[sample translations]choe jinyeong, the name of the girl who passed you by eng by LTI Korea Library

Sample Translations

Jinyeong Choe The Name of the Girl Who Passed You By E ng l i s h

Book Information

The Name of the Girl Who Passed You By (당신 옆을 스쳐간 그 소녀의 이름은) Hanibook Publishing corp. / 2010 / 36 p. / ISBN 9788984314146 For further information, please visit: http://library.klti.or.kr/node/772

This sample translation was produced with support from LTI Korea. Please contact the LTI Korea Library for further information. library@klti.or.kr

The Name of the Girl Who Passed You By Written by Choe Jinyeong 1 Afraid and lonely In the darkness I would knock on the world. And my mom, who had been crying crying, would laugh. Trusting in that feeling alone I came out.

Part 1. Jangmi

My name is Urchin. That’s what the girls at Gold Tearoom call me. My name before that was This Bitch or That Bitch. I don’t want to talk about the person who called me This Bitch or That Birth. If I could name myself, I’d name myself Deudeudeok. Because a name like that is hard to pronounce (I don’t like it when people call my name). Besides, Deudeudeok is kind of like the sound of a train. I like trains. If I couldn’t name myself Deudeudeok, I’d name myself Jangmi, which means “rose.” Because roses smell sweet, and because Jangmi is the name of my favorite person at Gold Tearoom. But she might not let me have the same name. But I clearly recall what she said when she got drunk on soju and had a fight with the man from the car repair shop. My name is Gyeongnam. Pak Gyeongnam!

So even Jangmi isn’t the real Jangmi. Since I don’t know who the real Jangmi is, I don’t know who can give me permission to have the name Jangmi. I don’t feel comfortable using a name without permission. I’d rather name myself Deudeudeok. No one in the whole world would use a name like that. Actually, it doesn’t matter whether or not you have a name. I was This Bitch or That Bitch, though I didn’t like it, and now I’m Unna. All I need to do is answer when called.

My real parents abandoned me. No, they lost me. “Abandoned” and “lost” are completely different in meaning. When I’m feeling good or bad, I think to myself that my real parents abandoned me. When I’m feeling good, I start feeling bad, and when I’m feeling bad, I feel even worse. It’s better to feel bad than to feel good. Because then it’s easier to be mean to people. You have to be mean in order not to be harassed by people. You have a hard time when you’re nice. When you’re nice, people think you’re easy and take advantage of you. And people who are nice torment themselves and feel bad over little things. When things go well it’s because of other people, and when things don’t go well, it’s because of themselves. People like that should be given a neighborhood of their own and be allowed to live only within that neighborhood. That way, the nice people would be less bedeviled, and the not-so-nice people would feel less uncomfortable. Anyway, whenever people hassled me, I chewed, with my heart’s teeth, on the thought that my real parents abandoned me. The reason why I think that I was abandoned by my real parents is because my fake parents were so nasty. On that late winter’s night when my fake dad beat me for the hundred seventy-second time and my fake mom made me skip a meal for the hundred thirty-fifth time, I became convinced. These people can’t be my real parents. They must’ve picked me up, as if picking up a glove off the street. I learned how to count numbers two years ago. As soon as I could count numbers without using fingers, I began to count the times my fake dad beat me,

and the times my fake mom made me skip a meal. Whenever the numbers grew larger, I felt as if I were stuffing a dirty blanket down my throat. I thought a hundred was the biggest number in the world. But when my fake dad beat me for the hundredth time, I learned of a bigger number. It was a thousand, made up of ten hundreds. When I thought that I’d keep getting beaten until I learned of a bigger number than a thousand, I felt sick and tired of everything. I was so sick and tired that I yelled, Go kill yourself, you son-of-a-bitch! My fake dad heard me and hurled a pot with soggy ramen noodles in it. I left the house, stepping on the strands of noodles scattered on the floor. To go in search of my real dad, who wouldn’t throw pots at me, but teach me that curse words were bad, and hug me tight.

The main characters in TV soap operas always go to the train station with a big bag full of clothes when they leave home. We had only one big bag at our house, and it was full of my fake mom’s clothes. My fake mom left home every season with that bag. Once, I followed my fake mom in secret when she left home, and saw her hanging around the street for a long time, then going into the inn in front of the bus terminal. Making farting noise with my lips, I trampled on the dandelions at the foot of the wall. Did she pack that big bag full of stuff, just to go to the inn? Why did she bring that big bag? It must be heavy. I’ve never seen a train going backwards. Trains only go in one direction. But buses move forward and back. If you really want to leave home and never come back, you have to get on a long, heavy train. And you have to go very far, so far that you forget your way back. Buses, which are short and light and back up very well, and which pass by our house and let you off midway, are no good. Buses pull at your desire to leave, like pulling back a rubber band, then letting it go. What I hated more than my fake mom making me skip a meal more than a hundred times was her returning home, never quite leaving. The more my fake mom pretended to leave home, the more my fake dad used violence, so often that I couldn’t count.

I wished that my fake family would scatter away in different directions, like shredded pieces of paper, and never look back or come back, flying far, far away in completely different directions.

Once again, my fake mom went to the bus terminal, carrying the big bag, so I left home empty-handed. Our house was right by the street, so you could get hit by a car and die just five steps out the door. I walked with my eyes closed. A motorcycle swerved, and the guy cussed at me, asking me if I was trying to get myself killed. A buss honked behind me. I walked up to a shop called Injeong & Co. and ran back to the house. I needed money to get a train ticket. My fake dad was lying sprawled on the floor, like a pair of pants somebody had taken off and left lying around. The floor was slippery, and I nearly fell several times. I looked through my fake dadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s jacket pocket and pants pocket. I took a few thousand-won bills and coins, and found the Barbie doll I had shoved up in a corner. It was something I had washed and clothed and combed, the only thing that was my own in the entire world, and the only witness who had seen, without blinking once, how my fake dad and fake mom had harassed me. I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t wonder if I should take her or leave her, but whether I should kill her or let her live. The floor was a mess. The room was full of all kinds of stuff, including a frying pan, a cutting board, a washbasin, a knife, a broken radio, and the walls were smeared in red ramen soup. I wished that all the mice in the kitchen would come jumping out and gnaw away at my fake dad from head to toe. Even better if they gnawed away the wardrobe, blankets, and linoleum, and emptied out the house. So that no one would ever be able to return. I washed my hands and also my face. I tied up my hair neatly and wrapped up the Barbie doll in a towel, and locked the door from the inside and left the house again. My hands and cheeks felt as if they were being torn apart by the winter wind. I put the doll in my jacket

and went to the train station. I would ask for the ticket that would take me the farthest away. As I travel to the farthest place, I’ll age about ten years all at once. I’ll grow tall, and have long hair and fair skin. People will say I’m pretty, and will all be nice to me because I’m pretty. In the meantime, the mice will have eaten up my fake dad, and have hundreds of babies made up of my fake dad’s flesh. The hundreds of mice will go from place to place and spread the stink of my fake dad. In the inn, my fake mom will find the mice that smell like my fake dad and run away again, but with hundreds of mice that will soon turn into thousands of mice, she will never be able to run from my fake dad’s smell, no matter how far she runs. In the end, I’ll be the only pretty one, the only happy one. Because I’ll be the only one on the train to the farthest place. But my fake mom was at the train station, not the inn. So I couldn’t go into the station. My fake mom was clutching the bag in her hand and crying. She wiped away her tears quickly so that people wouldn’t notice she was crying, but I knew that she was. She cried like that every day. In a way I was glad that she’d gone to the station and not to the inn, but in a way, I resented her for it. I was happy that she had made a smart choice at last, but I resented the fact that she would be going to the farthest place, which meant that I couldn’t. I couldn’t go to the same place that she was going to. We had to be torn to pieces. I used a coin to draw a long line on the dirt ground. I put a dot for my fake dad on the right end, and a dot for my fake mom on the left end, and a dot for myself in the middle. The line was neither safe nor pretty. Again, I used the coin to put a dot on the farthest point my arm could reach, and one at the bottommost part, and another one on the left end, and connected the three dots. A safe and pretty triangle resulted. A triangle, once in place, doesn’t roll away or fall, and no one makes a grab for it because it’s pointy. I wished my fake family would stay that way, far away from each other, not caught by anyone and not rolling away anywhere.

I heard the train whistle.

I went into the station and saw that my fake mom was gone. I asked the man at the ticket counter where the train that had just departed was headed in the end. Headed in the end? The man didn’t understand what I was saying. What’s the farthest point the train will reach? I asked. The last stop, you mean? It’s Cheongryangni. Cheongryangni. I asked where Cheongryangri was. The man pointed to Cheongryangri on a map on the wall. It didn’t seem to be too far from where I was. Why was my fake mom going only that far? I asked for a ticket to Hoeryeong. Hoeryeong? Where’s that? Here, I said, pointing to the word at the topmost part of the map. The man looked at me, smiling as if he didn’t know what to say. How old are you? Haven’t you heard of North Korea? What grade are you in? The man stared at me. I don’t know North Korea, and I don’t know what grade I’m in. Because I don’t go to school. Do the kids who go to school know North Korea? How old are you? The man asked again. I think I’m around eleven. I’ve heard kids about my height in my neighborhood say that they’re eleven. I don’t go to school, but I know how to count numbers and read. I know how to cook rice and do the dishes. I can talk, I can cuss, and I can scream. If the man disrespects me again, I’m going to scream. The man pushed my back, telling me to go home. Arrgh! I screamed, as if I’d just been waiting for the chance. I took out the bundle of towel from my chest and threw it to the floor. The Barbie doll came flying out from the grimy towel. The face that had come off the body rolled out of the station. The man opened his eyes wide and yelled. I wasn’t afraid at all. All I had to do

was cover my ears. I didn’t care how wide people opened their eyes, how hard they spanked me. If they wanted to scare me, they’d have to kill me. Not beat me until I was almost dead. They had to kill me for real. I could experience fear or pain the moment I died, but I didn’t care. Once you’re dead, it’s over. How do I know it’s over? How could I not know? The moment I tore open my mom’s hole and came outside, I already experienced the end.

There were two types of girls at Gold Tearoom: pretty and not pretty. I could tell the two apart, like black and white. Madame and Haeja were not pretty. Jangmi was pretty. What’s important here was that they weren’t ugly, just not pretty. Jangmi was so pretty that she made Madame and Haeja look like ashes. I had a wide brow and high nose like Jangmi, but narrow eyes like Madame and a large mouth like Haeja, so I was neither pretty nor not pretty. I went home only at night. I really didn’t want to, but I had nowhere else to go. I would freeze to death if I slept outside. When it grew very dark, I would sneak into the house and sleep huddled on the cement floor where you put your shoes, then leave before the day broke. I went in and out so quietly that my fake dad never found out. The house always smelled nasty without my fake mom there. Even while sleeping, I would hold my nose because it smelled so terrible. I often heard the sound of mice, too. I prayed that the mice would grow fast and have a hundred, a thousand, a thousand and one hundred babies. And eat my fake dad. I prayed every night. You don’t have to be taught how to pray, you can learn by yourself. Just as you do with eating, sleeping, laughing, and crying.

I first met Chansu at the supermarket in front of the station. There was a stuffed animal vending machine at the supermarket, and Chansu was pressed up against the machine. There were stuffed animals, guns, cars, ashtrays, and all kinds of other stuff in the machine. I knew from the beginning that Chansu was Madame’s son from Gold Tearoom. Whenever he stood there with his nose pressed against the machine, she would open the window of the tearoom and call out to him in a husky voice. Boy, you better come in here before your balls freeze off! When I sat in the station all day, the man at the ticket counter would keep harassing me with questions. Where do you live? What’s your name? How old are you? Where are your parents? Why aren’t you going him? He would ask and ask. And only questions I couldn’t answer. But I’d get too cold and hungry outside the station. I couldn’t leave the station. Because a lot of people went in and out of the station, and my real parents were bound to pass through at least once. I didn’t know the faces or names of my real parents, but when I saw them, I’d know. I’d know for sure. Because it would be real. That’s how it was with real things. One day, it was so cold that my skin seemed to rip to shreds. My hair scattered away in the fierce wind like the laughter of a crazy woman. I looked up at the Gold Tearoom and thought, That would be the perfect place. It seemed that you’d be able to see the station and the platform from the window seat of the tearoom. I decided to lure Chansu first. It wasn’t hard. Of the money I’d put away to buy a train ticket, I gave a thousandwon bill to Chansu. Chansu stared at me, wiping his nose with his hand, white like a snowcapped mountain peak. I put the money into the machine and told him to get a stuffed animal. He didn’t get a stuffed animal, or a robot, or a gun, or a car, or anything. I took out another thousand-won bill. The machine took the money and gave nothing in return. Chansu told me to put more money in. I raised my hands as if to say I had no more. Madame opened the

tearoom window and called out to Chansu. Pretending he didn’t know me, Chansu went up to the tearoom. I walked up the stairs after him. He looked at me with a threatening look on his face, but I wasn’t scared at all. As soon as I entered the tearoom, I ran into Madame, who was sitting at the counter. Who’s this little urchin? Madame asked Chansu. A beggar, Chansu answered, lowering his eyes. What did you say? Madame didn’t understand what Chansu said. Now that I thought about it, Chansu seemed a bit slow in speech. Speak clearly! Madame said. Chansu mumbled something, looking from me to Madame. Madame slapped the counter and told him to speak clearly again, and I answered for him. I’m a friend of Chansu’s. This little urchin is your friend? Madame asked Chansu. Chansu barely managed to nod. She was making such a big deal about him not speaking clearly. If she found out that he’d played the vending machine with my money, she wouldn’t let him off easily. With two thousand won, I bought myself a friend, and Gold Tearoom.

Following Chansu to a room at a corner of the tearoom, I jumped at the chance to tell him: Madame isn’t your real mom. A real mom would never bully you like that. You should come with me to go look for your real mom. Chansu didn’t believe me. He said he was sure that Madame was his real mom. You’re an idiot who doesn’t even know what something real is. Chansu showed me his baby pictures. At the bottom of a photo taken of a bald, round-faced baby in white baby underwear was written “Hundredth Day Celebration.” A picture of the baby wearing rainbow-colored hanbok said, “First Birthday.” So what? I glared at Chansu as if to say that they were no use. Chansu showed me other photos. A picture of

him and Madame making a snowman. A picture of the Madame holding him tight in a room. A picture of him with two fingers raised, out with Madame on a kindergarten picnic. A picture of him blowing out the candles on a cake. I glared at him until my eyes were red. She buys me birthday cakes and makes a snowman with me in winter and comes with me on a kindergarten picnic because she’s my real mother. Speak so I can understand, you cripple, I said, even though I understood. Madame kept scolding Chansu for not speaking clearly because she wasn’t his real mom. I tried to persuade Chansu by saying such things. She understands me, but she scolds me on purpose so I speak more clearly, Chansu said, siding with her to the end. Oh, all right. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say she’s your birth mom. But just because someone’s your birth mom doesn’t mean she’s your real mom, I said, closing the photo album with a slam. Chansu said that was nonsense. If she’s your real mom, why wouldn’t she let you play vending machine when you like it so much? If she’s your real mom, why do you always go around studying her face, to see if she’s angry? If she’s your real mom, where in the world is your real dad? Chansu leaped to his feet and hit me on the head and on the face, and kicked me in the stomach. Jangmi, passing by the room, and screamed, Where did you learn to beat women? Chansu was slow in speech, and he couldn’t write very well either. He was in the fourth grade, so if I went to school, I’d be in the seventh grade, at least. Because I was better at speaking and writing than he was and could count numbers very well, too. Madame always urged Chansu to get his summer homework done whenever she saw him. Chansu always sat in a corner of the tearoom with his notebook open, his mind off somewhere else. Then Madame would urge him to go into his room. There were two small rooms in the tearoom. Jangmi and Haeja lived in one of the rooms, and Madame and Chansu in the other, slightly

larger room. Madame’s room was so dark that you had to turn the light on even during the day. Chansu and I hated dark places. If you asked me why, I wouldn’t know what to say, but we kept poking our faces into bright places, like foxtails. But a dark room was better for us to do homework in. There were two reasons. First, I told Chansu that I’d do his homework for him, and Madame wasn’t to know. Second, because I had a better view of the station from the window of Madame’s room (although this pertained to me only). I made my way into Gold Tearoom and Madame’s room with Chansu leading the way. Gold Tearoom, and Madame’s room especially, was the most comfortable, satisfying place in the world. The floor was always warm, and Madame’s toiletry and clothes smelled nice. It was dark, but you could turn the light on. As long as I did his homework for him, Chansu always brought me tasty bread and milk and such from the fridge. And sometimes, Madame or the girls would share their Chinese noodles with me, or give me rice with kimchi stew when there wasn’t Chinese. Madame was extremely good at taking care of what Chansu ate, wore, and studied. Chansu always had something to snack on, and changed clothes every day. I was quite shocked at the fact that he changed every day. I had never changed once since my fake mom left home. Chansu called me a beggar, saying I smelled nasty. When he called me that, Jangmi would scream and scold him. But she must wash her face every day. Her face is always milky white, I heard Haeja and Jangmi say once. They were right. I washed my face and hands whatever chance I got. Because I could suddenly run into my real parents, and I didn’t want them to be disappointed or ignore me seeing that I was dirty. I always tied my hair neatly as well. But I couldn’t do anything about my clothes. I couldn’t go around naked because they were dirty, and I couldn’t wash them either. Because I’d have nothing to wear while washing and drying them. Like other grownups, Madame and the girls at Gold Tearoom asked me questions in the following order: What’s your name? Where do you live? What do your parents do? Since

I didn’t have a name, I couldn’t answer the first question. I said I lived around Injeong & Co., and I didn’t say anything about my parents because I still didn’t know what my real parents. Haeja said all kinds of things, such as that I must be an orphan and that I was a little suspicious, but Jangmi looked at her with disapproval and was quite nice to me. Madame didn’t seem that displeased with me, either, because ever since I showed up, Chansu hadn’t been behind on his homework. She would get choked up and pat him, saying that he must’ve wandered around outside because he had no one to study with. Her little fantasy worked in my favor in many ways.

Chansu would sit dazed, even with a notebook or a workbook spread open before him. I felt very frustrated with him when he sat like that, but if he was a kid who was good at everything, there would’ve been no place for me at Gold Tearoom, so I liked a dazed Chansu better than a smart Chansu. To make him even more dazed, I stood by the window and pointed to the inn across the empty lot. Hey, you see that window the size of a palm? Do you know what that place is? It’s an inn. Do you know what people do at an inn? They sleep there. Just sleep? What else, then? If you stand here and watch that window, you’ll see something amazing. At my words, Chansu stood on his toes and stretched his head out. I took the thickest book on the shelf and put it under his feet. Chansu and I were about the same height now. If you keep watching, you’ll see a man and a woman completely naked, I said. Stark naked? But it’s not a bathhouse, Chansu asked.

You don’t know anything, do you? Chansu rolled his large eyes. Stay here and watch. See what they do, stark naked. Chansu stood on the thick book and eagerly waited to see what happened at the inn. But he couldn’t see anything, of course. The windows of the inn were opaque, and were covered with black curtains. Next to Chansu, who was trying to see what could never be seen, I observed the people who went in and out of the station. Though dazed, Chansu was a kid who could endure anything. He stared at the small, opaque window until his knees were stiff, he’d been standing there for so long. In the meantime, I paged through Chansu’s books, opened Madame’s jars of cosmetics, and stole money from Madame’s clothes scattered on the floor. And I asked him from time to time, Do you see them? Chansu would just shake his head without answering. When he was about to give up and come down from the thick book, I would say very urgently, Hey, you might be able to see them now. When I did, Chansu would turn his head back to the window. I sat at the table and did Chansu’s homework for him. There were math problems, journal writing, and book reports. I decided to do the math first. When Madame noticed that a few pages were done every day, she didn’t scold Chansu, which made things easier for me as a result. There was a bunch of division problems in the workbook. To be honest, I didn’t even know what division was until I met Chansu. But by watching him solve the problems, I could guess how to go about it. To do division, you first had to memorize the multiplication table, so I stayed up nights in order to memorize it. In about three days, I pretty much knew them by heart. Knowing the multiplication table by heart, I could do multiplication, and knowing how to do multiplication, I could do division without difficulty. To go in and out of Gold Tearoom as I pleased, I had to be able to do division easily. There were times when I didn’t want to bother working on problems, but it was better than being cold and hungry all day. I

solved division problems the way people paid for their coffee at Gold Tearoom. Chansu sat down next to me and said he couldn’t see anything, twitching his lips. What do you mean, you can see something amazing? You didn’t see it? I didn’t see anything. Keep watching. I didn’t see a thing. Have you seen Madame naked? Don’t call her Madame! Chansu yelled, glaring at me. But that’s what everyone calls her. You can’t call her that, though, you beggar. Fine. Then you do this, I said, and pushed the workbook in his direction. But I really don’t see anything, Chansu mumbled, sounding discouraged. Don’t you know yet what men and women do, naked? For some reason, Chansu’s face was all red, and his lips quivered. Don’t they teach you that at school? I’d let it slip that I wasn’t in school, but Chansu didn’t seem to catch on. . . . I know, Chansu said in a very small voice, after sitting in silence for some time. Know what? I saw it on TV. Hmph, I said, laughing at him. Did you really see? Of course I did. I mean, did you see it for real, not on TV. For real?

Yeah, for real. . . . Uh huh, Chansu said, biting his lip after some hesitation. I knew at once that it was a lie. Don’t lie to me. Chansu looked at me in surprise, but then he looked at me with stubbornness in his 15

eyes. If you really saw it, you must’ve seen the dick go into the pussy. What into . . . what? The dick into the pussy. Wha . . . wha . . . I knew it. You didn’t see the real thing. Did . . . did you see it? Of course I did, that’s how I know. H-how? I saw my mom and dad do it. Why would your mom and dad do it? Chansu asked in a firm voice, as if he were the good guy who had discovered the bad guy’s weakness. To make a baby, Dad’s dick has to go into Mom’s pussy. Chansu’s two eyes rolled around like a doll’s. That’s how you were made, I said, to make sure that he understood. Suddenly the door burst open. Madame came running at me with a sinister countenance, and slapped me on my head and face, cussing at me. You must be out of your mind! How dare you spit out such filthy words! You filthy little urchin, I’ll rip your lips to shreds and give it to the dogs to eat! How dare you say such wicked things in front of my son! I groaned, covering my face with my hands. Chansu sat up against the wall, petrified.

What’s wrong with it! I said, when Madame’s beating came to a little pause. What’s wrong with it! I wasn’t lying, so what’s wrong with it! The little bitch. Listen to her talk! Madame began cussing and beating me again. Jangmi, who was in the hall, came running in and tried to stop her. Madame shook her hand off and shouted at the top of her voice. Do you know what the little bitch, the obnoxious little bitch was saying to my son? Do you even know? Instead of trying to stop her, Jangmi held my head in her arms. Whatever she said, you shouldn’t be beating a little girl like this! It’s not like she killed someone!

Madame beat me so much that my nose bled and my eyelids became swollen. But I wasn’t that shocked, because I’d been beaten like that by my fake dad before. But I felt wronged. What in the world had I done to deserve such a beating? My fake dad was the same way. He would beat me to a pulp just because he was having a bad day. If not for Jangmi, I really may have died at the hands of Madame. And I would’ve become food for the little mice. Huffing and puffing, Madame said (I could understand only about half of what she was blabbering on about, and it seemed a little ridiculous that she would scold Chansu for not speaking clearly), This obnoxious little urchin was telling my son about what men and women do! Jangmi asked, What they do? Yeah, bitch, how they do each other! Jangmi burst out laughing at Madame’s agitated words. This little one was telling this little one? Jangmi laughed, pointing to my head, and Madame cussed at her again. You filthy bitch, you think it’s funny? In my eyes, you and this little urchin are of the same kind. This little urchin will start living off a man as soon as she gets boobs. That’s why she goes around babbling things like that when she’s still wet behind the ears. Jangmi’s eyes widened when Madame called

her filthy, and she flung herself at Madame and said, What did you say? How could you say something like that? How are you different from me? How! Haeja, who had been on an errand, joined in, siding with Madame at first, but after hearing Jangmi out, sprang at Madame, and all in all, it was a chaos. Madame slapped the table and beat her breast, screaming that they didn’t understand because they’d never had children, and Jangmi immediately jumped at her, throwing a fit and saying, Hey! I told you never to talk about children in front of me, didn’t I? Didn’t I say that I’d go kill myself if you did? And Madame rolled up her sleeves and said, Right, let me say what’s on my mind, too, bitch. Let’s be honest, is it my fault that you can’t have children? Why do you always flip out like that, I can’t even breathe! Jangmi began to weep, slapping the floor in bitterness, and Haeja just patted her on the back chewing her gum (but no one patted me on the back, even though my nose was bleeding, my eyes were swollen, and my cheeks were flushed). With Chansu, who had been stuck in a corner of the room, I left. The two old men who had been chain smoking in the hall after ordering tea asked me what in the world was going on. Oh, I don’t know, I said as if I couldn’t be bothered, and left the tearoom. Chansu, following behind me, began to twitch his lips, then burst out sobbing. Don’t cry, you idiot, I said. I knuckled him on the head and sat down on the narrow staircase. Chansu sat down next to me. Why are you crying? I mumbled, looking at him with disapproval. I should be the one crying. I was beaten by Madame for no reason. For teaching Chansu something he didn’t know. They must not teach it at school, although they teach division. But was it something bad? Was that why they didn’t teach it at school and Madame made all that fuss? So did my fake mom and fake dad do something bad? Is that why they turned the lights off when they did it? Did other grownups not do it, then? What did Madame say . . . what they do . . . what they do. And . . . how . . . they do . . . each other. That’s what she said. Did my real parents not do it? Did my fake parents do it because they were fake? All kinds of thoughts ran

through my mind. But if it was bad, why was it on TV? Is that why they didn’t show everything, because it was bad? Up to what part was bad, then? Was kissing not bad? What about touching all over the body? What about making cat sounds? Was putting the dick in the pussy the only bad thing? Was getting stark naked bad? What about bathhouses, then? Oh, it was really confusing. When I didn’t know it was bad, it wasn’t this complicated, but as soon as I started thinking it was bad, everything became very complicated. It’s your fault, Chansu said, sniffling. It’s all your fault, he said again. I pushed him on the chest and leaped to my feet. Chansu hit his head against the staircase wall and began sobbing again.

After I told Chansu about what men and women do, people at Gold Tearoom began to treat me differently. First, Madame cussed at me whenever she saw me. She would mostly say things like, You little bitch, you’re going to start living off a man soon as you get boobs, and hair down there. When customers asked her who I was, she would say, That little urchin will soon be taking care of you here. Take a good look at her. I didn’t actually think that was an insult. From the look on her face or the way she sounded, it was an insult for sure, but what she said didn’t really bother me. But Jangmi hated it when Madame said such things. So whenever she said such things, Jangmi quarreled with her. Chansu didn’t call me a beggar anymore, and he didn’t hit me, either. And although he seemed to avoid me, he whimpered like a puppy that has to go to the bathroom when he didn’t see me. He brought me bread or milk from the fridge when I did his homework for him, but he never used to share his vitamin jelly with me (I didn’t want vitamin jelly, to be honest,

and bread was the most filling so I didn’t really care for vitamin jelly, but I stole and ate them now and then just to spite him), but now he offered them of his own free will. Just the red ones, too, which I liked. When the tearoom opened, I’d go see him, and he’d take me where grownups couldn’t see him, and put a red jelly in my hand. I found it funny, and cute in a way, so once, I opened my mouth slightly instead of reaching out my hand, and he put it in my mouth, flushed up to his ears. Since then, it became a sort of ceremony between Chansu and me, to be held every day. When he put a red jelly in my mouth, I would suck on it very slowly, with him watching. I would open my mouth wide on purpose, and move my tongue a lot, and make loud sucking sounds. He would stare at my mouth, swallowing hard, until the jelly melted away. After the ceremony, he would be very obedient, and I would be a little nicer to him. Sometimes, he tried to give me a green jelly or a yellow jelly as well, probably because he wanted to watch my mouth some more as I sucked on it, but I refused politely, with a very cold expression on my face. If I took it, he would think that I’d open my mouth and do his homework for him in order to get the jelly, and then I’d be a beggar for real. I never asked him for anything. I always waited until he offered something, whatever it was. What I found the most difficult to understand was Jangmi’s attitude. The day after the incident, she dragged me to the bathhouse. I’d never been to a bathhouse before, and I nearly fainted seeing all the women sitting naked in water. And when I was scrubbed all over my body with a rough hand towel, I nearly cried, it hurt so much. It even stung when my body was lathered with soap because I’d been scrubbed so hard. It hurt and stung a little, but taking a bath was really exciting. I was completely taken by the feel of the warm water on my bare skin, and the humidity that seeped through all the pores in my body. The people, all naked, looked more or less the same, and there, I was not a smelly, grubby urchin. Jangmi worked really hard at scrubbing me clean. When I was all clean, she put a white cream on me, which made me smell just like her. As soon as I was wearing that smell, I felt first class. Jangmi told

me that the scent was rose. So for roses, you said “scent,” not “smell.” I understood at once the difference between smell and scent. Jangmi took me to the salon as well. She asked the hairdresser to cut my long, messy hair into a bob. Your face is small like a quail’s egg, so a bob will suit you better, Jangmi said in a voice that sounded as if only my real mom could make it. Her voice smelled of sweet rose as well. Looking into the mirror for a long time, I tried to picture my real mom’s face. Did she have a face that looked like a quail egg like me, and did she look better with a bob? If so, I should start looking for women whose faces were like quail eggs. Now that I thought about it, Jangmi’s face was small and smooth, like a quail egg. Jangmi bought me new clothes as well. They were from the trucks in the marketplace, but so pretty. She had an instinct for pretty things. That must be why she had such a pretty face. When she was in her mom’s belly, she must’ve picked out the prettiest eyes, nose, and lips, from thousands of choices. That’s how pretty she was. I wanted to say that she was the prettiest in the world, but I couldn’t really say that, because my real mom had to be the prettiest in the world. But if, by chance, Jangmi was my real mom, couldn’t she be the prettiest woman in the world? When I showed up looking nice and clean, wearing pretty clothes, Madame looked at me with greater hostility, and Chansu with greater tenderness. Madame spat curses at Jangmi, saying, You’re a busybody, why do you care so much for that little beggar, don’t you have anybody else to care for, you’re just like a tipped over keg, oozing with affection, but that little urchin will never be thankful, no, not one bit (Madame’s wide cheekbones and fat cheeks must carry bags of curses). I didn’t care, because no matter how she went on, I wasn’t hurt. But I didn’t want Jangmi to get hurt because of me. I’d never said thank you in my life, but just to spite Madame, I said thank you to Jangmi only when she was listening. I would

bow down with such force that my head went between my legs. When I showed my gratitude in that way, Jaeja burst out laughing, Madame slanted her eyes up to the ceiling, and Jangmi looked very melancholy.

Do I know what melancholy means? Don’t I know! That’s the first thing I felt when I came tearing out of my mom.

I always wanted to stay by Jangmi’s side, but I couldn’t do that. She was always busy with delivery and entertaining, and didn’t want me clinging to her, not in the tearoom. She was always worried that her customers would treat me the way they treated her. Occasionally, some of them patted me on the cheek and asked me how old I was, and when they did, I became curious myself, though I’d never cared before. But I’d find out soon, when I found my real mom. My real age and my real name.

Jangmi had a boyfriend, which was a secret between the two of us. Whenever he went over to his place, she took me. And she would tell me repeatedly that it was a secret to Madame and Haeja. I was so pleased that she told me a secret she hadn’t told anyone else that I nearly told her my own secret. But I had too many secrets, and if she found out even a single one, she might not put the rose scent on me anymore, so I kept my mouth firmly shut. She pinched my cheek lightly, saying I was trustworthy. Jangmi took me to the bathhouse once a week, and when we had bathed ourselves, we always dropped by her boyfriend’s house. When we went there, she was the most fragrant woman in the world. Whenever her slightly wet hair fluttered in the wind, and whenever she walked with light steps, standing tall, she smelled of sweet roses. If the Jangmi in the tearoom was a withering, common rose, the Jangmi after a bath, on her way to meet her boyfriend,

was the most gorgeous rose in the world, bursting forth in full bloom. Jangmi’s boyfriend lived in a basement room in a three-story building in the alley at the back of the bathhouse. The building looked so old and broken-down that it looked as if it would crumble if I jumped from the rooftop. So whenever we went there, I hunched my shoulders and stood on my toes in spite of myself. I was somewhat disappointed when I first met Jangmi’s boyfriend. His chubby body and pale face made him look like a polar bear, and it seemed that his two eyes, trapped behind thick glasses, would smell of anchovy poop. Polar Bear (Jangmi called him oppa) stayed cooped up inside, not doing anything, so whenever we went there, Jangmi brought him loads of ramen noodles, rice, and toilet paper. Whenever I saw him, I was reminded of a book on Chansu’s bookcase. It was about a bear and a tiger that wanted to be human, and the bear that stayed in a cave, eating nothing but mugwort and garlic, turned into human in the end, and the tiger didn’t. Reading the book, I thought the bear was an idiot. If she wanted to be something other than a bear, wasn’t a tiger better than a human? Why in the world did she eat nothing but mugwort and garlic just to become human? Her turning into a human after eating just mugwort and garlic must have been the worst punishment for the stupid bear. Polar Bear, too, seemed to live under punishment in the basement room that was like a cave, eating the daily food (instead of mugwort and garlic) Jangmi brought him. When we went there, the first thing she did was cook rice and clean the room. While she went busily about cleaning the place and setting it right, Polar Bear would sit in front of the computer, moving nothing but his fingers, which disgusted me. But Jangmi looked so happy that I just sat with my mouth shut, counting the squares on the wallpaper, or rubbing the linoleum with my finger. When she finished cleaning and set the table, Polar Bear would turn around, make a groaning sound, and eat very slowly. And he would complain about the food, and scold Jangmi for not holding the chopsticks the right way. Jangmi didn’t hold them side by side but

crossed together, which seemed to irritate Polar Bear. So every time they ate together, he taught her to hold them his way, but she wasn’t very good at it. Polar Bear would keep insisting that she hold them the way he did, and she would slap her chopsticks down and eat using just her spoon. There were right and wrong ways of holding chopsticks? I wanted to scream at Polar Bear for being so pigheaded. There was no right way of holding chopsticks, you hold them the way you want! Polar Bear didn’t like that Jangmi often used her left hand, and didn’t like it when she talked about this and that while eating. Everything she did was something for him to pick on, but in my eyes, he was the weird one. How could he treat the most fragrant woman in the world in this way? But I couldn’t do anything about it because she seemed to like him so much. But in a way, I was a little disappointed in her for loving someone like him. Who she loved was a very important matter to me, for she was within “the possibility of being my real mother,” so the man she loved could be my real dad. I tried the best I could to see the good in Polar Bear. The reason why he had to be my real dad. Jangmi told me that Polar Bear was a very smart man who had studied at the best university in Korea (it looked as if he did nothing but sit around at home right now, but he was actually planning his future, exploring what he was going to do, according to her). She said that he was so smart that he could easily explain things that ordinary people had never seen or heard about, and had read thousands of very difficult books. But no matter how she praised him, I hated Polar Bear. Because he was the king of snobs. He thought he was the greatest in the world. He always thought he was right, and that people should think and act the way he did. So if Jangmi didn’t hold chopsticks the way he did, or think the way he did, he looked down on her and was mean to her. Once while eating, Jamgmi said that the economy must be bad because the prices had risen at the marketplace, the price of everything from liquor to bread and oil, and Polar Bear

asked, with a nasty look on his face, what she knew about the economy. But all the prices did go up. The prices always go up. They never go down. I guess. But I was surprised because they all went up at once. When will there ever be a world that’s good for people like us to live in? People like us? Yeah, people who go grocery shopping with a single ten-thousand won bill in hand. You think you’re like those people? From the look on his face and the way he spoke, I could see at once the difference between “those people” and Jangmi, but she didn’t seem to notice because she loved him too much and believed that he loved her as well. Of course I do. Yeah? Polar Bear answered absently, noisily chewing on radish kimchi. I saw on the news that they reduced the taxes for the rich, so why don’t they do the same for us? We’re the ones who are scrimping. Where’d you hear that? What do you know? (I saw Polar Bear raising a corner of his mouth and smiling in a vulgar way.) I saw it on the news, I said. Do you even understand the news? What is there not to understand? You’re saying you understand that the poor are better off when the rich are well off, paying less taxes? That’s ridiculous. (What Polar Bear said sounded ridiculous to me as well.) You know what Reaganomics is, what neo-liberalism is?

(I don’t know what they are, but in any case, what he says sounds somewhat strange.) Don’t go yakking about when you don’t even know. You talk as if you know how the world goes round, just because you noticed that the price of flour went up. (But Jangmi and I saw, with our own eyes, that they did. The prices of everything from cooking oil to side dishes and ramen had gone up, so she couldn’t even buy the milk she’d promised me!) It’s always the ones who have nothing that are bent on opposing what they do up there. The ones who know nothing. No, I’m not opposing anything . . . Keep your mouth shut, then. Don’t go yakking about like you know something just because you hear things here and there. You people who have nothing always flaunt it. As if it’s something to brag about. That’s how he always was. Polar Bear thought he was the greatest, the smartest in the world. And he said that everything done by someone richer and stronger than him was right. Because he thought he was equal to such people. So why did he wear the clothes and eat the food Jangmi brought him when he looked down on her like that? It made him look so pathetic. Anyway, I couldn’t understand. Not how Polar Bear behaved, nor why Jangmi loved him. She said that he was nice to her sometimes, but I never saw that. The nicest thing he ever did for her was lift a butt cheek when she was cleaning. But that’s not being nice at all. If I were Jangmi, I’d bite Polar Bear’s butt cheeks for being so nasty. I know all about that kind of nasty kindness. My fake dad showed it to me when he took the rare day off from beating me. On such days, I’d feel grateful in spite of myself. Jangmi said she liked Polar Bear because he was smart. And what else did she say . . . she said he had something called . . . agor . . . agora . . . agoraphobia or something. That was why he couldn’t go outside. He was someone who was meant for great things, but because of that, he always stayed home. She

told me what Polar Bear had told her. He couldn’t ever go where there were a lot of people, because he had such a weak, soft heart. Because he was like a child, kind and gentle, and was afraid and easily hurt by people. Jangmi said that her heart ached when she thought about Polar Bear. She said that someday, she was going to take him out into the wide world and make him do something great. She said that it would surely happen if she loved him and was kind to him. She said that Polar Bear didn’t mean it when he acted violently or said mean things to her. He loved her too, but didn’t know how to express his love in the proper way, and was afraid that she would leave him. So she had to be understanding. Polar Bear was like a wounded baby, and acted that way with her because he was hurt. What a load of bullshit, I almost said. Polar Bear was just a mean bastard. He couldn’t go where there was a lot of people because he looked down on them. He didn’t want to have anything to do with them because they were all beneath him, and ignorant. Even I knew this, after seeing him only a few times, so why didn’t she? Was that the power of love, too? Was love like an ointment that heals wounds? If that really were the case, Jangmi was slathering it on the wrong places. She kept putting the ointment on spots that weren’t wounded, so the real wounds kept rotting away, and the ointment on unwounded spots kept slipping and driving Jangmi and Polar Bear apart. But did she, then, love me? If she did, where was she putting the ointment? On a wounded spot, or a spot that was fine? Were there any spots in me that were fine? I’d keep hurting and rotting away, even if you put ointment all over my body. Where on Jangmi was I putting my ointment? Where was she wounded? But was love really like putting ointment on someone? Oh, I don’t know. It’s getting really complicated again. Let’s just say that it’s not love, or anything else. That’s the simplest. But if Jangmi loved me the way she loved Polar Bear, I’d refuse. If she bathed me and bought me pretty clothes for the same reasons she fed and clothed Polar Bear, I would hate her more than I hated my fake mom. I would tear up the clothes she bought me to shreds and shave my

head. And I would curse her, even more strongly than the way Polar Bear harassed and looked down on her. For what she did would be worse than mocking and despising me. It would be betrayal. It was a day when the winter wind was blowing so fierce, it seemed to turn the world upside down. We had finished eating and were about to clear the table when a phone call came from Madame. Jangmi picked up urgently and just said okay, and hung up. Then she picked up her bag and got up. Why is she calling when you have the evening off? Is it really Madame who’s calling? Who are you running off to see? Why did you come here at all? You filthy bitch. That was the auto repair shop guy on the phone, wasn’t it? How much does he pay to sleep with you? Oh, it wasn’t him? Who, then? The old man at the kalbi restaurant? Sons of bitches. You’re just like them, living off those sons of bitches. Cream-faced, Jangmi said, I told you we don’t do that stuff! Yeah, right. Who doesn’t these days? I don’t! Yeah, Madame would sure leave you alone, bitch. We really don’t. I mean it. Yeah, right, you might as well say that you’ve never shitted in your life, bitch. Tight-lipped, Jangmi made to leave, and Polar Bear took her by the hair and threw her into a corner of the room. The reason why he does nothing but fatten himself at home is to be able to throw her like that. I finally understood. Seeing her get to her feet in the corner, Polar Bear slapped her cheek. Her long hair covered her face. I was startled, but I’d often seen my fake mom and fake dad at it, so it didn’t frighten me or anything. I sat still like a doll, not even breathing. When Jangmi raised her head, Polar Bear slapped her cheek again, and then again before she even raised her head. Slap slap slap slap slap slap slap. Jangmi and Polar Bear looked as if they were testing some kind of a limit. They just beat and get beaten

without thinking, suspecting, rebelling, or exploding, until they’ve had their fill. It seemed like an agreement between Polar Bear and Jangmi. It was so sickening. Grownups were all so stupid and sickening that I wanted to kill myself. There was only one difference between Polar Bear and my fake dad. My fake dad beat my mom all over the body, but Polar Bear only slapped Jangmi on her cheek. The part that was the most noticeable, the prettiest, and the most delicate. He stopped hitting only when her cheek had swollen red, like a ripe persimmon, and crimson blood trickled from her thin lips. That’s enough, you can go now, Polar Bear said, and sneered. That guy Pak at the repair shop would love to see you like that, wouldn’t he? Jangmi just bit down on her lip. And she put on her shoes and left, as if she’d just been waiting for the beating to come to a stop. I put on my shoes to go after her, when Polar Bear called out to me. I turned around, and he was motioning at me with his fingers. Paying no heed, I put my shoes on and opened the front door. I said come here, you little orphan. At that moment, I saw the biggest straw in the world. When Polar Bear put his mouth to that straw and sucked on me, I got sucked down to the bottom of hell. Jangmi said that you’re a beggar who lives off trash, is that right? She said that when she first saw you, you stunk of urine and rotten human flesh. You don’t even have a home, do you? Where do you sleep every night? Do you make a living sucking cock, too? You already know what that tastes like? I collapsed when I heard that Jangmi had said those things. You make me fucking tired, bitch. I tell her to stop tagging you along, but she thinks she has to fucking take care of you. Fuck, she’s worse off than you, when it comes down to it. You little bitch, because of you, I haven’t done it in a month. Polar Bear rubbed his palms together, making a strange sound.

Come here and suck mine, Polar Bear motioned at me with his fingers. I’d already collapsed once, so I wasn’t afraid of collapsing twice. Standing at the door I glared at Polar Bear. So hard that my eyes seemed to go to the back of my head. You’re little, but you’re a fucking bitch, aren’t you? Polar Bear’s heavy legs thumped toward me, making a sound like that of two huge nails being driven into the floor. I took a knife from the sink next to me. Polar Bear raised his hands up and chuckled. What are you going to do with that, stab me? You don’t think I can? I think those were the first words I uttered at that place. When he was there, I kept my mouth shut. Because you can’t talk to an animal. All you know how to do is stuff yourself like a pig. You can’t even catch a little mouse with your hand, can you? Polar Bear’s face gradually stiffened. I can rip your guts out and eat them, I said clearly, with the knife in my hand. In Polar Bear’s eyes, I was a ten year old girl, but I’d lived a thousand years before I was born, seeing, listening, and guessing. After I was born, I went through much more dreadful years. Years of watching people beating and getting beaten, weeping, breaking, stabbing, scratching, biting, breaking, throwing, getting hurt, running, trampling, swallowing, biting their own tongue, things like that. Polar Bear, who knew about nothing but using his mouth and fists, couldn’t know ten millionth of what I knew. Polar Bear knocked over the table. I hurled the knife, as if hurling my whole body. The table, which had flown over my head, hit the door. Polar Bear let out a bloody scream. The door, that hadn’t been closed all the way, slid open, letting in a rush of fierce wind into the room. The knife was stuck sideways in Polar Bear’s chunky foot.

I, too, got sucked up into that wound.

I no longer trusted Jangmi. Not because she’d told Polar Bear that I was a poor little orphan, not because she left me alone at his filthy place, not because she was a fool, with an animal for a boyfriend, but because she didn’t do anything even after Polar Bear beat her. That was how my mom had become fake. My fake mom didn’t do anything when she was beaten. I hated that. At first, I thought it was all my fault, because in my mind, there was no reason why my dad should beat my mom. My dad was like a rabbit. He would count the steps of a mouse even in his sleep, and when someone said something hurtful to him, he would suffer for a long time, as if his bare skin had been rubbed with sandpaper. If someone like that turned into a monster in an instant and frantically beat a woman, there had to be a reason, but no matter how I thought about it, my mom had done nothing wrong. Her heart was as fragile and transparent as the pages of a phone directory. Whenever her heart was crushed, a rustling sound came, giving me a terrible earache. I’d never had meat at home, because my mom doesn’t eat meat. She was so faint-hearted that she couldn’t even bring herself to touch raw meat. When I bled, my mom was always the first to cry. But she didn’t make a sound when she was beaten? Why? I couldn’t figure out the reason, no matter how I tried, so I came to the conclusion that everything was my fault. If I died and disappeared, Dad wouldn’t hit Mom, and Mom wouldn’t just sit there getting beaten. They would then have a really happy family, living in harmony. So at first, I mean, before I thought that they were both fake, I thought everything would be okay if I died. But I didn’t die easily, and because I survived, Dad continued to beat Mom. I tried pretending that I was dead, because it was so hard to die. But no one cared if I

was just pretending, or was dead for real. They went on with their lives in the same way. Then I realized. No one was interested in me. They never cared whether I was dead or alive in the first place. I was dead even if I was alive. I quit wanting to die, pretending to die, and trying to survive in any way I could, and turned them into my fake parents. You’re fake, so I don’t care whether you beat up or get beaten, live or die. I’m going to find what’s real. And I’m going to be happy.

What’s happiness, you ask? Happiness is what is real. I haven’t seen it yet, so I don’t really know what it’s like. But I’ll know it the moment I see it. I guarantee you. That’s how it is with real things.

I’m collecting fake things one by one, in order to find real things. If I gather up everything fake in the world and burn it, only the real will remain. It’ll take a long time, but that’s the surest way. First, I burned my fake dad, then my fake mom, and then Jangmi. Not to mention Polar Bear. They blazed furiously like dried up paper dolls. Burned up, they all turned to ashes. Yeah, they all burned up because they were fake. Real things don’t burn up like that, no matter how you try. I praised myself for making the right decision.

But no matter how much I praised myself, my pains never went away.

I no longer wanted to return to Gold Tearoom. I didn’t want to see Jangmi, who had turned into something common and fake, and I didn’t want to hear Madame cussing. When I liked Jangmi, I didn’t care about Madame’s cussing at all, but now it seemed to stab me like a harpoon. On top of that, Chansu’s winter break was coming to an end. If I were at the tearoom while Chansu was at school, people would realize that I didn’t go to school. Then

Madame would kick me out of the tearoom, and not let me see Chansu. I didn’t have too much time. I had to find my real mom before Chansu went back to school. There were more people going in and out of the station than usual, so I muttered to myself, Why are there so many people here today? And Chansu answered, Tomorrow’s New Year’s Day. What was New Year’s Day? A holiday, I think. I heard that families gather together and eat delicious things. We’re not going anywhere, Chansu said, although I didn’t ask. But we do eat rice-cake soup, because that makes you age a year. I thought I shouldn’t go to the tearoom the next day. I should pretend that I was eating delicious things with my family as well. Do you have a hanbok? Chansu asked. I’m going to get a lot of New Year’s cash and get all the stuffed animals I want from the machine. Chansu asked and answered all the questions. I wanted to ask him what New Year’s cash was, but didn’t. I couldn’t ask questions like that. I had to pretend I knew. I’m going to have ricecake soup and wear hanbok and get a lot of New Year’s cash as well. Pretending was simple. I would show Jangmi, who went around blabbing that I was an orphan. Chansu spit a thick wad of saliva out the window. A brown cat got hit by the spit and ran off. Hey, stop, I said, pushing Chansu away from the window. The alley cat lived near the station, and often locked eyes with me. Where did it sleep every night? I wanted to sleep where the cat slept. What did it live on? I wanted to eat what the cat ate. I wanted to jump up onto rooftops and walls the way the cat did. I wanted to glare at strangers, never afraid, as it did. I wanted to live without clothes like the cat, which could endure cold without any clothes. I wanted to walk without a sound like the cat, and always be clean without washing. Cats never left traces anywhere. They licked everything up when they ate, and covered up their poop with dirt. If I were a cat, I’d be able to go around the world without anyone knowing, and find my real parents any minute.

Hey, what’s it eating right now? Chansu asked, staring down. Where Chansu pointed was the cat that had been there earlier. A mouse, I said, with my two hands on the windowsill like a cat. A mouse? Yeah. What kind of a mouse? Don’t you even know what a mouse is, idiot? I mean, what kind of a mouse? The kind that lives in a sewer? Yeah, in places like that, or anywhere at all. They eat filthy mice? I didn’t reply. He was asking the same thing over and over. How do they eat mice? Oh, crap, they just catch it and eat it. (Don’t they teach things like that at school?) They catch and eat live mice? (Was Chansu really an idiot?) No, it can’t be. It must be a fish head or something. Look, there’s the tail. A mouse tail, I said. There certainly was a thin tail on what the cat was eating. No! Chansu cried. Startled by the sound, the cat quickly ran to a darker spot, with the mouse in its mouth. Don’t you even learn things like that at school? I said, and immediately thought I shouldn’t have brought up school, but Chansu didn’t seem to give a hoot about something like that. He was completely focused on the fact that cats fed on live mice. You have no idea how much I like that cat!

(So what? I like the cat just as much.) I put sausages there for the cat and everything. So why would it catch mice to eat? Chansu was about to cry. It probably likes mice better than sausages, I said. No one eats something as filthy as mice! Chansu was turning me into a liar, when I was speaking the truth. Why are mice filthy? Because they live in sewers. Then cats are filthy, too. Why would cats be filthy! Because they live in sewers, too. Cats don’t live in places like that. Where do they live, then? Wherever they do, not in places like that. Have you seen this with your own eyes? Chansu nodded his head firmly. Stop lying. You stop lying, you beggar. He hadn’t called me that in some time. Why was he persisting so stubbornly, when what he said made no sense? Mice lived in sewers, cats lived in sewers, and I lived in sewers. Were you filthy if you lived in a sewer? Must you hate something if it’s filthy? Was getting angry at Chansu the right thing to do? Sure, you could get angry. You could hate it. But I was angry, too, because of Chansu. Since he got angry, I could get angry. Today, he gave me a red jelly as always. And when I did his homework for him, he gave me milk and bread. He put his tongue in my mouth as I ate the red jelly and milk and bread. Without my permission.

Chansu’s mouth smelled like poo. Or maybe it was my mouth that smelled. It didn’t matter whose mouth it was. Our mouths smelled like poo. The mouths of cats and mice must smell that way, too. Chansu said that mice were filthy, and that he hated cats that fed on mice, not realizing that his own mouth smelled of poo. Then what about me, who slept with dozens of mice every night? If mice are filthy, cats are filthy, the whole world is filthy! I snapped, rolling my eyes up. If Madame dies and gets buried underground, mice will eat her up. Then cats will eat those mice, and you’ll eat a pig that’s been fattened up on mice poo, cat poo, human poo. You’ll be chomping on Madame! With relish! Chansu, who didn’t know how to argue, just repeated No, no, no, dozens of times. Not giving a hoot, I went on, saying, What if I gave your favorite goldfish at the tearoom to that cat? What if I cut out a chunk of your belly, your finger, or your eyeball, and gave it to the cat? Or mixed up your flesh with pig meat and gave it to Madame? People eat whatever when they’re hungry. Whatever it is. Even if they’re not hungry, they eat everything as long as it’s good. Is that filthy? Pale-faced, Chansu burst out sobbing. Madame immediately came running, and Chansu blubbered, saying, She says that I’m going to eat you, Mom. That I’m going to eat you. Madame didn’t understand what he was saying, as usual, but she flung herself at me nevertheless. You wicked little urchin! What have you done to my son! Chansu sobbed even more loudly when she did. School would be starting soon anyway, and the next day was New Year’s Day, Madame hated me, I hated Jangmi, and Chansu was a stupid crybaby whether I hated or not, I couldn’t find my real parents no matter how I looked around at the station, and I was sick and tired of these people. I’m not a fake who sits around getting beaten. I bit Madame’s hand. She shrieked and beat me violently on the head, but I was set on biting her

as much as she had beat me, as much as I was wounded inside. Chansu flung himself at me as well and pulled at my hair, but he could pull out all my hair for all I cared. It was the bob that Jangmi had paid for, anyway. I didn’t like it. I would pull it out myself if I could. I would cut off Madame’s finger with my teeth. I’d cut it off and put it in the pork dish Chansu liked. I wouldn’t get myself off Madame until I saw him chew on his own mother’s finger with relish. 36 *

I was born in soft, warm water. I tore my mom’s hole with tiny little hands, and the world outside fell drip, drip, on the top of my head. The world was too cold for me from the start, for I had lived all my life inside my mom. That’s when I first made up my mind. I would let the world get to me little by little. I would never plunge myself into it all at once. As soon as I came outside, cold air clung to my bare skin. People believed that I couldn’t see, hear, or speak, but I had already spent more than a thousand years seeing, hearing, and speaking. I was as small as a glove, wrapped in a baby blanket. My mom and dad were too busy being blessed by people to keep me safe. I fell to the floor, like a mitten falling on a field of snow. My fake dad was bent at the waist because he always walked with his eyes to the ground. Buried in the snow, I twisted and turned like a dying mouse. My fake dad, yes, he picked me up, thinking I was something to eat. It’s too small to eat right now, but it’ll get big enough to eat someday. That’s what he thought, putting me in his filthy pocket.