I stood facing the river as I listened to Hae-jin’s voice pass behind me. I watched the water sluicing towards the floodgates and had a sudden urge to pee. There was no way he could see my face; it was dark, my back was towards him, and I was wearing a mask and a hood, my head ducked low. I did worry that he would catch the words Private Lesson stitched on the back of my jacket, though.
I didn’t like the fact that I was hiding in the shade of a lamp post, hunched over in case he recognised me. I wasn’t a criminal on the run. Why was I so worried? God. Why couldn’t he leave? Just leave already, please?
Eventually he did. When I couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer, I continued on my way. What would have happened if I’d said hello to him that night? Would Mother have stopped following me? But what had she been worried about specifically? Why was she so anxious?
The next page wasn’t October. She had skipped two months.
Tuesday 30 August
The boys came back from Imja Island close to midnight. They weren’t planning to come back until tomorrow. Yu-jin was sweating in a Gore-Tex jacket in this heat. Just looking at him was suffocating. There was a cut on the back of his hand and I thought I saw a bruise on his head. His hair was plastered with sweat.
Could he have stopped taking his meds again? He couldn’t have… could he? Did he have a seizure?
She must have written ‘could he’ as a safeguard against being wrong. Because when we stepped inside the house, I knew she’d figured it all out the moment her gaze landed on my forehead. Her question, ‘What happened to your face?’ made it clear she’d had her suspicions confirmed.
But I didn’t want to do all the work for her. ‘I banged into the ferry as I was getting on.’
She looked at me flatly. ‘And why are you wearing a jacket? It’s so hot.’
I looked down at myself. Why was I wearing this again? My mind scrambled for an answer. To cover the scratches and bruises I got when I had my episode. ‘Hae-jin gave it to me. You always say it’s good manners to use a gift right away.’
Hae-jin was sitting on the couch, taking his socks off, pretending to concentrate so hard on that very important task that he couldn’t possibly pay attention to our conversation. He was uncomfortable with my lie, and also how a memento from his very first shoot had somehow become a gift for me. He was also uneasy with Mother’s mood.
Mother didn’t dig further. After I retreated upstairs, she probably asked Hae-jin: was that really what happened? Hae-jin would have said yes. I trusted that he would have remained firm even when she asked a few more times, even if his expression betrayed him. The unconfirmed truth would have floated around Mother’s mind: ten years ago his whole life was turned upside down because he arbitrarily stopped taking his meds. There was no way he could have done it again. Or could he have?
Was that why she attacked me last night? Maybe she couldn’t keep looking the other way when I went out through the roof. Or maybe there was some other issue. I guess I could understand her exploding like that. Goodness knows how she was able to keep it under wraps until yesterday. Mother being who she was, it made more sense for her to stop me at the very beginning rather than follow me around secretly and observe me for four months.
Wednesday 31 August
Around 10 p.m. I was getting into bed when I heard a strange bang upstairs. It wasn’t strange in that I didn’t know what it was, but in that I knew exactly what it was. It was the wind closing a heavy steel door. And there’s only one door that could possibly make a sound like that.
Why did he go out through the roof? Where did he get a key? I never gave it to him.
She was right about all of it. The steel door fitted too snugly into the frame, making it impossible to close it gently in a single motion. The only way to shut it quietly was to use both hands, carefully, in a certain way. It had banged against the frame that night by accident, and possibly twice more after that. I placed a finger in between the two paragraphs in the journal. There was a big space between them. I borrowed Hae-jin’s favourite conditional phrase and applied it to the gap. If I had been Mother, I would have gone straight up to the roof as soon as I heard the noise.
That door was a problem from the very first day we moved in. It was constructed shoddily, so it didn’t fit very well into the frame, and therefore it didn’t lock properly. She first tried to get it repaired several times by the construction company that had built the flats, but they went bankrupt and it never got fixed. Someone came from the building management and installed a hook-and-eye closure, but it was like putting disinfectant on a broken leg: when a typhoon came through, that door crashed open a couple of times a day, pulling out the hook and eye. Mother ended up hiring someone to repair the frame, replace the door and install a lock and a deadbolt. The repairman swore that there was no way the door would open on its own again unless the rooftop blew away.
Mother would have wanted to go and check to see if the repairman had been exaggerating. She would have seen the pergola light on, and at the steel door, she would have realised that it was locked but the bolt was undone. Would she have opened the door and looked out? Would she have heard my feet clattering down the stairs? Would she have come into my room to check on me? Did she count my pills that day too? There would have been the correct number. Maybe she went outside to look for me, going to the back gate to ask if anyone had gone by. Did she meet Hae-jin near the side gate that day too? Why didn’t she confront me about it? They weren’t difficult questions. Why did you go out via the roof? Why did you take the key?
Why did Mother not say anything to me while she kept worrying? Why would you do that? It wasn’t such a big deal.
I’d made a copy of the roof key for a reason, but it wasn’t some grand reason that required Mother to roam the cold, dark streets. The thirty-first of August was, I think, the first time I used that key, the first day I went out through the roof. It was the day after I came home from Imja Island, and I still hadn’t taken my pills. Didn’t I deserve to be gentle with myself? I’d had a huge public seizure after unshackling myself from my medication for the first time in a decade. I wanted to remain in a magical state for one more day. Just one more.
I’d spent that precious day in my room, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and long trousers to hide the scratches and bruises on my limbs. I’d blasted the air conditioning and lounged around on my bed. Hae-jin had gone to Sangam-dong early in the morning, so I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Rather, I didn’t have anyone I wanted to talk to; after all, Mother was there and she had a mouth with which she could speak.
That morning, Mother had come up to the roof and bobbed around in my eyesight. She didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular. She crouched by the garden bed and pretended to weed, even though she had already pulled out all the weeds. She pottered around by the pepper plants, constantly glancing over her shoulder at my room. If I closed the blinds, she would come and rap on the sliding door. Of course, there was a new reason she needed to talk to me each time. Isn’t it getting stuffy in there? You’ll catch a cold if you’re in the air conditioning for too long. The sun feels so nice; do you want to come out and have some tea with me?
I didn’t want to drink any damn tea; that was what you did when you were sick. I didn’t have to ask what she wanted either. I could figure out what she was thinking. I could see through her the way she could see through me. ‘Want to have some tea?’ meant ‘Confess to everything that happened at Imja Island.’ ‘The sun’s so nice’ was an offer to discuss my weakness.
By sunset, she had given up and I was bouncing off the walls. I’d realised something so obvious that I’d never even thought about before. Whether young or old, humans needed a place to go to and something to do. I didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do. I didn’t know how to laze away a day; I had always needed to train or study. I didn’t have anyone I wanted to see; I didn’t have any films I wanted to watch. There was nothing I wanted to do. I couldn’t even go out at night, since I co
uldn’t drink and my curfew was 9 p.m. That was why I felt destroyed when Mother sometimes asked me, ‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Everyone knew that you couldn’t gain something if you were allowed nothing, but Mother, who knew everything about everything, didn’t seem to know that.
At 10 p.m., I had got up from my bed. I couldn’t stay put any longer. My insane urge was raising its head and my muscles were twitching. I slipped on the Private Lesson jacket and took out the trainers I’d hidden in the bathroom ceiling for just such a day. I opened the steel door. I’d made a copy of the key to prepare for this very day. Even when I took my meds faithfully, I had dreamed of a door I could run through behind Mother’s back. The door slammed behind me because it was a tricky door, of course, but really it was because I was impatient. If I had been a little calmer, I wouldn’t have stirred Mother’s hunting-dog instincts.
Once on the other side of the door, I ran downstairs without glancing back. My feet were restless and my head felt hot. I thought Mother would call my name at any moment. That shitty feeling disappeared only after I’d run out through the side gate and along the river and crossed the street in front of the sea wall. I stopped and took a moment to breathe. I leant against the railing and looked down at the dark ocean. Darkness and fog hid everything – the waves, the gulls, the marine park, the observatory, and at the halfway point of my run, the horizon. Only the searchlight cast a beam as it circled around slowly. I thought I could hear it saying, Come here, let’s play.
Yongi’s was closed, even though it wasn’t yet 11 p.m. Something must be up. Only when something happened in Mr Yongi’s personal life did the stand close early. The following were types of events that qualified for closing early, according to Mr Yongi: he felt physically or mentally unwell; his batter wasn’t perfect; for some reason he got the sense that it was an unlucky day; it was windy and he was feeling lonely; it was raining and he was feeling sad; there was a full moon and he was hating humanity; the weather was bad and he was feeling bad too.
It must be the last reason; it had been hot that day. Now, damp fog lay low and grey clouds were amassing in the dark sky. I wasn’t affected by weather when I was under the power of the insane urge. I practically flew all the way to the observatory and soared back to Yongi’s. Along the footpath by the river, I heard someone laughing up ahead of me. I couldn’t see who it was through the fog.
‘No, that’s not what I mean.’ It was a low voice, but clearly a woman’s. I didn’t hear anyone else; she must be talking on the phone.
I was a little annoyed. If I didn’t want to be seen as suspicious by this woman walking alone at night, I had to either run ahead past her or cross the street and take the path by the neighbourhood park.
‘Are you deaf? Why don’t you understand what I’m saying?’
Are you deaf… I remembered a woman I’d encountered on my way home from a morning run in May. Mother was okay with me running in the morning. I was crossing the street in front of Gundo Elementary School when I stopped short. I’d had a headache since the night before, but it flared up intensely right then and there as though I was about to have a seizure. I couldn’t see anything. It was as if I’d been hit in the eye socket with a hammer. I couldn’t move another step. I might have dropped to the ground with my head in my hands if a horn hadn’t sounded right next to me. A car whizzed by, and through a window, a woman’s voice called out, ‘Prick! Are you deaf?’
This was on a road in front of a school, designated as a pedestrian protection zone. Even if it hadn’t been, a driver should really wait if someone was staggering on the crossing, holding his head, not insult him by shouting ‘Prick!’ before zooming off. I wanted to write down the licence plate or at least the make of the car, but the early-morning fog was waist-deep, my headache was making everything bleary and the car was already turning left onto the road along the river. For a moment, I forgot about the headache; I was so incensed that I crossed the last few metres quickly. Once I was on the other side of the street, I looked around. I wasn’t sure what to do. The car was gone. There was no CCTV on that stretch of road yet. There was nothing I could do. I started to cool down a bit. My biggest flaw was that I stopped seeing clearly when I got angry; on the other hand, I gave up easily when there was no point in being angry. I gave up on getting revenge.
But that night in August when I first slipped out through the roof, I was certain that the woman I’d encountered in May was the same woman who was ahead of me now. Her voice sounded identical. I didn’t need to think about it any longer. I ducked behind the street lamps along the river and walked quickly to get closer. I finally detected a dark shadow moving slowly in the fog. I saw her long, wind-blown hair. I slowed down and followed, giving her some distance. I swear I had no other plan. I just wanted to know where she lived. She chattered on for another five minutes.
‘It just broke down in front of Kyobo Bookstore in Gwanghwamun… What do you mean, what did I do? I called the tow truck, of course, and took it to the garage!… No, I took the bus. I can’t take a taxi, it’s so far to get here… No, no, I’m not scared. It’s only midnight, it’s practically early evening! And the moon’s really bright tonight, too.’ She’d begun to walk past First Dongjin Bridge when she suddenly fell silent. It was as if she’d just realised that midnight in Seoul and midnight in Gundo were completely different. The streets here were dark and quiet. Nobody was around, not even cars. All you could hear was the seagulls crying behind the thick fog. She whipped around and looked towards where I was standing. She seemed most uneasy about what was behind her.
From behind the street lamp, I watched her standing under the yellow light. What caught my eye was one of the fingers gripping her phone. More specifically, it was a gold ring on her pinky. I don’t know if the moonlight bewitched me or if the lamplight gave it an aura. Even through the fog, the ring twinkled mysteriously in the dark, like a star crossing the galaxy. The voice in my head decided to quiz me. What’s the easiest way to take the ring off her hand? I knew the answer instantly. Cut off her finger, of course.
‘No, no, it’s nothing,’ she said into the phone. ‘I just thought I heard something behind me.’ She turned around and began to walk again.
I followed, matching her pace.
About ten metres later, she stopped and looked behind her again. ‘Look, let me call you when I get home.’
I stopped too, grinning. She should have done that at the very beginning.
She put her phone in her other hand, turned around once more, and then started to walk ahead quickly. I could sense her nervousness. Her sixth sense, drilled into her through the history of humanity, was probably whispering to her: Doesn’t that sound like someone’s behind you? Or maybe she heard the whispers in my mind: Can you feel me behind you?
I sped up too. My thighs tensed. My gums tingled, as though I was about to sprout new teeth. Small goose bumps dotted the skin below my ears. It wasn’t exactly excitement or tension; it was similar to what Hae-jin had told me about once.
It was four years ago, maybe in the late spring or early summer. Hae-jin had gone out to see a slightly older girl in his department he’d had a crush on for a long time, and hadn’t come home until the next morning. It was probably the only time in his life he stayed out all night without letting Mother know beforehand. It was one of the very few times Mother had scolded him. While she nagged him, I stood by the kitchen island, watching. Even though he kept saying, ‘I’m really sorry,’ he wasn’t paying much attention. Stars were twinkling in his brown eyes; he was probably floating somewhere far away in space. I became curious. Who was she, this girl who’d sent him into space?
As soon as Mother walked away, I asked, ‘Was it that good?’
Hae-jin’s neck reddened and he gave an evasive answer, as if I were Mother. ‘I don’t really remember. We were drunk.’ He wanted to keep it to himself.
I didn’t want to respect his privacy; he’d clearly experienced something important that was a complete mystery to me. ‘Bu
t how did you feel about it?’
‘Well…’ He hesitated for a long time before sharing his rambling literary thoughts. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but the gist was this: if God comes to take me on my deathbed when I’m ninety and asks, where in your life would you want to return to before you leave this world, I would answer that I want to go back to that moment last night when I felt the whole world slide away.
What was it like for the world to slide away? I hadn’t experienced intimacy or love but I had slept with two women. What I’d experienced both times was worlds apart from what he was talking about. The first woman had had small, perky breasts just the way I liked, but I couldn’t get into it. In fact, my pulse slowed. Even the moment of release wasn’t electrifying. It was the same the second time around. It was so boring to kiss her that I found myself tracing her teeth with the tip of my tongue. But I wasn’t attracted to guys, either. Hae-jin’s dreamy expression was incomprehensible to me. It seemed to signal feelings that I would never be able to understand.
That night, when I started to follow the woman with the sparkling ring, I finally found a clue to unravelling that mystery. I suddenly realised what I was attracted to. I was attracted to someone feeling afraid.
The moon slipped behind dark clouds. The fog spread out, growing thicker. I stopped when she turned around and followed when she went on so that she would sense someone behind her. The closer I got, the clearer I heard the sounds she was making; they fired up my senses. The clanking of coins or keys in her backpack. Her footsteps, falling faster and more unevenly. Her bare thighs rubbing together with each step. Her hair being whipped around by the rough wind. Her ragged, wet breathing. I thought I could even hear the flow of blood under her jaw.
I imagined all the things I would do to take off the gold ring. I would grab the hair that danced above her shoulders. I would cover her mouth with my other hand. I would drag her to the river. I would rip off the ring with my canines and shove her into the water.
The Good Son Page 12