Circus - Namjin

2nd performance

Day 1 (Part 2/3)

He sat at the table with his parents, and the Park-sisters, their twin-housemaids, were serving the dishes for dinner. Eating with his parents was rather seldom, because either his mother or more often his father could not attend. His mother was absent when she was on one of her promotion trips to make contracts with designers and stores for her jewelry branch, and his father would not come home until ten on a regular basis for the mere reason of handling business at his company. But they tried to have a shared meal at least once in a month. And today was said date.

"How is university going?" his father asked interested. If he liked his parents for one thing, it was their sincere interest in what he was doing and how he was improving. Maybe it was the only thing, because they were not interested in anything else. But who could blame it on them when you had to lead a company.

"For the last exam in law I scored a 1.0, the economy exams are coming up in three weeks and I'm currently learning for the first two of them," he answered. He was at the end of his third master semester of economy and law, and in half a year he would graduate and start working at his father's company. He liked law for its challenging way of expressing things and economy for its math, and learning never had been a problem for him, so he would most likely graduate with a straight 1.0, no bragging here. His parents were more than satisfied with his way of managing university, so they had even allowed him to stretch his course with one semester in New Zealand to improve his English.

"That's good news." His father smiled satisfied and resumed eating.

"I'll be gone for the next two weeks for the European fashion weeks," his mother informed them. "Fendi and Kenzo wanted me for their shows, and maybe I can make some contacts into the sporty fashion realm. I'd like to expand my collection. I've done haute couture for years now, so it's time for something new. Maybe I can get Alexander Wang on my customer list. I really love his style."

"That sounds great, darling," his father agreed and gave her a brief smile.

It had not been love that had made his parents marry, but business. That much Namjoon knew. It was not uncommon. But both seemed to handle it professionally. They were business partners and nothing more. Sometimes, Namjoon wondered how they had accomplished to make a child, to make him and his younger sister, who currently was in the US for an exchange year.

But otherwise his life was flawless. He had the money to buy everything he wanted, a family that did work perfectly well, admirers, friends (or acquaintances), and he was smart. His life had a determined line he walked more than confident, and he liked where it was going. Of course, he had dreamed of becoming famous with music when he had been young and foolish, but with growing up he had understood that this would only stay a hobby of his, but it was nothing to earn his money with and definitely not worth to reject his future place at the top for.

But when he looked at his parents again, his shiny thoughts got a little dim. He never saw his parents touch, not even for saying goodbye or on official events. It kind of saddened him, and he was envious of average people. Parents who were in love must be something nice.

Suddenly, he remembered the metal tag that was in his dress pants' pocket and he felt the urge to touch it and let it slide through his fingers like he had been doing all day. Was it that what ragbag-coat had meant with blindfold? That they never had experienced love? No, this did not sound like the right explanation. It did not make sense. A blindfold keeps you from seeing things, not from loving.

He shook his head slightly and resumed eating. The magician's words had occupied his mind the whole day and it was driving him mad that he did not understand them.

A little too early, he excused himself to go to his room, pretending to do something for university. After he pulled the door close, he immediately got the tag out of his pocket and looked at it again. The engraved numbers stared at him. 0612. Did it mean something? Apparently not, because there had been two other tags. God, he was going crazy.

The blue-haired would answer all his questions, he had said. But what did 'all' mean in this context. All the questions he had had in mind during the five minutes they had spoken? No, this seemed too easy. It kind of felt bigger. Like 'all' was more all-encompassing, like the magician had spoken about something deeper, something more important.

He rummaged in his brain for questions he never had gotten an answer for his whole life. But he found nothing. As much as he tried, there was nothing that came to mind. With a sigh he sat down at his cozy armchair in the reading area of his big room and let his gaze wander over the backs of the books that stood neatly on their shelfs. The smallest one stood out to his eye. It was pressed between two bigger ones, a Shakespeare and the latest work of Haruki Murakami. The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. His father would have never allowed him to read something like that, if he had known what it was about, but gladly his old man did not. Gently, he freed the small booklet from his suffocating cage and flicked through the pages. Back when he had read it, it had left him with a sick feeling in his stomach. It barely had fifty pages, but had made his thoughts spin like no other book before. For one week, he had not been able to think about anything else than this little story and its cruel content.

After tormenting his brain with an interpretation, he had started to take it metaphorically. He kind of had compared himself and his life to the joy-filled city Omelas. On first sight, he was the happiest and most satisfied person one could find; smart, admired, rich and carefree, always surrounded by joy and amusement. But every time the lights dimmed and the house emptied again after a party, he felt the little spark that had carried him through the happy evening leave with the last guests.

Suddenly, the emptiness he had felt back then hollowed his chest again. It was nothing hurtful or unbearable like an aching heart after a breakup (not that he knew how that felt). It was more of a subtle emptiness that always clung to him, like the feeling of slight hunger or appetite but without a way to take care of it, only bothering him when he concentrated on it. He had thought about that feeling for a long time, after he had read Omelas. He knew there must be a part of him that was sacrificed like the Omelas-child to make such a perfect life like he had possible. But when he could not find the part 'that rotted in the small room under the city', he had just locked up all the thoughts in the very back of his head and had told himself that it was not important enough to get a headache from.

But here he was, and the feeling was more present than ever. Had it been this what the blue-haired had meant when he had talked about his questions? Could he tell him why he felt this small hole, this hunger for something he did not know of? Why he felt like missing something when he could have everything? Did the ragbag-coat know what was the abandoned part, what was the Omelas-child?

Lost in thought, he stared at the checkroom number and his thumb brushed over the engraving.

Well, there was only one way to find out. Time to visit the circus.

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Reading The Ones Who Walked Away From Omelas is not necessary, but definitely helps with understanding.