when she saw us. I caught the faint scent of mackerel being grilled. There must have been a fish restaurant close by. The smell made my stomach growl.
When I poked my head into the store, the woman came out. I asked her the name of the plant, and she said it was atable palm. Inside the shop, there were more flowers withering than blooming. The balsam and hyacinth had lost their petals, and even the leaves were wilting.
“Are you young folks heading back from a demonstration?” the woman asked.
We weren’t sure what to say. The furrow in her brow deepened.
“When will this country ever stop rioting?” She sighed. “I can’t open my shop. It’s closed most of the time, and there’s so much tear gas in the air that all the flowers have wilted. Look at this. I was raising two birds in this cage, but they died yesterday. And look at my face. Even at this age, I have acne that won’t go away. It’s from breathing tear gas every day.”
Her voice was raspy.
“Take whatever you want,” she said. “Everything is so wilted that it would be wrong to take your money.”
Sullenly, she picked up the table palm that I had asked about and put it in a bag.
“When you get home, transfer the plant to another container and water it. I’m sorry we couldn’t leave you a world where no one has to riot … I’m so sorry.”
Myungsuh had been staring blankly at my feet when the woman surprised us with her apology, but he suddenly dashed across the street to a phone booth.
“This is going to sound as ridiculous as telling you that a cat hatched an egg … You kids may be in the right, but if you keep this up, the rest of us will have to protest as well. We’ll have to protest all the protesting.”
She smiled bitterly.
“You kids aren’t doing anything wrong, but we can’t live this way.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“We have to make a living, too.”
She was talking to me as if we were related. I didn’t know how to respond to her. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I kept bowing my head. I hoped Myungsuh would hurry back. The longer she talked, the more anxiously I gazed at where he stood inside the phone booth across the street.
“We failed this time around, but you have to leave a better world to the next generation.”
The woman locked the door to her shop, the melancholy look never once leaving her face. Then both she and the flowers vanished, making me wonder if I had imagined everything. All that was left of her shop was the cold metal roll-down gate. My knees gave way, and I sat on the ground and watched as he finished the call and ran back to me.
He sat down at my side.
“Miru’s coming,” he said.
Miru.
“I asked her to bring you some shoes,” he said.
“That must have been a surprise.”
“What size are you?”
“235.”
“Same as Miru.”
He seemed to know everything about her.
“Where is she coming from?” I asked.
“Myeongnyun-dong.”
We were in Anguk-dong. Since the buses had stopped, Miru would have to walk the whole way. That afternoon, when I planned my long route home through downtown, I had assumed it would take me two hours. I had even thought about taking a three-hour walking route instead. But several hours had passed since I left the campus, part of which I spent being carried on his back from City Hall, and I had only just reached Anguk-dong.
“Did Miru move there from Dongsung-dong?” I asked.
“We lived together in Dongsung-dong.”
“What?”
“We lived in a house that Miru’s parents got for her and Mirae—her older sister,” he said.
“Miru has an older sister?”
He started to nod and then stopped and fumbled with the plastic bag. He grabbed my hand and put it on his knee. I could feel the dirt on his jeans.
“To be honest, I don’t want you and Miru to become friends. But you two are always asking about each other.”
Miru asked about me?
“And you’re both persistent,” he added. “You look for each other. It’s been a
When I poked my head into the store, the woman came out. I asked her the name of the plant, and she said it was atable palm. Inside the shop, there were more flowers withering than blooming. The balsam and hyacinth had lost their petals, and even the leaves were wilting.
“Are you young folks heading back from a demonstration?” the woman asked.
We weren’t sure what to say. The furrow in her brow deepened.
“When will this country ever stop rioting?” She sighed. “I can’t open my shop. It’s closed most of the time, and there’s so much tear gas in the air that all the flowers have wilted. Look at this. I was raising two birds in this cage, but they died yesterday. And look at my face. Even at this age, I have acne that won’t go away. It’s from breathing tear gas every day.”
Her voice was raspy.
“Take whatever you want,” she said. “Everything is so wilted that it would be wrong to take your money.”
Sullenly, she picked up the table palm that I had asked about and put it in a bag.
“When you get home, transfer the plant to another container and water it. I’m sorry we couldn’t leave you a world where no one has to riot … I’m so sorry.”
Myungsuh had been staring blankly at my feet when the woman surprised us with her apology, but he suddenly dashed across the street to a phone booth.
“This is going to sound as ridiculous as telling you that a cat hatched an egg … You kids may be in the right, but if you keep this up, the rest of us will have to protest as well. We’ll have to protest all the protesting.”
She smiled bitterly.
“You kids aren’t doing anything wrong, but we can’t live this way.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“We have to make a living, too.”
She was talking to me as if we were related. I didn’t know how to respond to her. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I kept bowing my head. I hoped Myungsuh would hurry back. The longer she talked, the more anxiously I gazed at where he stood inside the phone booth across the street.
“We failed this time around, but you have to leave a better world to the next generation.”
The woman locked the door to her shop, the melancholy look never once leaving her face. Then both she and the flowers vanished, making me wonder if I had imagined everything. All that was left of her shop was the cold metal roll-down gate. My knees gave way, and I sat on the ground and watched as he finished the call and ran back to me.
He sat down at my side.
“Miru’s coming,” he said.
Miru.
“I asked her to bring you some shoes,” he said.
“That must have been a surprise.”
“What size are you?”
“235.”
“Same as Miru.”
He seemed to know everything about her.
“Where is she coming from?” I asked.
“Myeongnyun-dong.”
We were in Anguk-dong. Since the buses had stopped, Miru would have to walk the whole way. That afternoon, when I planned my long route home through downtown, I had assumed it would take me two hours. I had even thought about taking a three-hour walking route instead. But several hours had passed since I left the campus, part of which I spent being carried on his back from City Hall, and I had only just reached Anguk-dong.
“Did Miru move there from Dongsung-dong?” I asked.
“We lived together in Dongsung-dong.”
“What?”
“We lived in a house that Miru’s parents got for her and Mirae—her older sister,” he said.
“Miru has an older sister?”
He started to nod and then stopped and fumbled with the plastic bag. He grabbed my hand and put it on his knee. I could feel the dirt on his jeans.
“To be honest, I don’t want you and Miru to become friends. But you two are always asking about each other.”
Miru asked about me?
“And you’re both persistent,” he added. “You look for each other. It’s been a
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