Can Murder Be a Workplace Accident? Chapter 3.7

“They let you paint, built you a career, sent you to study in the US, and even broadened your horizons by letting you live it up in New York! Are you some kind of pet? Did you think you’d be praised just for shitting? If you’re a human child, you should repay your family like a human child. How dare you try to ruin the gallery. You insolent brat!”

A torrent of verbal abuse poured out of Printemps Kim.

“Please calm down, Ms. Kim.”

Kwon Hyuk whispered as he wrapped an arm around Printemps Kim’s shoulder. His twinkling gaze remained fixed on Namgung Tree.

“Didn’t you come here to go to the gallery meeting together today? If you lay a hand on your son’s face… Gosh, look how swollen it is. If he goes out like that, he’ll just become the subject of everyone’s gossip.”

Kwon Hyuk placated Printemps Kim, his tone almost as if he were hoping that would happen to Namgung Tree.

“Please calm your anger, Ms. Kim. I was also discussing that matter with the director,” Min Isak added, backing him up.

Printemps Kim’s wrathful gaze turned to Min Isak.

“Chief Min, you of all people. If the new director makes a wrong choice, isn’t it your duty as a subordinate to offer counsel! Don’t you know all the other galleries are watching to see what we’ll do? How can someone of your stature as chief play along with whatever a little kid wants to do?”

She unleashed her harsh words on Min Isak as well. Subordinate, counsel—a stream of anachronistic words poured out. He lost the will to even react to her calling Namgung Tree, a man his own age, a little kid.

“I am sorry.”

He simply bowed his head, admitting fault.

“How can the chief stop the director when he’s the one giving the orders? Are you saying the chief should defy the director? Ms. Kim, really. Let’s just let this one go. I’m sure Director Namgung was just trying to do a good job with passion.”

Kwon Hyuk cut in before more vicious words could be spoken. As the saying goes, the sister-in-law who stops the fight is more detestable than the mother-in-law who started it, and this was exactly that. Namgung Tree bit his lower lip, rubbing his cheek with one hand.

“He said he did it for his pride as an artist, so what can you do? It’s much better to have people say, ‘He’s different after all,’ after a fight like this than for him to just sit around stamping approval documents and have people say he’s no different from what Lee Yanghee did. Don’t you agree?”

Kwon Hyuk winked at Namgung Tree, taking his side. With his talent for transforming a vicious fight into a friendly squabble that arose from both sides trying to do well, Printemps Kim also felt awkward.

She cleared her throat a couple of times, taming her temper.

“Fine. Since Professor Kwon says so, I’ll let it slide this time. But, you, Namgung Tree. You can do whatever you want with everything else, but you absolutely cannot remove that painting.”

“Mother.”

“Shut up. Don’t say another word. And don’t come to the meeting today, it’s embarrassing.”

Escorted by Kwon Hyuk, Printemps Kim left the director’s office. Min Isak, who had been standing there blankly, belatedly bowed and said his farewells.

“Director, Director!”

A month and a half had passed since the summer solstice. The rooftop, painted with gray urethane, glowed orange under the noticeably shorter sunlight. Min Isak squinted, wandering around the rooftop looking for Namgung Tree.

After Printemps Kim left for the gallery owners’ meeting with Kwon Hyuk, Namgung Tree had stormed out of the director’s office. He thought the director needed some time alone and left him be, but the thought of all the employees leaving for the day while the director was left by himself bothered him.

“Where are you?”

Only a hollow echo answered in the quiet Seongsu-dong sky.

Clang. The sound of a can being kicked came from somewhere. Min Isak whipped his head around like a meerkat that had spotted a predator.

It was behind the stair landing that led up to the rooftop. He also heard the urgent rustle of clothes. As they say, it’s darkest under the lamp; he was right behind him. Min Isak walked slowly toward the man who was likely holding his breath.

“Director. Were you here?”

Namgung Tree was squatting under a sliver of shade that was as good as none, his large frame hunched over. The way he looked at Min Isak, with a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, was like a troublemaker caught doing something bad by the dean of students.

“The smoking area is in the parking lot.”

Min Isak said, his gaze dropping to his own feet. The blue coffee can, which was being used as an ashtray, was stuffed with cigarette butts. There were enough to be at least half a pack.

Cough!

A puff of smoke burst awkwardly from his mouth.

“You too, ahem. You want one?”

He had been hit for working like that, and he was embarrassed to be caught by his subordinate secretly smoking on the rooftop because he was upset. Namgung Tree deliberately acted tough and offered the cigarette pack to Min Isak.

“No, thank you. I don’t like the smell getting on my clothes.”

Min Isak refused flatly.

It was a reason just like him. Suit yourself… He awkwardly withdrew his hand and squatted down even smaller.

“Please get up. It’s almost closing time for the gallery. There’s no one working late today either.”

“Really?”

It was the kind of day where being left alone in the empty gallery would probably just make him feel worse. With a cigarette in his mouth, Namgung Tree grunted, “Ugh,” and pushed himself up.

“Ow, shit!”

His perfectly fine leg was asleep. It was from squatting for so long to avoid the sun. If Min Isak hadn’t quickly grabbed his arm, his leg would have given out and he would have collapsed right onto the floor.

Namgung Tree naturally brought the back of his hand to his forehead like the heroine of a tragic drama.

“It’s because it’s been a while, a long while since I smoked.”

His acting, pretending to be dizzy, was quite natural. Supporting Namgung Tree, Min Isak helped him lean his back against the wall of the stairwell building so he could stand up more easily.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure it is. Anyone would get dizzy smoking that much.”

“It’s true. It’s the first time I’ve smoked in three years.”

Min Isak let out a small scoff. At his disbelieving attitude, Namgung Tree added in a loud voice, “It’s true!”

He let out an open laugh and began walking across the rooftop. A breeze blew by. Though it had been hot enough during the day to make one drip with sweat, it had become quite cool now that the sun was setting.

“You said it was closing.”

“Since I’m up here, I thought I’d look at the Han River before I go,” Min Isak shouted, already far ahead.

You can see the Han River from the gallery rooftop?

I never knew.

Namgung Tree hurried to follow him.

The spot behind the ‘Gallery Printemps’ sign, written in English, was a prime viewing spot for the Han River. Why run a gallery here? Wouldn’t it be more profitable to just tear down the building and erect a high-rise mixed-use building to sell? The view was so spectacular that such a thought came to him naturally.

Nothing obstructed the view, from Seoul Forest all the way to Gangnam. With what had happened today, Namgung Tree found himself lost in sentiment.

“Did you get hit often?” Min Isak said, gazing at the Han River.

He had been staring blankly at the river and didn’t catch the meaning. Then, realizing he was referring to being slapped by Printemps Kim just now, Namgung Tree’s face turned red.

Getting hit was embarrassing enough. But the shame of having a subordinate discover that his parents were pathetic people who would lay a hand on their own child was even greater.

“Ugh, fuck. Forget it. You’ve seen all the ugly parts, so why are we still doing this ‘Director,’ ‘Chief’ bullshit.”

Even after smoking so much, he craved another cigarette. He put one to his lips and lit it. Min Isak glanced at the scene before turning his gaze back to the violet surface of the water.

The two men just stood there in silence.

“…Family is so fucking awful, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, Min Isak snatched the cigarette Namgung Tree was smoking. He put the cigarette to his lips and, letting out words that were part self-mockery, part lament, took a drag. Wrinkles formed on his thin lips and his cheeks hollowed.

The inhale was deep and long.

White smoke drifted from his bright red lips after the deep drag. Before the smoke could even scatter, Min Isak placed the cigarette back between Namgung Tree’s lips.

“What? Is even one drag too precious to you?”

“No… I was just a little surprised.”

This was the same Min Isak who, just a moment ago, had said he didn’t like the smell getting on his clothes. The way he smoked seemed incredibly natural.

“I quit for a few years too. It was a waste of money.”

Leaning his back against the rooftop wall, he answered the unasked question with a smirk. The long twilight shadows were gradually blanketing the surroundings. In the blurry darkness, Namgung Tree could tell that Min Isak had laughed by the sound, like air escaping.

Dealing with a Min Isak who was neither angry nor using honorifics was extremely awkward.

“Was it Beat Takeshi? That guy said something like that. That family is a being you sometimes want to just throw into a trash can when no one’s looking. But what can you do? They’re still family, so you can’t abandon them completely and have to pick them back up again.”

Namgung Tree rambled, saying whatever came to mind. Min Isak, beside him, replied with a half-hearted, “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” before muttering to himself.

“I thought you had everything.”

“What? What do I have?”

Namgung Tree snapped.

If Min Isak wanted, he could list the things he didn’t have, counting them off on his fingers one by one. His own house didn’t have a view this good, and he couldn’t get the newly released Bugatti right away—he’d have to wait until the day after tomorrow. Even his department store membership wasn’t the highest tier, so depending on the brand, he might have to do an open run, which was a blow to his pride.

“Tell me. What do I have?”

“Still, you have more than me. …Don’t go around saying things like that, you’re just asking to be called an ass. Even I can’t cover for the director if you say something like that.”

Hooo. His sigh was quite long.

“What’s wrong with that!”

“It would be easier to just sew your mouth shut.”

A hint of sincerity could be felt in Min Isak’s words. Come to think of it, Namgung Tree had hurled verbal abuse at him that was just as bad as Printemps Kim’s today, so he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

It wasn’t a remark he particularly regretted, but some people don’t like hearing the truth. Making a futile resolution to temper his anger, Namgung Tree put another cigarette in his mouth.

“What about your family?”

“Hmm?”

In the darkness, a lighter flared on and off, revealing and then hiding Min Isak’s face. He turned his head, pretending not to have heard properly, avoiding Namgung Tree’s question.

Since his family’s shame had been exposed today, he felt it was only fair that Min Isak reveal one of his own.

“I’m asking what your family is like that the words ‘fucking awful’ would come out of your mouth. …Though I suppose there’s no family that isn’t screwed up in some way.”

“…”

“Hey, are you serious? You tell me one thing.”

“Isn’t it a bit much to share my private life with a coworker?”

He drew a line with a voice tinged with laughter. The incensed Namgung Tree glared into the darkness as if to say ‘hurry up and spill,’ but Min Isak, who had already reverted to his office worker persona, changed the subject.

“That painting… we can just revise the exhibition layout and place it in an inconspicuous spot.”

Min Isak, having returned to his office worker face, presented an alternative.

“The collector probably won’t come. As long as the painting sells, he won’t care where it’s hung. The same goes for the buyer.”

“Who’s buying it?”

“We’ll find out when it’s sold.”

After that, Min Isak said no more. The person buying a painting owned by the wife of the National Tax Service commissioner probably wasn’t clean either. Without uttering a word, he was essentially conveying that ignorance is bliss.

“I don’t want to hang a painting like that either. But from my position as a curator…”

“Right, you have your position. And I have mine.”

He cut him off. The incident with Printemps Kim had made him realize it clearly. Just as medieval Italian nobles didn’t sponsor artists for no reason, the work of a modern gallery was inextricably linked with the powerful.

One must pretend not to know and not speak of it, but at the same time, one must see through everything and move naturally.

“Can’t you just go somewhere that doesn’t care about things like that? Like Seohyeon, or at the very least, the art museum at your alma mater.”

“…Just give me another cigarette.”

Pursing his lips around the cigarette, Min Isak leaned his face toward the lighter. It was an attitude that said he didn’t want to hear any more of Namgung Tree’s nonsense. Fine wrinkles formed around his eyes as he scrunched them shut. In the flickering shadow of the lighter flame, the images of a boy and an old man coexisted.

His lips were parched. Namgung Tree moistened them with his tongue and, following his lead, lit a cigarette.

“Hooo. …Is there a piece you particularly want to include in the exhibition?” he asked, exhaling white smoke.

It was likely a compromise offered in exchange for exhibiting the painting of the National Tax Service commissioner’s wife. If he had done this from the start, would Namgung Tree have put the painting in the exhibition? He couldn’t answer easily, his lips just quivering.

“Is there none? It’s your first exhibition since becoming director. You haven’t done much… but surely there’s something you were looking forward to?”

“…Amaral.”

As Min Isak said, it wasn’t that no painting came to mind. As soon as he saw the exhibition theme, <Portrait of an Artist>, Namgung Tree had thought of a series of portraits by a Mexican artist named Anita do Amaral.

She wasn’t widely known in Korea, but among connoisseurs, she was famous for the peculiarity of her model. She used a fellow painter who shared her studio as a model for her portrait work.

The same artist obsessively painted the face of one person against the backdrop of the same space, yet the results all exuded a different atmosphere. The weather on the day she held the brush, her mood, and even the relationship between the two were revealed, so that looking at the paintings, viewers even felt like they were voyeuristically observing the two of them.

“Amaral? You mean Anita do Amaral? I wonder if her work is even in the country…”

Min Isak counted the days on his fingers. Negotiating the loan would be simple, but if the work was overseas, the shipping time to Korea would be considerable. Can we make it? he muttered.

“If it’s too difficult, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s not. We can exhibit it as long as we can contact the collector. We absolutely must.”

He added, taking a drag from his cigarette. Since the director is asking.

In the city lights, the red, blinking tip of the cigarette looked like a firefly. Namgung Tree, who had taken out a cigarette to follow Min Isak, forgot to even tap off the ash and just stared at him.

The faint smile that had been briefly visible beyond the dim light disappeared into the darkness.

For some reason, his heart stung.

“Ah, hot!”

Namgung Tree jumped in place. It wasn’t a metaphor; it had actually stung. A hot ash from his cigarette that had fallen on his thigh glowed for a moment, then turned black, giving off the smell of burning hair.

He frantically brushed his pants with his hand. His pinky finger caught on the fabric, and he felt bare skin. It seemed a hole had been burned through.

He’d paid a lot of money to have them custom-made for today’s meeting. He couldn’t even attend the meeting once, and now they were ruined. From beside him came the sound of someone trying to stifle a laugh, Heh, heh.

“Don’t laugh.”

“You should head down.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll come down in a little bit.”

Leaving behind the sound of laughter that finally burst out, Namgung Tree hurried down to the office. He headed for the restroom before he could be seen by the employees who were busy preparing to leave.

He went into the innermost stall and took off his pants to check. The hole was bigger than he expected, big enough for his index finger to slip through easily. At this size, it was clear his bare leg would show when he wore them.

“I’m not some little brat who burns holes in his school uniform pants.”

Namgung Tree squatted on the closed toilet lid and tore at his hair. It was a rookie mistake he hadn’t even made as a high schooler when he first tried smoking. He had been completely mesmerized by the words, ‘I’ll arrange for Amaral for you.’

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

He clutched his chest. His heart was beating strongly, same as usual, but a corner of his chest felt strangely ticklish. This was a different feeling from being turned on.

The sound of a creaking hinge was heard, followed by the sound of someone walking into the restroom. The only people who would use the men’s restroom in the fifth-floor curator’s office were himself and Min Isak.

…Damn it, I should have put my pants back on before leaving.

The sound of water running from the faucet was heard. It was accompanied by the sound of someone rinsing their mouth and washing their hands. He had said he hated the smell getting on his clothes, and he was certainly washing up thoroughly.

Namgung Tree was fumbling to get dressed, feeling awkward about the bare skin visible through the hole, and wondering whether he should paint his skin with a color that matched the fabric, when another person entered the restroom.

Who is it? A janitor?

He squinted his eyes like a flounder and pressed his ear flat against the stall partition. Why had he done that when he could have just walked out naturally? While he was surprised by his own suspicious behavior, the unknown person spoke to Min Isak.

“You haven’t left yet?”

It was a young man. He had heard the voice before but couldn’t place it easily. A sense of unease arose from the gentle tone, the kind one would use with an old colleague or a lover.

“What are you doing here?”

Min Isak turned off the faucet. The sound of water that had filled the restroom vanished in an instant. His slightly high-toned voice echoed pleasantly.

“I’m on the advisory committee for the gallery owners’ meeting, you know.”

Hearing the words ‘owners’ meeting,’ Namgung Tree instantly thought of one person. Professor Kwon Hyuk of Korea National University of Arts. Stripped of all his charm, he glided smoothly toward Min Isak like a python preparing to hunt.

The situation was too awkward to open the door and walk out.

If he were just a few years younger, he would have cheerfully exclaimed, “Namgung Tree, appearing!” and left without a second thought.

But in front of a man whom even his own mother—the one who had slapped him—called ‘Professor,’ he didn’t want to stage the embarrassing scene of emerging awkwardly from a bathroom stall wearing pants with an ugly cigarette burn on the thigh.

What could possibly happen? Namgung Tree decided to just press his ear closer and act as if no one was in the stall.

Zzzzip.

He held his breath at the slow sound of a zipper being lowered. Taking off one’s pants in a restroom is a perfectly normal thing to do, but cold sweat pooled in his tightly clenched fists.

Pssssssssss. The sound of urine hitting the urinal was loud. Min Isak, who had to listen to it right next to him, couldn’t stand it and turned the faucet back on.

Through the sound of tap water that offset the noise, Min Isak questioned Kwon Hyuk.

“Isn’t it time for the meeting’s after-party right now?”

“It looked more interesting here than over there. What’s more fun than watching a fight?”

“It’s not fun for me.”

You should try getting hit once. See if it’s fun or not. That bastard is talking crap because it’s not his problem. Unaware that Namgung Tree was grinding his teeth behind the stall door, Kwon Hyuk finished his business and washed his hands. When he turned off the faucet, silence once again fell in the restroom.

“Please move aside. It’s time for me to go home.”

“That’s too harsh. I actually came back to comfort Chief Min. Don’t you need some consolation?”

Consolation? What does he mean? Namgung Tree, pressed against the door, perked up his ears.

The sound of dress shoes scraped quickly across the tile. It was followed by the rustle of fabric.

“Go do it somewhere else. I’m not in the mood for that today,” Min Isak said sharply.

What, what? Do what?

Namgung Tree pulled his ear away from the door and blinked. What, what in the world is happening? There was far too little information to judge the situation outside by sound alone. No, based on what he was hearing right now, he was likely to reach an absurd conclusion.

For instance… No, that can’t be it.

He shook his head, but as soon as the two started talking again, he pressed himself flat against the door. He wanted to see more clearly, but unfortunately, the door was so high it reached the ceiling. He focused all his senses on the thin, one-millimeter gap between the stall door and the wall, searching for the two men.

Min Isak pushed Kwon Hyuk away with his elbow as he tried to cling to him.

“My reputation as a social butterfly is in tatters because I skipped the after-party today. I have to hustle around to bring news back to our Chief Min’s mouth like a swallow. What are you going to do about it?”

Kwon Hyuk grumbled at Min Isak. The content was a grumble, but the tone was closer to a child’s whining.

That pale, lanky oaf! He’s a professor. That means even if he looks young, like he’s in his mid-thirties, he must be at least around forty, right? Isn’t he ashamed in front of his students? Namgung Tree, his skin crawling, scratched his forearms furiously as he followed the two with his eyes.

Tilting his head, Min Isak, who had been glaring at Kwon Hyuk, let out a smirk. Is he the type who’s weak to cute displays? Min Isak even shook his head as if he couldn’t help it.

As if performing a slow dance, Kwon Hyuk walked over and wrapped an arm around Min Isak’s shoulder. His form disappeared from view, hidden by Kwon Hyuk’s broad back.

Fuck. What are these two bastards trying to do in the gallery, and in front of the director, no less!

A wild fantasy unfolded before his eyes with a “Mmmph—.”

Ugh, damn. Fanning his hot face, he twisted his head this way and that, searching for an angle where he could see them well even through the paper-thin gap.

“What happened with this exhibition? To be honest, I was surprised when I saw this proposal. Did Chief Min really write it?”

Fortunately, Namgung Tree’s delusion did not become reality. Kwon Hyuk brought up the exhibition proposal that had been the cause of their fight.

Namgung Tree held his breath. He was curious about what Min Isak really thought. In front of him, he’d said things like ‘I don’t want to hang that painting either’ and ‘there’s a lot to coordinate as a curator,’ but there was no telling what was truly on his mind.

But if you’re going to talk about that, do it in the light. In front of everyone. And stand a little farther apart.

“I took her side because Kim Chunja was going crazy and running wild. But honestly, I’m not a fan.”

What, you punk? You may be a professor, but how dare you use my mother’s name so casually? You son of a bitch. Kwon Hyuk expressed his displeasure, even bringing up Printemps Kim’s real name.

“I didn’t like Lee Yanghee either for being overly authoritarian. But this one is just too low-brow.”

“What about it is low-brow? The director… has taste. If he just refines his radicalness, he’ll do better than any previous director.”

Min Isak said defensively, praising Namgung Tree. He almost shouted ‘Of course!’ and rushed out of the stall to hug him, which would have made the situation awkward.

He didn’t make a sound, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Right. I guess we’ll find out in time.”

At his unsupportive attitude, Kwon Hyuk released him from his embrace as if surprised. Min Isak quickly moved away from him.

“Was there nothing else said?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was wondering if there was anything I could help with. After all, I’m an advisory committee member for this gallery, so Printemps Kim will probably come to me for advice.”

Leaning against the sink, Kwon Hyuk crossed his arms. It was located directly in front of the stall he was in.

His expression was directed at Min Isak, but Namgung Tree felt as if he were looking at him. Holding his breath even more, he listened intently to Min Isak’s words.

“…He wants to borrow an Amaral.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he answered Kwon Hyuk’s question as if he couldn’t refuse.

“An Amaral? Hmph, that friend of yours isn’t entirely without taste. …But will that be possible?”

Min Isak’s hand, which had been pushing the restroom door, paused. Kwon Hyuk was a social butterfly known not only in Korea but also in the US and Europe. If he said something like that, there was a good reason.

“You probably won’t be able to borrow it. Almost all of her works are in MoMA10). There are very few on the market.”

“MoMA… you say?”

If Amaral’s works were in MoMA, as he said, then borrowing one would be impossible. If it were privately owned, they would just need to negotiate with the collector, but a large institution like MoMA would take ages just for internal approvals.

The loan conditions were also incredibly strict. In fact, they were practically conditions put in place to discourage borrowing.

“Doesn’t the artist have any personally owned paintings?”

“That woman, she had a fight with the painter who was her model and recently broke her brushes. They say she burned all the works she had. Mexican people are so passionate. Aren’t they?”