The One-Eyed Man
The One-Eyed Man (FINALE to The Little Shoe Polisher And The Guardian Angel)
Genre: fluff, angst
Length: 3/3
Word count: 3,467
Pairing: Yoosu and Jaechun if you squint
Rating: G
(PART 1 - THE LITTLE SHOE POLISHER AND THE GUARDIAN ANGEL)
(PART 2 - THE WORLD OF MORTALS)
A/N: Almost forgot to say thanks to jaechunnie for being my health consultant while I was finishing this story up ^^ As always, do give me a heads up if you see any mistake ^_^ Comments, critics and feedback greatly appreciated, even negative feedback =)
The One-Eyed Man
- 11 years later -
Dr Shim was about to leave the hospital after a long day of work when he passed by the children ward and overheard a conversation.
“Have you heard of the One-Eyed Man?” one little girl was heard saying. Dr Shim slowed his steps down and leaned in closer to listen.
“No, who is he?” a little boy answered her.
“I don’t know, I just heard mom talking to the nurse yesterday and they were talking about the One-Eyed Man.”
“One eye… That is scary.”
“I think they’re saying that he’ll come to the hospital,” the little girl whispered.
“No,” the little boy replied, horrified.
“What if he comes tonight when we’re asleep?” the little girl continued.
The boy started sobbing. Dr Shim decided that the horror story was enough for the night. He checked his watch, allowed himself 10 minutes of tardiness and stepped into the room. The little boy and girl screamed when he entered, scaring off Dr Shim slightly as well.
“Hello, kids,” Dr Shim said, recovering his composure and patting the boy who was already sniffing loudly. “Why are you not asleep?”
“We’re scared,” the girl said. “The One-Eyed Man might come when we’re sleeping.”
“Really?” Dr Shim pulled a chair close and sat in between their beds. “And what do you know about the One-Eyed Man?”
“Nothing,” the girl admitted softly, “but he sounds scary.” The little boy nodded his agreement vehemently.
“Have you seen him before?”
The kids shook their heads.
“Are you sure?” Dr Shim said. Then, he pointed his fingers to the right, “Have you seen that?”
The children turned their heads following Dr Shim’s gesture to the other end of the room. There, on the wall, was a large canvas of what seemed like a collection of children’s drawings.
“That’s our picture wall. Have you seen it?”
“No,” the children said.
“Do you want to see it?”
The children hesitated before nodding. They gripped Dr Shim’s hand tighter as they approached the end of the room. But, when they were close enough to make out what were on the wall, they let his hand go and approached the wall by themselves.
There were massive amount of pictures and drawings there. Almost all of them have a ‘thank you’ scrawled across them in colourful crayons. And most of them were hand-drawn pictures of a man, drawn with only one eye opened, who appeared to be either happily singing or smiling widely.
“Is that the One-Eyed Man?” the little boy asked.
“Yes,” Dr Shim said. “In fact, we have one picture of him with all of the kids over here,” Dr Shim reached up high and unpinned a photograph. He crouched as the children gathered around him, curious about the photo. “What do you think of him?”
In the photo, a fair young man with spiky blond hair was seen with a bunch of children around him, hugging him and climbing over him with pure delight on their faces. The man himself was laughing merrily, reducing both of his eyes into joyful slits.
“He doesn’t look bad,” the girl said.
“Is he a singer?” the boy asked.
“Yes, he is.”
“Why does he have only one eye?” the girl asked.
Dr Shim sighed. He picked the children up in his arms and brought them back to their bed. “Have you heard of the Tale of The Little Shoe Polisher?”
“Yes!” both kids exclaimed.
“My parents love to read it to me before bed,” the little boy said.
“My dad too,” the little girl chimed in. “Mom doesn’t like to read it out loud, she usually cries and then dad must tuck me into bed himself.”
Dr Shim smiled. “Well, what do you know about the Little Shoe Polisher?”
Eagerly, the children told Dr Shim everything that they knew about The Little Shoe Polisher. Dr Shim, of course, knew all about The Little Shoe Polisher as told by the book, and then some, for he received some first-hand account of his story from one of the Little Shoe Polisher’s closest acquaintance when he was alive: the One-Eyed Man.
“And then, because he had helped so many people, god brought him back to heaven and he was reunited back with his guardian angel,” the little boy finished.
“And the people who received his help stayed on earth and became living guardian angels who continued to help others who are in need,” the little girl added.
Dr Shim smiled at their version of the story’s ending. It seemed like their parents left out the last bit of the story and softened the ending for the children.
“Now, guess what,” Dr Shim said softly, his tone secretive, “the One-Eyed Man was a personal friend of the Little Shoe Polisher.”
The children’s eyes widened in surprise, they gushed, “Really?”
“The reason why the One-Eyed Man only has one eye is because he was blind before he met the Little Shoe Polisher,” Dr Shim said. “It was with the Little Shoe Polisher’s help that he managed to gain back his eyesight.”
“So the One-Eyed Man is one of the living guardian angels?”
“He definitely is,” Dr Shim nodded solemnly. “He likes to sing to children, orphans, sick people, the elderly, or anyone who needs cheering up. People said that listening to his voice actually helped them recover faster from their sickness!”
Satisfied with the story, the children yawned widely. With a smile, Dr Shim tucked the children to bed, and left.
It was a crisp autumn afternoon when Junsu walked to the cemetery, just like what he had done for the past 10 years. On the way there, he stopped by a flower shop and asked for a bouquet of flowers.
“Business seems good,” Junsu commented as the pleasant old lady rummaged inside her refrigerator. The flower vases in front of the quaint hut, which were usually packed with fresh flowers, were almost empty.
“Today is a special day after all,” she said. Then, retrieving a huge bouquet of beautiful lilies and sunflowers, she heaved herself up and handed it to Junsu.
“I’ve had people begging me for this bouquet all day long. But I knew you’d come,” she smiled.
“Thank you,” Junsu whispered gratefully. “This is beautiful.”
“Not that I think you’d find space to put it on, though,” she added. “People had been streaming down this street the whole day long and asking for direction for that one place you’re going, and they didn’t go empty-handed.”
Junsu laughed. “That’s good news.”
Junsu continued his walk slowly, watching the falling leaves as they floated away. Autumn was one of his favourite seasons of the year; after all, the scene of falling maple leaves was one of the first views that he had seen with his new eye.
And yet, autumn was also the season which gave him the greatest sorrow, for it was in autumn that Yoochun left this world.
Junsu remembered that day as clear as he remembered the day he lost his eyesight due to an accident. Yet, the past 10 years had taken some of the painful details away. What still remained were the emotion, the lingering sadness, the stubbornly clinging sense of loss, and the beautiful, fond memories which were stored carefully in the deepest part of his heart.
Junsu coped with the loss with the only way Yoochun had taught him how to: hard work. And, when he became unbearably lonely, he wrote a letter, or two, or hundreds. Every autumn, when the sense of loss was at its peak, he worked harder and wrote longer mails; and on every anniversary, he wrote the longest.
In fact, right now inside his coat pocket, there was an envelope containing his latest, longest-ever, letter. As he walked, Junsu looked up to the sky, wishing so much that this letter could reach its intended recipient up there.
Dear Yoochun,
10 years had passed since we parted. How are you doing up there?
Do you know how hard it is to write a letter to a dead person without sounding bitter, or angry, or sad? I can bet you the whole of my singing career that you don’t. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you; I call myself an expert in this area, after all, I’ve had 10 years of practice.
Here’s how: don’t focus on the bitterness or anger or sadness that is your own. Instead, write about other people. And, most importantly, write about happy things, that’ll distract you away from the sadness.
For instance, the fate of people who had received your organs; they’re all happy tales now, do you know that? The little twin girls who received your kidneys have both graduated from university; they’re working part time in non-profit organisations now. Sometimes they come to our place and brought stuff for the kids, and I think one of them is growing rather attached to our forever-young Mr Jung.
The boy who received your liver had just come into limelight recently for acquiring a big company. By the way, he’s quite an eccentric guy. Being a fervent supporter of blood donation, he’s known for the special blood-donating rooms that are present in all of his many office buildings. They’re open every day throughout the year, pretty cool eh?
The guy who received the other one of your cornea is much like you the months before your passing. He likes to disappear without notice, sometimes months or years at a time. But I heard his photographs and documentary of impoverished villages in rural areas had just earned him a nomination for Nobel Prize.
Remember the girl who received your heart and moved on to become a writer? Who spent week, months, even years collecting materials to write a biography about you? She just released her own mini autobiography some time ago, mostly telling the story of her sickness, her recovery, and her eventual decision to find out all she could about the previous owner of her current beating heart: you.
Man, she is one very persistent and diligent woman! She hunted down astonishingly many people from different walks of life who could tell a story or two about you. She was shocked to find out that there was this person who was not famous at all, but appeared to be known by everyone. Their similar stories about your graciousness and generosity inspired her to write a story about you.
By the way, how do you like your biography written in a folk-tale style? It’s a tremendously popular bed-time story for children, you know. Almost all of the children whom I met could tell me the story of The Little Shoe Polisher, and parents told me how the book is perfect to teach children, and adult alike, how to be kind to others and to be grateful for each blessing that they had. If I can put it simply, the book taught kids not to be brats and taught adults to be better people.
She’s going to write a third book soon. She said it’s going to be about me, and she was going to name it “The Tale of The One-Eyed Man”. Can you imagine that, Yoochun? No, seriously! Me, I’m called The One-Eyed Man. It’s true that most kids that I've met are calling me that now, and I think it’s fair because I do only have one eye, and it’s cool that we can be character-mates in the same series of book… But don’t you think the name is rather gory?
Anyway, as for me, I’m still singing and recording. Half of the time in recording studio, in commercials, whatever my manager told me to do, and the other half in the community. I started visiting the elderly care homes too. I have lots of grandfathers and grandmothers as fans now, they’re such adorable fans.
My management company recently told me that they would like to try conducting concert in other countries. I’ve never been overseas my whole life, so I was excited. I was even more excited about the possible revenue that we might get, and what we could possibly do with the money.
I watched a really sad documentary some time ago - it was by the other cornea recipient guy. It was about this rural village that is in dire need of electricity and medical facilities, and how people lived their lives every day under such pitiful condition. We’re going to visit the place next week. I hoped we could raise enough money to repair the whole village, and maybe build a proper hospital there. How profitable do you think conducting a concert overseas can be?
All of this couldn’t have happened without you, Yoochun. I am, we are, so grateful for what you have done for us.
But, we also miss you.
I miss you.
Sometimes, when I really miss you, I worked harder, believing that your spirit is there, accompanying me as I sing to those who need cheering up. Maybe it’s because you always seemed so happy when you talked about your work, but I, too, find peace and happiness when I work.
But, sometimes people would come to me, asking me not to overwork myself, telling me that they saw you in me - a shadow of a workaholic lunatic who was trying to run away from something - and that they’re worried.
A part of me can never finish saying thank you for this eye that you have bestowed upon me; this eye that had let me see the world again. But, another part of me wishes you hadn’t worked that hard trying to raise fund for my eye operation 11 years ago.
The few months after you lost Jaejoong, when you worked your ass off working until you couldn’t visit us for days, weeks at ends, those days were terrible. At first I was angry, jealous perhaps, because I thought you were being reckless and putting yourself in danger. Some said that people who are in love are prone to foolish doings; I know you, my friend, and I know that tone of your voice when you were talking about Jaejoong.
But, at your funeral, when people told me that you, dearest Yoochun, were the one who raised the fund for my eye operation, I felt like the most selfish bastard in the whole world.
I used to wish that you had used that time to be with me, instead, or to recuperate from your illness, wondering endlessly whether or not you might life longer if you hadn’t worked so hard. But, when I think of you going all over the place, helping out people while collecting donation for this blind friend of yours, I can’t possibly be angry. Not at you.
I still wished, though, that I had the chance to look at you with this eye, to thank you properly and see your eyes looking back at me as you smile and ruffle my hair.
But, I wished for a lot of things. And you are the one who taught me that only someone who is contented for what he has will be truly happy.
I am happy now, Yoochun, honest.
I just miss you lots.
Miss you, miss you lots.
Rest in peace, dearest friend, and be happy up there.
With much love,
The one who misses you lots.”
At the entrance of the cemetery, Junsu met someone from a charitable house that he knew.
“Hey,” Junsu greeted, questions in his eyes.
“Hey,” the guy said. Then, answering Junsu’s unspoken question, he flicked his head sideways, “Just waiting til night time to collect all those things and bringing them back to the office for redistribution.”
Junsu peeked in and chuckled. He patted the other guy’s shoulder and made his way towards the source of his mirth.
Other graves might be covered in scattered flowers or had a couple of bouquet of flowers laid by the tombstones; Yoochun’s had a heap of stuff covering his whole burial area, spilling over to the sides and more. Flowers, books, shoes (Junsu noted, with amazement, a pair of ice-skating shoes), clothes, stuffed toys, and more.
Each of them had a small card attached. Junsu flipped open some of them and smiled, warmth spreading in his heart as he read the messages.
“Hopefully this will find a new home and bring joy to its new owner. RIP, The Little Shoe Polisher.”
“This book had given me courage and strength to face the world. I hope it will do the same for you too. RIP and miss you lots, Yoochun.”
“May this coat shield those who need it from the cold winter snow. Anyone who needs assistance should come to the address printed below. We provide food for the homeless every Wednesday and Friday.”
Junsu looked up to the sky. Are you seeing this, Yoochun? Everyone misses you. But we’re carrying on what you had exemplified. Junsu fought the urge to cry. Your benevolent spirit is still alive within us.
Junsu bit his lips and forced himself to control himself lest he started begging Yoochun to come back. He had done that enough for the past 10 years, and he knew how selfish it was to ask for the dead to come back to life.
Junsu was pleasantly surprised to see that people had left the base of the tombstone empty, as though they knew he would come and they prepared that space especially for him.
Carefully, without squashing the other gifts, Junsu squatted in and put the flower bouquet there, at the base of the tombstone. Then, he slipped his hands into his jacket and put the white envelope at the side of the bouquet.
With a poignant smile, Junsu stood up and left.
In heaven up above, it was the yearly congregation. This year they had elected some souls to become guardian angels. It was already quite some time after the meeting was over, but the area was still packed with angels; senior angels talking to newly elected junior angels who were mostly scared and shy, and old-time angels running about the area trying to meet up with old friends, so many activities were going on.
Some angels, though, were missing. One of the most prominent angels who were missing was a long-time junior angel, rather famous for forfeiting his once-in-few-hundred-years chance of promotion in favour of going back to Earth to save someone. Another one was a rather legendary, newly elected junior angel, well-known for being one of the youngest ever souls to be admitted into guardian angels rank and, even more surprisingly, for the souls that he had saved after his death.
Jaejoong ran hurriedly, a small piece of white envelope in his hand. He had a special permission from god, a special permission that had cost him a few more years of promotional delay, but he was sure it was worth it.
“Yoochun,” Jaejoong called out. “Yoochun, where are you?”
“Over here, hyung,” a voice was heard outside of Jaejoong’s small hut.
Jaejoong found Yoochun lying by the edge of the cloud, smiling that bright smile of his that had attracted Jaejoong to him years ago. He had obviously been peering into the world, again. But Jaejoong couldn’t blame him the slightest bit.
After he settled by Yoochun’s side, Jaejoong waved the envelope in front of Yoochun’s face.
“Guess what’s this?”
“I don’t know,” Yoochun answered honestly. Before Jaejoong answered him, though, Yoochun had eagerly pulled at his sleeves. “More importantly, hyung,” Yoochun said, “who’s that?”
Jaejoong peered down the edge of the cloud, watching the figure of a spiky-blond man walking away from a cemetery. Jaejoong turned to Yoochun and smiled.
“You’re curious about him?”
Yoochun nodded hesitatingly. “He’s… I feel like, like he’s familiar, somehow… Who is he?”
“He’s someone who missed his dear friend very much,” Jaejoong said. He waved the envelope again, and then he tore it open and produced a letter.
”Listen to this.”
Yoochun listened attentively as Jaejoong read the content of the heartfelt letter. He could feel every emotion that was conveyed in the letter, it told such a beautiful story of friendship.
But something felt weird. Somehow, Yoochun felt like he knew the person who wrote it. And the feeling grew stronger with each sentence that Jaejoong read.
When Jaejoong finished reading, he looked at Yoochun, watching for his reaction. “Well,” he said carefully, brushing aside a stray hair from Yoochun’s face, “what do you think?”
A tear had rolled down Yoochun’s cheek.
He grasped Jaejoong’s hand as he peered down into the world again, watching the person’s back as he entered a hospital.
He remembered.
“I’m happy here, Junsu,” Yoochun smiled as he whispered softly, squeezing Jaejoong’s hand. “And I’ll make sure you will, too.”
”
- The End - <<<<<<<<<< Part: 2/3