The Owl Cries, page 5
The absence of customers wasn’t the fault of the hot air or the unpleasant smell. Nor was it because Chang-gi was unfriendly and off-putting. There simply were no customers to be had. Now that the last of the researchers had left—and unless the villagers all suddenly started bringing their laundry to him, which was never going to happen—he couldn’t help but be idle. It was only natural that, after touching his hand to the red-hot iron and debating whether to run the empty dry cleaning machine once or twice a month, he was still left with more time than he knew what to do with.
Chang-gi looked up at the window out of habit and was startled. Next to his floating face stood a man. He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but he knew it wasn’t a local. No one he knew would stand outside a window like that and peer inside. The only people who came looking for him were drunks who slammed his door open so hard that the glass threatened to break each time.
It used to be that strangers dropped in all the time. Researchers in town for conferences would stay at the guesthouse and drop off clothes with him to be laundered or ironed. That all came to a dead halt when the research center moved.
An-nam Lee hadn’t mentioned anything about the stranger in town. An-nam was usually the first to know these things. His bar was a restaurant during the day, serving simple meals, the kind of place any newcomer was likely to stop by at least once. Not because the food was particularly tasty or unique but because there wasn’t really anywhere else to eat. And even if the newcomer hadn’t stopped by the restaurant, An-nam was still usually the first to know of any news coming out of the research center. Ha-gyeong Jin ate lunch at An-nam’s place every day. It was she, Mr. Jin’s niece, who kept An-nam updated.
Just then, Ha-in spotted Chang-gi. He gave him a nod and opened the door.
“We’re closed,” Chang-gi called out loudly, but Ha-in ignored him and came inside anyway.
“The lights are on.”
“The lights are always on. I live here.”
In the heat of the dry cleaner’s, Chang-gi Choi’s face looked haggard: the bones stood out in sharp relief and his skin looked burnt, but not from spending time in the sun. The lack of any rosiness in his complexion made him look like he was in poor health. The teeth that showed when he spoke were unusually white, making his face seem even darker.
Pointedly ignoring Ha-in, Chang-gi gave the shirt he’d been ironing a loud snap and hung it on a hanger. It was obvious he wasn’t actually busy, but he picked up a long pole and used it to sort through the clothes hanging from the ceiling. Ha-in showed no inclination to leave. He was perusing every corner of the dry cleaner’s with the quick, noncommittal look of a tourist in a souvenir shop surveying an array of shoddy, overpriced items that could be found anywhere.
Growing irritated, Chang-gi was about to throw Ha-in out of his shop when it occurred to him that this was his chance to be the first to tell An-nam about a stranger in town, rather than the other way around. Not that there was any point to gaining such an edge.
“What is it? I told you we’re closed.”
He made no attempt to hide his irritation, but he left a slight opening nonetheless.
“I’m not here to drop off dry cleaning.”
“Then why come to a dry cleaner’s?” Chang-gi asked brusquely, turning to face the man. He was surprised to realize he still had some curiosity about new people.
“So I can drop off my laundry? I do have a few things that need to be washed.”
“Did you not hear me? Did I not say I’m closed?”
“What time do you open tomorrow?”
“It varies.”
“Excuse me?”
“I open whenever I wake up.”
“I see,” Ha-in said with a laugh. “Owners do as they please. You are the owner, correct?”
“You’re asking if I own this place?”
“Yes.”
“The bank owns this place.”
Ha-in laughed again. “So which bank should I go to if I want to find the owner?”
“I owe money to every bank around here, so just pick one.”
“I’m not a debt collector.”
“Then why are you looking for the owner?”
“I’m looking for anyone who’s lived in this village a long time.”
“So now you’re looking for old-timers?”
“Not old-timers. Village elders.”
“I’m no elder. I’m just old.”
“I heard you’ve lived here the longest.”
“Who’d you hear that from? Who’s saying that?”
“Someone at the research center.”
“What research center?”
“The one here. There are still some people working there.”
“A man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
“Ha-gyeong Jin?”
“Ha-gyeong Jin? That’s her name? Heh, even her name is pretty.”
“You don’t know her name but you were asking her questions?”
Having said that, Chang-gi knew well enough that Ha-gyeong was the type to spill everything, including things that weren’t asked. She would be so antsy with pent-up boredom that she would talk the ear off of anyone willing to listen. She should have watched her mouth. Women talked too damn much, except when it came to saying something genuinely kind about other people. They were especially fond of blabbing about things that were private or meant to be kept secret. Not that it was any secret he’d lived in this village for a long time.
“She’s a very friendly person.”
“Friendly, my ass. She talks too much.”
“Ha! I suppose that could be true, too.”
Ha-in’s eyes came to rest on a black-and-white photo hanging above the ironing board.
Chang-gi noted this and said, “My wife. Cancer.”
“Ah, I’m sorry.”
“Why be sorry for looking at a photo of a dead person? I put it there to be looked at.”
“My father passed away of cancer. I have another relative currently struggling with it, too.”
“It would be strange if you didn’t know someone with cancer. It’s everywhere. That’s the nature of it. And it forces you to watch yourself die. What’s worse—” Here Chang-gi paused, as if choosing his words. “Everyone else knows you’re going to die. Do you know how others treat a person who’s near death?”
“Not a clue. Sorry.”
“Precisely. They have no clue what to say or do, so instead they keep muttering about how sorry they are while walking around on eggshells. When my wife was alive, she said she felt like she was already dead.”
Despite those grim words, Chang-gi’s expression didn’t change at all.
“But anyway, why are you looking for old-timers?”
“I’m trying to find someone.”
“A person? Why go to an old-timer to find a person?”
“Because I think an older person would know more.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ha-in realized then that Chang-gi was not the patient type. He handed him his business card, aware that if he beat around the bush any longer Chang-gi might kick him out. Chang-gi slowly studied the card. He stared at it for far longer than was needed, considering how few words were printed on it. Ha-in guessed that his being a lawyer had probably triggered some thoughts in Chang-gi. Litigation had a way of drawing people’s interest. They feared getting dragged into it and enjoyed being a spectator to other people’s problems.
The revelation that Ha-in was a lawyer made Chang-gi feel as though the forest’s darkness, which dominated everything outside his door, was making his shop even more cramped and air-less. Every sound, their voices, the oxygen itself was sinking to the floor. Why was a lawyer looking for someone all the way out here? Had something happened to trigger an investigation? What was it?
“Is the forest off-limits right now?” Ha-in asked.
“Do you really need an old-timer to answer that for you? There are FOREST CLOSED signs posted all over the place, as bright red as eviction notices.”
“Yes, I saw them. I’m also aware that most of the forest has been closed for the last two years.”
“You’re wasting your breath then. You don’t need an old-timer for this.”
“Nevertheless, the elders would know best.”
“Why are you trying to go into the woods at night?”
“I’ll go during the day if I can get in.”
“You can’t go during the day either. And the only places you could go are off-season right now anyway. The woods don’t play favorites with the elderly; being old doesn’t give me a free pass to enter. Not that I’m old enough to get a free pass anywhere. No preferential treatment for locals either. Living here doesn’t mean you can go hiking in the woods anytime you want.”
Ha-in grinned. The look on his face seemed to imply that surely someone who was truly in the know would be able to enter the woods regardless of any closures. Chang-gi’s mood soured further. He thought he could hear laughter that wasn’t there.
“Do you go into the woods often?” Ha-in asked.
“Jeez, listen to this guy. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s the off-season. You can go into the woods after the weather warms up.”
“I meant before the forest was closed.”
“I don’t care for the forest. It’s just nice to look at.”
“I don’t care for it either.”
“Then why are you trying to get in there?”
“Knowing I’m not allowed makes me want to.”
“The forest is a scary place.”
“What’s scary about it?”
“It’s haunted.”
“Haunted?”
“Some say they hear wailing from the middle of the forest every day. Others say they’ve seen dead people.”
“But you yourself haven’t seen anything.”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be living here still.”
“Aside from ghosts, have you ever seen this person?”
Chang-gi looked at the photo that Ha-in thrust into his hands. It was a group photo from a wedding, and the faces were too small to make out clearly.
“Which one am I looking at?”
“This person here.”
Ha-in’s finger rested below a man with a long face and a nose that was rounded at the tip.
“Who’s this?”
“His name is Gyeong-in Lee.”
Chang-gi repeated the name slowly. Gyeong-in Lee. It’d been a while since he’d last said the name out loud. He was stunned to find himself saying it again.
“He worked in the ranger station at the entrance to the forest.”
Ha-in studied Chang-gi as he spoke. Chang-gi’s eyes were glued to the photo. Gyeong-in’s face in the group photo looked stiff, tense. The others were smiling, albeit awkwardly, whereas Gyeong-in looked like he was posing for a mug shot.
Seeing that face made Chang-gi’s teeth tingle and ache. It had been ages since he had a toothache. Something was speaking to him from a dark place. A voice whispering he should confess. But confess what? He asked himself, what on earth did he really know? Was he supposed to pretend to know something? He mutely watched the two sides of him battle: the side that urged him to tell, and the side that claimed ignorance. They were both fighting for survival. The self that knew something prattled on endlessly while looking for things to iron to keep his hands busy. The other self worked to erase all thoughts as they arose, pushing them away as incorrect memories, and kept his mouth shut. Watching the two selves do battle felt very much like drowning. Not that Chang-gi had ever been underwater, but if he were to slip beneath the surface, this is what he figured it would feel like. Like his throat was constricting, slowly, until all the air was gone.
At last, someone inside him waved the white flag.
“Never seen him before in my life. Like I said, I don’t care for the forest.”
It only occurred to him now, but talking to strangers always tired Chang-gi. They listened only to get information out of you. He was used to sizing people up, sussing them out. He should never have let his curiosity get the better of him. He should have kicked Ha-in out immediately. But this night had borne its own sort of fruit. His internal battle was interesting. One side wanted to reveal that he knew something, while the other refused to snitch. That in itself was meaningful. Chang-gi knew something but didn’t want to be the first to step up and speak out.
“Surely in a small town like this you’d notice when a stranger shows up,” Ha-in said. “A stranger like me.”
“This town used to be crawling with strangers, back before the research center moved and everything went to pot. People from other parts of the country would come here. You’d see them out on the street, walking around every day with visitor badges hanging from their necks. At one point there was training for nature guides year-round. Tour buses full of people, young and old, went back and forth between the forest and the research center. Even before parts of the forest were closed off, you had to reserve time slots to be able to go in, which made even more people want to come. They bought souvenirs, ate out, filled their gas tanks, dropped off dry cleaning. Looking back on it now, that was as good as it ever got here.”
Chang-gi realized his voice was trailing off as if awash in memories, so he spoke more firmly.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen him.”
Ha-in put the photo back in his wallet. Alongside it, he tucked the memory of how long and hard Chang-gi had stared at the photo before saying he’d never seen Gyeong-in before, and how he’d pitched his voice a little higher and apologized for the first time. These things could be proof that Chang-gi was lying. Compared to truth-tellers, liars usually pretended to be deeper in thought. A higher pitch to the voice, silkier tones, these too were typical signs of a lie in the making. But Ha-in knew, too, that he was prone to assuming other people were lying; he was like a cop who’d grown jaded from listening to criminals. He made an effort to remind himself that, both statistically and by virtue of human nature, people spent more time speaking honestly than trying to deceive others.
“Why are you looking for this guy anyway?”
Chang-gi took for granted that Ha-in had been hired to look for the missing man. It wasn’t the first time he’d imagined a lawyer or detective or the like showing up in the village. He’d even hoped a detective would show up and start asking questions. He was pretty sure the two selves inside of him would bicker and drag their feet then, too.
“He’s my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.”
Ha-in was keeping his answers brief. Chang-gi gazed back at him coolly. Clearly, this lawyer wasn’t here to investigate what had happened. That was probably a good thing. If Ha-in were a detective, and if he were the type to push, then Chang-gi might have given in to the pressure and confessed. Or if Ha-in had pressed him harder, demanded answers, if Chang-gi had had to abandon his internal debate out of real fear, then what might have happened? Nothing good, of course. Chang-gi gritted his teeth. He couldn’t betray the forest. He must not. If he did, he was as good as dead.
6
When Mr. Jin had asked what type of business he wanted to open, Seong-su Han had said, without hesitation, a bookstore. Mr. Jin seemed a little surprised. Seong-su’s wife was definitely surprised. Actually, more shocked than surprised. His wife had stared at Seong-su in horror. When Seong-su refused to even look at her, she poked him in the ribs, not caring that Mr. Jin was right there.
“Come again? A bookstore? That’s not what you said when we discussed this yesterday.”
As if you could call what they’d had a discussion. More like a unilateral verbal assault.
When Seong-su refused to budge, she turned to Mr. Jin and said, “Restaurant. We’re opening a restaurant.”
Mr. Jin glanced at Seong-su’s wife, then said to Seong-su, “A bookstore, you say?”
“Yes, a bookstore.”
“That’s crazy,” his wife broke in again. “You’re going to sell books? We are going to sell books? When the most you’ve ever read is the phone book?”
Seong-su didn’t respond to his wife’s protests. He stiffened every muscle in his body to avoid turning to look at his wife, whose face would have gone from shock to outrage. Mr. Jin hid his own doubt and nodded in agreement.
When Mr. Jin had first offered them a store, Seong-su’s wife was unable to hold back her excitement. She acted as if it wasn’t compensation for the fact that Seong-su’s leg now dragged behind him. Compared to a useless leg, she must have thought acquiring a storefront was like winning the lottery.
Seong-su sometimes felt the same way: that his injury was the one stroke of good fortune in his life. The shame that came with this irony used to weigh him down, but now it was as light as cotton spun with the sweetness of luck.
Mr. Jin had clapped his large notebook shut, tucked it into his bag, and stood. The good thing about talking to Mr. Jin was that there was no need for rambling explanations or long-winded stories. He kept conversations short and sweet. And yet, afterward, something would always nag at Seong-su, and he would find himself regretting the conversation, wondering whether he hadn’t in fact done something wrong or whether he should have given his answer more thought or explained the situation in more detail.
“Bookstore? Really?” Seong-su’s wife screeched the moment Jin was gone.
“Yeah.” Seong-su’s voice was quiet, as if he’d already given up on fighting.
“Why? Why a bookstore? Do you even like books? You want to sell them? To who? Who the hell in this town is going to buy a book? The researchers? You think they’re your meal ticket? The lab is moving! And when have you ever seen any of them buy a book? With that fancy library of theirs? You think tourists are going to come up here to buy books? They don’t buy books, they buy maps! Oh my god, you’re not planning to just sit around and read the books instead of selling them, are you? You? You are going to start reading books? The hell you are!”
His wife’s anger was uncontainable. She was the opposite of Mr. Jin when it came to having something to say. She probably had more to say than anyone else in the world, for that matter. She was constantly prodding Seong-su for reasons, demanding explanations, and probing what mistakes he might’ve made. If talking with Mr. Jin had left him kicking himself, then talking with his wife left him physically worn down and exhausted.
