“Moscow Conservatory, Royal Academy of Music in London, Juilliard, Berlin, Verdi… I thought it would be nice if there were such prestigious music schools in Korea too.”
Why did she think that?
“Because I saw a genius. While running a gallery, I wasn’t that interested in nurturing artists. That was until I met that child. Have you ever met a musician who combines Beethoven’s sensitivity with Mozart’s talent?”
The camera focused on the host. His face was visibly flustered. It was an unexpected question. But he couldn’t complain, as his counterpart was the owner of the most prestigious gallery in Korea.
“I have.”
The powerful voice drew the attention of the audience.
“It was one day. An old professor from the Moscow Conservatory, whom I had known for a long time, came to see me. That day, I played Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy, performed by someone, for him. Though the sound quality wasn’t great and the interpretation was arbitrary, the old professor couldn’t take his ears off it. It was as if he was spellbound.”
Im Hyera took a moment to take a sip from her teacup. To the attentive host and audience, that brief moment must have felt like an eternity.
With a clink, she set down the teacup and continued.
“Usually a calm person, he was as impetuous as an enraged bull at that moment. He urgently asked me who had played that Wanderer Fantasy and how old they were.”
How old was he?
“When I said sixteen, his eyes shook uncontrollably. He was always as calm and composed as a pine tree. He asked me again who the pianist was, saying he wanted to pour all his efforts into nurturing such a pupil. But I shook my head.”
Did he already have a teacher?
“He didn’t have a teacher. I can say for sure, it must have felt like how people felt when they saw Mozart, Beethoven, or Schubert as children. How much talent must be writhing inside that small body? Moreover, he wasn’t even a pianist. The old professor desperately wanted to meet the boy, but their timings never matched.”
What does she mean?
Im Hyera silently lifted her teacup. The host and the audience gazed at her with curiosity.
The camera alternated between the host and Im Hyera, and finally, unable to hold back, the host cautiously asked her where he was now.
“By now, probably.”
At that moment, Im Hyera smiled and pointed upward with her finger.
“Shto buđete pit’?” (What would you like to drink?)
Nothing seems to have changed, does it? Even though it had been a while since I last flew with Russian Airlines, I still couldn’t find a flight attendant who could speak Korean.
Though my father’s English had improved significantly, his pronunciation still needed work. Naturally, I took on the role of interpreter.
“Dajte sok, pozhaluysta.” (Juice, please.)
I didn’t like the greasy in-flight meal, but the orange juice was excellent. It felt like it was freshly squeezed rather than a commercial product.
As I sipped the juice, I looked at my father who was engrossed in his English studies.
It was clear that my trait of immersing myself in one thing, whether it be golf or anything else, came from him. It seemed as if he could be sucked into the book at any moment.
‘Looks tasty.’
The elderly man sitting next to me was savoring a Sauvignon Blanc with a fresh fruity aroma.
Given the long flight, a glass of wine might have been nice, but what could I do with this small body of mine?
Moreover, even though it was business class, it was hardly any better than economy class. The seats were more comfortable, but that was about it.
Huh?
Something caught my eye.
“Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy?”
The old man was holding Schubert’s sheet music in one hand.
Hearing my sudden exclamation, the old man slowly turned his head.
Despite having the deep eye sockets and hooked nose characteristic of Russians, his eyebrows curved downwards, giving him a somewhat gentle appearance.
“Young sir, you seem to be familiar with this piece?”
Of course, I was currently practicing it.
Im Hyera, the chairwoman, had been pestering me to release it as an official album as soon as she heard the Wanderer Fantasy. But I wasn’t ready for that yet.
Looking at the classical sheet music, I often felt how much they had written it with deep contemplation and inspiration.
Seeing the scores of great composers who had etched their names in history felt like diving into a deep ocean. The more I delved in, the more I was amazed by its unfathomable depth.
“I apologize if it was rude. My eyes were drawn to it. It’s one of my favorite pieces.”
“No, it’s fine. But young sir, you speak Russian very well?”
It was surprising to hear fluent Russian from an Asian boy. Especially since I had been studying Russian even more diligently. To the unknowing, it might seem like I was born and raised in Moscow.
“Which part did you like the most?”
“How can I choose just one part? I can’t even imagine what Schubert must have gone through while writing this score. The way the rhythm of the first movement changes by the fourth movement made me think he was a genius.”
“But if you had to choose just one part?”
Pianist Alfred Brendel once said that wandering is a condition of romance.
Could there be a composer more suited to romanticism than Schubert?
The Wanderer Fantasy was a groundbreaking piece that incorporated elements of a grand symphony into each movement.
The very idea of the repeated tonic chord rhythm at the beginning permeating the entire piece was a shift in conception.
In short, this unfathomable score opened new horizons for musicians who were confined by traditional forms and limitations.
“It has to be the melody of the Wanderer song played with the left hand in the second movement, it’s pure chills.”
Looking at his score, for a moment, it felt like I was sitting in a seat at the Schubertiade, the performance salon Schubert loved to open.
The old man’s eyes twinkled with interest. His lips moved as if he had found a rare conversation partner.
I engaged in endless discussions with the old man. It was possible because there were no other passengers in business class.
“I am truly impressed by your talent, young sir. I never expected to have such an in-depth conversation on a flight to Moscow. Are you studying piano?”
“No, I’m not majoring in piano.”
The old man’s eyes widened slightly, but he soon nodded calmly. Just because one could interpret sheet music deeply didn’t mean they were a pianist.
My father was still engrossed in his English studies, and the conversation with the old man continued. It had been a while since I had such a well-matched conversation partner.
Time flows like water, they say. Soon, the view of Moscow began to appear outside the window.
“Alexei, over here.”
Alexei, with his sharp features, walked towards the old man. It seemed his expression remained unchanged as always. However, the old man’s face was filled with the warmth of reuniting with an old friend.
“You didn’t have to come out to greet me personally.”
“Stop calling me that embarrassing title.”
“But you are now officially the head of the Moscow State Conservatory, aren’t you? I never expected you’d take that position while I was away.”
“You should have come back to Moscow immediately after your sabbatical ended, instead of touring the world. You even visited Korea. Anton, if you had refused the position of department head, I would have cursed you out right here.”
Alexei had arrived an hour late to the airport due to a mix-up with the flight time. Yet, a smile never left Anton’s face.
“Alexei, you once told me that there are geniuses in the world who cannot be described in words. I just heard an incredible performance in Korea. And on the flight back home to dear Moscow, I met a brilliant composer. If Schubert were alive, he would have embraced that boy with all his might, having met someone who loves his scores so much.”
“What are you talking about?”
Alexei had never seen his old friend Anton so excited. Anton had always been calm and composed, like a philosopher from the Soviet era.
But now, he couldn’t stop smiling as if he had tasted a sweet fruit.
Anton then began to recount the events in Korea and on the flight with great enthusiasm.
What?
It felt as if Schubert had come back to life? Was it an exaggeration? But when it came to piano performances, he couldn’t argue. Anton was undoubtedly the best in that field.
However, the part that surprised Alexei wasn’t that.
As he listened to the series of events that took place on the flight, his sharply arched eyebrows twitched.
Especially when he heard about the unknown boy interpreting the Wanderer Fantasy, he couldn’t hide his astonishment. Alexei urgently looked at Anton.
“What is the boy’s name?”
No way, right?
For a moment, a certain boy flashed through Alexei’s mind.
“Hyun, who was that old man just now?”
Since my father couldn’t speak Russian, he was curious about the conversation I had with the old man.
Come to think of it, I didn’t even ask for the old man’s name. We were both so engrossed in discussing Schubert’s score that we forgot to introduce ourselves.
At that moment.
“Mr. Kang?”
It was a doctor from the Russian chemical research institute who had come to greet my father and me. His name was Vladimir Tikhonov, if I remember correctly. Quite a long name. Though one shouldn’t judge people by their appearance.
“Oh, nice to meet you. I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time. And who is this young man?”
He looked like he had just come out of the lab.
Even his sandals were full of holes. It felt more like he was visiting a friend than on business. As my father said, he was indeed quite a character.
However, the rapid-fire Russian seemed to fluster my father, so it looked like I would have to continue interpreting.
“This is Mr. Kang’s son.”
We got into an old car and headed towards Red Square. The doctor, unlike typical Russians, was quite the chatterbox, continuously explaining the scenery outside the window. Thankfully, he used English this time for my father’s sake.
Through the window, a panorama of Russian history unfolded.
The Lenin statue, showing the glory of the old days, caught my eye, as did the Kremlin and the Red Square preparing for an upcoming festival.
“That is the Tchaikovsky Conservatory.”
Moscow State Conservatory. As expected, it boasted an antique architectural beauty.
The Tchaikovsky statue added to the ambiance, and the eyes of the students carrying instrument cases were filled with passion.
Surely, their hands must be calloused from practice.
“Does your son play music? I highly recommend the Tchaikovsky Conservatory. They accept anyone with talent. Not just because it’s my hometown, but the teachers here are truly outstanding musicians. Even the students are very talented. And there are many beautiful women, too. Like that student over there.”
The talkative doctor nodded towards the window while driving. Naturally, my father and I turned our heads.
There was a girl carrying a violin case, with platinum blonde hair down to her waist and striking green eyes. She looked like a white rose turned into a person.
Huh?
“Anna?”
Her name slipped out before I could stop myself. Though her appearance and atmosphere had changed, it was definitely Anna.
I was about to roll down the window to call out to her.
“Alright, let’s go!”
The talkative doctor stepped on the gas pedal of the old car like a scene from a movie.
I turned my head back sharply to watch Anna’s receding figure. She still had that fresh smile and her platinum blonde hair swayed as she walked.
