Episode 4
The Drawing Child (3)
I received a truly wonderful gift.
The kind doctor I met yesterday gave me a sketchbook slightly larger than a size 10P canvas (55cm × 38cm).
The texture of the paper wasn’t bad either.
It wasn’t the standardized canvas from France, but it was decent enough to use.
It would’ve been better if he’d given me oil paints and brushes, but even this set of twelve thick colored pencils is quite fascinating.
While the coloring is a bit lacking, the pigmentation has character, and the fact that the pencil tip extends when you twist it without sharpening—what a convenient tool.
“……”
The advancement of technology is truly awe-inspiring.
All that’s changed is that graphite became harder and easier to write with, and they added various colors—but now, the possibilities of what one can draw are endless.
I wonder how paints have changed.
What kinds of colors can be made now?
As I followed this line of thought, I couldn’t help but feel immense regret that I wasn’t born in this era.
This passion boiling in my chest—
My desire to capture this wondrous world on a canvas is transforming into a greedy yearning to take over this child’s body.
A child no older than seven or eight.
Surely, this child had a life of his own.
Yet for some unknown reason, I have taken it over. This is not what any god would have wanted.
Even if it were, perhaps it’s just a delusion, a projection of my selfish desire to enjoy this world more.
“……”
Lavish meals, a clean and spacious room.
A beautiful sketchbook and pencils.
The joy of a healthy body.
Even if it’s affection born out of misunderstanding, the kindness shown by this child’s grandfather—
These dreamlike days must be the final gift granted to me by the heavens.
A miraculous moment that I must not crave more of.
“Hun, it’s time for your medicine.”
As I had those thoughts, a nurse handed me a small envelope with some pills. I swallowed them with water, and she smiled.
“You take your medicine so bravely.”
If it’s something this child needs, it’s only right that I do it.
The child must not be sick when I return this body.
The nurse patted my head.
“Since you’re eating and taking your meds well, you’ll get better soon. You’ll be able to draw lots of pictures too.”
The idea of being able to draw more… makes my chest ache.
“You’ve got to live life to the fullest once you’re all better, okay?”
As I remained silent, the nurse clasped my hand and encouraged me.
“You were really, really sick, you know? Everyone thought you’d never wake up. Your grandpa came every day and prayed. Begged for you to be saved.”
I don’t fully understand, but it seems this child’s grandfather was truly devoted.
Even I can feel that.
All the more reason.
I must return this body to him.
* * *
“It must’ve been stuffy, huh? Let’s go home to Grandpa’s place.”
About a month passed since I regained consciousness, and I was finally discharged.
Though I still struggle with speaking, I’ve come to understand more sentences. But I still haven’t found a way to return the body to its rightful owner.
For now, I judged that doing what ‘Grandpa’ wished was in the best interest of the child, so I obediently followed.
Someday, I will give the body back.
I just want to minimize the problems when that day comes.
“This is Grandpa’s car.”
I had seen cars on this thing called TV, but Grandpa’s car looked nothing like the ones I knew.
Its black exterior shimmered with a bluish hue.
I hesitated to get in, feeling awkward, but Grandpa reassured me.
“It’s okay. You’re riding with Grandpa.”
His face, so worried as he tried to comfort the child, left me no choice but to get in.
My brother Theo once said a thing called an automobile had been invented, and he promised we’d buy one once we succeeded… I never thought I’d ride in one like this.
“Mmgh.”
It’s too fast.
I was amazed at how it moved slowly at first, but the speed suddenly picked up in an instant.
I turned to the side, startled, and saw people, trees, and buildings rushing past so fast I couldn’t even make out their shapes.
My heart felt like it was going to explode.
“G-Grandpa!”
I called out urgently, and thankfully, he slowed down.
The car pulled over to the side of the road.
My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t think straight.
“Hun, what did you just say?”
Just as I was calming down, Grandpa asked. I had no idea what he was expecting in such a tense moment, so I looked at him, puzzled.
“I said—what did you just call me?”
“…Grandpa.”
“……”
He was too stunned to speak, and as I was trying to figure out what I’d done wrong, Grandpa suddenly burst out laughing.
“Ahahahaha! That’s right! Grandpa! Yes, Hun, who am I?”
“Grandpa…”
“Ahahaha! That’s right. My child, my child. I’m your Grandpa.”
He suddenly reached out and ruffled my hair. It was a bit rough and disorienting, but for some reason, I could feel the affection.
To think just hearing his name brought him such joy… He must’ve been suffering emotionally all this time.
The car began moving again, and after a while, Grandpa stopped it.
“Alright, let’s get out.”
Grandpa’s house was huge.
The stone wall was high.
After passing through a metal gate, I saw a two-story house with a cozy little garden.
Not quite a noble estate, but clearly the home of a wealthy man.
He took off his shoes at the entrance, so I followed suit.
“What do you want to eat, Hun? Grandpa will make anything you want. Or shall I order something?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to eat hospital food anymore. Do you like pizza? Shall we have pizza?”
The pronunciation was similar, but I wasn’t sure if the pizza he meant was the same as the Italian kind I knew.
I could roughly guess what people said, but forming full sentences was still difficult.
I drew a circle with both hands and asked,
“Pizza?”
“Yes! Pizza. Want to eat it?”
“Yes.”
Anything was fine, but I’ve had it a few times, so I figured it’d be okay.
“Let’s see… the phone number… Hun, go sit over there and relax. Watch some TV if you want.”
There’s nothing better than TV to kill time.
With nothing else to do, I went where Grandpa pointed. A stylish sofa and a much bigger TV than the one in the hospital greeted me.
And then—
Behind it hung a painting.
“Ah…”
An oil painting of a woman sitting on a sofa.
A marvel.
The form was drawn as simply as possible.
Rather than mixing shades, it used bold primary colors directly.
It was daring.
Exaggerated voluptuousness, thick dark outlines, and a strange composition with no depth at all—and yet, it stood out.
It denied everything that had come before it in art.
And yet—
It was beautiful.
The TV, the car, the colored pencils, the luxurious meals—none were more awe-inspiring than this painting.
I was so entranced I didn’t even notice Grandpa had come over.
“It’s called Dream.”
“Dream?”
“Yeah. Do you like it?”
I nodded.
Who in the world could paint something like this?
“It might be a bit hard for you to understand now. But one day, let’s study it together, slowly.”
Grandpa’s voice faded from my attention.
This painting was revolutionary.
I didn’t know when it was painted, but I dared to guess it was a work that leaped over the timeline of art history in one bound.
“Who?”
“Hm? The painter?”
I nodded.
“Picasso.”
“Picasso?”
A name I had never heard before.
“Yes. Pablo Picasso. A genius among geniuses.”
Pablo Picasso.
That’s a name I must remember.
While I was gazing at Picasso’s Dream, Grandpa returned with a pizza I had never seen before.
I expected a Margherita topped with tomato sauce, cheese, and basil.
But what I saw was melted cheese cooked to a golden brown, overflowing, and topped with steak pieces.
There were vegetables like mushrooms, bell peppers, and onions that looked perfectly fresh even though they’d clearly been cooked.
Could this luxurious dish really be the pizza I knew?
“Come on, let’s eat.”
Grandpa handed me a slice.
It was so thick and large I didn’t know how to eat it. As I hesitated, Grandpa chuckled.
“Ha ha ha. Want Grandpa to take a bite first? Okay. Mmm. I ate it. Now you try!”
I didn’t know what was so amusing, but I was glad he was happy.
I took a bite.
The rich aroma filled my mouth and even my nose. The savory taste that spread on my tongue sent shivers through my whole body.
This cheese—how was it made to be so chewy and aromatic?
The beef—how did it grow to be this juicy and tender?
And the vegetables, cooked yet still crisp—how were they cultivated?
Without doubt—
In 137 years, humanity had elevated pizza to the level of fine art.
“Mi, miracle.”
The word slipped from my lips in awe.
Lost in the flavor, I kept eating without realizing, but Grandpa was staring at me strangely.
“Hun, you…”
Our eyes met as I chewed.
“Where did you learn to speak French?”
I didn’t understand what he meant.
Grandpa furrowed his brows in confusion. Why was he concerned while holding this miracle of a pizza?
Then finally, he opened his mouth.
“Que tu parles français?”
French.
Someone here spoke French!
Overjoyed, I answered his question.
“Yes, I can speak it.”
Grandpa’s face twisted in shock.
“You could talk this well, and you kept your mouth shut all this time?!”
Startled, I dropped the pizza.
“What?”
He pressed again.
“Everyone couldn’t understand me.”
“Couldn’t understand? Who?”
“The nurse. No matter what I said, she just looked at me sadly.”
It’s fortunate that I can finally communicate, but Grandpa’s French contained some unfamiliar words.
They must’ve been altered or newly created over time.
Perhaps I couldn’t talk to others because the language had evolved too much in 137 years.
“Ha…”
Grandpa let out a sigh of disbelief.
“What about Korean?”
“I don’t know it.”
He looked around in shock, then grumbled,
“What the heck were they teaching this kid?!”
He suddenly scolded in Korean, then paused.
“…Well, I guess living in France for three years explains the French. But shouldn’t they have taught him Korean at home?!”
He snapped again.
I placed the dropped pizza back on the plate.
Now that we could communicate, I had to tell him the truth.
It would be cruel, but I couldn’t go on pretending to be his grandson.
Just as I opened my mouth—
Tears welled up in Grandpa’s eyes.
The white-haired old man began to weep bitterly, letting thick tears fall down his face.
“Grandpa thought… you lost your speech from the shock. You brat.”
“……”
“But it was okay. I didn’t care. As long as you were alive. Everyone said you died. You couldn’t even breathe on your own.”
This child… died?
“But look at you! You’re alive! Speaking! Eating! And your drawings—they’re incredible!”
Sobbing, Grandpa came over and hugged me tightly.
“……”
I didn’t know what to do.
How could I say that I’m not really his grandson?
That his real grandson may have died?
I had to say it—but my hand was already patting his back.
“Grandpa…”
“Ha ha ha! That’s right! Language can be learned!”
He held my shoulders and looked at my face, then hugged me again.
He must’ve been so happy.
“But this is enough. Let’s live together, just you and me. I’ll let you do whatever you want, eat whatever you want.”
My eyes unconsciously wandered to the pizza.
“You like pizza? I’ll buy it for you every day.”
No. I mustn’t.
“You like drawing? That one’s a replica, but if you want to see the original, I’ll take you to the Musée d’Orsay or the Louvre!”
“Louvre? You mean the Louvre Palace?”
“Yes, that’s right! Don’t you want to see the Mona Lisa?”
The Mona Lisa?
Surely, he meant the masterpiece by Leonardo da Vinci?
“You mean La Gioconda, right?”
“Of course! Yes, La Gioconda.”
I want to see it.
“……”
No. I mustn’t.
I am Vincent van Gogh.
Though I lived in poverty and relied on my brother all my life, I at least never lived with deceit.
I cannot deceive this kind man and steal a dead child’s body for my own selfish gain.
Besides—
More than anyone, I know how cruel it is to live in place of someone who died.¹
* * *
¹Vincent van Gogh, the painter, was given the exact same name as his older brother who died at birth.
He grew up seeing the grave of his namesake, and it is said that as a child, he suffered from the burden of having to live in his dead brother’s place.
