At first she stayed in order to wait for Mi-yeon. Later, she couldn’t leave because of the money she’d squandered and her steadily mounting debt. She’d wanted consolation for Mi-yeon’s betrayal, but soon enough she needed five million won and more. Though, if she were honest about it, the five million had always been more important than Mi-yeon. Se-oh had been in no position to spend it so carelessly. Five million needed to turn into fifteen million, and then into fifty million. The thought of making that much money in a single stroke drove her to take out a bank loan. More debt led to more and more loans. She repeated the process countless times, but that first five million won never found its way back to her.
Five million was an enormous amount. The fact that she could not manage to save it up was proof enough, as was the fact that it had confined her to that place for over a year and a half. The day she’d counted every bill of the five million won her father had transferred to her, the scent of cash lingered on her hands for a long time. Now the scent had vanished.
As her debts mounted, her contacts decreased. Before long, she’d run through everyone she knew. She began dialing numbers at random. She was desperate for someone to at least pretend to recognize her name. She figured this was probably the point at which Mi-yeon had thought of her. She was sure she wasn’t the first person on Mi-yeon’s mind. But once Mi-yeon had thought of her, she would not have hesitated to call Se-oh. Just as Se-oh wouldn’t now, either. What mattered was not friendship, or honor, or the value of relationships.
What mattered was five million won.
20
Every time Mi-yeon introduced Bu-wi to someone, she would tell them, “He was the captain of the baseball team.” As if that were the most essential thing about him.
It was hard to tell from his voice over the phone whether Bu-wi was still living up to the title of captain. Se-oh was so preoccupied with thinking about it that she stumbled over her words and didn’t follow the manual.
“Hi, do you, uh, remember me?”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“It’s Se-oh. Se-oh Yun.”
“Se-oh Yun? Oh yeah, of course, I remember you.”
“You do?”
“You had a crush on me.”
The team leader saw Se-oh’s face go stiff and hurriedly drew a smiley face on a piece of paper. Se-oh forced the corners of her mouth to angle up as she responded.
“Oh, you knew about that?”
“I was just joking.”
“But it’s true.”
“Anyway, what’s up?”
Bu-wi didn’t sound like he was smiling. But he wasn’t short with her, either, which put her mind at ease.
“How have you been?” Se-oh asked.
The team leader drew a large X on the paper. That meant to stop asking questions. It was better to save listening to the other person for later. The team leader scribbled, Tell him how well you’re doing.
“How’s school going?” Se-oh asked as she turned away from the team leader, who crossed her arms in resignation and sat back in her chair.
“We haven’t talked in years, and that’s what you want to ask me? What about you? Still ugly? Still built like a dump truck?”
Bu-wi laughed. Se-oh laughed, too. This was fun. Their laughter made her want to see him. She asked Bu-wi the same question Mi-yeon had asked her.
“We should meet up some time, don’t you think?”
Bu-wi immediately asked, “What on earth for?” Se-oh laughed at that as well. The team leader gave her a look of pity, as if to say she’d just blown five million won.
“Don’t you want to see for yourself whether I’m still ugly?” she asked.
“Faces don’t change that much. Oh, wait, unless you got plastic surgery?”
Se-oh laughed again. She didn’t realize until later that Bu-wi wasn’t really saying those things in jest, but she assumed in the moment that he just wanted to make her laugh.
At their meeting spot, half an hour went by without any contact from Bu-wi. Se-oh started to dial his number but gave up. She figured she was being stood up. Willingly answering her call and joking around was one thing, but he had no real reason to meet her in person.
Thinking he wouldn’t show made her more eager to see him. For all she knew, he might have caught word about her already. The friends who’d joined her in the training center had all gone back and quickly spread the word about her to others. Se-oh was learning that this work meant first losing your close friends, then losing the people you’d thought of as friends, and finally losing everyone.
She often tried to picture what Mi-yeon was doing, what kind of job she had, who she hung out with, and what she talked about after having left. It was as difficult as imagining the Mi-yeon who’d been in the pyramid. The Mi-yeon she’d seen for the first time in three years had broken into a dazzling smile at the sight of five million won; now she didn’t know what might make Mi-yeon smile.
The minutes passed, and the likelihood of Bu-wi showing dwindled to nothing. It was time to give up. She didn’t want to go back to the training center or to the dorm, but she could see the team leader waiting for her outside the coffee shop. Just as she was about to get up and leave, Bu-wi came running in. She was so happy to see him that she leapt out of her chair. Bu-wi waved at her. They’d always been on more formal terms before, but this time Se-oh followed suit and waved, too.
Bu-wi, with his broad shoulders, looked as strong and athletic as ever. The hand he’d waved at her looked thick and tanned, and he was breathing hard, as if he’d come running.
“Whaddya know? You are still ugly,” he said.
Se-oh laughed hard. Bu-wi stared at her as if confused about why she was laughing.
They sat face to face but had nothing to talk about. Bu-wi grumbled about how the decor in the café made it look more like a children’s petting zoo, and how the coffee was weak, and how it tasted like they’d just dipped the beans in warm water for a second. Se-oh stayed quiet, unsure of whether to bring up the past. Bu-wi seemed to be feeling the same way.
Then he surprised her by asking, “How’s Mi-yeon?”
It was obvious from the question that Mi-yeon had never contacted Bu-wi to try to recruit him. He didn’t know what had happened to her. Se-oh relaxed.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
Bu-wi seemed to understand the implications of her answer. And yet they talked about Mi-yeon for a while anyway. She was the only thing they had in common.
She ended up telling him about how Mi-yeon used to give her the silent treatment when she was upset with her, and how she would rage at a shoelace that refused to tie easily or at someone who cut her off or walked too slowly in front of her on the sidewalk. And though Mi-yeon would nitpick at Se-oh for the most trivial things and render her speechless, she never snapped at her. On the other hand, when Mi-yeon herself did something wrong, she would act horribly indifferent. Se-oh would always apologize first simply to soften the mood. Then, right around the time it would be all but forgotten, Se-oh would show how hurt she was that Mi-yeon made her apologize first even though it was Mi-yeon’s fault in the first place. Mi-yeon would give her a look as if disaster had just struck and explain to her convincingly of how emotionally exhausted Se-oh made her. Bu-wi remembered this aspect of Mi-yeon quite well, too.
Bu-wi was less talkative than she’d expected. Of course, that could have been because they’d never been close. He didn’t say much about himself, but he didn’t give the impression that he was hiding something or deliberately not talking. Nor did Se-oh get the feeling that he simply had nothing to say, or was keeping quiet because he had nothing worth sharing. He kept a polite distance, but didn’t make that distance too obvious. He made Se-oh want to keep talking. He got her to open up and then listened carefully. He even nodded at all the right moments. She very nearly blurted out why she was really there and what Mi-yeon had done to her.
The team leader texted to tell her to take him to a second location. Se-oh ros
e and said goodbye to Bu-wi instead. She could have taken him somewhere else and brought up the pyramid, but she didn’t. She didn’t know why in the moment, but after returning to the drab dorm that night and seeing all those money-hungry team members seated in a circle, deep in the middle of a self-reflection session, she understood.
The thought of bringing him to the dorm filled her with shame. She didn’t want him to see the tiny, cramped room, the groups of people sitting on the floor as they ate what passed for meals there, the piles of unsold merchandise stacked up all over the place, the bathroom with chunks of rotten food trapped in the drain cover.
She also realized after returning to the dorm that the clothes she wore were in terrible shape. She understood, too, how their cheap fabric and poor fit could make a person look so shabby. Her eyes were finally opened to the terribleness of the food that she only tolerated because she had no appetite anyway, and the unbearable discomfort of sleeping shoulder to shoulder with so many others every night.
Late that night, after the self-reflection session had ended and everyone was asleep, she lay there and thought about Bu-wi. The more she thought about him, the more she missed him. She wanted to tell him something. By the end of that long, sleepless night, she had thought of a way she could see him without feeling so ashamed. She would get him to join her here, after all.
Not long after, she met him again. Slowly, carefully, she talked about the constantly rising cost of tuition, the student loans that would take forever to pay off, the unclear career path that lay ahead of her after graduation, her choice of major that she wasn’t cut out for. Bu-wi listened closely, chiming in now and then with his own woes.
When Bu-wi said he was hungry, Se-oh took him to a familiar restaurant without thinking too much about it. It was the restaurant she usually took prospective recruits to the first time they met. The same restaurant Mi-yeon had taken her to.
Two bowls of ox-bone soup came out. Now all she had to do was begin her pitch. It would be much harder than with anyone else. She took a big gulp of the broth first. It warmed her. Even if he turned this down, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t say no to hanging out with her again.
“Bu-wi,” she said slowly. She hesitated a moment, and then began by saying, “The truth is . . .” As she recited the lines she’d practiced the night before, Bu-wi ate spoonful after spoonful of his soup, the broth red from the spice paste he’d added.
After he’d polished off the bowl, Bu-wi sat quietly for a moment and then asked, “So how much have you made?”
Se-oh flinched. You can earn as much as you want. Your initial investment will become the seed that grows the tree that flowers with money. She was supposed to say the same abstract, figurative things that she said to everyone else. She couldn’t tell him how much she’d made, because she hadn’t made anything. All she’d done was steadily increase her debt. She was supposed to skirt the topic or respond by asking him how much he wanted to make. If she told him the truth, she would lose him. It didn’t mean she was incompetent. With this type of work, you had to endure a period of failure and humiliation before you could succeed. Se-oh believed that firmly. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to say any of it to Bu-wi.
Luckily, Bu-wi didn’t seem interested in hearing her answer. He just muttered to himself, “Not that much, huh?” and let it drop. Unlike her other friends, he didn’t criticize or make fun of Se-oh for falling for a scam. He didn’t get angry or scorn her for trying to drag him into it, too. He didn’t even accuse her of calling him under false pretenses. He didn’t threaten her and tell her to never call him again. She was relieved. Now she had no reason to lie to him; she could drop the subterfuge.
When the team leader first handed her the “Action Guide” manual, she’d marveled at the contents. The manual categorized people according to different patterns of reactions. They may have all been individuals, but once they were in the manual, they became typical, collective beings.
Bu-wi was different. Especially the way he said, “I’ll try it for the experience.” And the way he said, “If it doesn’t work out, let’s quit together.” And, “If neither you nor I can make a go of it, then that means it wasn’t meant to be.” And finally, “If you have trouble quitting, I’ll help you.”
She could have bluffed and said she was hardly in need of help. Worry about yourself, she could have said. She could have disparaged his good intentions and retorted, Who do you think you are to offer me help? She could have questioned his motives. Instead, she wanted to ask if she looked pathetic. She didn’t, for fear it would sound stupid. She’d never feared that with anyone else before.
Se-oh stumbled on the way into the training center. Bu-wi told her to watch her step but did not take her hand or put an arm around her shoulders. He simply observed, his eyes devoid of affection or concern. He may as well have been looking at a sandwich board or a dog lying on the sidewalk.
A good four years had passed since that day, and yet Se-oh could still clearly recall the look in his eyes. It made her lose courage every time she started to miss him. But when she considered his indifferent yet cheerful voice, his thoughtful manner, and his calm, regular breaths, she thought maybe the lack of emotion he’d shown was forced. She even wondered at times if her guilt had driven her to imagine things. The thought began as a way to console herself, but later she believed it. She feared that, if she were ever to see him in person again, she might be shocked to learn that the look of perfect indifference had been real and not at all imagined as she hoped.
The four years she’d spent mulling over that look in his eyes had been a bumpy ride for her. Not that she was so naive as to think that time wasn’t a rough and bumpy thing. She’d known it back then, too. She’d also known that the time she spent in the pyramid would be lopped off, severed from the rest of her life as if those months had never happened. But instead of being discarded and forgotten, they would weigh over her forever.
21
She had thought at first that the tenement flats were lush with plants and trees, an illusion created by the park that stood between her and them. With the park behind her now, the only greenery to be found was a single tree in the courtyard. From a distance, the black debris netting surrounding the demolition site had looked like a pit opening up beneath the buildings. Someone had slashed a warning, RESIDENTS ONLY, in bright red paint across the entrance.
The debris netting blocked out the sunlight, throwing the stairwell into darkness. And yet, outside, the weather was so clear she could see a cloud slowly drifting past, briefly caught in the frame of the window. The acrylic placard for the door number had fallen off, and in its place someone had written 101 with a marker. Se-oh Yun took a deep breath and rang the bell. The doorbell was black with grime except for the one spot in the center that had been rubbed bare by fingers. From the other side of the door, a voice asking who was there sounded very far away.
“I’m from the grocery store,” Se-oh responded loudly.
She waited. Jae-hyung had warned her several times that she had to be patient with this one.
Inside the apartment, the old woman would be slowly making her way over, scooting across the floor on her butt. After a moment, Se-oh heard the knob turn. She stepped to one side. Slowly the door to #101 opened.
“You’re from the grocery store?”
The voice came from below.
“Yes.”
Se-oh stood straight and tall and examined the inside of the apartment. The old woman stared up at her. Se-oh had been told that complications from diabetes had rendered the woman’s legs useless and kept her confined at home.
“Where’s Jae-hyung?”
The woman craned to see behind Se-oh. She looked like she would refuse to let Se-oh enter until Jae-hyung arrived. Jae-hyung had gotten into an accident while delivering groceries and had to wear a cast for four weeks. If not for that stroke of luck, it would have been much, much longer before Se-oh came to #101. In fact, she might never have come. Jae-hyung handle
d all of their elderly customers. Even Wu-sul found them overwhelming.
“Jae-hyung is busy.”
“How busy could he be that he can’t even stop by? A store that small couldn’t possibly have that many customers. Don’t think I don’t know he and the boss just sit around goofing off and chatting all day. Did something happen to Jae-hyung? He should have at least called to tell me he couldn’t make it. . . . Or if he really is busy, then he could come later. When did you start working there? I heard they were hiring. I guess you’re the one employed there now? Ha, employed. Fancy word for a place no bigger than a booger. Not like you have to get all dressed up to work there.”
Se-oh didn’t say anything. Jae-hyung would have gotten down on his knees and made eye contact with the old woman as they spoke. Se-oh stood up straight, her face blank, and only looked down at the old woman when she absolutely had to. The old woman seemed to have tired of holding her head up, or maybe she’d realized that Se-oh was not the soft and warmhearted type like Jae-hyung, because she finally moved aside for Se-oh and said, “You can put the stuff down in there.”
Se-oh took her first step inside. Her head was spinning. Everything was falling into place. It scared her, too, to think that something could happen right then and there. She trembled as she took off her shoes and stepped into the living room. She was certain that, at any moment, Su-ho would open one of the inner doors and appear before her.
The Law of Lines Page 13