Chapter 241:
241
It wasn’t there, but it appeared (9)
“I have to go. You said you were hurt.”
It was strange that he said I didn’t need to come when I should visit him if he was in pain.
-Thanks if you do. But right now, Rabbani needs to rest too.
He sounded like he was hiding something, his words not connecting well.
I felt more anxious because he was usually rational and fluent in speaking.
“Is it serious?”
When I asked again, Michelle’s voice trembled slightly.
-Can I talk to your grandfather?
He seemed hesitant, but he probably thought it was hard to tell me, a child.
I handed the phone to my grandfather.
“Yes, it’s me.”
Grandpa turned off the speaker and brought the smartphone to his ear.
He listened silently and his expression turned bad. He furrowed his brows and sighed in despair.
“I understand what you mean. Yes.”
Grandpa closed his eyes and calmed his emotions.
“What happened?”
“He seems to be more injured than I thought. Those bastards...”
“How much? Where and how did he get hurt?”
He hesitated and didn’t answer no matter how much I asked.
“He’s my friend. I need to know.”
When I told him one more time, he reluctantly opened his mouth.
“I was worried you might be shocked.”
I couldn’t guess how much he was hurt if he was worried about shocking me, a child.
“He said he wanted Platini to come, but he hesitated.”
“I want to go.”
Grandpa took a long breath and nodded as if he had made up his mind.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
We quickly changed clothes and got in the car. I told the navigation to go to Marcel Marceau General Hospital and it guided me right away.
“It’s far.”
“It would have been hard to go anywhere else.”
“...They didn’t take him?”
Grandpa didn’t deny it.
It was a general hospital run by the Marceau Foundation, so he said they could have taken Rabbani, but I guess it was lucky that Michelle was with him.
I just hoped it wasn’t serious.
I tried to suppress my anxiety and arrived at Marcel Marceau General Hospital in about 30 minutes.
I could see Rabbani’s name in front of the room at the end of the fifth floor corridor.
Rabbani and Hina Rabbani.
One of them must be his mother.
I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
It was Michelle’s voice.
When I opened the door, she greeted me with a distressed expression.
“Rabbani is.”
As soon as I entered and saw the bed, I couldn’t say anything.
My body froze and I understood why Michelle hesitated and what Grandpa heard from her.Th.ê most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m
“Oh my God.”
Grandpa wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
Rabbani’s face was swollen beyond recognition.
It was not blue, but black with bruises all over his face and body.
His lips were burst and his forehead was cracked. It was hard to find a place that wasn’t hurt.
Both legs and arms were in casts.
I hoped it wasn’t true, but Michelle bit her lower lip and squeezed my hand.
“You must have been surprised.”
It didn’t matter how old or young I was, I couldn’t help but be shocked.
The woman lying on the opposite bed was also terrible. Rabbani’s mother had gauze all over her back.
She must have been injured while protecting her son from the assault.
“How could they do this to a person...”
Grandpa lamented.
“What happened?”
Michelle shook her head.
“I didn’t hear the details. She just called for help and said he was badly hurt.”
“Is it because of the painting?”
Michelle nodded.
“What did the doctor say?”
“He said we have to wait and see. ... It will get better. I’m sure.”
Michelle spoke as if she was determined to heal.
That meant his condition was not good.
He had spent several days without being able to move his arms or legs. He must have felt frustrated.
“Do you want to see a picture?”
“Yes.”
“Marso’s?”
“I’ve seen a lot of the author’s works. I want to see something else.”
I wonder what I should show him.
“Who do you like?”
“Marso, the author.”
“There aren’t many who have a similar vibe to Marso.”
“Then you.”
He doesn’t seem to know many artists.
It wouldn’t be bad to introduce him to one by one when he comes to the studio later.
I want to give him a smartphone as a gift so he can look up things.
“Wow.”
He liked the I showed him like a child.
“What is this? Is it oil painting?”
“A little different?”
“Yes.”
“It’s called ink painting. It’s a picture where you use a brush very nicely. I drew it after seeing that.”
“The colors are so pretty.”
He must have felt wronged. Angry. Sad. Resentful. Hurt. But he brightened his eyes as he talked about the picture in front of him.
“You must like it.”
“Huh?”
“The picture.”
“Yes. Because it’s cool.”
Vida Lavani, who was looking at the , opened his mouth.
“Mom asked me yesterday.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked me if I liked the picture so much.”
“It shows.”
Vida Lavani hesitated for a moment and then continued.
“After dad passed away. Mom was sick and couldn’t work. I was too young to work, so I only thought about making money quickly.”
“Okay.”
“Most of the people who live in the neighborhood are like that.”
“Where do you live?”
“Montmartre district.”
It’s where I stayed for a while in the past.
Now it’s called the hometown of artists, where the Montmartre hill is located.
“But one day, someone painted a picture on the wall of Mr. Tio’s house. A girl with a red balloon.”
“Balloon?”
“There was a hole in the outer wall and a red brick was round. He used it like a balloon.”
It’s an interesting attempt.
“That picture was by a famous person. Mr. Tio told me he sold his house very expensive when he moved out.”
“Did you want to do that too?”
“I would have liked that, but back then I was more curious than anything.”
“What was?”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing as hope. I thought I might die like this.”
“...”
“But when that happened, I only thought about the picture all day and went to see the girl with the red balloon. I had nothing else to do.”
“Okay.”
“I wanted to draw too, as I kept watching. I think that’s how I came to love it.”
There was no grand reason for loving it.
I couldn’t explain the feelings that blossomed from a very coincidental encounter.
“I want to see it too.”
"It’s probably Banksy."1)1)The motif is Banksy, a painter, graffiti artist, and film director from the UK.
“That’s right. That was the name.”
Vida Lavani agreed with Grandpa’s words.
“He’s an artist who hides his identity and works. He calls himself an art terrorist.”
He’s an interesting person.
“Banksy and Marso gave me hope.”
“So did the director.”
“Director Platini too.”
Grandpa seemed to confirm Vida Lavani’s words and said the same.
“I couldn’t even think of doing something as I waited for time to pass every day.”
“Hmm.”
“Thanks to the writer and the director, I gained faith. They said that if you believe and love yourself no matter how hard it is, miracles will happen.”
“They will.”
Grandpa smiled kindly and cheered for Vida Lavani.