Daniel returned to Frankfurt.
Neither Heidelberg nor Frankfurt gave him the feeling of being completely at home. No matter where he was, Daniel felt like a stranger. Although he possessed enough wealth to purchase the most beautiful house in the world, he had never felt that any place, no matter how magnificent, was his true "home."
The only place where Daniel could truly feel at home was among the narrow alleys of Insadong in Seoul, specifically in the exhibition halls where the works of nameless artists were displayed. Only when standing beneath the lights of artworks into which unknown artists had poured their entire existence, ego, and hope, could he finally feel, "I am home." Perhaps this was because these spaces were where his mother had once confirmed her own existence and found her only happiness.
The apartment where Daniel lived alone was a state-of-the-art residence near the Alte Oper. He had chosen it because a high-tech building that handled all maintenance and repairs was the most practical base for his work life. When he grew tired of apartment living, he would often retreat to a house with a river view in Sachsenhausen, on the outskirts of Frankfurt.
However, after a tiring journey, it was to the city apartment he returned. He felt he had truly arrived only after exchanging a few words with Marcus, the building manager. Marcus, who had spent his life managing the complex, was a friend who provided a family-like sense of trust, even though their interactions were limited to brief greetings as Daniel came and went.
Daniel was twenty-five when he first took over the management of his company. Marcus had been working as the manager since Daniel first rented this apartment. For over twenty years, Marcus had remained steadfastly in that spot, welcoming Daniel like a member of the family or an old friend.
As Daniel entered the large lobby, Marcus greeted him warmly. "Guten Tag, Daniel. Which country are you returning from this time?" "Ah, Marcus. I was in Korea, then stopped by Heidelberg to see my father on the way back. How have you been? Is your family healthy?" "Of course. Daniel, it’s been nothing but spring rain here. How was the weather in Heidelberg?" Daniel smiled and replied, "The same. It rained there the whole time." "Scheiße. This damn weather... When I retire, I’m going to live in Spain where the sun pours down. Anywhere in Spain is fine. I’ve already scouted some land. I’ll build a small house and spend my final years seeing some actual sun with my wife."
Life is truly strange. People born as family can feel like strangers, while a security guard who watches over an apartment can feel like kin. The place of one’s birth feels like a foreign land, while a distant, unknown territory becomes the home one yearns for. How could this be explained? Could it be understood through Buddhist concepts of past and future lives?
After entering his apartment and taking a long shower, Daniel sat naked on the living room sofa, drinking a mixture of cherry juice and soda from the refrigerator. Living alone, he preferred to wear no clothes at all when he was at home. Growing up in Germany, where the sun rarely shines, Daniel had suffered from severe atopic dermatitis as a child. Perhaps it was because of the memory of his mother stripping him naked and laying him on a carpet on their small apartment terrace whenever a sliver of sun appeared. Even now, with his skin fully healed, he felt most comfortable being completely unclothed at home.
Suddenly, Clara's face flickered in his mind. A scientist with almond-shaped eyes like an Asian person, yet possessing clear, sprout-green irises. He pictured her face—mysterious and beautiful, with light brown hair that had the strong, straight texture of an Asian person, making her ethnicity difficult to place. She was an American with a Korean grandmother, a Japanese grandfather, and an Irish father. A strange woman who claimed she could see the future and control the temperature of objects.
Thinking of how the cold glass of water had turned warm, he toyed with the glass of cherry juice in his hand. Scattered throughout the living room were sculptures left by his mother, displayed under soft lighting. Looking at the faces of these girls, he recalled the face of Yuriko, the curator he met in Insadong.'To think I met my mother’s granddaughter in Insadong...' It felt as if Yuriko's face was hidden within every one of his mother's sculptures. Looking at these statues of girls that contained his mother’s tragic past, Daniel pondered why the tragedy of war must exist in human history. Realizing that the background allowing someone like himself or Clara—a blend of all races and nationalities—to be born was rooted in the historical tragedy of the Korean War, he began to think about the immense vitality that can emerge from 'Chaos.'
He wondered how many babies in this world are born under perfect and complete conditions. He suddenly became curious about what percentage of humanity actually lives a happy life, born into a "normal" family with both parents and raised under conventional circumstances. Thinking about who those people are—those with normal parents, home environments, siblings, jobs, and relationships—he went back to the refrigerator and poured another sip of cold cherry juice.
His thoughts then drifted to the torn abstract painting. He recalled the horizontally slashed canvas of that portrait, which looked like the Big Bang at the start of the universe or the atomic world seen through a microscope. He thought about the curator’s intention in hanging a damaged painting, and about his own desire to possess that abstract work exactly as it was, in its mutilated state.
The world of art is a place where the latent energies that awaken 'desire' breathe. There is the artist who creates, trapped in a hypnotic state by an unknown secret code embedded in their mind; the curator who is hypnotized by that same code to select and exhibit the work; and the collector who, under the spell, wants to own the painting at any cost. Just as a person in love feels with a racing heart that 'life has no meaning without this person,' a work of art possesses such strange secret codes and hypnotic powers.
Daniel’s thoughts returned to Clara’s face. At that moment, he felt a fragrant scent of peaches seeping out from his throat. His heart began to pound at the sudden thought that he might be under Clara’s spell. Then, returning to the world of 'logic,' he thought, "It must be the scent of the cherry juice."
Just then, the phone rang. It was a call from New York. Daniel placed his glass on the table and answered. "Hello, this is Clara. Did you arrive safely in Germany? I’ve returned to New York. I’ve sent the contract terms, so please read them and give me your answer." Daniel, startled like a child caught stealing, replied, "Ah, yes... I just got home to Frankfurt." "Oh... then you should rest. I’ll keep this brief."
As Clara’s bright voice came through the phone, he felt as if the lights in the room had suddenly grown brighter. The peach fragrance he had felt before the phone rang reached his nose and throat even more intensely. Hearing Clara’s voice, which overflowed with bright, fresh vitality, Daniel found himself feeling a sudden surge of sexual desire. Not knowing what to say to the unexpected call, he brought up the weather. "It’s raining here, as almost always." "The weather continues to be great in New York. Why don't you come here once the contract is finalized to look for a New York office in earnest?" Daniel answered like a student responding to a teacher. "Yes, I will look at the contract and get back to you shortly."
After a brief pause, Clara spoke. "Make it a habit to drink warm beverages. Humanity is about to be hit by an unknown virus. We need to merge and bring new immune materials to the market as soon as possible." At Clara’s sudden return to science-fiction-like talk, Daniel’s tension eased slightly. It felt both irritating and strange that a woman who had completed a PhD at MIT spoke like a fortune teller. "Ah... yes. I’ll check the email and contact you again." Daniel replied curtly.
Only Clara’s low breathing could be heard over the line. Daniel felt himself becoming aroused by the sound of that breath. He felt embarrassed that he could feel such excitement from a voice on the phone alone. Clara said goodbye and hung up. "I’ll look forward to your quick reply."
Daniel slowly turned off the phone and put on the bathrobe that was lying on the sofa. As he reached for the glass to finish the remaining cherry juice, he unconsciously dropped it in shock. His heart began to thud, terrified by the fact that the glass of cherry juice was now warm to the touch. Daniel stood up and paced the apartment, looking around to see if Clara was somehow in the room.
Then, he returned to 'logical' thinking. "The temperature in my apartment is 27 degrees right now. The juice got warm because of the heater." Daniel carefully cleared the shards of the broken glass from the floor and wiped up the spilled cherry juice with a paper towel. The juice he had taken from the refrigerator felt warm against his hand as it soaked into the towel.'This makes no sense. Am I losing my mind? Is my sense of temperature broken?' Daniel carefully threw the paper towel into the trash and turned on the cold water to wash his hands, then turned the temperature up. He washed his hands while raising and lowering the water temperature, testing the thermal sensors in his own skin.
Daniel thought about the 2017 Nobel Prize in Medicine won by Jeffrey C. Hall, Michael Rosbash, and Michael W. Young for their discoveries of molecular mechanisms controlling the circadian rhythm. It is a theory revealing how all living organisms adapt to the Earth's 24-hour rotation through specific genes that regulate protein production and suppression to run an 'internal clock.'
Daniel tried to calm his agitated emotions with scientific logic: "It must be a biological anomaly caused by the jet lag between Seoul and Europe..." The 2017 Nobel laureates said there is a sophisticated 24-hour clock inside the human body. However, Daniel felt that his own internal clock had stopped like a broken machine, stuck somewhere between Insadong in Seoul and Frankfurt in Germany.