Devil’s Music

Upon hearing that Geon was looking for them, the musicians ran over, instruments in hand and without even putting on their shoes. Geon had been looking for Simba to speak with them, but thanks to Timo, who quickly followed, finding Simba proved unnecessary. Timo bowed slightly to Herald. When Herald smiled back, Timo then bowed deeply to Geon with hands clasped together.

A little distance away, the chief secretary raised an eyebrow at this scene, but Timo showed no hesitation in offering Geon the highest respect. While Timo was bringing the musicians, Geon, along with Herald, had confirmed that the instruments brought by the musicians were no different from before and started drafting the music scores. Herald, curious about something, was glued to Geon’s side, not taking his eyes off the music score being written.

Geon quickly wrote down a simple song and handed the music score to Timo, saying,

“I’m sorry for calling you out of the blue, Village Chief. Here’s the music score.”

Timo graciously accepted the music score with both hands and handed it to the musicians, saying,

“Memorize this score.”

The musicians from the Sudra caste bowed deeply, received the music score with both hands, and knelt, memorizing the score. Although it was a short piece, the musicians grimaced as they read and reread the score to accurately express Geon’s intention, struggling for over 20 minutes before they finally picked up their instruments and immersed themselves in muted practice.

Herald, who had been watching silently, commented, seeing Geon’s side profile,

“I thought it was a simple piece since you wrote it down so quickly, but it seems more complex than I thought?”

“It’s not that complex, but it's about doing our best. Please, just a little understanding.”

Herald raised his hands as if to say no need for understanding,

“Understanding? It was me who made the sudden request. I’m just grateful that you obliged. Please, convey my thanks to them later.”

Geon nodded and smiled. The musicians had finished practicing and bowed deeply to Timo. Timo then said to Geon,

“The practice is over. Let’s begin.”

Geon pointed out a part of the score to Herald, saying,

“The President's guitar part comes in from measure 16. I included only arpeggios in the chord progression style, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Herald’s eyes widened as he nodded, looking at the score. Geon then signaled the start of the performance to a Dampu player with a nod. The Dampu player hurriedly bowed his head, not daring to meet Geon’s gaze, and started the performance with precise timing.

The sound of the Dampu, a traditional Nepali drum, resonated between the base camp built towards the cliff direction of the Himalayas and the hundred or so journalists gathered for the visit of the American President.

“Dong! Dong!”

After the Dampu marked the beat twice, it began playing at a very slow pace, and the sorrowful tone of the Sarangi, resembling that of a violin, merged in an instant, painting a beautiful melody in the Himalayan sky. Herald, feeling pressured to perform well due to the cameras on him, had been focusing on the score until the sound of the Sarangi made him lift his head in surprise.

He saw Geon, naturally spreading his arms and closing his eyes, swaying and moving to the beat as if dancing. Geon’s movement, reminiscent of a traditional Korean dance, was deeply mystical. As the Bansuri flute joined in, the atmosphere changed. While the Sarangi provided a sorrowful and regret-filled melody, the Bansuri flute joined with vigor, like bellows breathing hope into a forge’s flame.

Startled, Herald realized it was his turn to play and quickly came to his senses,

“I can’t mess this up!”

Before even starting to play, thick sweat formed on Herald’s forehead. Counting the beat with his foot, Herald began playing the guitar. He played an arpeggio in Dm chord, looking around at the other musicians in disbelief as their combined performance created a melody. The musicians all closed their eyes, showing maximum concentration. Herald, due to the relatively simple chord progression, had the leisure to look around at the musicians.

As it was time for Geon’s song, Herald fixed his gaze on Geon. Covered by a bushy beard, Geon’s eyes and sharply raised nose bridge couldn’t hide his beauty. Despite his mouth being obscured by the beard, the eye-smile hanging on his face was the happiest smile in the world, and Herald couldn’t take his eyes off Geon dancing merrily as his voice began to sing.

Herald, having co-written the lyrics, had some idea about the mood of the song, but since Geon had not drawn the vocal melody line when drafting the score, Herald

was surprised to hear his song. Geon’s voice was like that of a female soprano. Amidst the grand Himalayan mountains, a beautiful man danced merrily, singing a high-pitched aria that seemed out of place with the dance.

Love where there is hatred

contention where there is forgiveness

split where there is Coincide

despair where there is Hope

Herald’s eyes widened as much as they could. As a human rights lawyer, he felt the song carried a genuine power that could move many people. Geon stepped forward towards the cliff, spread his arms, and sang towards the snowy mountains.

Understanding rather than understanding

Give comfort to others rather than comforting others

To love others rather than to love others

The short performance ended with Geon’s last lyrics. Although many were watching, no one cheered as Geon continued to dance. It seemed as though he danced to music that continued playing only for him. Watching silently, Herald quietly placed his guitar beside him.

Resting his chin on his hand, Herald stood up and approached Geon. Geon, unaware of Herald’s approach, continued to dance with his eyes closed. Herald awkwardly began to dance along with Geon. For the first few seconds, their dance seemed discordant, but soon Herald’s eyes closed, and his dance filled with smiles melted into harmony with Geon’s.

One of the journalists, shocked, quickly raised their camera and flashed. The other journalists, awakened by the flash, shoved their cameras forward, capturing the rare scene of the American President dancing. As the camera flashes went off incessantly, Geon opened his eyes. He quietly bowed his head, caught his breath, and then lifted his head to stop dancing, smiling at Herald, who was looking at him.

Herald, with a face full of smiles, opened his arms wide and hugged Geon, shouting,

“The angel of the poor! The musical genius of Juilliard! The savior of Nepal! None of those titles were false! Hahaha! It’s not false, I’m truly happy! Hahaha”

Geon, hugged by Herald, simply smiled. Herald held Geon in his arms for a while, patting his back, then took Geon’s hand and sat on a rock at the edge of the cliff. Herald, smiling at Geon sitting next to him, gestured to the chief secretary watching from afar. The chief secretary approached Yeongseok, saying,

“Let’s stop filming here. The President has something important to discuss with Kay.”

Yeongseok stepped back without a word, seeing the presidential security pushing the journalists away. After the filming team put all cameras back in the camp and moved behind the line designated by the security guards, Herald whispered to Geon,

“It was worth coming all the way from America, your voice has power. Your voice doesn’t have direct physical force, but it has the power to move people.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Kay wasn’t an activist student, so you probably never sang protest songs. Protest songs are sung during demonstrations, and they carry messages to incite and open eyes to the truth. Singing this song during a demonstration unites everyone. Similarly, your song has some kind of power.”

Geon tilted his head, asking,

“It’s true I wasn’t an activist student, but how did you know? How did you know what kind of student I was?”

Herald, apologetically, said,

“Not just anyone can meet the president of a country. Moreover, I am the president of the United States. When meeting someone, we conduct all kinds of research on them. I’m sorry, but we received reports on how Kay grew up in Korea, what kind of past you had, even your childhood photos.”

Geon’s expression hardened slightly, seeing this, Herald hurriedly said,

“It wasn’t intentional. It’s just a customary procedure of the White House, so please don’t take it badly. My laughter, singing, and empathy with you here were all sincere.”

Geon looked at Herald’s face for a moment, assessing the truth, then nodded in agreement,

“If you’re the president of the United States, you’d need such procedures.”

“Haha, thank you, Kay. I’m glad you understand.”

“No need to talk about understanding.”

“Ah, the chief secretary who conducted the investigation on Kay found something interesting and brought it as a gift for you. I was also surprised, but since it seemed unworthy of investigation, I just brought it as a gift.”

Herald took an envelope from his pocket and handed it over.

“Take a look. You’ll find it interesting.”

Geon tilted his head, accepting the envelope, and pulled out its contents. A photo emerged. Herald continued,

“Surprising, isn’t it? Even the chief secretary was shocked. It’s a photo from 1957, haha”

Geon’s hands trembled as he held the photo. Herald smiled at him,

“I knew you’d be surprised

, haha. It’s a photo of an unknown child, but it closely resembled your childhood.”

In the photo, Elvis Presley was smiling brightly with a guitar. Below on the left side of the photo, ‘Since 1957. Florida Tampa. William V. Robertson’ was written as a signature,

And above that signature, a laughing, singing young Geon was depicted.

>

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