is upset. Of course she’s upset.

‘I’m sorry,’ In-hye says. ‘He was still your dad. Even if he was like that.’

‘Is it my fault?’ Hyo-rin says. ‘If I’d stayed –’

‘It’s not your fault,’ In-hye says strongly – maybe too strongly, for a crowded restaurant. The customers at the table next to them glance over. But they probably don’t understand Korean.

‘Give me your hands,’ In-hye says. She holds hers out above the table, and Hyo-rin slips hers fingers into In-hye’s. ‘It’s not your fault.’ In-hye wills her to believe it.

‘It’s not my fault,’ Hyo-rin repeats.

They’re still holding hands when their first dishes arrive. Hyo-rin smiles at the waitress bashfully, extracting her hands from In-hye’s, but the woman doesn’t care whether two emotional teenage girls hold hands in a restaurant.

No-one here cares who they are. Or who Hyo-rin’s father is. Back home, he seemed so important – a wealthy lawyer. A philanthropist. A mayoral candidate.

But none of those things are so important that anyone here need have heard of him.

In-hye intends to be more famous than Park Jae-sang ever was. More than he had intended to be. None of the artists in the museum today came from Japan, but still their work had made it here. That’s what In-hye wants. She wants to be remembered a hundred years from now. She wants her work to touch people, a hundred years from now.

And Hyo-rin …

In-hye wants to keep Hyo-rin safe. She wants to keep her heart safe. Hyo-rin might be sad now, but there will be a next day, and a next. They won’t go home because of this. Neither of them will be poisoned by it. They’ll make it to Paris, and to that little island in Finland. In-hye believes it.

There will be more museums, and more beautiful days. They just need to keep going.