The Cabinet

by Un-su Kim

  EMBARRASSED OF THE HUMAN SPECIES

  “So, how much did those bastards offer you? 500 million? A billion?”

  As if he had been waiting for me, Professor Kwon launched into his attack as soon as I opened the door to the hospital room. His eyes were shaking with dread. Who could have told him? Was someone watching me? The agent? After all, I didn’t know his true identity. Or perhaps Jeong-eun? Yes, it was probably her.

  “Two billion. And a bonus if circumstances allow,” I answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Something close to relief appeared in Professor Kwon’s eyes.

  “I see the price has gone up…”

  “Oh, stop your worrying.”

  Professor Kwon looked as though he was embarrassed of himself as he avoided my eyes and turned toward the window. I had come today to ask Professor Kwon some questions. I wanted to know the truth about the gingko tree man Mr Kim, about his back-up plan, Jeong-eun, and about those chimera files. But perhaps today wasn’t the right day to ask these questions. According to Professor Kwon’s doctor, whom I ran into before arriving at the hospital room, he had a week or two at the most.

  “So?” Professor Kwon asked as he turned to look my way again. “Are you going to betray me and hand over those files for two billion won?” His tone sounded both serious and sarcastic at the same time.

  “Do you even need to ask? What favor have you done for me that’s worth two billion won? I’ll give them the files as quickly as I can find them.”

  “And what will you do with all that money?”

  “Is there anything I can’t do with all that money?”

  “So, you have no intention of continuing to look after Cabinet 13? I’ll keep giving you paychecks.”

  “How much?”

  “A million won a month. And I’ll increase your pay to match inflation.”

  “A million won?”

  “Is that too little?”

  “You’re joking, right? That’s even less than my current paycheck. I’d rather get paid for twiddling my thumbs at my desk.”

  “What could you possibly want working at that damned desk job? Bumming around, playing go, and telling bad jokes at a research institute where there’s nothing to do – is that your idea of a job? That’s a life for parasites with nowhere to go because they’re too afraid, a life for people who dig their grave in the same place they take a shit. The only thing people like that can ever own is a 100-square-foot apartment.”

  He seemed angry, and the sight of him angry was ridiculous. I wanted to say, “Hey, what about me? I’m the one who should be shouting!”

  “I caught Jeong-eun looking through the contents of Cabinet 13. I guess she’s been reading symptomer files for the last two years. She even took notes. Perhaps she’s just a meticulous person, but she organized things better than I had.”

  Professor Kwon didn’t show any surprise at what should have been news to him.

  “Is that why you’re hurt?” he asked.

  “No. Actually I felt somewhat relieved that you had a backup plan.”

  Professor Kwon repeated the words “somewhat relieved” under his breath, then turned to me.

  “What does Cabinet 13 mean to you?” he asked.

  “I’ve been too busy to think about ‘meaning.’”

  “You could always have stopped.”

  “I felt bad for you, so I pretended to be fooled. Besides, I didn’t have any work to do.”

  “It’s my wish that you keep looking after Cabinet 13. It’s an important task and not just anyone can do it. With a few exceptions, you’re the right man for the job.”

  The right man! Is that so? For this job? I’d never thought that. I thought I was the least suited to looking after Cabinet 13. I wasn’t calm or composed; I was clumsy, the first to get worked up and irritated during consultations, and intolerant toward foreign things and people. Was this the kind of man he wished would look after Cabinet 13 when he was gone? That was terrifying.

  “Don’t you mean Jeong-eun is the right person for the job?” I asked.

  Professor Kwon stared into space for a moment as though he were thinking about the meaning of my question. At that moment I was reminded of a highway rest stop. Why was I reminded of something like a highway rest stop at a time like that? Gas stations, fish cakes, udon, kimbap, and truck drivers taking a siesta. I remember sitting with Professor Kwon at a rest stop like that. A highway rest stop. The weather was nice, and people were in good spirits having gotten out of the big city. I was happy to have an excuse to be outside. And it was nice to escape the city. On days like that, I always felt like I was going on a picnic. To think about it, Professor Kwon could have gone without me. He’d done fine without me up to that point, and it wasn’t like I was much help anyway. So why did he bring me along? Was it all for the sake of leaving Cabinet 13 to me?

  “But why Jeong-eun of all people? She can barely look after herself let alone important files,” I said, showing my irritation.

  “That girl is a bit of an odd one. A bit frustrating at times, too. But I think you two will do well working together.”

  “By any chance, is she a symptomer?”

  Professor cocked his head at an angle as he looked at me. He suddenly changed the topic to the chimera files.

  “Tell me, do you think I have the chimera files they’re looking for?”

  Suddenly, my face flushed with embarrassment. It felt like a shameful part of myself had just been exposed.

  “Do you want me to speak honestly?”

  “It doesn’t matter how you speak. It’s not easy fooling an old man like me; I’ve been around the block too many times. Especially not for a simpleminded youth like yourself.”

  “Yesterday I spent all day thinking about where you could have hidden them. Of course, I was also thinking about all the fantastic things I could do with that kind of money.”

  “I’ve spent the last forty years on this research. I’m not married, and I have no friends. Why do you think that is? Why do you think I’ve engrossed myself in my research like a madman? Is it because of some beautiful conviction that I could find something for the betterment of humankind? Don’t make me laugh. I’m not such a magnanimous person. The reason I started this research was because of my youthful vanity. I wanted to show the world a masterpiece only a genius like myself could possibly conceive. My research was the product of vanity. Nothing more than selfishness. And through my research I have brought about so much pain. I bear that pain in my chest every day. I realize now that humans shouldn’t tamper in the coming of a new species. Humankind has no say in the matter. It wouldn’t matter even if we tried. The life of a human is too short to do anything about the future of the universe. That’s why nature always does the choosing. New humans will be born on their own. All we have to do is wait. I destroyed all my research. It was rubbish, anyway. It was so worthless it was dangerous. There are no chimera files. Don’t even try looking for them.”

  After Professor Kwon fell asleep, I checked his IV fluids and left the hospital. I hadn’t been able to ask him about the gingko tree man, Mr Kim. I wanted to ask if Mr Kim was also one of the sources of pain for Professor Kwon, one of the people he had hurt. But I didn’t. There are moments in our life that pass by with just a murmur, and sometimes we need to pretend we didn’t notice them. Instead, I looked at Professor Kwon’s face as he slept and said to myself, “They told me Mr Kim died. That balding man with big puppy eyes is dead.”

  Thinking about it, I realized Professor Kwon was only ever exceedingly selfish toward me. Conversely, he was only ever selfless when it came to those people he defined as symptomers. He emptied his wallet for some of those symptomers. But he never even opened his wallet for me. Perhaps he never felt the need to be altruistic toward me. But he should have at least tossed me a look of pity once in a while.

  Professor Kwon firmly believed that symptomers were a new species, different from humans. But I had a different opinion. I once said to him:
>
  “I think symptomers are still human. They belong to the same species as us. The only difference is they’re a bit sick. They’ve contracted some unknown disease.”

  “Possible. But I hope not.”

  “You hope not?”

  “Tell me, do you think there’s any hope for the human species?”

  “Yes. I don’t think they are perfect beings, but they are at least capable of reflection.”

  “Reflection! Don’t make me laugh. The Korean War broke out when I was nineteen. People born in the same village, who fished and laughed together by the stream, were split into two groups by ideology. There was so much carnage and vengeance. One day I saw one group stabbed to death by another with bamboo spears. They had lined them up to be stabbed one by one. And then they dug a ditch behind the elementary school to dispose of the bodies. An elementary school, where children laughed and played. Tell me, do you think that was because of ideology?”

  “…”

  “For the last fifty years, has there been any record of people ‘reflecting’ on that period of history? We’ve never stopped fighting. And for stupid reasons like maintaining the same square-footage of our apartment. I hate the human species. They’re a disgrace. And we’re still capable of much worse.”

  “And symptomers will be different?”

  “No one knows. But I can’t help but wish for a more beautiful species. I wish this planet was populated by a kind-hearted and more altruistic species that thinks about others as often as they think about themselves.”

  As Professor Kwon said this, I thought about that elementary school playground and wondered which group Professor Kwon had chosen. As a survivor, he must have been on the side holding the bamboo spears. If he hadn’t been, he would have been buried in that ditch behind the elementary school with everyone else.

  I’m not a scientist. I’m just a chronicler. Everything gets recorded. Whether it is by words or by fossils, by memories or by stories. All things in existence leave records. And as such, the files here are recorded because they exist, and because they have been recorded, they are preserved – whether we want it or not, whether we believe it or not. Regardless of our hate and our prejudice. These things are recorded simply because they just are. Not because they are magnificent or beautiful, but because they exist beside us. I have kept these records. That is what I do.

  CONJOINED TWINS

  The two women were born joined at the head. Their names were An and Chi, Chinese for eyes and teeth. Odd names, to be honest. I had never seen An’s younger sister, Chi. She died at the age of seven from complications after a surgery to separating them. Chi died, and An survived. On An’s face are the marks left from the parting with her sister.

  While talking with An, she often covered her hands, which were remarkably small, like a doll’s.

  “After graduating from high school, I worked for a long time at a factory that made ship radios. My job was attaching parts to the radio boxes on the assembly line. Have you ever seen a 2mm diameter screw? They’re terribly tiny – hard to pick up if you’re new to the job. It takes some time, but eventually they stick to your fingers like magnets. Actually, stick would be the wrong word; it was more like they embedded themselves into the calluses on my fingers. I screwed on all sorts of parts to radios with those 2mm screws. Nine hours a day. Thirteen hours when I had to work overtime. Doing the same thing over and over: it was very monotonous work. I’d work from 8am to 10am, take a fifteen-minute break, then work again until 12:10, our lunchtime. After lunch, we’d work from 1 to 3, take another fifteen-minute break, then work again until dinner at 5:30. We were only given forty minutes for dinner. And then it was back to work again until 8:30. We had no time to rest outside official breaks. And that was because the conveyor belt could never stop. If one person went to the bathroom, all the remaining workers would have to work that much faster. The radios on the conveyor belt were like a never-ending wave. I would tightly grip my 2mm screws and parts as I stared at the radio chassis marching toward me.”

  “Everything is automated these days, isn’t it?”

  “Ship radios are all custom orders, so each radio has to be made to specification. Each ship’s a bit different. Some want sets of 200, others want sets of 500. You know, stuff like that. So I guess you can’t automate it.”

  “Tell me about your first experience being split in two.”

  “We weren’t allowed to listen to the radio at the factory. Listening to the radio of course would lead to music, chatting, and, in general, fun. But as far as the factory manager saw it, listening to radios only increased the probability of defective products. Because of this I always had to work listening to the sound of running motors and metal on metal. Some people are sensitive to the sound of metal on metal. I think I’m one of those people. I tried plugging my ears with this and that, but the sound of metal still seeped through. And now it sounded even louder than before because it was the only sound that I could hear. I worked there doing the same job for eight years. And only four times did I skip overtime.”

  “Was overtime mandatory?”

  “No, it wasn’t mandatory. I just didn’t really have anything else to do.”

  She took a sip of her water. Her hands looked so small as they gripped the cup. They looked like the hands of a seven-year-old. I couldn’t believe those hands could have calluses.

  “Not being allowed to listen to the radio, I spent all day daydreaming. I was dreaming about different places. The playground I used to play at as a child; the sidewalks I used to walk while holding my mother’s hand; the alleyways where I used to jump rope with my friends; the art room where I used to hear the praise of my teachers. If you think about it, there are so many places held fondly in our memories. But on that day, what I was thinking about was the flower bed at the end of the factory. There was a flower I would give water and Yakult to during my breaks. Oh, I wish I knew the name of the flower; it would be so much easier to explain. But I’m not very good with flower names. Anyway, it was a tiny little flower with yellow petals. Smaller even than a fingertip. So small, you might not even think it was a flower.”

  “So, a flower like yourself.”

  Looking somewhat embarrassed, she gave a sheepish laugh.

  “But the male workers liked to play foot volleyball around that flower bed. Naturally, it worried me. That day I was terribly sick. So, I went to the employee lounge during lunch to take a nap. But all the while I could hear the male workers kicking the ball; I was so worried about what might happen if their ball landed on the flower. I wanted to open the window and yell at them to not play foot volleyball there. I wanted to admonish them for being so inconsiderate. But I’m not the kind of person to do that. Besides, foot volleyball was the only thing that gave the male workers enjoyment. When the bell rang, I tried getting up, but my limbs felt so heavy. I needed to go back to the conveyor belt, but I was worried. What if they had killed the flower? I kept having an ominous feeling. So, I quickly ran to the flower bed in the back of the factory. Just for a quick look. I could hear the sound of the conveyor belt revving up, even from outside the factory. I ran faster toward the flowerbed. Thankfully, those yellow petals were safe and sound. But when I went back into the factory, there I was, sitting in what should have been an empty seat, screwing 2mm screws like always. It was so strange.”

  “What were you feeling?”

  “I didn’t have much time to think. I looked at myself for a second, marveling at how strange it was to see myself working, but then I was startled by the head technician who passed me and yelled, ‘Why aren’t you working!’”

  “Do you think it was an astral projection?” I asked.

  “I’m not good with big words. But if what you’re referring to is like those scenes in movies where your spirit leaves your body, I think it was a little different from that. I was able to leave the factory and eat ice cream and gukbap. And it wasn’t for free, either. I liked watching movies, and it would have been nice if I were a sp
irit and could enter the movies without buying a ticket.”

  “Was your consciousness in both bodies or just one?”

  “For the first few minutes, my consciousness was only present in the separated body, but later it was in both.”

  “How do you think that’s possible? I mean, the bodies were in two different places at once.”

  She let out a slight laugh at my question.

  “It doesn’t require much focus to use a screwdriver. The screws basically turn themselves. So, even though my consciousness was in two places at once, I could focus on the body outside the factory. The body inside the factory was really just moving by muscle memory.”

  “But wasn’t it a little strange? Watching a movie in one body and looking at radios in the other?”

  “No, it wasn’t strange at all. No different from daydreaming about the playground from childhood while screwing together radios.”

  “What happened to the separated body after that?”

  “My hometown is in Namhae. It’s a beautiful place. Anyway, not long after being separated from my body, I took a bus and went down to Namhae. Of course, my other self was going to work every morning as if nothing had changed. I guess this sounds strange. But that’s what happened. Anyway, I got off the bus and walked to the sports field of my old elementary school. I always used to imagine it while working at the factory. Seeing no students, I figured the school had been closed. I looked around the premises. I went inside the art room; plucked on the reed organ which was missing a few keys; went inside an empty classroom and wrote on the board with a piece of broken chalk as I pretended to be a teacher scolding children, “You there, stop talking!” When I was young, I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. After that, I wiped down the dusty windows as I remembered the way I used to have fun cleaning the classroom with my friends. Swinging on the creaking playground swings, I looked at the leaves on the persimmon tree as I thought to myself how I hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. I had spent the last eight years of my life turning 2mm screws. I just sat there for a long time. Then suddenly, the thought that I was going to die soon came to me. It’s hard to explain, but I just knew I was going to die soon. I quickly left the playground. It would be bad to leave a corpse in a school. Children coming to play would be frightened by the corpse, and people would become suspicious. I thought for a second about where I should go next. Then I ran to where my mother and father’s graves were located. I plucked the overgrown grass surrounding their graves and apologized for not coming more often. Then, lying down, I looked up at the sky and died.”