part iv. education (mostly impromptu)

At the time, I never wondered if I was doing the right thing. Why would I have? The child was friendly, highly intelligent... and, I felt, needed me.

It made darling Ha-Neul happy, too; knowing that her son would be well provided for. In the end, it didn't take long at all to sort out matters regarding Jung. When my time in Japan came to a close, he was to return to England, with me.

I have many things to feel guilty about, and not telling the child was merely the start. But, I shan't get ahead of myself. It was inevitable: living his life thus far in a small set of apartment rooms had not prepared him for the chaotic presence of so many other people at the airport. He cowered, and clung on to me, and in the end all I could think to do was just pull him along.

He did not fare much better on the plane itself. Jung absolutely refused to open his eyes until the roar of the engines had died down, and then, when he did, gazed up at me reproachfully with those impossibly wide black eyes.

At that time, we began to realise that we didn't really know each other.

He whiled away the first few hours completing puzzle books I had bought for him; he wrote in English - large, unsteady letters, childishly scrawled. Jung didn't really speak to me - although whether it was because he was so involved in what he was doing, or because he resented me, I still don't know.

In a way I suppose that before, I had been the only kind of father he had ever known - but from the moment we stepped off the plane it would, inevitably, never be the same.

Even as we left the airport he didn't ask where we were going. My house was large and lonely, and having no children of my own, thought it was the perfect solution. The only reaction from little Jung when he stepped out of the car, however, was a widening of the eyes.

I remember the sky was overcast that day; grey and sullen, almost a reflection of the child. But he did not complain, and stared at all the trees and flowers in the grounds as we walked by.

The house had that musty, aged smell from lying unused for so long, but he did not seem to care - just gazed up around the large entrance hall, unconsciously edging closer to me. He got used to the space eventually, but I get the feeling that even now, he still finds comfort in smaller rooms.

And so, our life together in Britain began, off to a slow, slightly unsteady start.

Given his abilities, I'd wanted to take his education into my own hands - but, as is always the way, there were complications. We'd sit in my large study, the two of us, and go over maths and science; read plays together, and discuss whatever era of history had caught his attention at the time.

He seemed reasonably content, although he very rarely smiled.

Somewhere along the way, he picked up some very strange habits. I'm not really sure how it happened - foolish of me, but I suppose he was lonely; spent too much time by himself. I'd been caught up in my own work, and then in helping him to study - it had made me happy, and I'd blindly assumed it was enough for him too.

An old man with no experience in these matters was what I was, but we made it through together, somehow. When not studying, Jung would spend a lot of time in his room - untidy, covered in books and papers - but it was the way he liked it.

It happened gradually, but as he grew taller, he began to hunch himself up on chairs when he sat - at first just while reading, but eventually even while studying. He'd hold things in the most peculiar way, as well - with the very tips of his fingers as though not wanting to dirty his hands.

I can't begin to guess the reasons, other than noting that his awareness of what others thought of him was remarkably low, and that when questioned, he merely replied that it was comfortable.

The staff of the house grew fond of him, I think - as Jung developed an inexplicable fondness for sweets; perhaps as a result of having had so few while living in Japan - but he'd forever have a supply either on him or hidden away, and he must have been getting them from someone.

But in those days, nothing was more likely to make him smile than a cream cake, so how could I object?

One day, when he was seven years old, he came to me and asked if I believed in God.

I admit, we had not really studied religion or theology much together, and perhaps this was lax of me. Of course I told him that truth, that I did not. He seemed to ponder this for a moment - biting on his thumbnail thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling. Then he lit upon me with that sharp gaze of his, which he had then, even as a child, and nodded.

"I agree. I was thinking about it last night, reading a law book. How can our legal system be based on he commands of a deity that doesn't exist?" He paused then, and looked down at his bare feet. "It's good in theory, but it doesn't work very well."

And with that he wandered away, digging some boiled sweets out of his pocket. I thought about those words for a long time - simplistic though they were, they'd touched upon something I'd thought he wouldn't be interested in; something strangely close to my current line of work.

At that time, first and foremost I was originally an inventor, of course. It's a love close to my heart, and what I've always enjoyed doing - not only that, but it's what took me to Japan and into the lives of Ha-Neul and little Jung. However, the past few years saw my services fall into the hands of the government. I assisted in developing certain systems or projects, most of which related to solving some of the more... complex police cases.

I regret that sometimes it took me away for days at a time, but it was certainly a fascinating job.

Jung was a child of extraordinary gifts. If he set his mind to something, he would accomplish it at all costs. Childishly simple-minded in that respect, yet so mature in others; it was an odd contrast, and one that remained even as he grew older. One such example was when he took a fancy to tennis (which, I admit, I was secretly relieved about - having for far too long just seen him sit and read, eating cake, with no exertion whatsoever.) I arranged a tutor for him, and within three months there was talk of him entering competitions.

I had not thought it would be something that would appeal to him - but apparently, the thought of winning something, or being the best, spurred him on even more.

As far as I'm aware, that's about the time his strange sleeping habits began - he'd study less during the day in order to play tennis, and then - either through some sense of guilt, or need, or duty - he'd read into the early hours of the morning. Goodness knows I tried hard not to push him, but he didn't really talk to me about anything other than work.

No, we weren't close. By the time I realised, it seemed too late to do anything about it. I'm still not sure what went through his mind as he grew; what he thought of me, of our situation, of how he had ended up here.

I wanted the best for him although I didn't quite manage it, and he didn't hate me - and so for that I was glad.

But in the end I'm just a silly old man - and though he'd never want to hear it, I love him.