“You’re saying he spoke English?”
“And at a pretty advanced level, too.”
Here we go again.
It all started when I found Shakespeare’s collected works in my uncle’s room earlier today and blurted something out in excitement. I managed to make excuses to my mom when she came running, and now it’s Dad’s turn, home from work.
“Is our Siwoo a child genius?”
“Oh, come on, Hyung—quit doting on him so much!”
Ugh, if only I could say, “Actually, I’m originally English.”
They’d never believe me, and I couldn’t have my new mom and dad fainting from shock.
So this is what it’s like to be too gifted for your own good, no matter where you go.
“That’s how parents are,” Dad said.
“Ugh, I’ve got chills,” Uncle muttered.
“Why?”
“You and my sister react the same way. Definitely a married couple, all right.”
“Heh heh, see that? This is what being married looks like.”
My uncle and dad exchanged some banter, then sidled up to me in unison.
“I’m not giving this to you. It’s mine, so back off.”
I turned my back to my uncle. In my arms was a thick book containing Shakespeare’s four major tragedies. I’d thought I’d never see his work again in this lifetime, and now here it was in my hands. There was no way I was letting it go.
Hugging it tightly, I steeled my resolve.
“Oh, that’s fine. Let Siwoo keep it.”
“But Hyung, that book is actually mine.”
“Hold on. Siwoo, about what happened earlier… how did you do that?”
“Muh?”
Of course I knew, but I pretended not to. A little acting is nothing for me.
Dad licked his lips, then tried again.
“You know, the title. How did you pronounce it just now?”
“Il-li-um Ttae-ee-ss-ppee-uh.”
“What?”
“Il-li-um! Ttae-ee-ss-ppee-uh! This one!”
I stomped my foot and held up the book’s cover. I’d already dug my own grave with that slip once—I didn’t need to do it again. I’d momentarily forgotten that we were in a small Eastern country where English isn’t widely spoken. But who would have thought I’d stumble across my dear friend’s work in this place? How could I not be moved?
Still, I couldn’t reveal that I used to be Noah Battenberg, so I had to keep up appearances. I felt bad, but I had no choice.
“He doesn’t speak it,” Mom insisted.
“You’re still on about that?” she said, rounding on Uncle Ji Dongwook.
She joined in, and with both of them glaring, my uncle leaped up in protest.
“No! I’m telling you, his accent was incredible—native speaker level! And look! That’s an English original text he’s clutching! Why else would he—”
My heart skipped a beat. So he’s not just a lazy bum—he’s got a keen eye. What to do?
Mom waved a dismissive hand as if it was no big deal.
“Nah, it’s because Siwoo’s been watching foreign movies with me lately. So maybe he just pulled off a fancy accent once or twice. Right, Siwoo?”
“Then what about my book?!”
Uncle practically screeched, sounding heartbroken. Mom’s expression instantly turned fierce.
“Oh, so it kills you to give a book to your nephew, huh? Just go buy another one. You’ve never bought him a single toy anyway!”
“Ugh…”
He looked so wronged, his eyes practically bulging. Sorry, Uncle.
I snuck a glance at my parents, then carefully walked over to him. Of course, I set the precious Shakespeare safely on the sofa first.
“Sam-choon.” (Uncle.)
“Huh?”
“Hug me.”
“W-what?”
“You said you wanted to hold me earlier.”
I tilted my head coyly, and my uncle, still looking stunned, opened his arms. I hopped into them… and, as expected, he wasn’t all that comfortable.
“Ha ha, looks like Siwoo’s trying to say thank you.”
“Huh? This is… thanks?”
“Sure. Siwoo rarely ever lets even his dad hold him.”
I sensed Uncle throwing Dad a glance, but I didn’t care. It was obvious his earlier frustration was already melting away. Good—my Shakespeare is safe.
“All right, so how about an airplane ride?” he asked.
“Wha—hey, what are you doing?!”
“Up you go!”
Ugh.
…Never letting him pick me up again.
“Siwoo actually likes this kind of thing?”
“Yeah, look how focused he is. And keep your voice down—he hates noise when he’s watching TV.”
“Is he really five years old?”
Today is the day Mom promised I could watch TV all day long! So first thing in the morning, I dutifully washed up and took my seat in front of the screen.
Waking up late, Uncle stumbled out of the small room, scratching his belly, and plopped down next to me with a frown. The show on TV was some old foreign movie—a classic among classics—though it was something released centuries after my death.
I fixed my eyes on the low-quality picture, trying to get the best view.
“Look at his focus,” Uncle murmured.
“Told you,” Mom said, folding laundry in the background.
After a while of quiet, Uncle spoke softly:
“So, how’s your chicken restaurant coming along? Doing decent business?”
“Just all right.”
“Not easy to go from chasing your dream to frying chicken, huh?”
“…”
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Sam-choon.”
“Huh? Siwoo?”
“You’re too loud.”
“…Fine, I’ll just go practice in my room.”
At my single remark, Uncle slunk off to the small room, looking dejected. Practice? Practice for what?
Curiosity flickered in my mind, but only briefly. The story on TV was getting really interesting, so I turned my attention back to it. I lost track of time until a voice echoed from Uncle’s room:
“You’re hilarious. You’re practically a comedian.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Does it sound like an insult?”
The lines were delivered with a contrived, lilting tone, followed by a resonant voice. Wait a second…
I jumped off the sofa and, hands clasped behind my back, headed toward the small room.
“Siwoo?” Mom called.
“Mom, what’s that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the closed door. It sounded like a conversation was playing out in there.
“Ah, your uncle’s practicing his lines for a play. He’s an actor, like the people on TV that you love. He wants to perform professionally too—though who knows if he’ll make it.”
Huh—an actor?
Putting my hands behind my back, I pressed my ear to the door.
“You misunderstand! I didn’t do it. At that time, I was in my room—the tiny, run-down one—shut away in there!”
Unbelievable. Those were definitely lines from a script. The vocal control, the breathing—anyone who’s spent three years at Oscar’s Troupe, which rivaled even the Chamberlain’s Men in London at one point, could recognize it instantly.
“This guy’s an actor…?”
I eyed the door suspiciously. It stayed firmly closed.
“Sam-choon! Ttaeit! Read this!”
This was my chance. Ever since Uncle moved in, Mom had been stepping out on her own more often—probably relieved to have someone at home all day. And when she’s gone, there’s one big advantage:
I can watch TV uninterrupted. Plus, I had something to check today while Mom was away.
“Uh… Siwoo, what?”
“Take it. Now do it.”
I thrust the Shakespeare script at him. Uncle blinked down at it, obviously caught off guard; he seemed surprised that I’d hand it over so easily after refusing to let go of it before.
“Huh? You want me to… perform it? Wait, Siwoo, this is in English. Just a second—”
So, this random guy who ended up in our house claims he’s an actor? Well, I certainly wasn’t going to let that slide. I figured I’d do Mom a favor by seeing just how good he is. Besides, I was curious how people in this era would interpret my old friend’s script, four centuries later.
I also wanted to avoid causing a fuss with Mom around, so this moment—just the two of us—was perfect.
“Huh, never thought I’d first unveil my performance for my nephew,” Uncle said with a shaky laugh.
“Hurry!”
“Okay, okay. Ahem.”
He pulled out a stack of papers from the pile in the corner and cleared his throat, looking rather nervous. The book I’d given him lay unopened nearby.
“You just need to pretend you don’t know anything,” he began.
Aha. I recognized the opening line immediately. So that’s which play this is…
“And once everything’s sorted out, you just shower me with praise. Now then…!”
“No!”
I yelled, interrupting him mid-line. Whether in English or not, that wasn’t the issue.
“H-huh?”
“Ugh.”
I let out a heavy sigh. So that’s how it is.
I suspected as much ever since he moved into my mother’s place. My uncle, it turns out, is still lacking in the basics.
‘With that skill, how does he plan to stand on stage?’
Shaking my head, I realized from the few lines he delivered that it was Macbeth. But the way he was performing, it was a Macbeth who carried himself like some show-off. I’d never heard such a careless interpretation. No sense of dignity, just a shallow, frivolous voice. I couldn’t stand it.
“Sam-choon. That’s no good.”
“W-what…?”
“You need a lot more practice. Got it?”
I hugged Shakespeare’s book to my chest and left the small room. There was nothing more to say. If he could just memorize his lines properly, that would already be an improvement.
“…Right, who am I kidding, trying to do Macbeth. I’ll just practice for the play I’m actually in.”
Behind me, he started muttering lines he’d been repeating these past few days. Must be a minor part with only a handful of lines, judging by how often I heard the same ones.
“Sigh.”
I’d been hoping I could finally see Shakespeare performed live again. The bigger the expectation, the bigger the disappointment. I sank back onto the sofa and picked up the remote.
“Oh!”
“Where have you been?”
“Y-you…!”
Just then, the TV show I’d been following reached its dramatic climax. I needed to cleanse my ears after hearing that fiasco. Shaking my head, I focused on the TV once more.
I’m not sure how much time passed, immersed in the show, when I heard a loud shout from the small room:
“What, right now?! No, no, that’s fine! Yes, I’ll come immediately! Thank you, Director!”
That didn’t sound like a line of dialogue, and it was followed by a bunch of frantic noise. He’s supposed to be practicing, so what’s he doing now? At least I’d already seen the show’s climax. My focus broken, I clasped my hands behind me and wandered over to the small room. With Mom and Dad out, it was my duty to check.
Click—
“Ah, Siwoo…”
Uncle appeared at the door, dressed unexpectedly well. He normally lazes around in threadbare sweats (the outfit Mom calls his “uniform”), but here he was in a crisp get-up.
“What’re you doing?”
“Well, see, I’ve got something really important. Ugh… Why won’t my sister pick up her phone? Of all days for her to stick me with babysitting…”
“Where you going?”
“Uh, yeah, I have to leave right now, actually…”
He’s leaving? That means I can watch TV in peace. Feeling pleased, I was about to offer a magnanimous nod when he beat me to the punch:
“Siwoo, how about I show you a performance by real, live actors? Want to come with me?”
“Mm?”
He pointed at the TV.
A live performance…? Don’t tell me the place he’s going is…
“Theatre…?!”
“Yes! A theater! Uh… what did you just say?”
Is that really important right now? Hurry—take me there!
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