by Young-Ha Kim
The woman resembling Judith scooped up her undergarments and disappeared into the guest room. "Why aren't you coming in?" K asked, as if C, who was still standing at the front door, were the one behaving strangely.
"What are you doing? This is my apartment," C rebuked K in a low voice, and headed uncertainly toward the living room as if he were entering the apartment for the first time.
"I know it is. How did the funeral go? I'm sure it went fine. Funerals and weddings usually end up being fine one way or another."
"Why didn't you come?"
"Will you believe me if I said I didn't feel like it?"
"Yeah. Who is she?"
"Just a girl. She's okay. We're going to stay a few days."
K came home only after receiving news of his mother's death. It had been five years since he had run away from home, dropping out of high school, and he had changed more than C expected. K hung out in C's apartment instead of attending their mother's funeral. Nobody, not even C, tried to dissuade him. And while clumps of dirt fell on their mother's coffin, K was fooling around with Judith in C's apartment. C thought about the hard work he had put into the funeral compared to K's carnal pleasure. He felt tired. He went into his bedroom and fell asleep in his clothes.
The blizzard hasn't slowed. The fuel gauge is now pointing at half a tank. When C turns off the engine to save gas, the inside of the car quickly turns chilly. It was -12°C during the day, so it's probably colder now. He turns on the engine again.
"Are you bored?" he asks Judith, but she doesn't answer. Instead he hears a rustle. A click. She's leaned her seat backward.
"Are you going to sleep?"
"Shh."
Snow piles thickly on the windshield. C feels both nervous and reassured; they're completely cut off from the world. Judith's clothes rustle, faster and faster. She breathes louder. This is what she often does when she's bored.
"Do you want me to turn on some music?"
"Yeah."
He hears affirmation between gasps. He fumbles for a tape and pushes one into the tape deck. It's a B. B. King album. A slow, sticky blues beat fills the sealed car. She mumbles something over and over, like a possessed shaman. "Yeah, yeah, ah, ahh, yes, more, a little more." The car starts to shake. The snow on the windshield slides off, bit by bit. She forcefully takes his right hand and places it on her breast. C slips his hand inside her blouse and starts to fondle her breast, mechanically. He feels a faint wetness. "I'm going to kill you! Kill you!" Her muttering becomes higher pitched. "Aah!" With a short, sharp scream, her undulating body gradually quiets down. C gives her breast a last strong squeeze and removes his hand.
"And still everything's the same, even though I did my best to get as far away as I could. The snow's not stopping either," Judith spits out, smoothing her clothes.
"Where did you go?"
"Somewhere far, far away."
He turns on the radio. The urgent weather report continues. "The snowfall in the Yeongseo area has reached seventy-two centimeters at seven P.M. All train and bus service has stopped in Cheorwon, Inje, and Wontong. Gangwon Province has issued an emergency overtime order to all civil servants and is focusing on clearing the roads, but the work has been delayed due to the continuing blizzard."
"Sir, where to?" K asks his three passengers.
"Pajang-dong, please."
"And you?"
"North Gate."
"Excuse me, where do you want to go?"
"Please let me off at South Gate."
The taxi smells of liquor. The heater roars at full blast to battle the -10°C temperature outside. The dry, impure heat mixed with the customers' wet, alcoholic breath keeps the humidity inside the taxi at an adequate level. K inhales deeply and pulls his seat belt across his shoulder and waist. Constraining his body, strapping it to the body of the car, makes him feel more in tune with the 1994 Stella TX. He steps lightly on the accelerator while still in neutral, and the wheels turn in their place. He feels a gentle vibration. The needle goes up to 4,000 RPM and falls down again with ease. K checks his left mirror, then shifts into first gear and turns the wheel completely. With that, the car lurches forward. His customers, thrown backward, briefly wake up and look around.
It's 1:00 A.M. People who missed the last train for Gyeonggi Province wander around Sadang Station. K shifts into third gear and steps on the gas. He feels a slight uneven vibration from the RPM falling quickly but doesn't give it much thought. His Stella, used to quick accelerations, shoots toward Gwacheon. His taxi is already going 130 kilometers per hour while still in the city. Near the Gwacheon racetrack the light turns red, and the brake lights of the slowing car in front gleam. K quickly looks in his right mirror, changes lanes, and runs the light. The customer sitting beside him glances backward nervously.
K is satisfied with his Stella TX taxi. He knows many who prefer Sonatas or Princes. But there aren't many cars as good as this Stella TX. The structure of its engine is simple. It doesn't break down and the acceleration isn't bad. At the Gwacheon-Uiwang Highway tollbooth, he gives the collector a one-thousand-won bill and gets one hundred won in change. At this point, his muscles start to tense slightly. This section of the highway doesn't get much traffic but has two lanes each way—ideal for bullet taxis. As he steps down on the accelerator, he rolls up his window. The needle goes up to 5,000 RPM. He glances at the customers in the backseat. They're all sleeping, their heads thrown back by the force of the car's motion. Only the customer next to him is awake. He's either not very drunk or is nervous about how fast they're going.
A strong force pulls K's body back as the car accelerates. It's inertia, the tendency to continue movement. His body wants to stay put while the Stella wants to shove him forward. He feels a little dizzy, but it isn't entirely unpleasant. The world has always moved him around quickly, and right now this Stella is his world. Soon he will adapt. The speed of his body will adjust to that of the taxi. The taxi will comply with the law of inertia.
Most of the road between Gwacheon and Uiwang is suspended in the air. Overpasses and trusses support this highway. And the view-blocking, antinoise barrier renders the world below invisible. No one on the ground can see the cars moving, just as the drivers can't see anything below. Low-wattage streetlights are placed only intermittently, so the road is very dark. The headlights shooting out from the front of each car only illuminate the ten meters immediately in front of them. At these speeds, that distance disappears in less than one second—each car racing through the darkness as fast as possible, dashing forward like racehorses with blinders on both sides of their eyes.
"Nine-pping."
"Eight."
"I have a pair of deuces. What about you, Kim?"
"Do over."
"Dammit. I wasted the ttaeng price."
They are inside a run-down bar, located in the alley next to the twenty-four-hour convenience store in front of Sadang Station. K cautiously picks up two cards. Cherry blossom and clover bush. It's seven kkeut. He quickly surveys the others' expressions. Only one has folded, and the others are throwing in thousand-won bills.
"I'm out." K folds. His hand is too weak. The others' eyes shift quickly. Seong-bo Transit driver Lee's eye muscle twitches. He must have a good hand. Lee tosses in a ten-thousand-won bill. Gyeonggi Transit's Kim follows suit. Everyone else is out. Lee reveals his hand. Gabo. He wins. Kim only has five kkeut. He must have thought that Lee was bluffing. Kim stands up. "Shit, me and my bad luck today! I'm going to go for another round, but be here when I get back."
By the time he returns, they won't be there anymore. Kim knows this, too, so his words are mere filler. When their turn comes, each will get up without any regret to drive his taxi. K gingerly picks up the new hand in front of him. He enjoys this fickle, short-lived tension of a hand of cards. He has one clover bush. He breathes in surreptitiously without letting the others notice, and slowly slides up the other card with his thumb. Another clover bush. He has a pair of fours. He tries not to look at anyone
, to ensure that his expression can't be read.
Just one hand is dealt, deciding the course of the set. After that, only deception remains. You can't show your glee when you have a good hand. You also can't look dejected when you have a bad one. But, even more importantly, if you pretend to be let down each time you have a good hand, nobody will believe you after you keep winning despite your reaction. To wear no expression—this is the key.
Is this like life? K wonders. My hand is already determined from the beginning. My hand in life is probably something worthless, like three kkeut. There's no chance in hell that a three kkeut can beat a pair of aces. There are only two possibilities: either that I'm so lucky with my bluffing that the others with decent hands fold, apprehensively, or the others have worse hands of one or two kkeut. But I can only get pennies for that. I can only hope that the round is over quickly and I'm dealt a new hand. But, in the end, even three kkeut is fine. I will live in the moment—to the end.
K puts down his pair of fours and waits for the others to bet. The stakes rise to ten thousand won. From his pocket, he takes the twenty thousand won he earned by going down to Suwon earlier that night and drops it on top of the pile. The others glance at him.
"Dammit, I'm betting everything I earned tonight. Fuck it. I'll just have to do another shift," K says, pretending it doesn't matter either way. The others hesitate. This is the climax of the game of seotta. When the stakes get higher and the gamblers hesitate, everyday fatigue and boredom evaporate. K's only thinking about the two clover bushes. At this moment, no birds sing and the creek has stopped, as the saying goes. And in the midst of all this, K doesn't even feel himself go hard.
Two players, dubious, toss bills in the middle of the circle, imitating K. K throws down the cards to show his hand.
"Shit, it's a pair of fours." The men's eyes scan K's face rapidly. Having lost not only the bets but also the flush bonus of twenty thousand won each, they wait impatiently for the next hand. These men don't play Go-Stop. Go-Stop, with its unintentional reversals and intense head games, fails to suck them in. And most important, Go-Stop is too damn slow.
The Stella races along the dark road, through the Gwacheon tunnel. People say these taxis "fly." But it may not be a mere simile. It's as if its wheels hover slightly above the road. Every time the wind blows, the car sways a little. Speeding down the highway in the middle of the night, when there aren't any other cars on the road, K often forgets where he's going. His field of vision becomes narrower the faster he drives. The trees and streetlights lining the road lose their shape as the car accelerates. Clinging together like sticky mucus, they melt down behind the car.
Where am I? K shakes his head to snap out of his daze.
The speedometer shows 180 kilometers per hour. The noise of the engine and the wind have swallowed all other sounds. K's ears pop. The hum of speed and his narrower field of vision erase reality. The customer next to him grumbles, but K doesn't pay attention. Suddenly, he sees a truck painfully climbing the incline ahead. He quickly changes lanes and passes the truck. He's alert, his nerves as sharp as a knife blade. His penis hardens; his head is empty. His muscles breathe with the Stella TX, instinctively.
He goes into a phone booth after dropping off his last customer in front of Suwon's South Gate. Nobody picks up. Where's Se-yeon? He tries to light a cigarette, but his lighter doesn't work. The fluid must be out. He tries a few more times, then flings the cigarette and lighter away. He inserts the phone card into the slot again and presses each button deliberately. The few seconds of waiting make him anxious. He tries another number. His brother doesn't answer the phone either. K exits the phone booth, asks a taxi driver for a light, and sticks a lit cigarette between his lips. Did she go to see his brother?
K gets back in the car and races toward Sadang subway station. The radio is reporting a snowstorm in Yeongseo. K detects a tinge of excitement in the voice of the announcer, who is saying that all traffic has stopped. It starts to flurry. Will it snow as much in Seoul? If so, he has to get back before there's too much snow on the ground. K changes into the leftmost lane and speeds up.
When Judith called, C was eating the pizza he had ordered for lunch.
"It's been a long time," she said.
"Has it?" he asked casually, as if he hadn't been thinking about her at all.
"I want to go somewhere. Can you drive me?"
"Where?"
"Jumunjin."
"Why?"
"It's my hometown. And it's my birthday today."
"Come over, then."
"Okay. I'll be there soon."
That's how they decided to go on this trip. The snow started when they passed Yangpyeong. By Hongcheon, it was coming down hard, so they drove on with snow chains strapped onto the tires, but after a while, when they got to where they were now, they couldn't go any farther.
"When did you leave Jumunjin?" C asks.
"Jumunjin?"
"Didn't you say it was your hometown?"
"I just said that because I wanted to go somewhere," Judith replies nonchalantly, and keeps whistling. C can't believe his ears. He takes his hand off the wheel and leans back into the seat. The purpose of the trip has disappeared.
"So it's not your birthday, either?"
"No."
"I see. It's funny, the truth makes people uncomfortable, but a lie gets people excited. Isn't that right?"
"You would have come with me even if I didn't lie."
Perhaps she's right. Sometimes C wishes there were a reason for everything. Like when you find yourself wishing a friend you're drinking with would just suddenly keel over. It's sort of funny to imagine that he'd die from a heart attack and people would come to his funeral, drink together, follow him to his grave site, shovel dirt on his coffin, and ride back in the hearse. But no matter how you die, the world always stays the same. Like this place they're stuck in. Snow keeps falling, almost to the point of annoyance. It's like staring at the same unchanging screen for several hours. Like when the TV shows multicolored stripes before regular programs, the so-called screen adjustment period. C's tired of this darkness. He turns on the wipers and they struggle to push the snow off the windshield. He turns on the dome light. It becomes a little brighter in the car. Judith is lying back in her seat, her skirt hiked up and her blouse open. When C looks at her, she says mechanically, like an answering machine message, "What? You want to do it?"
"I'm tired."
"Let me know if you want to." She closes her eyes again and he turns off the light. He's thirsty. C takes out a lollipop from the glove compartment. When he puts it in his mouth, his saliva pools and his thirst disappears. Judith likes Chupa Chups lollipops. When she isn't smoking she constantly sucks on them. She doesn't take the thing out of her mouth, even during sex. Every time, C is scared that the stick will poke his eye out. Actually, one did stab his left eye once. He worried he might go blind, and he was afraid to have sex with her for a few days.
C woke up late the day after K brought her to his apartment. His head felt leaden and he had no appetite because he had stayed up all night for a few days straight. He was listless but at the same time alert, the consequence of extreme exhaustion. He was in an emotional void, only able to respond to some stimulation. When he stepped into the living room he remembered his brother having sex with a woman the night before, but he was still groggy so it was hard to tell whether he had seen it in real life or in a video.
C made coffee. As the smell of coffee wafted toward the living room, the door of the guest room opened and Judith appeared.
"Can I have a cup, too?"
C poured the rest of the coffee into a cup and handed it to her. Her hair was disheveled and traces of makeup were left on her face, as if she had just woken up. She was wearing denim cutoffs and a baggy T-shirt printed with the name of a prestigious American university on the West Coast. She looked very young in this getup.
"You look like a different person with clothes on," C commented.
&
nbsp; "I bet we surprised you yesterday," she said, letting out a laugh, weak and leaky like a broken humidifier. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Where's K?" C asked, glancing toward the guest room.
"He went to work."
"What work?"
"Didn't you know? He's a bullet."
"A bullet?"
"You know, a bullet taxi driver. Bang!" Judith made a gun with two fingers and mimed shooting C. C jumped despite himself, and at that moment the image of her naked body lying in the living room flashed in his head. He sensed that he was about to make a dangerous choice. He was attracted to his brother's girl, this woman who resembled Judith. But he didn't want to blame it on the fatigue sweeping over him after the funeral.
Judith finished her coffee, took out a Chupa Chups from her pocket, and stuck it in her mouth. For the first few minutes, she seemed to concentrate her whole being on eating the candy. She stared intently at the stick, almost cross-eyed. C hadn't met a woman who ate candy in a while. He despised women who chewed gum. You don't need imagination to chew gum. You endlessly work your mouth but always come back to the same place. He realized that the image he wanted to see was that of a woman eating candy, savoring it slowly—just as she did. His attention strayed to her from the morning paper he had been reading. She continued to lick, then stretched and lengthened her body. She put her feet on the coffee table and leaned back as far as possible into the sofa, and kept sucking.