Episode 8. The Miracle at Yeongdeungpo Station
“Uh… hey, you music moron.”
“Wow, Yoo Jang-ha got old.”
“Pretty sharp words for someone aging right beside me.”
“Even the way you talk sounds old.”
Jin-hyeok frowned in playful annoyance.
“Oh, An-Chicken!”
“Long time no see.”
Sang-jeong raised his hand high.
Their friends had appeared without warning.
Opening both arms wide, Jang-ha greeted them with a big smile.
“You never said you were coming.”
“Yeah, it turned out that way.”
“We will finish up here soon, so…”
While Jang-ha spoke to Sang-jeong, Jin-hyeok strode over to the speaker.
“Hey, why is that guy acting weird?”
“Well, um…”
Jin-hyeok, fingering the guitar propped against the speaker, looked back at Jang-ha.
“Mind if I touch this?”
Startled, Jang-ha glanced at Sang-jeong.
The “music moron,” who had always hated music, was pointing at a guitar in front of a blaring trot speaker.
“What the… that punk…?”
“It’s true.”
“What?”
At Sang-jeong’s answer, the huge hand of Jang-ha began to tremble.
“I only found out yesterday.”
Jang-ha stared vacantly at Jin-hyeok, then shook his head.
“Don’t tell me you want to start again…”
“That’s right.”
“No way.”
“Huh?”
Sang-jeong looked at Jang-ha with round eyes.
He had expected some hesitation, but not an instant refusal.
Just then the trot from the speaker stopped, and the sound of a jack being swapped crackled.
Bzzzt.
A crude guitar tone came through the cheap speaker.
Wearing a stiff expression, Jang-ha strode up and snatched the guitar from Jin-hyeok’s hands.
“Go home for now. We will talk later.”
The tense air drew the volunteers’ eyes; Father stepped over.
“Brothers…”
“Oh, hello, Father. We are Jang-ha’s friends,” said Jin-hyeok, bowing.
The priest looked back and forth between Jin-hyeok and Sang-jeong, then nodded.
“You three used to play in a band, I heard?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh, welcome.”
Father Kang Yosep beamed and shouted to the two of them.
Jang-ha looked displeased at the priest, then turned away.
Trot music started again from the speaker.
A little distance away at a table, they all sat together.
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I am going to become a priest.”
“You punk, how old are you, and you skip mass all the time. Be realistic. Also, you need brains to be a priest, you know. Tsk, that’s a lame excuse.”
“Ah, shut up, old man, get lost.”
When Father butted in, Jang-ha exploded.
“Explain it clearly. If you can convince me, we’ll find someone else.”
Jin-hyeok stared straight at Jang-ha.
“I can’t let my face be exposed.”
“Reason?”
“Anyway, there is a reason.”
“Then if we keep your face hidden, you can do it?”
“Huh?”
“We will hear the reason later…”
Jin-hyeok looked around.
The instruments he longed for were right there, yet they were just talking.
He wanted to play with his friends right away.
He jumped up and ran to a walnut-cake stall.
“This will do. We don’t have much time left, so just one song, okay?”
“Huh?”
Sang-jeong and Jang-ha each had a paper bag placed in their hands.
Jin-hyeok picked up a spoon from the table and punched two holes in each bag.
“With this, your face stays hidden. Perfect.”
He pulled the two-hole bag over his head.
“Man… that punk really is back.”
“Right?”
“Crazy bastard.”
They were reminded of young Jin-hyeok who charged straight ahead when it came to music.
“He’s in that mode now.”
“Seems so.”
Staring at the bag, Jang-ha nodded.
If he covered his face like that… maybe it would be okay.
“Whew… fine, let’s go.”
“What, for real?”
Jang-ha also poked holes and donned a bag.
Watching him, Sang-jeong hesitated.
He stared intently at his friend’s big hands.
The thick calluses on the fingertips showed he must have played bass recently.
Sang-jeong stretched his own fingers wide.
Now stiff and inflexible compared with the past.
“Just like this, out of the blue?”
He worried whether he could even follow the score.
He glared at the bag meant for him.
“Eh, whatever, it’ll work out.”
With slightly trembling fingers he punched holes in the bag and pulled it over his face.
Somehow it gave him courage.
Looking up, he saw Jang-ha already on his feet.
“Let’s go.”
They walked over to Jin-hyeok, who was already fiddling with the guitar.
“No drums?”
“Nothing to do about that.”
“I can tap foot-bass if—”
As Jang-ha, slinging the bass, turned his head,
“Whoa, jeez, you scared me!”
Father was sitting on the drum stool smiling broadly.
“Old man? What are you doing?”
Pushing the scowling Jang-ha aside, Jin-hyeok grinned.
“Wow, Father, you play drums too?”
Father Kang twirled the sticks skillfully and shrugged.
“Once a priest reaches my age, there is nothing he cannot do.”
He laughed.
“All the sheet music here is hymnals though?”
“Because we came from church.”
Flipping pages, Jin-hyeok’s fingers paused.
He lifted his gaze and scanned the surroundings.
He calmed the excitement that had focused solely on playing with friends.
Right now, he needed to read the audience’s mood.
The homeless, who had been dancing happily to the trot, now wore stiff faces, their fun broken.
They might have left, yet perhaps the sight of people wearing paper bags still amused them enough to stay.
Jin-hyeok closed his eyes.
The rumble of a passing train, the rush of busy feet.
A place where everyone moved quickly.
And these people standing still, refusing to flow with the world’s time.
This stage was for them, yet the people who belonged to time pointed fingers at them.
They were blamed for everything, models of ruined lives, the worst of existence, called the city’s trash, cluttering up the streets, the excluded.
Sigh.
He opened his eyes and looked at the hymn on the stand.
“Page 259.”
When he whispered, the others opened to that page.
Jin-hyeok stared at the score.
“This piece is sung at Easter, known as a Gregorian chant,” Sister had once told him.
He eyed the surroundings.
Honking cars on a jammed road, a train every two minutes, and no walls or ceiling to carry resonance.
A sacred song that depends on the space’s echo could never be expressed fully here.
He stepped to his friends.
“We’ll hit hard here, and slam here, you know? Then… just match my guitar roughly there. Sang-jeong, switch to this patch for that part, and…”
He looked at the priest.
Could this man grasp the rearrangement?
Watching the instructions, Father smiled.
“Turning this hymn into rock?”
“Father?”
“Even if I forgot my English, I came from England in the fifties.”
“Ah!”
“Just pound away as I see the feel, right?”
“Yes, hit however the mood takes you.”
Jin-hyeok’s lips curled.
Today these people stuck in place would experience resurrection.
“Mic check, ah, ah.”
After testing the mic, he closed his eyes and gripped the guitar.
“Everyone, may I have your attention?”
His voice rang from the cheap speaker.
“Come on, you yield this time.”
Third forced concession; he had missed promotion thrice.
His wife’s face, hiding her feelings, scared him even more.
To make matters worse, he was on the layoff list.
“This is certain, put it all in,” a colleague urged, and he dumped all his severance into stocks.
Within a week it was worthless.
“It’s alright, you are diligent, you can start again,” his wife said, but it only dug deeper.
He must have fallen ill of the heart; felt the whole world mocking him.
Any comfort from his wife sounded like a lie.
One day something inside snapped; he could do nothing.
He ran from real time, and among people in the same plight he felt at ease.
Doing nothing brought no new pain; to him, this was paradise.
They justified each other, a group negating the boundaries society had built.
Thus, day by day, he breathed but lived dead.
All feelings had long been scattered into pieces.
Why won’t the tears stop now?
Why does his wife’s voice, unheard for two years, echo in his ears?
Why is his chest so tight?
His trembling lips wouldn’t calm.
“Dear…”
The sudden rush of emotion made him stand.
He shook himself absent-mindedly and realized he had not brushed off dust in ages.
Strength filled his arms; he beat off the caked dust of stopped time.
“I have to go home.”
Blankly, he watched the silly band wearing paper bags.
It’s okay, it can happen, you just caught an illness for a while, it’s not your fault.
With blurry eyes he saw their vigorous moves.
Looking around, he saw others in the same frozen world brushing themselves off, winding their stopped clock springs.
It might take long to catch up with social time, but the hands had begun to move.
Though a bit late, tick-tock, the second hand started.
Perhaps these are people who fought the world, running in the same direction as everyone, then, once they fell behind, were thrown away.
Their last means of resistance: disconnection, rebelling by rejecting the system society approves.
Jin-hyeok furrowed his brows.
He could not know each one’s story or fathom their hearts; he would never fully grasp their pain.
They are sick—sick in the heart.
If they admitted that illness, might things change a bit?
He poured his wish into “O Filii et Filiae.”
The sacred hymn that should flow gently was turned fierce and delivered to them.
He felt their anger, understood the urge to run away, acknowledged their separate world. Then he could see their stopped clocks.
At the raw emotions he spewed, homeless people stood up and dusted off clothes.
They were not alone; everyone rushing through society risked falling behind at any moment.
Even resting briefly could bring the illness of the heart.
He did not believe in God despite being raised in church, but the worth of religious music carried by many believers was tremendous.
Though hastily rearranged, the greatness of the simple melody made it possible.
Some parts were rough, time was short, yet the song soothed shaken hearts; he stepped back from the mic.
“Thank you for listening.”
Turning around, Jin-hyeok smiled under the bag.
“How was that?”
Jang-ha’s hands were shaking.
Sang-jeong stared blankly at the keyboard.
Father, the only face visible, could not close his dropped jaw; tears streamed from his wrinkled eyes.
“Ah… hallelujah.”
Jin-hyeok bowed to him.
“So, will you still refuse?”
The bass slipped from Jang-ha’s grasp with a thud.
“If I guarantee for him regarding probation, there is no legal problem with performing…”
Father fully supported Jang-ha’s joining the band.
Having played with them, he had tasted the miracle.
After the performance he had wandered around muttering “miracle” over and over.
“I can handle the legal side. The minor issues are…” Father glanced at Jang-ha.
“It’s fine, old man. I will explain the rest to my friends.”
“That would be best.”
He made the sign of the cross.
“Putting religion aside…”
Jin-hyeok nodded politely, respecting him as a believer.
“Your music is a miracle.”
Father recalled the homeless who flocked after the show, thanked them with tears, and left.
He gave some travel money since the donation basket was full.
Not only the homeless; many passers-by had joined the miracle, proof being the overflowing collection basket.
“May God’s grace be abundant.”
With hazy eyes he gripped Jin-hyeok’s hand.
After they left, the church band arrived late and heard the story from volunteers.
Watching the phone clip, their eyes widened.
The rearrangement was brilliant; to interpret a hymn like that!
The instruments clearly wandered apart, like the amateur gig they had done for cash the night before, yet the guitar-playing singer’s force held the chaotic performance together.
Still, since they had not heard it live, they could not feel the miracle volunteers spoke of.
“We were going to close with a Led Zeppelin tune today.”
More vivid in their minds was the man they had met during the part-time job yesterday.
“Hey, look at this.”
“Huh?”
Another video played on the phone, Chopin’s Etude.
“That’s his back, right?”
“Yeah, same guy, and the location’s that street.”
“Wow, his piano is incredible…”
An official video had just been uploaded to pianist Shin Yu-jeong’s YouTube channel.
T/N: So… a rock version of this song. I’ll leave it to your imagination as I could not find one.
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