As always, Hwa-won’s words. Such a classic Hwa-won story. That kind of joke.
If it had been before, I would have hated it and ignored it, but the story was so Hwa-won-like and so reminiscent of the ‘old days’ that I couldn’t help but chuckle. Perhaps my reaction startled me more than it did Hwa-won, as a momentary look of bewilderment crossed her face.
“…I guess it hurts after all.”
“It’s a bit better now.”
Right now, I felt like I could laugh off anything Hwa-won said. Still, there was a slight bitterness inside me. That kind of joke from Hwa-won felt so much like the past, yet my reaction wasn’t the reaction of those days.
“I like Muk Ha-neul and Ham Yejin too. They’re all nice people. It’s almost too good for me.”
“Are you really in pain? Should I call a doctor?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“You’re not usually this type. You never say you like someone.”
“I’m not stuck in the same place forever.”
“That’s true.”
“Are you a bit jealous?”
“…Hmm, I’ll call a doctor.”
Hwa-won never actually called a doctor. We both knew that it remained in the realm of jokes.
The conversation flowed naturally from there. The topic was what had happened in the meantime.
The first to speak was Hwa-won. According to her, it had been a while since she returned to Korea. She said she had spent a few days with her fiancée, who is still a minor—a girl, that is.
“But isn’t it a bit strange for a political marriage in this day and age?”
“It’s not really like that, of course. If either of us truly hated it, the engagement would fall apart naturally. We still have plenty of time.”
“How is she?”
Rather than answer with words, Hwa-won showed me a photo on her phone.
It was a picture taken with the same girl from the photo she had shown me before. Back then, Hwa-won was in a suit and the girl was in a dress, but now they were both dressed casually. Was it a date photo? They both had smiles on their faces, holding ice cream in one hand.
“What was her name again?”
“Yoo Seol-rin.”
“How was she?”
“Nothing different. She’s nice.”
“Your evaluation has improved. Did you sleep with her?”
“Are you crazy?”
“How does it feel to have experienced it firsthand?”
“It’s delightful.”
It was a relief. Hwa-won wasn’t stupid enough to touch a minor. She had never approached a minor since I met her, but I didn’t know about the time before that, and I don’t trust Hwa-won regarding relationships with women.
“I don’t do stupid things like touching minors in the first place. It’s a different story when I was a minor myself, though.”
“…Did you really do that?”
“Come on. It’s due to psychological effects from trauma. I had no choice but to fill that void.”
“People like that usually don’t make excuses.”
“I’ll just have to be the first.”
Hwa-won’s fiancée was a sophomore in high school, right? Lately, it seemed like I had been meeting younger kids more often. Jae-Ah, Seo Eun-a, and Ji Kang-hyeon. They weren’t exactly intertwined, but I also knew a high school girl named Im Mi-ra who had helped me out.
“If she’s a sophomore, that makes her the same age as Jae-Ah, one year younger than Seo Eun-a.”
“Who’s Eun-a again?”
“Jae-Ah’s sister. So, Professor Seo’s second daughter.”
“When did you charm a high school girl?”
“I didn’t charm anyone. I just helped out with some writings at the Professor’s request.”
“That guy’s daughter wouldn’t have a good personality.”
I recalled my encounter with Seo Eun-a. It was something hard to forget, and she definitely wasn’t the kind of girl with a particularly nice personality. If I continued this conversation, it might lead to talking about Eun-a’s novel, so I shifted the topic back.
“Well, that’s how it feels. So what did you guys do in America?”
“Just… talked, ate meals, and went on dates. There was nothing special.”
“Was there something?”
“I think my father mentioned it. He must have heard that I’m writing a novel. He asked if I could show him.”
“You probably couldn’t show him since you didn’t have anything written.”
It was a joke, but partially the truth. I had never seen or heard of her writing anything recently. But then Hwa-won gave me an unexpected reply.
“No, I do have something. I’ve been writing recently. I got a year, so I have to follow my father around, but I’ve been writing as much as I can in the free time.”
“When you came home, you just played games all the time.”
“I wasn’t focused then.”
Sure.
“So what did you write? Can she read Hangul?”
“She speaks and reads well, but she said she wasn’t confident about writing. She’s writing based on that thing I mentioned before.”
“The fisherman story?”
She had taken the idea I discarded before.
“Sort of.”
“What’s the vibe?”
“It’s based on that story, but it moves the setting to the modern day. It alternates between the fisherman and the office worker. It expresses the intersection of fantasy and reality. Both have lost children and develop a new relationship.”
“Children?”
“One is a son. The fisherman lost his son, and the office worker lost her daughter. The fisherman’s son was swept away by a storm and died, and the fisherman meets a mermaid. The office worker’s daughter was raped and killed, and the perpetrator committed suicide. After the perpetrator’s death, the office worker meets the daughter of the runaway perpetrator.”
“Both end up caring for the children of the perpetrators.”
“Though they harbor hatred, they can’t take revenge, making it even more horrifying. The fisherman and mermaid hide from those who want the mermaid’s flesh, while the office worker and the perpetrator’s daughter hide from those looking for the perpetrator’s daughter. Both end up in ruins. It would be right for the fisherman to let go of the mermaid, and for the office worker to send the perpetrator’s daughter back to the orphanage, right? But neither of them, to be precise, neither the mermaid nor the perpetrator’s daughter wants that. This pseudo-father-daughter relationship is both criminal and beautiful. It’s not because they embraced hatred with love. Hatred doesn’t disappear. But that destructive relationship they share ultimately gives them catharsis.”
In the past, we often did this. We would frequently discuss each other’s novels and help in brainstorming. Those were undoubtedly joyful and happy memories. It wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like a faint, distant memory. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off Hwa-won’s face as she excitedly talked about her novel.
“I’m preparing this. I’ll submit it somewhere, whether to a contest or in some way to see results within the time limit.”
“Since it’s based on my original idea, if it succeeds, we split the credit.”
“I’ll consider your dignity as the original creator and at least treat you to a meal.”
Without anyone saying anything, we both chuckled, sharing laughs.
“So, did you show it to her?”
“I did show it to her, but honestly, I didn’t expect much. But she read it surprisingly well.”
“What did she think?”
“She’s still young, so it didn’t feel like professional criticism at all, but she pointed out the parts I intended better than I expected. She said she thought it was okay, but that was probably just lip service.”
“Is that the reason for your higher evaluation?”
“It’s a sad weakness of writers. It seems like she has read a little Korean literature. She seems to prefer English literature more, though. Her mother seems to like that stuff.”
“Lucky you, a literature girl.”
“It’s rare to find a normal girl who likes literature.”
“Personal experience?”
“Indeed. There wasn’t a single normal girl among those I slept with in the creative writing department.”
“They weren’t exactly girls.”
“That’s true. So how does it feel to be younger than them?”
“Terrible.”
“Well, still, it was more fun than I expected. I just wish she hadn’t asked me to read her poems.”
“Poems?”
“Yeah, poems.”
I don’t particularly like poetry. Did I say that? I don’t remember, but still, the talent for writing novels and poetry is entirely different, so I can’t help it. As a creative writing major, of course, I had to take poetry classes, but my grades were always Cs.
And it’s a personal prejudice, but I’ve never seen a normal person among those who write poetry. Especially if they’re women. Women writers of novels were relatively respectable.
Usually, women who write poetry fall into one of two categories: either they’re crazy or they’re foolish. And from my experience, the latter was more dangerous.
“What was it like?”
“I want to say that how can a girl who isn’t even an adult write anything… but I couldn’t really evaluate it honestly. She wrote it in English. I can read it, but since I didn’t study English poetry, the rhythm and the grammatical structure are completely different, so I can’t give it a proper evaluation.”
“You should at least be able to read the content.”
“The content was a bit fascinating. It felt like a mix of SF and Christian codes. I think I would have found it more interesting if it were a novel. What was it again, ‘The father of machines, Jesus, oil flowing from the eyes of our Lord Christ, the proof of souls of machines that do not exist.’”
“She’s an interesting kid.”
“Indeed.”
Since it wasn’t a topic of particular interest to me, I must have let my disinterest show as I casually listened. Hwa-won finished her story.
And as her story ended, the turn naturally came back to me. Hwa-won passed me the baton.
“Now it’s time for you to talk.”
A simple question, “What did you eat yesterday?” carried slightly heavier meaning, something both Hwa-won and I understood.
But what should I say in response? Speaking about what had happened then was still too much for me. I didn’t want to break down and cry in front of Hwa-won again.
I decided to a bit evasively say something, to mumble and omit details. Let’s hide it. Though I knew she was aware, let’s hide it. Hwa-won probably wouldn’t press further. She must know. She would understand.
“I last saw you… and just remained there. You know Ji Kang-hyeon, right? We got a bit closer when we met while I was in the countryside. So we hung out. Went to an aquarium and a PC bang.”
Hwa-won didn’t insert any comments. She listened quietly.
“Well… and then the article came out, issues arose with the publisher and reporters came to my house, so I thought about running away. But Muk Ha-neul wasn’t reachable, Ham Yejin was busy, and you were in America. So I asked Professor Seo for help and ended up in his place. I read some comic books there, helped Seo Eun-a with some writing. And…”
That’s right.
I trailed off.
Hwa-won didn’t ask. She didn’t press, nor did she make assumptions. That made it even harder to continue.
She never offered the comforting words, “You don’t have to say anything if it’s hard,” either.
She simply waited.
“…That, happened.”
“…And I ran away.”
“I met Ham Yejin…”
“That’s how it went.”
The words barely came out. I didn’t cry, but I could tell my expression gave away my emotions.
If Ham Yejin were here, she might have hugged me. Just like she did last time.
Hwa-won didn’t do that.
She didn’t say, “It’s not your fault,” or “It must have been tough,” or even “Are you okay?”
There were still no interjections. She didn’t hold my hand, didn’t cry for me, and didn’t get angry in my place.
I didn’t say anything more. The story ended here.
Hwa-won didn’t say anything.
She simply patted my shoulder twice.
That was all.
So I reached out too. Hwa-won’s shoulder felt a little distant, and my hand was a bit short.
I too, gently patted Hwa-won’s shoulder.
