This Kind of Concert
Author: Kim Yu-jeong
Source: JoongAng Monthly, April Issue (1936)

It was already past six-thirty by the time I finished dinner and stepped out onto the streets of Jongno. I was strolling along, my hands thrust deep into the pockets of my fluttering jacket, whistling a tune, when—

"Hey!"

Someone grabbed my arm from behind and yanked it.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

The question was asked with such frantic urgency. I steadied my stumbling body and looked back to find Cheol-i, his school cap pressed low over his eyes. I knew well enough that he was a restless, impulsive fellow, but seeing him gasping for breath and lunging at me like this, I asked:

"What’s the matter?"

"Don't you know today is the Concours Music Competition?"

"Concours Music Competition?" I repeated, feeling a bit dazed, before finally realizing what was going on.

This boy, Hwang Cheol-i, was truly a great benefactor to our school. Whenever there was a sports match, he would invariably step up as the cheerleading captain. Not only that, he would spend his own money to drag the athletes around, feeding them and entertaining them (tasks the school should have rightfully paid for). The day after a match, he would show up with his neck wrapped thick in bandages, boasting in a raspy, mute-like voice:

"How was it? Didn't we win because I cheered so well yesterday?"

Then, full of pride, he would add:

"You just have to cheer hard to win a match!"

So, this was a person destined to lose his voice and spend his money just to cheer for others; you might say his fate was to be a lifelong cheerleading captain. This time, one of our classmates had entered the music competition and luckily made it through the preliminaries, so Cheol-i had been busy since yesterday gathering a cheering squad. I wondered why he was catching me now, since he hadn't said a word to me before.

"Well, you’d better hurry there then. Why are you standing here?"

"I thought about it again, and we’re definitely going to be short on people," he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me along.

"Go by yourself. I hate concerts."

I shook off his hand and tried to step away, but then he shouted:

"Hey! Hey! If you come, I’ll buy you pork dumplings on the way out!"

At that, I couldn't help but turn my head back.

"Exactly how many hours is it going to take?" I had to ask. He replied that it would be over in two hours at most, so I followed him, feeling somewhat reassured.

When the two of us arrived panting at the entrance of the concert hall, thirteen of our classmates were already there waiting. They were giggling and whispering among themselves, seemingly already caught up in the excitement.

Cheol-i first went to buy tickets and handed one to each of us while issuing his orders. We were to split into four groups and sit in the four corners of the hall—front, back, left, and right—acting perfectly nonchalant. Then, the moment our classmate appeared, we were to clap like mad and scream for an encore. He claimed that no matter how strict the judges were, they couldn't ignore the audience, so first place would surely be ours. However, when other musicians came out, we weren't even to make a peep, let alone clap. He went around to each person, grabbing them and whispering in their ear:

"You got it, right?"

And again:

"Got it? Encore!" He made sure to drive the point home.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it!"

I also readily understood and followed Cheol-i into the hall.

The large, newly built auditorium was already packed black with people's heads. Perhaps bored of waiting, they craned their necks to look back at us as we made our noisy entrance. Following Cheol-i’s orders, we scattered in groups to the four corners. I took a seat in the back-left corner with Cheol-i and one other friend. At exactly seven o'clock, the bustling hall suddenly fell silent. Everyone straightened their posture and focused their tense gaze.

The first part of the program was vocal music. A petite young woman came out and sang in a thin, frail voice that made my ears itch. To be honest, rather than the song itself, I felt sorry for her as she stood there with her small hands folded at her chest, tilting her head and warbling away; I let out a long yawn. I’ve never liked vocal music to begin with, and unless it’s something vigorous, even instrumental music just makes my ears itch.

After that, it was more female vocals, then a piano solo, then female vocals again... so it wasn't exactly my fault that I tucked my head behind the person in front of me and started snoring.

I don’t know how long I slept, but I woke up when Cheol-i shook me. I looked up and realized our classmate had finally taken the stage. Standing there in his middle school uniform, playing the violin with such dignity, he looked both cute and impressive. Still unable to fight off the drowsiness, I clapped a few times with my eyes half-closed, but then I realized I was the only one clapping while the other friends stayed quiet. Cheol-i nudged me hard in the side.

"Wait until he’s finished," he cautioned, and I finally snapped to my senses.

I was more interested in the cheering than the violin, so I waited impatiently for him to finish. As soon as the performance ended, we started clapping as if we were parched for it. I wondered if my palms would wear out, but when someone from our side screamed, "Encore!", we all bellowed together, "Encore! Encore!"

I even shouted "Encore!" while covering my own ears, and the schoolgirl sitting in front of me turned around with a look of pure pity. We were cheering with rising spirits, but Cheol-i looked sullen and displeased. The reason was that no matter how hard the dozen of us clapped, in that cavernous hall filled with so many people, our presence was too faint to even tell where the noise was coming from. Furthermore, despite our demands for an encore, a dapper gentleman carrying a violin stepped onto the stage next.

The gentleman gave a stylish bow and tucked the violin under his chin with equal flair; the tune he played was incredibly grand and spirited. Before long, he seemed swept away by his own music, his head and shoulders swaying along with the violin bow. I couldn't help but be impressed—this guy was the real deal. Judging by how he captivated the audience with overwhelming popularity, it was clear he was several times better than our classmate.

But what surprised me even more was the thunderous ovation that seemed to overturn the entire auditorium. Setting aside the general applause of the audience, a group of thirty or forty people in the balcony were screaming their heads off. It was a miracle my eardrums didn't burst from the shouts for an encore, and they even stomped their feet to the rhythm of their cheers. I thought to myself that I could listen to music forever if it was like this. Without realizing it, my shoulders began to twitch, and eventually, I too started stomping my feet and demanding an encore. To be honest, the violin playing was good, but I was cheering more for that vigorous spirit of the supporters.

Suddenly, Cheol-i stood up and grabbed my shoulder.

"Come out here for a second," he said, pulling me away urgently.

He dragged me into an empty restroom, stood me there, and asked with a pale face and trembling lips:

"Who exactly did you come here to cheer for?"

I knew he always looked like this when he was furious, so I asked:

"Why are you so angry?"

"I mean, what the hell did you come here for?"

"To cheer, of course!"

At that, he suddenly jabbed me in the chest with his fist.

"You idiot! Ours was already failing, and you cheer for the other guy?"

He tried to throw another punch, and no matter how I looked at it, it was absurd. I blocked his fist with my hand and told him to wait a second.

"Why are you throwing punches? Can't you just talk?"

"You fool! Don't you realize you've thrown filth in our faces?"

When he tried to lung at me with his fist again, I couldn't take any more.

"Fine! Keep your pork dumplings, I don't want them!"

I spat out those words in a fit of rage and hurried down the stairs.