Pull Out

"I just took one last look around the exhibition hall. The layout was good."

"The gallery has been operating for years — what's so surprising about it now?"

Liu responded dryly to Manager Han's compliment, tapping ash into the ashtray before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Manager Han looked at him — visibly exhausted — and offered a silent, wry smile.

It was the day before the VIP opening. After finishing her external work, she had stopped by Liu's place under the pretense of a report and a meeting, though in truth her concern for him was the greater reason. As expected, Liu had been buried in work without eating, only just getting home. He barely touched the hamburger she had brought. He had managed only a few fries.

"Since Yuni isn't here, I'll go in by nine tomorrow. Manager Han, you come around ten."

"But Juhan is there."

"How can I trust that guy? This is the first major event without Yuni — I need to be there from the start to oversee things."

Liu stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, straightened from his loose lean against the table, and took a drink of beer. Having watched firsthand what these past few weeks had been like for him, Manager Han skipped any words of comfort and simply gathered her jacket and bag, rising from her seat.

"The painting — you moved it?"

Liu, who had been walking ahead, stopped in the middle of the living room and turned back. He looked up at the spot on the wall where Alienation had been hanging. He shrugged once, rubbed the back of his neck, and let out a hollow laugh. Then he turned and continued toward the entrance.

Manager Han had already put her shoes on but lingered instead of leaving, then reached out and lightly tapped Liu on the stomach.

"Want to go grab a drink?"

"Are you pitying me?"

"Is that not allowed? You have a face that requires considerable sympathy."

Liu let out a dry laugh, shoved his hands into his pockets, and leaned his shoulder against the hallway wall.

"I appreciate it, but I'm tired. I need to conserve some energy if I'm going to make it through the wrap party tomorrow."

After Manager Han left, Liu returned to the dining room, cleared away the leftover food, and set the cups in the sink. Moving through the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, he turned off the lights in sequence.

He climbed the stairs toward the faint light filtering down from the second floor, passed through the white-walled hallway, and entered the bedroom. He massaged the back of his neck and tilted his head back. His eyes closed, and a sigh slipped out. The only light in the room was the indirect glow spilling from the hallway leading to the bathroom, but he felt no need to make it any brighter.

Liu let his arms hang loosely at his sides and looked around in a kind of bewilderment, like someone suddenly relieved of everything they had been holding. Then, sweeping his bangs back, he walked over to the bar cart beside the sofa and poured whiskey into a glass, about halfway up. He sank onto the sofa and swiveled the high-backed armchair to face him.

He let the whiskey, neat, slide down his throat, and gazed for a long time into the darkness at the single painting hung on the wall directly across from the bed.