INM 7 Part 2

I lifted my eyes from the cup and looked at Ethan. The young man didn’t seem to be paying much attention to my story, and he seemed to be focused on what I had just said about telling Alam to stop seeing him. What a young man. He was straightforward, arrogant, and quick to respond, but he was also a pitiful creature, easily influenced to the point of confusion. 

“Well, most of it was about his father.”

When I asked him with my eyes if he wanted to hear that story, the young man shook his head, as if to shake off the previous topic, and replied, “Yes.”

“You seem to have heard a lot, but I’ve never heard any stories about Alan’s family.”

The young man’s voice was a little higher. His left hand moved on the table, and once again he lightly scratched his right wrist with his nail.

“It’s not a pleasant story, but…” I began, telling him what Alan had told me about his father. How his father had scolded him for laughing as a child. How everything he cherished was thrown away. How he was only expected to study hard, but was asked to lower his university goals. How he was able to go to the university he wanted thanks to his mother, but all his textbooks were burned.

Hesitating whether to talk about his father’s violence, I simply said, “He seemed to have been beaten up until high school.”

Ethan wasn’t as shocked as other students by the treatment Alan had received from his parents. He merely expressed his disgust at the story of the burned textbooks, muttering, “Book burning is the antithesis of rationality.” For the first time since entering the store, I agreed with the young man wholeheartedly.

“Alan’s room was empty. There was a worn study desk, a garish and impersonal rug, an almost empty bookshelf, and probably a used bed in the drab, indifferent room. There was no sense of unity in the colors or materials of the furniture. It was definitely the work of a tasteless father. Thanks to that, I couldn’t read much about Alan just by looking at the room.”

When I remembered Alan’s room, my brow furrowed. To think that my friend, of all people, had lived in a room similar to mine, where everything had been abandoned. If he were alive, I would barge into his room with a drill, find some excuse, a special occasion or whatever, and coordinate Alan’s ideal room. 

If he were alive.

I reached for the glass and drained the gimlet. The last cold drop was almost water and just disappeared, quenching my thirst.

Ethan, who had been listening to my story with a puzzled expression on his face, opened his mouth.

“Psychometry?”

“It’s not that great.”

I laughed, dismissing the young man’s words.

“When I look at a room or a house, I can usually tell a lot about a person’s lifestyle and values, and how much they value themselves and their lives. I think all professional interior designers are the same. But there was none of that in Alan’s room.”

“I thought he had a strong attachment to things…” he murmured in surprise and then immediately shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anything, my impression of him, because we weren’t that close. We were never close enough to hang out at each other’s houses, you know? It’s just meaningless.”

Saying something like a policeman from somewhere, Ethan finished his salty dog. With his visibly stiff left hand, he set it down on the table with a slight grating sound. The lemon-yellow liquid was completely gone, and the grapefruit rolled around in the cup like a fish at the bottom of a dried-up sea. A waiter walked by at the perfect moment, but Ethan didn’t order another drink.

“You seemed to think I was Alan’s lover, but aren’t you confusing me with someone else?” 

Ethan replied with a shrug. From the way Alan talked about him, I imagined that he probably wasn’t on very good terms with Alan. I remembered what Ethan had told me about Alan during my previous visit to the University of Queensland. He was taciturn, had a prickly attitude, and only softened a bit when talking about robots. 

I leaned back in my chair and looked up at the light hanging from the ceiling. It was a warm orange light. 

“He makes fun of me for paying commissions.” 

“Huh?” 

“He’s always complaining and grumbling, and he snaps at me at the slightest disagreement. He sees things negatively, interprets people’s words with malice, and what’s most annoying is that he believes his own way of thinking is the only correct one and forces it on others. The only thing we agreed on was what he “hated the most in the world”, but otherwise our ways of thinking were completely opposite. I don’t want to care about a guy who makes me feel so depressed when I talk to him”, that’s how Alan described the man he had reluctantly fallen in love with.”

Ethan fell silent, as if he recognized himself in those words. It was unexpected. Ethan was clearly fixated on Alan. So I thought that even if the words weren’t flattering, he’d be happy to know that he was the one Alan was thinking about. 

But the expression on Ethan’s face after I told him this showed a strong rejection. 

Stammering, Ethan opened his mouth. 

“He absolutely refused to take his clothes off, even when we were alone together. He’d run away if I touched his buttons.” 

“Hmm…” I listened and suddenly remembered the words of the physics students answering Kasim’s question. 

“Oh, that’s probably because his torso injuries hadn’t healed yet. It seems like he’s been able to wear short-sleeved shirts lately, though.” 

Ethan’s complexion darkened at my words. He was intelligent and also one of Alan’s closest friends. It was easy for him to deduce the cause of Alan’s injuries from the story I’d told about Alan’s father and what I’d just said. 

As if excusing himself, Ethan murmured in a low voice. 

“No, that’s not it. He certainly said that. That he wanted to connect with kind people.”

Could I connect with people in the gentle way you say?

Overlapping the young man’s words, Alan’s words echoed in my mind. 

The next moment I suddenly remembered the promise I had made to Alan. 

And at the same time, I realized the terrible misunderstanding the young man had. 

Desperate to keep my promise to Alan, I spoke quickly. 

“Ethan, you misunderstand. What Alan meant was…” 

“That is, apparently, to get on with his life.” 

A chill ran through me and I swallowed the words I was about to say. That’s right. He already knew. The truth, a long time ago. 

This young man doesn’t want to know Alan’s true feelings. He only wants to justify the fact that he killed Alan. 

I reached out my right hand lightly and picked up my glass. And when I noticed that it was empty, I placed it noisily on the edge of the table. A waiter immediately came and fetched our glasses. 

Ethan asked the waiter for more drinks for both of us. Perhaps sensing that my anger was reigniting, Ethan regained his composure. This fueled my anger even more. 

Ethan took the glasses from the waiter and set them in front of us. Gimlets that looked much more refreshing than the ones we had before. When the glass arrived in front of me, a single overflowing drop ran down the side. 

I pulled the glass towards me and looked at the young man. 

“Moving on with his life… Ethan, could you please answer my previous question again?” 

The young man looked at me with calm eyes. He tilted his head as if urging me to continue. 

“Do you think Alan was happy?” 

Ethan smiled at my question. It was a hollow smile that looked both amused and sad. 

“Do you really think that one person can measure the happiness of another?” 

“I don’t. I just want your opinion.” 

“I don’t know. Besides, I don’t think my opinion matters.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

As I repeated his words, the young man’s face twitched slightly. Everyone has words they dislike, but even so, this young man seemed to have an exceptionally low tolerance for what the world calls useless. 

Noticing my questioning look, the young man continued with a challenging smile. 

“But, you know, it seems we both weren’t blessed with good parents, so maybe neither of us was particularly happy?” 

“Are you saying that you weren’t happy?” 

The young man’s eyes widened for a moment before he fell silent. Then he nodded slightly and said firmly, “That’s right.” 

“Yes, yes. I’m not very happy either. I have problems with my parents. But not to the extent that they burn my textbooks. Alan’s parents are crazier than mine. He was definitely not happy.” 

“I see, thank you.”

The moment I thanked him, he casually looked away. Then he picked up a newly arrived Victoria Bitter and slowly took a sip. I clenched my right hand, which was about to reach out, and gripped it tightly with my left. 

Ethan’s slightly downcast face overlapped with his university appearance, and the moment he noticed me and gave me a gentle smile, that image vanished like mist. Which image was closer to his true self? I felt my curiosity swell and rise. Both his current dignified demeanor and his university self had a subtle sense of incongruity, as if there were a thin veil between them, and I was seized with an urge to rudely tear away that veil. 

I wanted to look into his room. Even though I had just been deeply hurt by Alan’s father, my creative drive continued to work automatically. 

The promise I had made to Alan came back to my mind. Not wanting to forget this time, I repeated the promise in my heart. 

Could I connect with people in the gentle way you say? 

Do you really think so? Will you trust me and watch over me?

Thank you, Luke. It’s a promise.

In retrospect, the promise I had held sacred was nothing more than a trivial, almost childish indulgence on the part of the young man.

Seeing something in my expression, the young man’s confident demeanor became tinged with suspicion. This expression brought him a little closer to the impression I had when we talked at the university. Both personas were probably parts of himself.

Now I could answer the young man’s question that he had asked me as soon as we arrived at this café. I had come to this café to fulfill my promise to Alan.

I’ll go through with it, Alan. The result of your decision… if that is your wish.

“Ethan, I’d like to hear about you.”

After this preamble, I released my right hand, which I had clasped in my left. I clasped my hands again and continued.

“Do you commute from your parents’ house to the university? Or do you live alone?”

“Why do I have to answer such questions?”

Ethan said sharply with a forced smile. 

“Because it would satisfy my curiosity… well, you see, I can’t imagine what your room looks like at all.” I added quickly, seeing the young man’s expression darken. “It’s as if your own contours are undefined. Well, that’s a common thing for men your age.”

Something in my words seemed to displease him… well, it’s nothing new for me to make a slip of the tongue and upset someone… and the young man’s face grew even more severe.

“You were an interior designer, weren’t you? Idealists are always forced to express their ideals in some way. But people like me don’t really care about the space we just live in. I can live comfortably as long as my home works with minimal stress. Regardless of age”.

“You’re right, a person’s attachment to his room has nothing to do with age or gender. You’re right, that’s just my prejudice.”

Acknowledging my error, I continued.

“And I understand what you’re saying. There was a time when I was happy to live in a room with only the bare necessities. But from my own experience, I think that living surrounded by things you don’t like can make you lose sight of yourself.” 

“So if you don’t decorate with houseplants or lamps with strange ornaments, you lose track of who you are? That’s an ugly religion.”

“The things that someone values are not necessarily decorations. It could be books or clothes. It could be paintings or cooking utensils. It could be electronic devices such as computers. Interior design isn’t just about things that decorate a room. Everything a person values is his interior.”

The words flowed out of me effortlessly. It was a strange feeling. I wouldn’t have known I was thinking such things if I hadn’t had this opportunity to put them into words.

With a voice that began to heat up, I continued.

“Whether it’s a sofa to enjoy coffee slowly, or a cardboard desk, if it enriches your life, it’s an important part of your room.”

“Enrich your life, huh?”

This time Ethan echoed my words. It wasn’t as dismissive as he had intended. Perhaps realizing this himself, his tone became a bit harsher in his next words.

“So, poor people who can’t freely buy what they want will inevitably lose sight of themselves?”

I couldn’t help but smile wryly. It was a typically cynical interpretation of his, but not an uncommon one. After thinking for a moment, I looked for words not in someone else, but in myself. 

“Money doesn’t have much to do with it. There are many people who create comfortable spaces even without money, and there are also wealthy people who live surrounded by expensive junk. I’ve seen a lot of those people. When people live somewhere, a room metabolizes. Even if you think you’re not doing anything, things circulate and dust collects before you know it. The difference is whether you set the filter of what you accept and what you leave in your room according to your own heart, or whether you let someone else set it, or whether you don’t set a filter at all. And people tend to set filters with meaningless values that come from family, others, and social media.”