by Young-Ha Kim
The tall cop bends over and falls to the ground. The second kick, aimed at the small cop, doesn't meet its target, because he's bolted away, abandoning his partner. Potato and his men rush over and hold Chol-su back. "Stop!"
Unable to let it go, Chol-su keeps trying to get at the small cop. In the meantime, the tall cop manages to get up and run away after his partner, limping.
"Okay, that's enough," Potato says.
"Those assholes..."
"Calm down," Potato counsels. "They were dispatched here because they got a tip about suspicious activity. They're just doing their job, you know."
Chol-su rubs his wrists, imprinted with cuff marks. "How were you able to find out and come get me?"
"Our situation room caught your ID being checked. We were nearby for an undercover operation. Apparently Supervisor Jong called our supervisor for a favor."
"So you guys were stationed around this place too?"
"We received an intelligence tip." Potato brushes the dust from his jacket, avoiding Chol-su's eyes.
"Right, like I'm going to believe that you really got an intelligence tip. You sure you didn't speed over here because you caught the inquiry about my ID and you were curious?"
"Could be. Believe whatever you want. You're not hurt, though, are you?" Potato grins.
Chol-su is positive that people at the Company won't easily forget this incident. He realizes that he makes an unbelievably pathetic figure, apprehended and cuffed by the police like an idiot. "Did you catch those assholes' names?"
"Why do you want to know? You want to file a public grievance with the Office of the President? You're not exactly completely innocent, either. Wasn't that ID of yours supposedly lost?"
Chol-su draws in a deep breath. He turns around and stalks down the hall, in the direction the cops ran off. The bookstore employees, poking their heads out of the doorway and peeking at him, shut the door when their eyes meet. Potato and his men are still rooted in place, deliberating over something. Chol-su opens the door at the end of the corridor and leaves the bookstore. He sees an emergency exit and a freight elevator. Now he's certain that he discovered Ki-yong's escape route. Potato follows Chol-su, and they exchange goodbyes. Chol-su takes the stairs to P2 for his car. He rummages through his pockets for his parking ticket.
HYON-MI'S FAVORITE TIME of day is the late afternoon, after the classroom is cleaned. Sometimes she stays behind after class and writes in her journal or catches up on some homework. During that time of day, the sun creeps through the west windows of the classroom, slanting all the way to the third row of desks. If she looked outside, she would see boys stripped to their undershirts, sweating on the basketball court in the corner of the field. Everything else would be resting in such peace. But today, she isn't alone—three students lean on desks, facing her.
"We have to go to our cram schools," Jae-gyong says, trying to get things going.
"Okay, Jae-gyong. We can start now that everyone's here," Hyon-mi reassures her. She looks around the small group. "So you heard what our teacher said, right? About the classroom beautification project? I'd love it if you guys could help out."
"Really, help out? Don't you mean we're going to have to do everything?" smirks Han-saem, who scored the second highest after Hyon-mi in the previous month's exams.
"No, no, of course I'm going to work on it too," Hyon-mi explains. "But I need your help, 'cause, well, you guys know how bad I am at this artsy stuff."
"It's not like you need artistic talent for this," Han-saem interrupts.
Tae-su, the only boy in the group, interjects: "Why don't we just get it over with and go home? Hyon-mi, what do you want me to do?"
It's an open secret that Tae-su has a crush on Jae-gyong. Had it not been for that, Hyon-mi doesn't think he would have volunteered for a beautification project, which would just make the other boys poke fun at him. But it doesn't matter what his motive is. Hyon-mi is just grateful that he intervened.
"Okay, let's just decide what we're going to do with the back wall and the bulletin board and the windows, and then starting tomorrow we'll stay after class every day, just for a little while, until it's done," Hyon-mi directs.
They push together several desks, take out a notebook, and brainstorm. Once the meeting starts, everyone becomes involved, even Jae-gyong and Han-saem. Tae-su glances at Jae-gyong periodically, but she ignores him. Hyon-mi doesn't dominate the discussion, and soon Han-saem takes charge and suggests several options, getting louder and bossier the more she gets into it. Everything is going well. Near the end of their brainstorming session, Jae-gyong nudges Hyon-mi.
"Hey, Hyon-mi, need to go to the bathroom?"
Hyon-mi doesn't really have to, but she readily follows Jae-gyong out. As soon as they are inside the bathroom, Jae-gyong turns to her and blurts, "I really, really don't like Tae-su, Hyon-mi."
"Why not? I think he likes you."
"Whatever. I don't care. I really can't stand him."
"Why?"
"Do I have to have a reason for not liking him?"
"Like, you don't even want to look at him?"
"Exactly," Jae-gyong agrees.
Hyon-mi studies her in a serious manner.
"I want to quit," Jae-gyong announces.
"You can't! What're we going to do without you? Who's going to do all the drawings?"
"What do I care? I don't do art so that I can beautify the classroom." Jae-gyong pouts.
"What did Tae-su ever do to you?"
"Nothing, but he keeps looking at me. Ew. He totally grosses me out."
"Want me to tell him to stop?"
"No, don't do that. Don't even talk to him about it."
"I don't mind," Hyon-mi offers.
"No, if you do he's going to think that I like him."
"Fine," Hyon-mi decides, "then can't we just make Tae-su do other stuff while you do the drawings? We can make him hammer things and lug planters and stuff like that so he's not around. Come on, you won't have to work with him. You know how hard it is to get guys to do this."
"You don't get it, do you? If we do this beautification project together, he's going to, like, cherish this memory like it's some stupid trophy. I don't want him to think about me at all, it's so freaking disgusting. Get it?" Jae-gyong insists.
Hyon-mi doesn't think Tae-su is the kind of kid who deserves to be that vilified. Tae-su is a very ordinary boy, a little shorter than average, around the top 10 percent of the class. He's crazy about manga and J-Pop. He's the kind of kid who puts on earphones during breaks and reads. Sure, he's a little obsessed with manga and anime, but it isn't like he's in anyone's way. Hyon-mi is a little surprised that someone could hate a guy like that for no reason.
Jae-gyong takes some tissue from her pocket and wipes the corners of her eyes, having worked herself up a little. Hyon-mi hugs her with one arm to reassure her, although she isn't quite sure why she's trying to make her feel better. It seems to her that Tae-su is the one who should be reassured, but it really isn't the kind of situation where she can do what is fair.
"I'm going to have to quit. I came today for our teacher's sake but I really can't do this with Tae-su here. Tell the teacher for me, okay?" Jae-gyong asks Hyon-mi.
They go back to the classroom. Han-saem squints at them suspiciously, as if she detected what is going on. Hyon-mi hurriedly wraps things up. "Let's meet for a little bit after classes tomorrow, too."
Jae-gyong leaves first without a word, slinging her backpack across her shoulders. Tae-su follows her out, but goes off in the opposite direction.
"What's up with Jae-gyong?" Han-saem stops Hyon-mi, who is getting ready to leave.
"What?"
"Why's she all mad?"
"She's not mad." Hyon-mi walks down the corridor toward the stairs.
Han-saem tags after her. "So I hear you're going to Jin-guk's today."
"What?" Hyon-mi whips around and glares at her.
Han-saem grins triumphantly. "Why're you so shocked? So yo
u're not going?" Han-saem probes.
"Who told you?"
"So are you going or not?"
"Why do you care?"
"Oh, so I can't even ask?"
Hyon-mi starts walking forward. "I'm not going."
"Really? I heard it was Jin-guk's birthday."
"So?" Hyon-mi retorts.
"You didn't get invited?" Han-saem pursues.
Hyon-mi is stuck between a rock and a hard place. There's nothing wrong with being invited to a friend's birthday party, but she knows how catty girls can be. She knows that tomorrow everyone at school will know, and soon all the teachers will know too, and eventually all sorts of sordid rumors will be circulating. She doesn't know how to get out of this. But then a thought materializes in her head, like a message from God, transforming into words and leaking out of her mouth, as if it were just waiting to be said out loud. "Oh, I'm not the one who was invited, it was A-yong."
"Really?" Han-saem's eyes grow wide at this new piece of information. "Oh, I get it." She nods. "I thought you were dating him."
"Well, he's really going out with A-yong, but you know how it is with her. So I talk to him for her, and—"
Han-saem cuts her off. "Oh, it all makes sense. No wonder."
"A-yong wants me to go with her."
"She's so weird! Are you going?"
"I don't know yet." Hyon-mi feels guilty that Han-saem believes all of her spontaneous lies, but she also feels superior, like an artist. She's made something out of nothing, and the usefulness of her creation instantly becomes clear. She's controlling the situation now, although she was cornered only a minute ago.
She goes one step further. "Oh, and Jae-gyong? She told me she hated Tae-su, and so she's going to quit the beautification project."
"Really?" Han-saem says, her eyes glittering. "Bitch. There's nothing wrong with Tae-su."
"I know, right?" Hyon-mi agrees.
Han-saem links arms with Hyon-mi. Hyon-mi has never liked how girls she isn't close with link their arms through hers, but this time she doesn't slide her arm out. Instead, she grins at Han-saem, who tightens her grip.
ON THE WAY home from work, Soji can't stop thinking about Ki-yong. Although she has known him for a long time, she's never seen him act like this. She realizes that she doesn't really know him all that well. An orphan with nobody to rely on, he always seems to have a shadow cast across his face. He doesn't know how to joke and doesn't seem like the type who could ever hurt anyone. He never gives the impression that he's mean or cowardly. But sometimes she thinks he has lost his passion for life. Other times she thinks he purposely wears his sorrow on his sleeve to trigger women's maternal instincts. But Soji has always thought of him as the kind of guy who wouldn't put his feelings before other matters. He assumes a shell of hardened detachment common to men who have led difficult lives. Her thoughts only confirm that she doesn't know anything about him.
Today, he was completely different from his usual self. He looked hounded, as if he had just shot a man dead. Soji was reminded of something on the news recently, a government employee who killed his wife before going to work. He ran around all day in a frenzy—even calling the police to file a missing person report, saying that his wife wasn't picking up the phone—until he finally confessed that he was the one who'd killed her.
Ever since Ki-yong asked her to keep something safe for him five years ago, she has been curious about what was inside. She met up with him after a long hiatus, near the end of the IT boom, when all kinds of websites became popular, and you could make billions of won if you created a good one, and he handed her a small bag.
"Can you keep this for me?" Ki-yong asked.
"What is it?"
The bag was secured with a small gold lock with a three-numbered code. It bulged a little.
"I've become interested in writing, so I wrote a novel, but I'm embarrassed to keep it at home. My diaries are in there too. I'm not going to tell Ma-ri for a while yet."
Soji was surprised. She never dreamed that he would write a novel. She knew he enjoyed reading books and watching movies, but she had no idea that he would be interested in writing or doing something creative. At the time, having recently made her debut as a fiction writer, Soji was working on her first full-length novel, Otter, about a man fighting to save his house. She thought it was odd that, in a country filled with men who devoted their lives to amassing resources to purchase a home, nobody had written a novel about buying and keeping one's house.
Ki-yong, after listening to Soji's idea for her novel, commented, "That reminds me of one of Sam Peckinpah's films. What's it called? Oh, Straw Dogs. Dustin Hoffman is a mathematician who escapes the violent city and goes to live in the countryside, in his wife's hometown. And his wife's ex-boyfriends start building a garage that encroaches on his property."
"I've never heard of that movie."
"Dustin Hoffman can't get out of a hunting trip his wife's ex-boyfriends invite him to, but suddenly he realizes that he's left alone at the hunting site. Meanwhile the guys in the neighborhood are raping his wife. So the Dustin Hoffman character, who's a cowardly and fearful man, grabs a shotgun and other weapons to defend his home."
"I should see that movie," Soji said.
"I don't know if it'll have anything to do with your novel. I always thought the movie was really about the violent instinct of men, not about the struggle to protect your house."
"But that's the same thing! When do you think this violent instinct comes into play? When you talk about protecting your home, it obviously means that you're protecting your woman and child, too."
Ki-yong conceded her point.
Soji kept talking. "I don't know why that's never addressed in Korean novels, I mean the story of the man who's desperately defending his house. Especially since so many people's houses and families are taken away from them. In this era of bad credit, so many men just look on as their houses, something they've worked to have their whole lives, are handed over to other people, all because of a small amount of debt. Why isn't anyone going after them with weapons? Where are the sit-ins and self-immolations? When we were in college, people would rally around a cause and protest, all because some stranger somewhere got tortured. All the people who protested back then make up the core of society today, the heads of families, and I wonder why they just let the loan sharks and banks take their homes."
"Do you really want me to answer?" Ki-yong asked.
"Who else would I be talking to?"
"I don't know."
Soji, taking a sip of beer, continued. "That story is always the subject of American Westerns, you know. If someone comes to take your house and farm, you resist to the death. And if that doesn't work, you go get your revenge. Why don't we have a culture of revenge? When people suffer such terrible things, why don't they get revenge? Have you ever read any Korean novel dealing with the theme of revenge?"
"Now that I think of it, I don't think so. I feel like there's always talk of forgiveness instead," Ki-yong thought out loud.
"Right? I don't think we care as much about good and evil as the Westerners do. And since we don't think about the world in those terms, there's no reason for revenge. We're always saying, Oh, but those people have hit hard times too, or something like that."
"Yeah, we do say that."
"But even if we don't care about good and evil, I don't think anyone can really just stay calm and not be outraged if someone comes and takes their home."
"Are you trying to make your readers mad?"
"No, but I do want to get at the rage that's hiding inside. You know how they say a great novel is one that makes you realize there was nothing like it before? You know what I mean?"
There was a short and awkward silence.
"You're going to be a great novelist," Ki-yong said.
Soji grew embarrassed. "You shouldn't say things you don't believe."
Ki-yong laughed. "I have to say it's kind of hard to believe, actually."
She
patted the bag he had handed her. "So what's your novel about?"
"Oh, nothing."
"No, tell me," Soji pressed.
Ki-yong hesitated, then said, "It's just, you know, stuff about the 1980s. Stuff about college..."
She cut him off. "No, don't write about that stuff yet. It's everywhere right now."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. There are way too many novels about that time."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
If she had known what he had really written about, she wouldn't have said that so glibly. Since he came down, Ki-yong has been a prolific chronicler of the boundary between life and death, except he never puts it down on paper. For over ten years after he arrived in Seoul in 1984, he'd been in charge of facilitating agents' entry into South Korea. Hundreds of agents used him as the entry point to disperse all over the country. He assigned them appropriate names and jobs, something only an agent who had survived for that long in the dizzying sea of words in the South could do. This wasn't something Office No. 35 could do from up north, with access only to indirect information culled from books and magazines. There was always something inauthentic about life stories created by agents in Pyongyang. As the years went by, language grew outdated as new words were coined, older phrases coming to mean something different or disappearing entirely. An agent needed more than the language learned through books and TV dramas. Ki-yong's job was to arm them with the most current vocabulary and a life story that wouldn't draw suspicion.
Lee Sang-hyok thought Ki-yong was perfect for that job, and Ki-yong enjoyed it too. He didn't have to cock a gun at someone, or be stuck in the cabin of a midget submarine, breathing in the limited supply of oxygen, wearing a damp scuba suit, chewing on uncooked ramen noodles, fighting motion sickness. Instead, Ki-yong read Korean literature and religiously watched the documentary TV series The Human Era, which showed a week in the life of an ordinary person. He studied subtitles on videos and memorized entire sentences. He had to know how all the different classes lived in the South. On weekends, he would go out to the markets and talk to people, or take a tour bus from Kwanghwamun all the way to the mountains in Kangwon Province. The people on the bus for a weekend hike told him their life stories, without suspecting a thing. They spilled their stories by springs at Buddhist temples, on helipads at the top of a mountain, in frost-covered eulalia fields.