by Lee Ki-ho
The superintendent ran the palms of his hands all the way down his face.
“How much do you remember?”
“Of what?” I asked.
“How much do you remember of your father?”
“Well, you know . . . I remember his voice. I remember how happy his voice sounded when he found out I wasn’t normal.”
“And his face? What about his face?”
“No, not that. Actually, that’s what I wanted to know, so that’s why we came.”
The superintendent tapped on the glass with his finger. It seemed like he was thinking about something.
“So what you’re saying is that you put me in here, and now you want me to find your father, is that it?”
“Yes.” I looked at Si-bong as I spoke. Si-bong nodded along to what I was saying.
The superintendent continued tapping on the glass and looked back and forth between us. Then, as he looked at his fingers, he said, “I don’t know where your father is. It was all too long ago.”
I felt somehow disappointed. But then there was one thing that made me feel better.
“Even if you found him, it’d be no use.”
The man in uniform gave the bell on the metal table one long push. Visiting time was coming to an end.
“You know, there’s one thing that’s more important for you guys to do.” Another smile sprung up on his face.
“The caretakers are getting out of here soon. Looks like they’re going to get reduced sentences for good behavior.”
We didn’t say anything. And that was on account of our not being quite sure what that meant.
“They’re really anxious to see you guys.” As soon as he said that, he let out a big laugh. We did not.
Then, Si-bong asked the superintendent, “So, sir, do you still get to do plays in here, too?”
The superintendent stopped smiling. I added, “Is there someone here to smack you on your backside?”
The superintendent looked quickly at the man in uniform.
“Once you get out of here, we’ll smack you on the backside like we used to.”
The man in the uniform looked at the superintendent. The superintendent got up from his seat. Then he walked quickly to the door on the other side of the room.
At almost the exact same moment, Si-bong and I said to the superintendent from behind, “When you get out, we’ll smack you good and hard for you, just the way you like it!”
The superintendent walked through the door without saying anything.
The visit was over.
3. The Flyer
When we arrived home, the man with the horn-rimmed glasses was sitting crouched on the floor, writing furiously. Next to him was a pile of papers. We stood over him awkwardly. That was on account of there being nowhere to sit on account of the papers.
“Ah, brothers-in-law, you’re back? Here, can you take a look at this?”
He stood up and held out one of the papers in front of us. We read what was written on it.
We apologize for you! Parents, couples, siblings, acquaintances, friends, neighbors, coworkers, any relation! Whether you knew you were doing it or not, we offer apologies for any number of wrongs you’ve committed against someone. So don’t hesitate, give us a call!
At the bottom of the page were Si-bong’s address and telephone number, and the man with the horn-rimmed glasses’ name.
“How is it? Pretty good, right?” He looked at us, smiling brightly. “I thought about it, and as long as we can publicize it right, the business could be really good. I’ll take care of the publicity and you guys can just keep up what you’re doing with the apologies.” He patted us on the shoulders as he spoke.
Si-bong and I said nothing as we continued to stare at the paper. Since he said that all we had to do was keep apologizing, it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle. That was on account of us knowing how to, above all else, apologize. I stood there silently, staring at one word in particular: “parents.”
Early the next morning we went around the neighborhood with the man with the horn-rimmed glasses. The man posted the flyer in the entrance of the apartment building. He posted it on electrical posts, streetlights, and on the swing set at the playground. Si-bong and I put clear tape on the corners of the flyers and handed them to the man with the horn-rimmed glasses. He, in turn, posted the ad on top of mailboxes, on the sides of phone booths, and on the signpost for the neighborhood bus stop.
The man with the horn-rimmed glasses also handed out flyers to the people who passed by on the street. As he did so, he would say to them, “Do you by any chance have something you’d like to apologize for?” or “Have you done anything wrong to anyone lately?” or “We’ll apologize for you for a great price!”
As the people took the flyers, they stared at him and us. Then they went on their ways. Some of the people made a sound, letting all of the air out of their lungs before smiling and walking away, and some gave us a “tsk-tsk” and frowned at us. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses would turn to them and shout behind them, “There are plenty of wrongs out there!” or “Don’t be shy!”
The people did not look back.
The man with the horn-rimmed glasses also gave a flyer to the woman who owned the convenience store.
“I’ve just started a new business.”
She read the flyer, sitting behind the counter. Then she said, “Why don’t you try apologizing to me! When are you finally going to pay your tab?!”
When she said that, the man looked at us and gave a smile as if to say, “What’s the use?”
“Ahh, well then we’ll give you a special deal, ma’am! I mean, you are our neighbor, after all.” He offered to apologize for her instead of paying the tab.
With a blank face the woman said, “I have no intention of doing anything more wrong. If you’re not going to pay your tab then get out of here, will ya’?”
“But I really do mean it! We’ll gladly apolo—”
“Get the hell out of here!” The woman picked up the rag that was sitting in front of her and threw it at him.
The man exited the convenience store as quickly as he could. We picked up the rag that had fallen to the floor, folded it twice, and placed it back on the counter. Then, after bowing to her politely, exited the convenience store.
Behind us we could hear her voice.
“Dirty rascals! This crap neighborhood . . . Put the shop up for sale and still nothing!”
4. The Director General and the Cafeteria Lady
We returned to the detention center to visit the director general. That was on account of our thinking that since he was the director general, he must surely know my father’s address.
However, we had no money left to pay for any train tickets, so we did as the man with the horn-rimmed glasses had done and went through Si-yeon’s bag. Before we went through her bag, we stood before her as she slept and apologized. We told her we were sorry for going through her bag and we were sorry for taking money as we bowed our heads in apology. Si-yeon didn’t say anything. There was only one bill in her pocketbook, but we still took it and left. That was on account of having already apologized for doing it.
Meeting the director general during visiting hours, he of course knew nothing about my father.
“Your father? How would I know? I was only responsible for the people I brought in. You came in on your own two feet!”
Sometimes at the institution we went down to the office to help the director general with his work. It usually involved taking phone calls from a government office. We would look at a piece of paper that the director general put in front of us while answering questions the civil servants asked.
The civil servants would ask, “Could you please give me your name in full?”
We would reply with the name the director general had written on the paper. The names were not ours. They were usually the names of people who had come to the institution in the director general’s van two or three days earlier.
“Could you please tell me how you got to the institution?”
“My head was hurting very badly. I didn’t have anywhere to go, and I’ve lost all contact with my relatives.”
We replied exactly as was written on the paper. The director general would be standing next to us, going through each of the answers, pointing to them with his finger. The civil servants would not spend much time asking questions, hurrying to end the calls. When we were done with the calls the director general would give us red bean buns, or candies. Si-bong and I would eat it all in front of the director general and then go back upstairs to our room. We hoped that the number of residents in the institution would grow, that the amount of phone calls would grow. The buns and the candies that the director general gave us always disappeared in our mouths so quickly.
“The superintendent said he didn’t know? That’s strange . . .” The director general spoke in a low voice as he tilted his head to one side.
Si-bong and I stood up from where we were sitting and bowed politely to the director general. There was still time left to visiting hours, but we didn’t have anything else to say.
“Leaving already? Wait a sec, wait a sec! I have one thing that I want to ask you to do for me.” He stood up from the steel seat as he spoke to us. We sat back down in our seats and listened to the director general’s request.
Si-bong and I went straight away to visit the cafeteria lady. As soon as she saw us she turned her head away. Even after she’d sat down on the steel bench on the other side of the glass wall she kept her head turned far to the right. Still, she didn’t leave the visiting room. Si-bong spoke.
“The director general asked us to come here.”
The cafeteria lady continued to avoid us with her eyes, but we still spoke.
“The director general would like to apologize to you.”
The cafeteria lady began biting her fingernails one by one.
“The director general said that he’s known for a long time that you were a patient who needed real treatment.”
“He also said that he was the one who burned the papers that said you had obsessive compulsive disorder.”
The cafeteria lady said nothing, but the more we spoke, the faster she bit her fingernails.
“The director general said that he didn’t want to treat you like the other residents.”
“So he said that that’s why he made you one of the workers at the institution.”
“He said that he thought that that way, you would get all better and become normal.”
“He said that he had no idea whatsoever that that you would get locked up in here for being normal.”
Si-bong and I stopped speaking for a moment and looked at the cafeteria lady quietly. I recalled how when there would be a little bit of rice or banchan left on our trays, she would throw them at us. That’s why when the residents were done eating, sometimes they would even lick their trays.
We continued to speak. “When you get out of here, the director general said that he would continue to live apologizing to you.”
“The director general said that he was in love with you.”
As we finished saying those words, we stood up. But the woman remained seated, continuing to bite her nails. A woman in a uniform came in and took her arm. As the cafeteria lady stood up, she looked at us directly.
“I’m normal now. So tell him that I won’t be needing that.”
The cafeteria lady walked to the door on the other side of the room, led by the woman in uniform. We stood there for a while, watching her as she walked away.
We went home without telling the director general what she’d said.
5. The Child’s Apology
One afternoon, four days after the posters went up, a child came to Si-bong’s house. In one of the child’s hands was one of the flyers that the man with the horn-rimmed glasses had posted.
The child stood in front of the main entrance of the apartment building and asked: “Is this the place where you can have someone apologize for you?”
The child was a boy who looked to be about 10 years old. The weather was sweltering; still, the child wore a jacket. There were white marks on his cheeks. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses came over and stood behind us, the racing paper still in his hand. We listened to the child’s story.
The child said that the previous night he had gone though his mother’s purse, taken out one bill, and then left the house. He said that he’d used up all the money and that’s why he couldn’t go home the previous night. He asked us to apologize to his mother for him.
“Huh! A kid your age running away from home already?!”
As soon as the child was done telling his story the man with the horn-rimmed glasses gave him a smack on the head with the rolled up newspaper. The child scowled at him. He said he was twelve years old. He said that he hadn’t run away from home, that he’d simply spent the night out.
Si-bong asked him. “Well then, you can just apologize to your mom yourself, can’t you?”
The little boy replied right away. “Jeez! I’m telling you I can’t because my mom’s such a bitch!”
Si-bong and I went along with the little boy to see his mother. The man with the horn-rimmed glasses did not come along. Instead, he sat in front of the telephone reading the horse-racing newsletter. We didn’t ask him to come along with us. And that was on account of the apologies being ours to handle.
The child’s mother was frying chicken in a small corner shop in an open-air market. She was wearing a long, black apron and sweat was steadily streaming down her face.
As soon as she saw her son, she yelled at him, brandishing the long metal tongs she’d been using to pick the chicken out of the fryer.
“You little bastard! I told you that if you touched my pocketbook one more time I’d string you up, didn’t I?!”
The boy had his shoulders scrunched up all the way to his neck and quickly hid behind Si-bong. The child’s mother shoved Si-bong aside and continued brandishing the tongs. Each time the tongs cut through the air, oil spattered in every direction. I grabbed her wrist and spoke.
“Um, excuse me.”
She was gasping for breath as she looked at the two of us.
“Who the hell are you?”
“We’re here to apologize for your son.”
“What?!”
“We’re here to apologize on his behalf. It’s our line of work.”
The child’s mother looked at us for a moment. The child stood there, his hand clasped to the seam of Si-bong’s pant leg. Then she spoke.
“If you have no real business here then you can just go on your merry way. ’Cause I’m finally going to break this little bastard’s wrist!”
She shook the tongs again at the child. He moved his shoulders to and fro to avoid them.
I grabbed on to the woman’s wrist again and asked her, “So you’re saying if a wrist gets broken you would accept the apology?”
The boy’s mother gazed at me for a moment with a grim look on her face. I looked all around for something that would do the trick. Just outside the store, in a corner, was a piece of steel piping on the ground. I picked it up and handed it to Si-bong. Si-bong took the pipe without a word and looked me in the eyes. I looked him back in the eyes and gave him a nod. I held out my left arm.
“What the hell? What are you doing?!” She cried.
The child, too, came out from behind Si-bong and stared at us. Right then and there Si-bong struck down on my left wrist with the steel pipe. Without even realizing it I let out a cry and collapsed. Si-bong took a step closer to me and struck my left wrist again.
“What—what are you doing?!” The mother cried again.
People were beginning to gather around us. The child began to whimper, wiping his tears with the inside of his elbow. Si-bong continued to beat my left arm.
I spoke through gritted teeth: “One minute . . . just a little more . . . a little bit more . . .”
The child began to wa
il. As he did, he told his mother that he was sorry, that he would never do it again. As he did that, his mother took him in her arms. Then she yelled.
“Why don’t you just get the hell out of here, you goddamned, crazy bastards!”
Si-bong and I stopped for a moment and looked at the child and the child’s mother. They were still holding each other.
I stood up from where I was. Si-bong put the pipe down. It seemed that the apology had gone off rather easily.
We both bowed politely to the child’s mother and left. Even when we’d gotten as far as the main entrance of the market we could still hear the sound of the child’s crying behind us. It seemed to be following us.
Before we’d done the apology we’d received a coin from the little boy. It was all that was left from what he’d used the night before. It was a small amount, but to someone else it could have been everything. That was good enough for us.
6. The Little Bird
At times Si-yeon had the habit of saying to me, “Oppa! So how long exactly do you plan on staying with us?”
This was usually late at night, when she would come home drunk. She would come right up to me, putting her face close to mine.
“Have I told you how hard it is to look after two people? Have I? You think this is some kind of daycare center I’m running here?”
Whenever she talked like this, I would say to her, “Once I find my father I’ll go. Then I’ll know where my house is.”
I could smell the alcohol on her. But there was also a nice smell coming from her. I liked it when she got so close that her hair brushed up against my cheek. I somehow wished that she would keep asking me things. But she wouldn’t ask me anything more, just stumble into the bedroom. Whenever that happened I would just sit there, looking at the bedroom door. Sometimes I would also say to myself in a very small voice that the man with the horn-rimmed glasses, that he, too, probably had a home to go to.
Sometimes in the middle of the night Si-yeon would wake up and go to the bathroom. Since Si-bong and I slept on the floor in the living room, I was able to see this. Every time that Si-yeon would go to the bathroom I would quickly get up. Si-bong would not wake up. I would go up to the bathroom and crouch down, putting my ear up to the door. There, I could hear the trickling of her peeing. I liked that sound. It sounded like the chirping of a bird, even a bit like someone whistling. I would close my eyes and listen to the sound. On occasion, in between the trickling, I also heard a sniffle here and there, and every time that happened I would imagine to myself an even smaller bird, somewhere up high, sitting on the branch of a fir tree all alone. One little bird.