Warrior Gentlemen

Livelihood

The entranceway was a bare-floored square of five feet connecting to the main living area. The drawing room. Abanim entertained guests in the study but people here did it in their 'drawing rooms', quiet places to withdraw from the hubbub of the outside world, socialize with relations, and if it fits the occasion, break out the watercolors and draw.

Big houses could have several drawing rooms attached to the ballroom but this shophouse had just one. Weiss was a middle man whose lack of servants and sprawling estates did not subtract from his impeccable taste. Gold-trimmed rugs in alluring arabesques carpeted his principal room, which one had to unshoe to enter. The master of this house keeps his carpets clean– having guests bring in horse droppings and mud from outside would not do. Below the virgin carpets were dark mahogany floors warmed by a brick hearth crackling with the inviting flames of a wood fire. Over the gilded mantle hung a mechanical cuckoo clock and a summery lake in the impressionist style; an armchair and a round-backed sofa before the hearth provided ample space for comfortable seating.

Adjacent to the hearth, facing the armchair and sofa stood a black piano like the one Kyung had seen in the Shinobus' house. Covered by a white lace sheet embroidered with lapis blue elephants, the piano served as a stand for many framed pictures, brass trophies, and silver tiaras. Three black and white photographs were arranged in a triptych: a dark-haired couple in their wedding best, a crawling baby in his white dress, and a family portrait of the same dark-haired couple with their fair-haired son and brunette daughter.

These blissful images were well-lit, despite the draped windows. Glass arches, extending from ceiling to floor, were muffled with velvety wine-colored drapes. Lighting came from a chink in the drapes, the sizzling fireplace, and a cluster of six Turkish chandeliers hanging over the dining table. Each Turkish lamp was a brilliant mosaic crafted from shards of stained glass. Shaped like pumpkins, they dangled from the ceiling from varying heights to give the illusion of depth and movement. Their collective light, emanating from red, blue, and green frames, was a natural yellowish white. Six chairs upholstered in lime green silk had been tucked under the table, ready to be put to use.

Pulling out a chair, the artist seated himself and promptly unbuckled his brown messenger bag. The mountain landscape from yesterday he retrieved from a bamboo tube and rolled out onto the dining table for inspection.

Weiss went closer to examine the work – measuring two feet in length and painted on a sort of watercolor paper. Rice paper was hard to come by and most clients couldn't tell the difference anyway. The mountains and mist his old friend did this time blended nicely; pine trees reflected in the water and a floating peasant added much rustic charm. Retreating into an inner room, the dealer came back with a brown envelope his supplier slipped into his bag with a soft 'thank you' and a bow. Negotiations were unnecessary. Every transaction between them took place in this silent, dignified manner, free from the overt taint of money.

With business settled, Weiss expected an introduction. No tea was served, nor was the young stranger allowed to sit. The men sat at table talking to each other; a child understood his place and stood to one side.

"She your missus?"

"She's a boy."

The first exchange was spoken loud enough for the boy who was not a missus to hear; Kyung Hee looked down at his socks and tried not to take offence. For this house visit, he'd worn a set of grey waistcoat and trousers approved by his elder. It seemed even men's clothes couldn't save him from misrecognition.

"One ink artist is enough. I don't need another."

"He doesn't paint."

"You're keeping a fellow Jap for free? How generous."