That day, the weather was the same as always, and Franz woke up at the same time as always.
He opened his eyes as usual, in that isolated paradise where he could forget the problems of the world and think only of music. A free place... and, at times, unbearably boring. He slowly sat up on the bed.
It doesn't matter if you sleep or not. But habits... Habits are scary. At night I usually close my eyes, even if I'm not sleepy. If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to endure this gray world.
She sat down in front of the mirrored dressing table and began combing her long, sleep-entangled silver hair with a fine-toothed comb.
The aroma of coffee, already served at the table, filled the entire log cabin with its warm, roasted fragrance.
Only then did he become aware of his surroundings.
The house was a log cabin, compact and serene. By today's standards, it would be just over twenty square meters. The singular thing was that there were no dividing walls: only a large open space, full of calm.
The bed, decorated with a white duvet, was placed just under a window that extended from the headboard to torso height. The black frame gave it a sober and elegant air.
The dressing table next to him, made of brown wood with a delicate floral design surrounding a round mirror, looked more like a symbolic object than a functional one. There was no makeup or jars on its surface. Just the mirror. Only his reflection.
On the floor, a soft carpet. Two couches facing each other rested on either side of a small tea table. In one corner, a minimal kitchen. She didn't seem destined to cook; only a few cups of coffee and glasses of wine were visible. The dishes and utensils were probably hidden in some cupboard. Or maybe Franz didn't even eat there.
Franz remained seated in front of the mirror. He stared at himself. He finished combing his hair, put the comb in its place, and looked at his reflection again.
He pushed the small ball up with the back of his hand and made an amused grimace. A playful spark crossed his face for an instant... but only for an instant. Then he let out a long, dense sigh.
"Then..."
Franz looked away at the mirror, but not to look at himself. He looked beyond, towards the wall of logs that was reflected behind. It was covered with knife marks, grouped into five perfectly demarcated sections. A system. One account.
"134 years."
One hundred and thirty-four? What did that mean?
As he stood up, his figure unfolded strongly. Tall, stylized. The white one-piece dress she wore as pajamas fell down to her ankles, further accentuating her height. He muttered something unintelligible in the air and walked to the window to inhale the scent of the forest.
The window was always open, with no door to protect it. At first glance, anyone would say that it would be cold at night inside... But in reality, the heat was constant. A heat out of place. As if that corner existed under other rules.
"Still beautiful."
Franz whispered, as he swept his eyes across the landscape outside, as if he were seeing it for the first time.
"He's still free."
On a day like today, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to meet an old friend and have a drink. Although, of course... He no longer had many friends left to do it with.
She took the black clothes that rested on the sofa and took off her pajamas. There were no closets at home, hardly any furniture. I didn't need them.
He opened the door and walked out.
The same landscape, the same birdsong, the same liquid light seeping through the leaves. He greeted everything as he did every morning.
Franz took a deep breath of the fresh forest air, surrounded his hut with the calm of an endless routine, and climbed a small hill, unhurriedly.
When they reached the top, there they were. The three grand pianos, intact, lined up between six zelkova trees that grew as if they had been planted to frame them.
Franz caressed the body of the black piano with delicate hands and eyes full of regret that was impossible to name. He took a deep breath. Then he gently placed his fingers on the keys.
Doo-woong...
A deep, heavy sound. One that he had listened to all his life.
A smile was drawn on his lips. That sound had sustained him all this time, in a place so empty and so quiet that even the echo seemed forgotten.
'It's a sound that brings me calm... every time I hear it.'
Franz pressed a few keys with his left hand, as if feeling the shadows of a melody. Then he raised both hands on the keyboard. It was no longer the lazy gesture it used to be. His whole body exuded energy.
He rose more than a meter above the bench. For a second, it even seemed to float. And when his right hand descended, I was afraid that the piano strings would not withstand the impact.
What was born from his performance was Wagner's Imperial March.
The sound spread through the forest like a declaration of war. The Emperor marches to the front, appearing among enemy troops who are agitating like nervous ants. The military band erupts announcing their arrival, and the allied forces, knowing that their leader is with them, raise their arms with shouts of fervor. A huge wave of courage crashing into the enemy!
Franz rarely performed that piece in the morning. And it made sense. Living in such a serene place, so far from everything, one almost forgot that the world had ever known war or pain.
In a place where the only thing you could hear was the singing of birds, Franz used to play soft, quiet pieces... music that floated like dew through the trees.
But today it was different. Just for today, I wanted to break that routine.
As he performed with trembling hands, his entire body vibrated, as if each note was a silent exorcism. Their only escape from the pain of existing in such a long and boring world.
Then, in the middle of the execution, he narrowed his eyes. He had felt something.
'Could it be that old friend came to visit?' 'Although it does not usually appear in the mornings... He was always kind. Or did something happen?'
Without stopping playing, Franz raised his head... but it soon stopped. He was not his friend. What he saw was a child. A child who simply shouldn't be there.
He looked to be about six years old.
Noticing that the music died down, the boy looked up, as if the silence had pushed him to look. He stood still. Clearly surprised.
'It makes sense... who wouldn't be frightened to find a stranger playing the piano in the middle of the forest?'
Franz stood very still. 'Should I come closer? No... If I move too fast, it can get scared.' 'But... it's so beautiful to see a child here!' 'When was the last time I spoke to one?' '140 years ago? Maybe more. I don't remember it well anymore.'
As slowly as possible, Franz got up from the bench. He walked softly, as if trying not to disturb a dream. The boy took a step back, doubtful... but he did not flee.
Franz smiled. He knew that, with children, an open smile could disarm even fear.
He bent down a little, getting to his level, and in a warm voice asked:
"Who are you?"
The boy, his eyes trembling, began to stutter an answer...
"Nam... Soo-hyun..."
Nam Soo-hyun? 'What country will it be from? It certainly doesn't look Hungarian.'
Black hair and eyes. There are people like that in Europe, yes... But I've never heard a name like that.
'No, wait. That's not the problem.' 'How the hell did such a young child get in here?'
"How did you get in here?"
The boy, with his hands clasped near his stomach and his fingers shyly squeezing the fabric of his shirt, replied in a trembling voice:
"That, that... I was traveling with my mom and dad... and the train fell... and I fell."
'Ah... why is this child so adorable?'
Franz watched it more closely. He looked about six or seven years old. Small white face, shiny black hair. Red lips, cheeks lit by fright or by the air of the forest. It was difficult to say for sure, but looking at the shape of his nose, I could sense that when he grew up he would have a beautiful profile.
More than anything... that voice. That young and clear voice. Franz couldn't remember the last time he'd heard something like that.
He straightened up with his arms folded.
'Judging by the way he speaks, it looks like he came in here by accident... having no idea what this place was.' 'Was it pure coincidence that I got here? Or perhaps...?'
"So he's dead? Or not?"
Even if he had died, it was unthinkable that such a young child would make it all the way to this place. At that age... No one becomes a legend.
'Is he still alive? We'll have to find out.'
Franz bent down slowly, watching every gesture, and held out his hand.
"Let's go."
The hesitant boy asked:
"Oh... where?"
"There. My house is nearby."
The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he were evaluating something inside. Finally, he walked over and took my hand with an embarrassed expression on his face.
I can feel the rubbing of her skin. It's warm. This child... He's alive! He's alive!
A brighter, almost euphoric smile appeared on my face.
A living irony...
Then the boy asked cautiously:
"Who are you, sir?"
'Are you really asking me my name?'
But at that moment, I was happier than I had been in a long, long time. The warmth of his hand—that little real touch—filled me with unexpected joy. And, above all... How adorable he is!
I replied with a smile I could barely contain, a smile that just popped up, like a natural reflex:
"Franz. My name is Franz Liszt."
The boy cocked his head, perhaps thinking it was a strange name.
Even that gesture... It's adorable.
He was so tired of living eternally in this empty forest, accompanied only by a few friends that, over time, they became predictable... off. And all of a sudden, you give me this beautiful little boy.
'Oh, thank you, God/'
* * *
It's strange...
This man, who introduced himself as Franz, speaks in a strange way. Different from how mom and dad taught me. But the strangest thing... I understand everything he says.
It sounds weird, a little fast, with an unpredictable intonation. But as soon as his words reach my ears, his meaning settles into my head, as if he had been there forever.
Also, when I answer him, I do it in Korean. Clearly. And yet, he also understands everything.
'Is this how this works?' 'I remember that once I was walking through the market, holding my mother's hand, and a foreigner asked us for directions. I didn't understand anything he said.' 'Mom was sweating and pointing the way with gestures. At that moment I thought that she understood foreigners as if it were magic.' 'Maybe it wasn't as hard as I thought.'
Soo-hyun, with his legs stretched out on the couch—because they didn't reach the floor—was gently kicking the air as he thought of absurd things.
Franz, humming a tune as if he had just remembered his favorite song, moved excitedly around the kitchen, preparing something.
It's the first time I've cooked in this house. Isn't that great?
Soo-hyun pursed his lips slightly.
'My mom cooks all the time... is that great?' 'I think he even once said he didn't feel like doing any more housework.'
'This gentleman... He must not have been here long. He says it's his first time cooking.'
"yes, it's great."
"Haha! Have you tried pancakes?"
"No. What's that?"
"Oh! This is "What is God?"
Young Soo-hyun didn't quite understand what Franz had just said, so he just tilted his head in confusion.
After a while, his face turned red at the sight of the round, flat object that had been baked to a crispy gold.
Although he was hungry, Soo-hyun, still quite picky about food, was worried about what would happen if he was offered something too strange.
But then, the smell of bread—that bread he knew well—reached his nose. The warm aroma of freshly melted butter made her mouth water.
Franz nodded with satisfaction and, as he extended his fork in an almost theatrical way, said:
"Eat."
Soo-hyun swallowed hard and looked at Franz. Then he asked suspiciously:
"Why don't you eat it first? Do you think it tastes bad?"
"No. It looks delicious."
"Then why don't you eat it?"
'You have to eat it first. Mama says that when you eat before the adult, you are a commoner.'
"Eh... what?"
"Commoner."
"I don't know what it is... But it sounds like a rudeness. What country are you from?"
"What's that?"
What country were you born in?
"I don't know."
"Well, maybe you're too young. Anyway... I guess those are the labels of your country. I'm not from your country, so I don't need to be polite. Just eat."
"No, I don't want to."
Franz raised his eyebrows slightly.
I thought he was just a toddler, but it seems like he's been given a pretty strict education at home. And also... It's rare to see a child say no so firmly, even when an adult insists.
With a cheerful smile, he cut a small edge of the pancake with his fork, put it in his mouth, and bit into it with a satisfied gesture.
"Okay? Eat now."
Then Soo-hyun sat up energetically, put his hand on his navel, and bowed his head with a radiant expression.
"Thank you~ Okay~ I'll eat it!"
He didn't sing it... but his voice had a natural, cheerful melody, like a little spontaneous song. Franz was a little startled by the high-pitched and charming tone, but then he thought about it... and smiled.
'A royal boy? No, a royal child wouldn't thank me so enthusiastically. I don't know what kind of family he comes from, but someone has already taken it upon himself to educate him for me. Hahaha! What a lovely kid. It must be a gift from God. Hahaha!'