KNEEL Ch 2

There are two titles for Mi Hansol. To his face, Mr. Mi; behind his back, Mi-Q. Among close curators, they call each other Yun-Q or Son-Q, but Mi Hansol is always alone. The first rule of the Korean art industry is that a Master’s degree must be completed domestically. That way, one can stay in the loop through regional and school ties, but Mi Hansol put the first button in the wrong hole to begin with, and frankly, even if he hadn’t, there is no one he particularly wants to get close to. Therefore, Mi-Q is strictly for talking behind his back, and Mi Hansol finds that fact amusing.

When the man asked for his name after requesting a handshake, answering “Mi-Q” was also an act done for fun. The man tilts his head. Mi-Q? Is that industry jargon? The man has many questions.

“Why did you write the sign in English?”

“Because you’re a foreigner.”

“Mais je suis français! (But I am French!)”

“You can’t speak English?”

“I can. Anyway, your real name is…”

“Mi Hansol.”

“Mi Hansol?”

“For your information, it’s not a pseudonym.”

“Then I will call you ‘Sol’.”

Nice to meet you. Hansol looks up at the man—that is, Nigel Daniel Graham—who requests a handshake without being bothered by Hansol’s arrogant first greeting. Reluctantly, he pulls his hand out of his pocket. And then he realizes the nature of the slight sense of incongruity surrounding the man. With his tanned skin and clean-cut features, the first impression is like a Korean who has spent a fair amount of time abroad. However, he is much taller than me, his hands are larger, and his build is much bigger. (Within the country) Mi Hansol is not exactly short, so a man he has to look up at like this is rare. Indeed, an overseas compatriot talking about “industry jargon” is quite a sight in itself. Neil gently pulls the joined hand toward himself. He winks.

“You tied your ribbon beautifully, in a mountain knot.”

Mi Hansol is terrified. He looks down at his coat. It is a mountain knot. What is this guy? Why is he speaking Korean? Is he from the Naju Na clan? In the moment of his absurdity, the man had already strode forward, leading Mi Hansol out of the airport.

“What the. Where are you going?”

“I’m hungry. It’s 2 PM, so Sol must be too.”

Mi Hansol sees yellow in his eyes. Sol? Is he a soft drink or something?

In the end, they go to eat. The man certainly has many questions, and he also has a talent for making people slightly embarrassed. He stares quite intently at Hansol while he is driving. With his arms crossed, his posture is no ordinary one. Hansol keeps seeing the silver flask sparkling lonely in the back seat. However, Mi Hansol decides to keep the basic rules of a model Republic of Korea driver and tries to talk about work to break this awkward silence.

“You know the auction is tomorrow, right.”

“Yes.”

“There are 600 pieces and they’ve been split in half. Seoul Auction is in charge of the Buddha head tomorrow, and they said it’s available for viewing for about an hour starting two hours before the auction, so if we’re late, both our necks are on the line.”

“I am never late.”

“I think you’ll be very good at it.”

“How old are you?”

Hansol glances at Neil. He stops flipping through the auction catalog and asks again. How old~? A bright face without a shred of ulterior motive—though his bridge of the nose is smashed. Whether it’s food or whatever, should I just drop him off on the eight-lane road and wish him well? Hansol falls into deep thought. He answers reluctantly.

“Thirty-two in Korean age.”

“I asked for the most excellent (Beau3)) appraiser, and I was surprised because you look very young. I thought I would be partnering with an elderly gentleman. Uh… of course, you are excellent in a different sense.”

“I have something I’m curious about, too. Were you hit before you got on the plane, or after you got on?”

“Before. Some thug next to me kept talking in a Russian dialect accent. He said he had a Van Gogh painting and was going to sell it. I looked at it myself and told him it wasn’t. Because during his lifetime, Van Gogh only used French-made canvases.”

He nonchalantly drives the point home. I was hit with a direct strike. I had a huge nosebleed, too. Mi Hansol says nothing. He only screams with his whole heart. He’s asking for it, he’s really asking for it. Neil, unable to manage his excessively long legs, pushes the seat far back. The catalog, already rolled up, has been relegated to the status of a shoulder massager.

“What is the secret to becoming an appraiser at such a young age?”

Without blinking an eye, Mi Hansol makes a bitter joke.

“Couch promotion.”

Neil thinks he should behave himself. Il est quand même sassy (He’s still prickly). He suppresses the meaningful inner thoughts mixed in two languages.

∞ ∞ ∞

25 hours later.

Gallery Jumyeong.

In a sophisticated, gray-toned meeting room with no molding that is more often empty than not, the blinds are all drawn. Three people are standing inside. Actually, two people are standing. One person seems to have taken over the place. He sits on the sofa with both arms draped over it, humming a pop song he heard on the radio. Mi Hansol bites his nails nervously. Director Kim, who had been deep in thought, opens her mouth.

“So…”

Mi Hansol suddenly points at Neil. This guy is the problem. Neil stops smiling and puts on a completely wronged expression. Director Kim suddenly misses nature. In her imagination, she climbs the rocky cliffs of Seoraksan Mountain, a place she has never even been.

“You’re too much, Sol. I was just being faithful to my main job.”

“No, in the first place, why are you guys making a fuss about whether or not to recover our country’s Buddha statue?”

“Strictly speaking, it is a Buddha statue of the People’s Republic of North Korea. Because the circumstances are special, it is being temporarily entrusted within the country.”

“I’m not going. I can’t go. What do you mean, Jecheon?”

“Mr. Mi. Calm down.”

“I’m ‘Teacher’ only when you’re desperate, Director! I’m really going to go crazy and die. I’m an appraiser. I’m not this guy’s private guide.”

Mi Hansol flies into a rage, unable to contain his anger. It was an attitude where Director Kim’s ashtray wouldn’t have remained intact if Neil hadn’t been here, but Director Kim is currently showing emotional sympathy toward Hansol for the first time in a while. The matter has become far too big. Neil is now playing a move by himself using the transparent crystal chess set on the coffee table. He asks brightly. Everyone, shouldn’t we correct things if they are wrong? Mi Hansol feels that a nervous breakdown is not far off.

“You, shut up since you don’t even know the situation.”

“Hey! Don’t swear at work!”

“You do it all the time.”

“What? ‘You’?”

“I don’t know, this is annoying. I’m not doing it.”

“No, first of all, just be quiet for a second.”

Director Kim taps the desk. Mi Hansol’s pout is a mile long. Neil looks happy, in a way. Toward the happy him, Director Kim asks with a dissatisfied expression.

“Neil, are you sure?”

Neil checkmates the opposing Neil.

“Yep. I’m sure, it’s a forgery.”

5 hours before Gallery Jumyeong.

In a single day, Mi Hansol has become skin and bones. Stress is the root of all evil, and that living, breathing stress over there is waving its hand vigorously toward Hansol.

“Sol! Come here, quickly.”

“…Sigh…”

Mi Hansol leans his body pitifully against a pillar in the auction house warehouse. Damn it, Lord, are you there? Why on earth are you giving me such an ordeal? They said most of the OCBC kids are born-to-be Parisian snobs and famous for being rude, but what is this? Whether he’s just thick-skinned or what, he’s nothing but a country house mutt.

‘I’ll be imposing on you for a bit!’

With this one sentence, he spent the day at Mi Hansol’s house so naturally. I picked you up, fed you, and introduced you at the association, so that should be enough. What do you spend the money you earn on? Go to a lodging facility! Is he not even shy? And he slept damn well, didn’t he?

‘Hey. Wake up. Wake, up, please.’

‘Mmm…’

I stepped on him a few times because he was so hateful, and he didn’t even open his eyes; instead, didn’t he grab my ankle? How dare he touch my jade-like body? How unpleasant. ‘Good morning, Sol.’ He gives a big grin and goes pitter-patter in his boxer shorts, saying I’m hungry, I’m hungry. His hair is a kingdom of magpies. No, it’s only been a day since I met you. We are strangers anyway, aren’t we? Is it okay to walk around like that? If I weren’t in a good mood, you’d be dead. Mi Hansol had to microwave four bowls of instant rice for this morning. Three and a half for that pig the size of a refrigerator, and the remaining half for Mi Hansol, who had lost his appetite.