Read Your Republic Is Calling You Online

Authors: Young-Ha Kim,Chi-Young Kim

Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Contemporary

Your Republic Is Calling You (2 page)

"Are they still making a big deal out of that?" Hyon-mi glares at them.

A-yong noticeably withdraws into herself as they enter the gates. She mumbles under her breath, "Whatever. I don't care. They'll do it until they croak."

Hyon-mi walks in front of A-yong, as if to protect her. "Jesus, those assholes. Don't they have anything better to do?" she spits out loudly.

A-yong averts her eyes from the hostile looks. Last fall, when A-yong was video chatting with her boyfriend, she flashed him. Her boyfriend captured the image and instant messaged it around. The incident wasn't forgotten. Everyone in school, from the principal to the security guard, knows A-yong as "The Chest." She's the girl who flashed a boy, and that is all she will ever be to them. Other mean-spirited rumors bubbled up as well. If A-yong weren't best friends with cool Hyon-mi, it would be difficult for her to deal with the fallout. But everyone is in awe of Hyon-mi, a girl famous for having played Go and then being a stellar student after she quit competing. Hyon-mi's tough streak commands attention, although she is more popular among the girls than the boys.

Like the other kids, Hyon-mi first assumed A-yong would transfer. She even wrote her a farewell card. But A-yong's parents didn't choose that route. They had a unique worldview. They believed that human beings would soon achieve eternal life thanks to the development of bioengineering and cloning techniques, following a scheme developed by extraterrestrials who'd come to Earth a long time ago. Because A-yong's parents believed such things, they didn't understand their daughter's humiliation at the hands of her peers. They
figured she could go through a little degradation for a while, since she would become immortal anyway. Given eternal life, the three years of middle school were a mere blip. Following rules was the most important factor in achieving eternal life, not maintaining friendships. "That's not what's important in life" was A-yong's mother's favorite saying. Her parents had a number of quirks. They consumed only unprocessed food, like raw vegetables, never ate meat, and didn't have a car. They spent almost every day in church. So A-yong frequently ate alone, fixing instant noodles for dinner.

A-yong's least favorite period was gym, where she had to be active and run. She felt that everyone stared at her chest when she ran, which was not entirely false. She always asked the gym teacher if she could stay behind in the classroom; he leered and let her stay without asking why, acting like he was doing her a big favor.

Entering their classroom, A-yong lets out a sigh and heads to her seat near the back of the room. Hyon-mi, walking to her desk by the window, glances back at A-yong. She still can't believe that a girl as shy and introverted as A-yong exposed her breasts on camera. That event was a glimpse into the dark and sinister underbelly of life, one that Hyon-mi wasn't supposed to know about. She wonders if there is some mysterious element inside her, too, waiting like an alien for the right moment to emerge.

Hyon-mi glances at her watch. 7:50
A.M.
She should be able to get her math homework done before class. She takes out a notebook from her backpack but doesn't feel like opening it. Her chin cupped in one hand, she wonders what kind of woman A-yong will grow up to be.

A
RED LIGHT.
Ki-yong gently applies the brake. His headache had subsided a bit, possibly thanks to Yuki Kuramoto.
He switches CDs, inserting the
Buena Vista Social Club
soundtrack. Upbeat Cuban melodies fill the air. The piano, guitar, trumpet, and vocals are a little too exuberant for the sound system in his car. Ki-yong sings along.
Oompah, oompah, oompah, oompah, tralalala.
Life is worth living again. The sun is rising in the distance, his car zooms powerfully up the hill when he steps on the gas, and the band sings joyously. As his headache disappears, a feeling of ecstasy washes over him, as if a shot of morphine were injected into his arm. This is as good a start to a day as any; he woke up at the same time as always, his bright daughter adores him, business is going well. He's healthy and he doesn't even need reading glasses yet.

As soon as the light turns green, the motorcycle messengers idling next to him gun through the intersection. A 125cc Honda motorcycle pulls up beside Ki-yong's window. He glances at the helmeted driver, who turns toward him. For a split second, their eyes meet. With a boom, the motorcycle bolts past Ki-yong's car. Ki-yong turns up the stereo, forcing the old Cuban men to blow on the brass with all their might. He speeds up, changes lanes, and passes four cars.

A
FTER HER HUSBAND
and daughter leave, Ma-ri finishes up in the bathroom. She's now wide awake. She takes out her cell phone from her purse and her thumb blurs over the keypad, tapping out a text message.

—Lunch?

A little later, an answer pops up on her screen.

—OK. Where?

Her thumb flies.

—Napoli. 12?

—OK!

She tosses her phone back in her bag. Sitting in front of
the vanity, she starts blow-drying her hair. Men who are curious about what women are like when they think nobody is watching should try to catch a woman as she gets ready in the morning. Ma-ri is one of those women who blows out her hair and applies makeup like a cyborg, mechanically patting on foundation and slicking on eyeliner. She stands up and puts on the clothes she laid out the night before, pausing to yawn. She pulls on stockings, tosses her makeup bag in her purse, and walks to the front door. The cat follows her, meowing. Ma-ri steps around her, concerned that cat hair will get on her black skirt. She slips on her shoes.

"Bye, kitty, Mommy's leaving," she says, opening the front door. The cat stares back.

S
TILL LYING IN BED,
Park Chol-su stretches his hand out slowly and picks up his wallet from the bedside table. Three hundred thousand won. He lays it back on the table and clicks the remote, turning on the TV. The clock on the top right-hand corner of the screen reads 7:47
A.M.
He sits up, using only his abs and keeping his lower half completely immobile. His body is taut, ready for action. There isn't an ounce of fat on him, from his head to his toes. He looks at the TV. A sleek black horse gallops along North Riverside Road. Four horses have escaped from a trailer heading for the Wondang racetrack during rush hour, and cars are stuck on the road, unable to move. Emergency crews are trying to get close enough to the horses to grab their bridles. A smile flickering on his face, Chol-su watches the commotion that has erupted in the middle of the city. The frightened horses dwarf the drivers in their cars, who instinctively shrink away when the horses leap by, their large penises jiggling at eye level.

When the news moves on to another item, Chol-su heads into the musty bathroom to pee. He flushes. He plugs the sink, letting the water pool, and washes his face carefully, making sure not to splash outside the sink, and pats his face dry with a towel. He starts singing "Speak Up" by Crying Nut.
Speak up, speak up, speak uuuup.

DREAMING JARS OF OCTOPUS
8:00
A.M.

M
A-RI OPENS
her Volkswagen Golf and gets in. Rain from the day before has made the fabric damp and the seat sticks to her legs. She rolls down the window to let in some air. Waiting for the engine to heat up, she lowers the visor and looks into the mirror. In the darkness, the crow's-feet around her eyes appear more defined. She flips the visor up and releases the parking brake, her plastered hand hovering between her chest and the wheel. With a metallic clank, the car jerks forward.

She has to drive more carefully than usual because of her useless left hand. It brings her back to the days when she was a novice.
When did I first get behind the wheel?
It was the summer of 1994, during a heat wave. The driving-school car had no air conditioning. She remembers beads of sweat rolling down her face, stinging her eyes.

She begins to reminisce about all the firsts in her life. The first time she rode a bike was during the summer after third grade. Boys biked away from the neighborhood en masse, like a desert caravan. She didn't know how to ride, so she
perched on the back of the biggest kid's bike. Near the creek, the boy who'd given her a lift taught her to ride. She wobbled and weaved. After half an hour, she was able to manage this two-wheeled monster, which had a mind of its own. When she could finally pedal along the narrow road next to the creek by herself, the boys whistled and clapped from a distance. She returned to the starting point, breathing hard from the excitement, and the boy who had been running alongside, holding on to the back of the bike, handed her a cigarette.

Really?
she asks herself.
Did kids that young get together to smoke?
She is suspicious of her own recollections; memories can become distorted. But that scene is clear and vivid in her mind. She remembers coughing before she even inhaled, not because she was choking on smoke, but because she thought that was what she was supposed to do. The boys, giggling, took one last deep drag, threw the butts into the dirty creek, and then climbed back on their bikes and headed home.

Ma-ri suddenly craves a cigarette. She opens the glove compartment, hoping for a stroke of good luck, but there are no cigarettes inside. She wishes there were just one. She wishes she bought a pack earlier.

The brake lights of the car in front shine crimson. Traffic starts to thicken. She cranes her neck, looking for the reason for the delay, and sees a car on the shoulder, its bumper damaged, several tow trucks and a police car flocked around it. The car appears to have swerved off the road and smashed into the guardrail lining the side of the riverside road.

Switching on her hazards, she pulls up behind the police car. She gets out and approaches the cop, who is on one knee, measuring the length of the skid marks. The cop struggles to stand up, his midsection as round as a tire.

"Which insurance company are you from? That was fast."

"Did someone die?" she asks.

The cop stares at her, then fixes his gaze on her cast. He seems to have realized that she isn't from an insurance company. A man in a worn leather jacket comes over and stands between her and the cop. He is flushed and limping a little—the driver of the car.

"Nobody died. Who are you? Who are you with?" the man asks.

Ma-ri turns away. "Never mind. I'm no one."

"Are you with the insurance company?"

"No."

The man turns red, like a scolded child. "Then who are you?"

"It doesn't matter." She addresses the rotund cop who is about to kneel again, "Can I bum a cigarette from you?"

Surprisingly without hesitation, the cop slips out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holds it out to her. Salems. She starts to pull out two, then pauses to smile beguilingly at the cop to ask for permission. He nods lightly, and, leering, says, "Like it minty, huh?"

"Thank you," Ma-ri replies.

The cop holds out a lighter but she politely declines. Back in her car, she uses its lighter and takes a leisurely drag. If her left hand weren't injured, she would drive off as she smoked. Her brain is reacting to the nicotine before it even reaches her lungs. She relaxes; the world is somewhat brighter. She exhales and opens her eyes. The cop and the driver are staring at the small, round glow of Ma-ri's cigarette through the tinted windows of her car. Smoke snakes out through the sunroof like strands of noodles.

She starts thinking about her firsts again. How old was she when she realized that people died? She remembers a single white chrysanthemum lying across a lone empty desk.
The elderly teacher pressing a handkerchief to her reddened nose and her classmates sniffling. Sitting right behind the desk with the chrysanthemum, Ma-ri felt the eyes of the teacher and kids on her, watching to see how sad she was. All the kids were stealing glances at her, because she was the only one not crying. So she covered her face with her hands but thought it was unfair. The girl wearing a pink dress, the one who sat next to her, told her what happened. The occupant of the empty desk was tricked and kidnapped by a bad man, then was discovered a few days later in an abandoned suitcase in front of a dry cleaner. Ma-ri didn't understand what kidnapping was. But the face of the girl found dead inside the suitcase was etched in Ma-ri's mind. Why did she have to go inside the suitcase and make everyone so sad? Was she playing a game of hide-and-seek? Why did she have to go to such lengths for a stupid game? She glared at the empty desk overtaken by the solitary chrysanthemum. Despite the vacant seat, the girl's absence was oppressive. Nobody noticed her when she was alive, but her disappearance made her unforgettable. Was she really never coming back? Ma-ri didn't fully understand the finality of death. But the girl never returned. For a while the class monitor brought a new flower every morning, but the ritual eventually petered out.

So then Ma-ri had a working definition for death. It consisted first of a disappearance, then controlling everyone's emotions even after you were gone. That sounded pretty neat. She decided to pretend she was dead. When she got home from school, she took her shoes in hand and snuck into her grandmother's closet. At first nobody realized she was gone. She was bored but waited patiently. She even dozed off. Since the kidnapped girl wasn't discovered for a few days, she had to be patient, too. She fell asleep. When
she woke up, the house had erupted into chaos, just like she had wanted. It even smelled different. Through a crack in the closet, she saw dark blue police uniforms. They were the same uniforms that appeared at school. She glimpsed her grandfather, his expression grave. Someone was already weeping, probably her youngest aunt. This ruckus continued for a while. Her grandmother called Ma-ri's mother, who was in Seoul at the time. Ma-ri was gone for only a few hours, but the place was in an uproar because of the earlier kidnapping case. The commotion created by her small joke so surprised her that she wished she were actually dead. It would have been much better if she really died and could float above everyone's heads, invisible like an angel. Then she wouldn't have to disappoint her grandmother, aunt, or mother. Their grief had to be easier to witness than their disappointment. She tried to strangle herself with her hands. She couldn't breathe. While she was trying to kill herself, her leg jerked and kicked the closet door. Then her grandmother's beloved chihuahua—was his name Jerry?—started barking furiously at the closet. Springing up, her grandmother flung open the closet door. Her grandmother, who was 5'7" and quite strong, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her out. Ma-ri rolled out onto the floor, along with a mound of blankets. She was lucky she didn't break anything.

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