He took the maglev to the hospital, feeling an odd puree of emotions: hope, worry, uncertainty. He did not do anything on the train. Everyone read twice-hourly updated polypapers, trying to work out what had happened in Washington, whether they needed to run or stay or pray. But he could only think of his mother.
Kwan knew he should not get his hopes up.
In a way, his mother's unconsciousness had been neat, and tidy, and even a bit dignified. He had no idea of what she was like or how much of her sanity she'd kept.
It was possible that nothing ever again would be neat, tidy, and dignified about Sun-Hi Shin.
When he walked into the room, he heard an alien sound, his mother's voice.
"... notice how even though you closed the blinds, light still reflects off the curvature of the slats and comes up the side? That's called indirect light, and it's the reason optic cables work. If we didn't have... "
Sun Hi was in a hospital bed, and a nurse was sitting in a chair. They turned to stare at the intruder.
"Hi." He tried to shake the irrational feeling that he wasn't welcome here.
Sun Hi's mouth started to move, and for a second Kwan was sure she'd ask, “who are you?”
Instead, she smiled. "Kwan... my son... my boy. May I give him a hug?"
"Just take it easy."
Mother and son embraced.
"Her CRS Response Profile started picking up three days ago," the nurse said. "At first, it seemed like a normal fluctuation, but she kept climbing up in a steady unbroken line. Soon, she was awake and communicating by eye blinks. The specialist on duty was getting quite annoyed with her by the end. He'd upgrade her status, she'd turn another corner, and he'd have to upgrade her again."
"My boy... my boy... so big... "
Kwan had no words.
For the last ten years, she'd been unable to listen. Now, at the critical moment, he was unable to speak.
Something popped into his head. "Mom... how much do you remember?"
"I remember getting on a helicopter, my memory breaks, and I woke up here. But I knew time had passed! I looked around this morning and knew I'd spent years and years here. I guessed nine years, and I was almost right. How did I do that, I wonder?"
Kwan didn't reply. One thought equals conversation. A million thoughts equals silence.
"And I know something else,” she said. “My son is dead."
It was too much. Kwan felt like a piñata beaten with a stick, knocked every way but loose. "Your... son? I'm right here, Mom. I'm your son."
"My other son.”
“You don't have another son.”
“I did, but now he's dead.” Sun-Hi Shin sighed. “A few days ago, he woke for the first time. But they killed him.”
Then Kwan understood.
THE END (July-October 2014)
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