Pen and Paper Translations

Oof—up we go.

I climbed the aisle steps from the stalls and walked onto the empty stage.

This was the grand hall of the Gwanghwamun Culture Center, where RUN would open.

For some reason the view from the stage felt brand-new today.

Standing alone under gentle work-lights, I gazed up at the vacant seats. They rose all the way to a third balcony—impressive even in silence.

Because tomorrow is opening night, we’d finished our final rehearsal early; everyone else had gone home, leaving the theatre empty.

I drew a slow breath, then let it out while staring at the house.

It was 23 December, the very end of the year.

Though indoors, the smell of the air had changed.

Ten winters locked in that tower had smelled cold and lonely; this air still held the warmth of people.

With three tiers, the hall’s shape reminded me of the old Globe where, as Noah, I first saw Richard III. Tomorrow I would be the one standing here.

I was lost in the feeling when a quiet voice sounded behind me.

“Not going home, Siwoo?”

I turned. Grandma—actress No Yeong-hui— was still here.

I smiled.

“I’m excited, Grandma. I can’t wait to get onstage.”

Her eyes widened. She watched me a moment, then said,

“You’re braver than I am, and I’m over sixty. I still shake before I step out there.”

Yet her eyes burned with passion—proof that dreams ignore age. Whenever I act opposite her, I feel that truth keenly.

“Grandma.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got me, remember.”

Doing something I rarely do, I clasped her hand.

She answered my grin with a warm one of her own.

“Right—much easier when you’re not alone.”

We stood side by side, staring at the empty house. Tomorrow those seats would be packed.

For months a hundred people had poured sweat and tears into this show. At last, the curtain was ready to rise.

---

24 December

Christmas Eve dawned.

“Merry Christmas!”

I burst into the dressing room and shouted the greeting. That’s what Koreans say at Christmas.

Back in my era England didn’t even allow Christmas; I like the phrase.

“Oh! Siwoo, full of pep this morning. Sleep well?”

“Our little Siwoo—Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Sharing this room were No Yeong-hui and several staff members; all returned the greeting with bright smiles.

“Yep! Slept great—no dreams.”

I set down my bright-yellow backpack and chattered away. Because tonight is our first performance, my parents had come with me and were waiting outside. Dad had even handed the chicken shop over to an employee for the day.

“Siwoo, costume and makeup time?”

“Yes!”

The staffer passed me the grandson outfit I’d worn at final rehearsal and the press call.

Since I’m five, at first she tried to dress me herself.

I leapt back.

“I can do it alone. I’m fine.”

The wardrobe staff blinked, flustered, then let me take the clothes.

“Uh… Siwoo, you do have to hurry, all right…?”

She still sounded uneasy, afraid I’d be slow, but I proved her wrong—changed in a flash and popped back out.

At home I dress myself now. Stage costumes can be tricky, yet Jonathan’s outfit is simple: a plaid shirt and light-blue overalls.

“All done!”

I hopped onto the makeup chair. Changing solo had left my hair a mess.

Because I’m small, they keep makeup minimal— a quick blow-dry, a dab of product, boom, finished.

“Honestly, powder would only spoil him.”

“How are his cheeks so milky?”

Their usual comments made me chuckle.

Running around had already flushed my face pink; the primary-coloured plaid and denim looked perfect.

While I admired the mirror, hands adjusted my collar and cuffs. Done in seconds.

“Siwoo’s finished in no time—why’d you come so early?”

Across the room No Yeong-hui sat under heavier makeup—a young face being aged into a grandma. Eyes still closed, she asked.

“Didn’t want Grandma to get lonely,” I said, plopping onto the chair beside hers, legs swinging.

“Too cute…”

“Wish I had a kid like that.”

“Have you met his mother? After seeing her I understood where he gets that face.”

The staff gushed. Thought so, I grinned—Mom and Dad are good-looking. I need to tell her tonight.

Someone knocked.

 “Who could that be? We’ve ages till the house opens.”

“Come in,” No Yeong-hui called.

I looked over, half fearing some mishap. Opening night already?

“Huh?”

“No way…!”

“Wow!”

A tall man stepped in. He wore a long black coat, neat slacks and shirt; In his hand were two huge bouquets.

Even with big sunglasses and a mask, I knew instantly:

“Uncle Hee-seong!”

Long legs, tiny face—sunglasses can’t hide that.

I scrambled down and latched onto his leg. He removed the glasses and looked down.

It was Moon Hee-seong.

“Merry Christmas, Siwoo.”

“Mm-hmm. I said that earlier.”

Didn’t answer at the time, half-asleep and thinking only of tonight, but he understands.

“Never hurts to say it properly. Makeup’s already done?”

“Yep—doesn’t take me long.”

My neck craned; he’s so tall. He noticed and stepped aside to No Yeong-hui.

“Hello, sunbae-nim.”

“What brings you here, Hee-seong?”

“It’s a big opening tonight, so I came to congratulate you. I hope I’m not in the way.”

He offered the red bouquet. She smiled.

“You must know Siwoo—did you meet through theatre?”

“Yes. I saw his debut and chased him down to be friends.”

“I’m jealous. I wanted to see that show.”

I butted in. “Grandma, I’ll bring you the video.”

“Please do,” she laughed.

“Break a leg tonight. I’ll be cheering from the house,” he said, then turned to me. “And this is for you, Siwoo.”

“Wow!”

He handed me the yellow bouquet. I buried my face, inhaling. Nothing beats fresh flowers.

“Looks good on you. See you later—knock ’em dead.”

I waved.

When he’d gone and I turned back, the staff pounced:

“Siwoo! You know Moon Hee-seong? How? You looked so close!”

They’d been frozen while he was inside; now they exploded with questions. Even I shrank a bit under the barrage.

“Uh… he’s friends with my troupe’s director.”

“He calls him ‘ahjussi’—too cute.”

The staff spent a while squealing their envy.

---

The Culture Center lobby glittered. A towering tree nearly touched the ceiling, lights and ornaments everywhere. Soft carols drifted from the counter, and faces glowed with holiday excitement.

Full-size cut-outs of No Yeong-hui and me, in costume, lined the hall; people took photos with posters and balloons in red and green RUN logos.

Because of Christmas Eve and the family-friendly source, the audience were made up of mostly couples and parents with kids.

“Mom, do we go in now?”

“Yep. A boy your age is in the show.”

“On that huge stage?”

“So they say. Let’s watch together.”

Two people talking can be overheard nearby.

“Whew, why am I so nervous?”

“Our little Siwoo on that big stage…”

These were my parents. Their faces were almost grim like heading to battle.

While excitement and nerves mingled, house lights dimmed.

Chirp, chirp—chirp.

Soft birdsong filled the dark theatre.

Lights rose slowly to reveal No Yeong-hui alone, watering flowers.

The play had begun.

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