Zion's Garden - Chapter 7.2
“Feels good, doesn’t it, Jeong-won?!”
Zion shouted as he passed me, his voice carried by the wind. He had slowed down just enough for me to catch up, and as we raced side by side on the third lap, I pressed down on the accelerator. The sensation of the kart speeding up and pulling me back was electrifying, and a laugh escaped my lips.
“Ha-ha…”
My kart spun out on a daring turn. My knees and shoulders hit the frame, my body reacting to the impact, but I didn’t feel the pain. The thrill of the moment was too much to stop.
“Not bad, Doctor! Ha-ha-ha…”
Zion’s laughter echoed as he overtook me. The heat from the exertion spread through my body, and I finally understood why he had said today was perfect for driving. The rain felt cool against my skin, and the downpour made the track slick, doubling the thrill as our tires skidded. I pushed myself to catch up with Zion, the pleasant roar of the engine surrounding me. I felt as if I could escape everything holding me down, at least for this moment. I was racing alongside Zion, on equal footing. I thought, sincerely, that I wouldn’t mind if this moment were my last.
Lying side by side on the grassy patch in the middle of the track, Zion and I gasped for breath. My heart pounded painfully from the adrenaline, and the rain showed no signs of letting up.
Zion’s hand found mine and held it.
“I’ve never seen you laugh like that, Doctor.”
I didn’t respond. His hand, just as soaked as mine, entwined with my fingers. I closed my eyes, wishing this moment could freeze in time. The cool rain, Zion, everything was pouring down on me, and my lips remained curved upward.
The “friend” card I’d offered to Zion turned out to be more powerful than I had expected. He began to eat his bland hospital meals diligently, although it took nearly an hour for him to finish each small portion. I didn’t mind; it meant we had time to talk. In fact, I used our thrice-daily meals as cognitive therapy sessions. But Zion was sharp and deftly avoided answering the questions I most wanted him to address. I could never outwit him.
“I thought you were an only child.”
It was a lie. I knew Zion had an older brother and a younger sister. His brother, Kim Hee-rak, was a renowned jazz pianist, and his sister, known by the stage name Lee Gippeum, was a former supermodel turned musical actress. Both were well-known figures, famous not just for their own achievements but as siblings of the world star, Zion.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Zion smirked faintly.
“Not close, I take it?”
“We haven’t lived together since we were very young. Zion was always holed up in concert halls or practice rooms.”
“Do you ever meet up?”
“No, I can’t even remember the last time I saw them.”
I’d expected as much, but I asked anyway.
“…I miss them. Gippeum and Hee-rak.”
Zion’s murmur seemed sincere.
“Why don’t you see them, then? Is it really that difficult?”
“Nothing’s easy for Zion. Not even that.”
“Is it because they don’t want to see you?”
Was it the jealousy of siblings overshadowed by one who had soared too high? A story reminiscent of Salieri’s envy of Mozart, perhaps. I asked him honestly, and after a pause, Zion spoke.
“I love my family. But if Zion can’t bring them happiness, then staying away is the right choice. If being by my side makes them unhappy, watching that would shatter me.”
“Did they say that? That being near you makes them unhappy?”
“There are expressions stronger than words. Hee-rak uses his piano to express his feelings, and Gippeum, she says everything with her eyes in front of a camera.”
“Maybe they think of you just as much as you do them. Maybe they’re waiting for you to reach out first.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Zion knows they love him. But…”
“But what?”
“When I reach out to them, I don’t want to see them lose their light by standing next to me.”
What a deep bond of brotherhood. I struggled to keep my lips from twisting into a bitter smile.
“I wonder what your father thinks about all this. About his children living apart without seeing each other.”
Zion fell silent. Whenever his father came up, Zion either changed the subject with a faint smile or ignored the question entirely.
“Tell me about your father, Kim Zion.”
“If I say I don’t want to, will you stop asking?”
“I’m not interviewing you, Zion. This is therapy. In many cases of depression, childhood experiences can have lasting effects into adulthood.”
It was true. Zion looked straight at me, and I held his gaze. For this moment, I was sincere. I wasn’t probing for gossip to sell to the tabloids. I wanted to know why Zion had come to this state.
Zion put down his spoon and propped his chin on his hand. His lips, strikingly vivid, let out a thin voice.
“My father loves me very much. But sometimes, I dream about killing him.”
His voice was beautiful, but his eyes were cold. I had seen countless patients in the hospital with a hint of violence in their gaze. Zion’s eyes mirrored theirs now.
“…Were you abused?”
Zion licked his lips once before replying.
“I don’t know. I think my father just wanted to be a god. That’s why he created Zion, to carve and burn me into his vision. I know I am his everything. If Zion were to disappear, so would his world. That’s why I want to kill him—even if only in my mind. Killing him with my own hands would be too cruel.”
“When did you want to kill him the most?”