RSL Ch 69

Chris couldn’t come to the airport to pick me up as he was still at work. After saying goodbye to my colleagues at Munich Airport, I rented a car and headed straight to my parents’ house in Winnenden. Watching the autumn scenery along the Autobahn, I had thoughts like an old person. Time really flies.

“It does. It’s already autumn,” Han Jae-yi agreed with me over the phone.

“It was spring when I went to Korea. It feels like winter will come in the blink of an eye. Autumn seems to be getting shorter and shorter.”

“That’s why people love autumn. It passes so quickly, and it always leaves you wanting more.”

Han Jae-yi was walking on the street after leaving work. Through his phone, I could hear the city noise at 11 PM. The sound of a bus deflating as it stops, the warning sound before traffic lights change. He said he didn’t want to go home without me there, so he worked overtime, had dinner, and was now wandering the night streets alone. I imagined Han Jae-yi roaming the heart of Seoul, his trench coat, which he said he wore for the first time this year, fluttering in the wind.

“Did the filming go well? When can we see it?”

“It wasn’t a regular broadcast, more like an internet channel. They said it would take about a week to edit.”

“That’s even better. I’ll have to save it on my phone. Is traffic heavy? When do you think you’ll arrive? You must be tired.”

“The traffic isn’t bad, I’ll arrive in about an hour. I am tired, but I think I’ll be fine if we keep talking.”

“Why? Because you like hearing my voice?”

“Yes. I really do.”

He laughed refreshingly. I was appreciating that laughter while leisurely slowing down to follow the car in front. Han Jae-yi’s voice, filling the car, seeped into my body like a tonic, making me tingle.

“Seo-jin, I feel like I’m going crazy every time you express yourself like that.”

“Why are you so touched by such a small thing? You’re making me feel guilty.”

“No need to feel guilty. Like I said, it’s the fleeting things that are the most beautiful.”

He compared my fleeting expressions of affection to the autumn he had been waiting for all year. He even added the metaphor of “Indian summer,” which isn’t particularly warm but is enchanting just to look at. I drove home enjoying this serenade from the century’s greatest romantic. The fatigue from the flight had long since evaporated.

It was a while after I arrived home that Chris’s car pulled into the parking lot. I first greeted Sylvia, whose belly seemed to have grown a bit due to pregnancy. Seeing Chris greet me more warmly than usual, I sensed that he was concerned about the topic we would discuss over dinner tonight. I felt the same way. I was quite curious about my parents’ reaction after hearing about my situation.

As we carried Mrs. Schmitz’s carefully prepared dishes to the table, the family engaged in light conversation. The main topics were my adoptive father’s blood test results returning to normal after the last health check-up and Chris’s struggles with Sylvia’s pregnancy.

The family members’ expressions were bright as they carried a new life. I had been feeling that time was passing quickly, so it felt like my niece or nephew would be born in no time, completing the ten months.

“We’ll have the baby baptized right after birth. Oh, by the way, Max, I’d like you to be the godfather.”

Chris split a Maultasche (German dumpling) filled with pork in half and put it in his mouth. I questioned if he could talk about such an important matter so casually. Sylvia chimed in.

“From the start, we thought it could only be you. We’d be hurt if you refused, but we can’t help it if you do.”

“I’m not refusing. But are you sure I’m okay for this?”

Becoming a godparent meant becoming the legal guardian after the parents. It also meant that if something happened to them, I would become the guardian responsible for the child’s life until they became an adult. That’s why it’s common to choose siblings for this role, but would it be okay for me, who isn’t blood-related? I looked at my adoptive parents’ faces as if seeking their approval. They nodded with a smile.

“Alright. I’ll set up a sponsorship account right away. I’ll put in 30 euros a month. By the way, is it a girl or a boy?”

“It’s a girl.”

“Then I’ll raise it to 50 euros.”

We all laughed. Girls were precious in the Schmitz family, and even though the baby hadn’t been born yet, she was already playing an important role in our small family.

After clinking wine glasses and exchanging a few more toasts of blessings, I cautiously brought up my story. My adoptive father hurriedly swallowed the wine in his mouth and put down his glass.

“You’re living with Jae-yi?”

“Yes.”

That reaction alone was enough to understand. It seemed they already knew all the rumors about Han Jae-yi. They just hadn’t thought that their son would be the partner. From their perspective, they might wonder “why now” or find it “unexpected”. The 15 years Han Jae-yi and I had spent together presented another kind of “unexpectedness”.

“We’re seriously… um, dating.”

“Ah…”

This time, my adoptive mother unconsciously let out a sigh. I imagined how Han Jae-yi must have felt when he came out to his parents and was nearly driven out. Fortunately, this situation seemed to be progressing more civilly. My adoptive father quickly composed himself, showed a reaction along the lines of “I see,” and then closed his mouth.

Rather than expressing like or dislike, they seemed surprised by their son’s sudden change in sexual identity. It’s understandable, given that I had never shown any interest in men in the thirty years of my life. My adoptive mother was quite interested in such matters, and I had even shown her pictures of a girlfriend I briefly dated when I was younger. I had a normal adolescence, if you could call it that.

However, I had no desire to appeal to Shakespearean sentiments, claiming that Han Jae-yi was my destined partner regardless of gender.

“You two must have been close, right? You were always together. I thought something was off when he said he was getting married. I knew this would happen. Mom, why are you making that face? You’re making Max uncomfortable.”

Chris bridged the broken conversation, offering plausibility. When she asked if he had known all along, my brother nodded as if it were obvious.

“But why did he make such a fuss about getting married, causing a commotion in the whole neighborhood…”

“Mom.”

Mrs. Schmitz closed her mouth again, noticing her eldest son’s expression.

“That was… we were both a bit late in realizing…”

I cut the Maultaschen on my plate into small pieces and only tasted the sauce on the fork. Then I suddenly felt I had misspoken. Using the expression “realizing” meant that these feelings had been present in both of us for a long time. At least that was true for me, but I felt uneasy about having presumed to speak for Han Jae-yi’s position without really knowing it.

“Max, do you want more of this?”

Sylvia deliberately broke the silence and offered me pickled cabbage from a large bowl. My adoptive father spoke again.

“I heard Professor Han was going crazy over his son’s issue. If we had known earlier, we could have talked to him.”

“You don’t need to do that. It’s… you know. It’s not right for parents to intervene in these matters.”

“We might think that way, but it seems their family has a different atmosphere.”

“I suppose it’s still culturally difficult for them to accept, right? Even if they’ve lived here for a long time, there are still customs. We can understand to some extent, but it’s a bit offensive to us. What’s wrong with our son? Honey, can you pass me that cheese?”

My adoptive mother returned to her progressive citizen stance and took my side.

“Well, anyway, let us know if you need any help.”

“Yes.”

And so, the meal that had been hesitant for a while resumed, and the sound of knives hitting plates began to be heard again.

They seemed to have many questions and things they wanted to probe into, but they appeared to think they should pretend not to notice. They didn’t openly ask about the details, like who confessed or how the engagement came to be called off. As parents who needed to maintain manners even with their child, unless I voluntarily continued the conversation, this topic should now come to an end.

I had said we were dating, and it wasn’t something that required permission, so it would conclude with a simple exchange of opinions.

As I was about to go up to my room after dinner, Chris stopped me. On the second floor, the rooms Chris and I used as children remained unchanged. On the occasional nights I stayed at my parents’ house, I invariably had to sleep in that old bed I’d been using since boyhood. Sylvia had already claimed Chris’s bed to rest, and he came to me with a chessboard.

“I’ve kept it well preserved. Looking at the notes, I think it’s my turn?”

Whenever we came to Winnenden, Chris and I always played chess. Since we both hated losing so much, it would take dozens of minutes just to move a single piece. Inevitably, one of us would claim to be sleepy and go up to bed in the middle, leaving games unfinished for over a year. Today, we should definitely settle the score.

“Wait. We’ll need some wine.”

I left Chris deep in thought, considering his move, and went to get glasses from the cabinet. As I was looking for the leftover wine from dinner in the kitchen, I ran into my adoptive father. He looked at me as if he was glad to have caught me and asked:

“You’re staying another day, right? Shall we go buy some Federweisser (autumn wine only drunk that year) tomorrow, just the two of us? The others seem to be leaving early in the morning. Your mother appears to have another appointment.”

“There’s that winery you always go to, right? Are we going there this year too?”

“That’s right. We need to buy some firewood on the way back too.”

“You’re already using the fireplace?”

“Haven’t started yet. I thought we might chop some wood while you’re here.”

“Sure. Let’s go together.”

I smiled at his desire to assign me some physical labor. Looking at my adoptive father’s now white hair, I felt once again how quickly time passes.

Since moving out, I hadn’t been able to spend much time with them. They had given me a sufficiently affectionate childhood, but I hadn’t really done much to repay them. I intended to pay it back slowly, bit by bit, hoping they’d receive every last grain. For that, they would need to live long and stay healthy.

Come to think of it, I was the kind of person who looked for excuses even when wishing for my parents’ well-being. It’s probably because I’ve always thought there must be reasons behind all emotions. Then what did my adoptive parents gain from raising me?

I used to think it was compassion and self-satisfaction. That it was for reasons similar to keeping a stray dog. But lately, I’ve been confused. Humans aren’t dogs, and 22 years is too long to explain with just compassion. Some of the feelings I’d experienced recently seemed to be weaving together parts of the past that I hadn’t been able to understand before.

The next day, after breakfast, Chris and Sylvia left home early. My adoptive mother stayed home for tea time with members of the local choir, while my adoptive father and I headed to the winery.

He attached a trailer to the back of the E-class Mercedes for loading cargo, and I took the wheel. Unlike in Korea where I always need navigation help, I drove on familiar roads without guidance. Plains stretched out to the horizon, unobstructed by mountain ranges or tall buildings. In fields where corn had been harvested, crow-like birds were gathering for a feast.

“See that camp over there? They’ve come this far now. I really don’t know what they’re doing without any plan.”

Where my adoptive father pointed, there was what looked like a container village for refugees. Of course, his criticism wasn’t directed at those who risked their lives crossing the sea via Italy to arrive here. It was about the politicians and administration who invited them to Germany, and the northerners who supported them.

Although it’s the most prosperous country in Europe, these days Germans complain that everything is lacking. Just as Han Jae-yi said, most arguments in the Schmitz family start with talk of taxes and end with distrust of the federal government.

“But the refugee situation is better than in Turkey, isn’t it?”

“With all the money we’ve handed over to Erdogan, they should at least do that much.”

My adoptive father, Karl Schmitz, is a typical southern German. They are generally kind to everyone, but stubborn and conservative. They also have excessively high self-esteem and are mostly wealthy. They believe it was they who saved the German economy right after the war ended, and that they paid all the costs for East-West unification. They also believe they are sustaining the refugee problem that’s giving all of Europe a headache with their taxes.

If asked for evidence, they would probably point to the headquarters of Mercedes, Porsche, and BMW. Those from Stuttgart, which owns two of these companies, were even more opinionated. If you asked them what they thought of Berlin, their answers were always the same:

‘A city where only poor students and foreign workers live’

‘The weather isn’t good, and it’s an awkward location for overseas travel’

The second statement implies a disregard for Poland, which shares a border. While everyone in Korea seemed to love Seoul, in my hometown, they look down on the capital.

Therefore, surviving as an Asian in this conservative and haughty region consumed a great deal of energy. Racial discrimination was like hide-and-seek always lurking just beneath the surface. It was as if they told you to hide completely, but then let your hair stick out for everyone to see.

One of the most exhausting experiences for me as a child was attending events like “Parents’ Night.” When my blonde, blue-eyed adoptive mother came looking for me calling my name, the surrounding gazes were all reactions like ‘Ah, so that’s how it is’. I, with the name of an old German king unlikely to come from pure Asian parents, truly disliked these parent events.

Poets sing about wanting to return to childhood, but I couldn’t agree less. How happy and free I am now, having endured those years and become an adult. Is it too greedy to want to live only as a thirty-one-year-old forever?

Just then, my adoptive father’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“There’s a spot up ahead.”

We parked the car at the entrance leading up to the vineyard hills from the plains and entered the winery together.

“Welcome, Mr. Schmitz.”

The winery manager recognized my father and greeted him with a smile. He didn’t seem to remember me, so I formally offered him a handshake and introduced myself.

“Ah, your second son. I remember now. This way, please.”

The Federweisser released last week filled every corner of the cellar for tasting. The manager poured us a chilled bottle of white wine. I checked the aroma and swirled the glass before handing it to my adoptive father. Despite over 10 years of business, he checks the quality every year.

“The sunshine was good this summer, so the sweetness came out strong.”

“Is that why? The alcohol content seems a bit high.”

In fact, it had been the same last year and the year before. Europe was getting increasingly hotter, and wines with strong acidity were becoming harder to find. It was an ideal condition for people like Han Jae-yi who enjoyed sweet Riesling varieties.

My adoptive father, whose taste was similar to mine, bought three boxes of a modified Pinot Noir variety that had been released four years ago. We also loaded a box of rosé wine for parties and a box of white Federweisser into the car.

“Shall we take a walk?”