On the day of the performance.
The show was scheduled to start at 6 PM, but Norman, who had arrived early to meet Abraham, was enjoying grilled dishes at JJ's Manhattan. As he peeled a freshly grilled shrimp, he commented.
"Ha, it's been a while since I've come here, but the taste hasn't changed. Try some, the shrimp here are delicious."
As Abraham accepted the crispy grilled shrimp from Norman and chuckled, Norman let out a snicker.
"That good, huh? Heard you got a lot of praise at work because of the Kay interview."
Abraham grinned and began peeling the shrimp.
"Of course, it was an interview no one else could secure. Honestly, Kay has held press conferences in front of many reporters, but never a solo interview like the one I did. Even if it was for a short time, to have secured an exclusive interview and even received his business card in the end – my editor was ecstatic, haha."
"Haha, Herald News is a big company as it is, why the fuss?"
"Every little bit like this has made Herald News what it is today, sir."
"That's true. One who doesn't focus on the present can't create the future. Here, try this too. The pork ribs are really delicious."
"Yes, sir, haha, you have a great taste!"
Abraham, giggling foolishly, seemed to please Norman, who continued to laugh along as they ate. Amid their meal, Abraham pulled out his phone to check the latest news updates online.
"Gosh, sir. Have you seen this news?"
"What news?"
Abraham showed his phone screen to Norman.
"This director Son Lin. He must be a genius. Look at the PPV sales figures. They closed sales at midnight yesterday, and now they're sending out PPV numbers via mobile phone MMS. As of yesterday, they've sold 93 million units! That's more than the entire population of Kay's country!"
Norman nodded as if it was to be expected.
"Makes sense, doesn't it? It's a concert by Kay, a musician who ranks high on Billboard, plus it's the last performance of the legendary diva Leontine Price, not to mention the new genius Kiska Miocic writing the lyrics. And after the incident in Nepal, Kay, who is being called an angel, is performing. Naturally, it's drawing huge attention. Ah, and all 100% of the PPV sales revenue is going to aid famine relief in Africa, plus it was offered at a low price."
Abraham pushed his phone forward more excitedly.
"But, sir! 93 million units! That's 930 million dollars! In Korean money, that's over a trillion won. A musician's single concert moving a trillion won? That's like the annual budget of a small country!"
Norman chuckled.
"After the Nepal incident, wasn't the scale of money Kay moves already verified? Perhaps it's because he seems detached from money, if there had been a movement to earn, the response might not have been this heated."
Abraham clapped his hands as if that was exactly it.
"That's exactly what I mean! If Kay had taken a higher percentage for himself during the Nepal fundraising broadcast and this concert, he could have pocketed several hundred billion won. How can someone be so devoid of greed for money? If he already had a lot of money and thus didn't covet more, that I could understand, but that's not the case with Kay, right?"
Norman wiped the oil on his fingertips with a wet towel as he replied.
"That's right, I heard he took 5% of the revenue from Nepal, but I also heard he donated an additional 4% of that."
Abraham's mouth fell open in shock.
"Eh? An additional 4%? Where did you hear that?"
Norman crumpled the towel and put it aside before speaking.
"One of my friends is on the board of UNICEF. Kay went to them personally, handed over the money, and asked to keep it a secret. My friend was so moved, he couldn't stop praising him. And as soon as this concert was announced, he donated and said he would come to the performance. Unfortunately, his donation fell a bit short for an invitation to see the live performance."
Abraham leaned on the table, propping his chin with his arms, flipping food with his fork.
"I've been curious, how much do you have to donate to get an invitation to see the performance? Is it only for the incredibly wealthy?"
Norman wiped his mouth, shaking his head.
"Not really. Priority is given to those who have been a big help in good causes. Take Warren Buffet, for instance; he didn't donate a dime to this cause, but got an invitation because of his ongoing donations to his friend Bill's wife's foundation. Remember the incident two years ago? Someone left a suitcase full of money at
the Little Flower Children Orphanage on Livingston Street."
"Oh! I remember. It became a topic when it was revealed through CCTV that a woman over ninety had left her life savings there."
"Right, that elderly lady got an invitation too. She's coming, albeit in a wheelchair with her grandson's help."
"I see.. What about those without such records? The venue seats a thousand; they couldn't have filled it with just those people."
"Correct. The rest were invited in order of the amount donated. If it had only been the latter, some might have complained, but thanks to the former, there were no complaints. It's not a social obligation for the wealthy to donate. Why should they give away the money they earned? But they are doing so, and giving them the opportunity didn't make the general public discontent. New invitees also made donations to enter, and it's believed they were selected based on their potential for future charitable activities."
"Ah.. So, no chance for newly rich people to suddenly make a large donation and get an invitation?"
"That's the understanding. Smart move, wasn't it?"
"Was that Son Lin director's idea?"
"Doubtful. This was decided before Kay joined the performance, so it seems it was Leontine Price's own will."
"Hmm.. I see."
Norman checked the time on a wall clock and stood up.
"Time flies when you're having a good conversation. I'll head to the venue now. Where will you watch?"
Abraham, looking pitiful, scratched his cheek.
"Haha, well, I wasn't invited, so I guess I'll watch on my laptop outside. I even bought a pair of headphones for over 400 dollars just to properly enjoy the music! Haha"
Norman, holding the bill, waved it.
"Well, poor Abraham. I'll take care of the bill then. Enjoy the performance."
After paying, Norman walked alone towards the Juilliard Opera House as the time for the performance neared, with many people outside looking forward with anticipation. Smiling at the sight of the cheerful crowd, Norman arrived in front of Juilliard to see many reporters interviewing and filming the audience entering the opera house. One reporter, spotting Norman in a neatly dressed suit and black coat, quickly signaled to a cameraman and ran over with a microphone.
"Mr. Norman Lebrecht! Hello! Danny Smalling from Channel 5 UK. It's nice to see you in the US."
Norman, about to pass by, stopped upon hearing it was a famous channel from his country.
"Channel 5? Reporters came from the UK too."
Danny gestured around and chuckled.
"Not just the UK. Over there are reporters from Korea, China, Japan, and Southeast Asia, and on the other side, from France, Italy, Germany. Ah, and there are Mexican reporters coming too. Almost all famous news channels from around the world are here. It's a highly anticipated performance."
As Norman nodded, someone gently patted his back. Turning around, he saw a Hispanic man with long black curly hair smiling at him.
"My, Carlos! Long time no see."
Watching Norman greet loudly, a nearby reporter muttered in surprise.
"Ca...Carlos Montanada…"
Carlos smiled broadly and rested his hand on his hip.
"Of course, I had to come. It's Kay's performance. Haven't you forgotten? I was with Kay on his first tour. Haha"
Norman laughed heartily in response.
"Ah, Lollapalooza, right? Sadly, I missed that performance. Ah, were you invited?"
"Yes, Kay sent me a ticket. Thanks to him, I'm getting out of Mexico for the first time in a while. Haha"
"Well, that's nice. Where's your seat?"
"Kay mentioned you were coming, so I asked for the seat next to yours. Look, it's R-58. Yours is R-59, right?"
"Oh, that's exciting, watching the performance with Carlos. Haha."
Danny, unable to find an opening to jump back into the conversation, held and then lowered his microphone as a commotion started on one side.
"It's President Herald Winston!"
Danny, turning his head as if his neck might break, saw Herald Winston waving from his presidential car. Reporters crowded around the president, leaving their previous interviews. Seeing this, Danny looked apologetically at Norman, who chuckled and nodded.
"Go on, Danny. That's more newsworthy than us."
Danny brightened, then apologized.
"Oh! Th, thank you. And... sorry, sir."
As Danny hurried off, the two elderly men walked leisurely towards the now-cleared path to the opera house. Carlos led the way inside, showing their invitations to the security guards. With the auditorium still relatively empty, they quickly found their seats. Carlos waved Norman over.
"This is our spot, right over here."
Norman, smiling,
sat down and glanced at the curtained stage, then suddenly noticed something interesting.
"Ha, that must be Kiska Miocic over there."
"Eh? Where, where?"
Carlos turned his head, catching sight of Kiska peeking through the curtains, playfully observing the audience.
As the two were chatting quietly, the auditorium began to fill up gradually. When about two-thirds of the seats were filled, Carlos noticed President Herald Winston receiving applause from the already seated audience as he made his way to his seat. He nudged Norman and said in a subdued tone, "Did you see the public service ad Kay shot in Nepal?"
Norman nodded towards the back of President Winston's head, to which Carlos, looking surprised, replied, "I was honestly worried when I saw that the top bidder in the advertisement auction was the U.S. government. I thought they might be trying to use Kay for political purposes. But seeing that wasn't the case surprised me even more. I wondered if that was all they intended to do with the money."
"It could be one of two things," Norman suggested. "They either approached Kay with good intentions from the start, or their minds changed after meeting her."
"I'd bet on the latter. The U.S. is not so simple," Carlos mused.
"Either way, it's good for everyone if the outcome is positive," Norman laughed.
"Indeed, it's fortunate. Oh, looks like the seats are all filled. The performance will start in five minutes."
Carlos leaned back into the sofa, his eyes filled with anticipation. Norman pulled out a notebook and pen, which caught Carlos' attention. "Why do you have a notebook out?"
With a sheepish smile, Norman clicked his pen, "Ah, it's a habit. I like to write down moments that move me and scenes I want to remember."
Carlos leaned back again and interlocked his fingers over his stomach. "The life of a music critic must be tough. Unable to simply enjoy the music because you're always analyzing and writing something down."
Norman chuckled in agreement. "I do wish to just enjoy it. But I regretted not doing this after the last concert at the Bronx. I couldn't find the words to express the emotions I felt that time later."
"Understandable. Do as you please, then. Ha, looks like it's starting."
Norman turned his head towards the stage as the curtains slowly began to open. The audience, sensing the beginning, started clapping, and Carlos joined in with a smile. Unlike typical concerts, this was an opera, so there were no shouts or whistles, only the sound of applause filling the opera house.
The stage, now fully revealed, depicted a rural scene from the 1920s, featuring desolate fields and a lone, shabby house barely recognizable as such, suggesting the extreme poverty of a farmer's life. A small rice paddy was in front of the house, and at the back of the stage, a circular mirror covered with a white cloth drew attention.
As the applause died down and the audience quieted, focusing more intently, a shadow of a woman's side profile appeared behind the cloth covering the circular mirror. The audience's focus shifted from the woman's silhouette to a middle-aged Black man emerging from the decrepit house, carrying a plow to work the fields.
The man worked the field for a while, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand, looking up at the sky and sighing deeply, indicating it was very early in the morning. He picked up the plow again and began working, singing in a weak voice:
As the dreams and kisses of dawn fade away,
Only the undulating desert remains, its vastness
Pressing down upon me with its immense weight.
In the whirlwind of painful history,
The tender effort and passion to enrich life
Always become greater despair, consuming me.
As the man despondently sang and worked, a woman's voice from behind the cloth, both coarse and exquisite, spoke as if singing:
"I was the daughter of a father who endured the Red Scare that devoured America in 1918 and returned from World War I. Mississippi in 1927 was bitterly cold and hungry."
Suddenly, the man slammed the plow to the ground, drawing all eyes to him as he began an impassioned song:
I went to war for my country!
I went to war for my family!
And where is my place in the homeland I returned to?
Have you seen the horrors of war? Why is it
A problem to oppose it?
Why must I be oppressed and constrained, without a job,
Forced into the countryside?
I have committed no crime but sacrifice for my country!
Carlos whispered into Norman's ear, his gaze still fixed on the stage, "I don't know much about American history. Can you tell me why this man seems to have trouble finding a job after returning from the war?"
Norman nodded slightly without taking his eyes off the stage and explained, "In 1918, America suppressed and confined those who opposed the war or were seen as disruptors to the war effort under the guise of the Red Scare. Most of these were soldiers and intellectuals who had already participated in the war. After returning, many couldn't find
jobs because of their anti-war stance and ended up as tenant farmers working someone else's fields. This might be the story of Professor Leontine Price's father."
Realizing his questioning might be interrupting Norman's focus, Carlos nodded vaguely and turned his attention back to the stage. Onstage, a Black woman appeared, and the man, despite their hardships, smiled and hugged her, continuing to work tirelessly. The stage mechanism showed the sun setting and rising repeatedly, and soon, a baby was cradled in the woman's arms. The man looked joyously at the newborn, and the cycle of sunset and sunrise continued. When the woman stepped out of the house again, she was holding the hand of a boy about ten years old.
The boy ran around the rice paddy with an innocent smile, while the couple watched him with happiness. As time passed, represented by the sun's repeated rising and setting, the man kept working, and the woman changed her clothes progressively, indicating improving circumstances.
The shadow of a woman appeared again behind the curtain at the back of the stage, speaking as if singing:
"When I was born in 1927, my father, mother, and brother were happy. The rapid economic growth of America until 1929 provided my father with a comfortable life and leisure. On the day of my birth, my father offered blessings in all the words he knew to the gods for me. But two years later, we faced another crisis."
The stage darkened, and the moon rose, illuminating a scene where a young Black girl, around three to four years old, sat on a small rock behind the rice paddy, eating a boiled potato. She pushed the crumbs around her mouth into her mouth as if they were precious, then began to sing:
My hands and feet are frozen, my flesh dying black,
In the mountains, I'd rather pick happy flowers than
The wild baskets of lantern flowers and acorns, for
A single potato fills my hungry belly more dearly.
Carlos sat up straight in his seat, exclaiming, "Ah, what a voice for a child!"
Norman shook his head, "It's not the child singing. She's just moving her lips; the actual singing is coming from Leontine Price behind the curtain."
Carlos, calming his startled heart, leaned back with a sheepish smile, "Julilliard, where geniuses are as common as dirt underfoot, everyone seems like a genius, ha."
Leontine Price's exquisite voice filled the darkened stage again:
"That was the age.. when the song found me. I didn't know where it came from. Whether it came from a cold winter dawn, or the frozen Mississippi River, I couldn't tell how or when it came to me."
A moment of silence followed, then her voice continued, "No, it wasn't a voice, nor silence, nor words; it called to me one day from some street. From the barren hills of Mississippi, from among the barren tree branches, from the church I followed my mother to, suddenly among strangers, from the intense flames after harvesting and burning the straw."
As the lights came back on the stage, a ten-year-old Black girl was seen crouching, digging the ground with a hoe, constantly putting something in her mouth, dirt smeared around her lips. She collapsed to the ground after a while, looking up at the sun and singing weakly:
I long for warm bread, steaming hot,
Without butter or strawberry jam, just a piece of bread is enough.
If I had even a single piece, I would give it to my father,
Who works till dawn every day, and to my mother,
Who sews for me and my brother.
I'm okay. I can live on their laughter instead.
Tears began to form in the eyes of some elderly audience members, likely reminiscing about their own difficult times. Carlos, not having lived through that era but born to a poor Mexican farmer, felt a similar emotion, his eyes trembling as he focused on the stage.
The voice behind the curtain narrated again as the pitiful sight of the poor girl gazing at the sky was shown:
"In 1929, when I was two years old, our gradually improving family situation collapsed with the Great Depression on October 29th. My father took us by train to the factory town of Detroit. Fortunately, he found a job, but there were too many workers seeking employment, so we couldn't even make enough to feed our family for a month. I had no choice but to go up the mountain and dig wild roots. And that day, I met music."
As the girl continued her work, a beautiful man in white clothes appeared behind her. The audience began to whisper among themselves as he appeared, causing a stir in the opera house.
"It's Kay."
"Is that really Kay?"
"He looks so beautiful, like an angel."
As the murmurs subsided, Kay looked down at the girl who was busy working and spoke.