#16

“I’m hungry.”

Tae-heun said.

Detective Oh frowned as if to say, what kind of nonsense is that when you’re eating well?

“I want something to eat.”

“Then just say it. I can bring you caviar if you want.”

“I can’t eat it here. It’s too spicy.”

“What does that even mean?”

After a conversation that felt like a riddle, Detective Oh finally lost his temper.

“Please let me out of here. As soon as possible. Otherwise, I don’t know what I might do.”

Tae-heun threatened.

It wasn’t just the floor he lived on that felt different when entering and exiting the bathroom. That floor was worse, not better. Moreover, they were civil servants. If they kept waiting for reports and approvals, he might rot here for a year.

They still needed Lee Seon-jae. There were pieces of evidence that were hard to prove without Lee Seon-jae, and ledgers that were difficult to decipher without him. Knowing this, Detective Oh wore a perplexed expression at Tae-heun’s threat.

“Understood. I’ll go in and report.”

Detective Oh left. And the very next day, the answer came.

14th. Wednesday. I’ll see you then.

“Not July, right?”

He confirmed multiple times that it was indeed June.

He cheered at the much earlier date than he had expected. Tae-heun immediately drew a calendar in his notebook. Like a prisoner awaiting release, he circled the date he would go to Dongjam-ri.

With each passing day, he marked an X on the date. He obediently received the roll call phone calls, ate only a spoon or two of food as before, and drank a lot of water. He even drew pictures and wrote words on the wall with his urine. Whenever the name Tae-heun felt unfamiliar, he muttered it to himself. He often called out the names of Ki-beom and Ji-hye, the people he would soon live with.

In the meantime, the wound on his foot healed cleanly. The scab on the wound above his eyebrow, which had gotten worse from scratching, finally fell off. The band-aid that the man had put on was carefully kept on the notebook. He felt like a teenage girl. That was all the good news.

Overall, Tae-heun was depressed. Even though the day to leave was set, he still felt that way. Insomnia and lethargy persisted. The quality of his sleep worsened. He used to sleep for at least an hour, even if he woke up and fell asleep again, but now even that was difficult. He dozed off for only 5 to 10 minutes at a time. Even in that short sleep, which couldn’t be called sleep, the same dream kept coming back. If only he could dream of eating Young radish kimchi noodles, how wonderful that would be; he always found himself standing in the garden of a two-story house.

The lethargy became even more severe. On a rainy day, he even wet himself while sitting. He sat there for hours afterward. Damn it. How embarrassing. He thought later that maybe he had caught some serious illness, but then he remembered that his recent health check-up a month ago had shown everything was normal, and he felt relieved.

Thoughts poured out without a break. People really do have a lot of useless thoughts, he realized during his confinement. Time is money; Tae-heun, who had never wasted a minute or a second, spent his surplus time recalling all sorts of things. Among all those thoughts, there were hardly any about family, Uncle, or Lee Hyun-joon. Occasionally, he wondered when the funeral would be held, who would collect the life insurance money, and such trivial matters.

For someone already lethargic and emotional, killing time without anything to do was not something he would recommend. With the day of release so close, he might have even thought about slitting his throat if he had a knife. He barely suppressed the urge to stab himself with a pencil, not wanting to ruin his image.

After enduring all that, the day finally came to leave the detention center. Tae-heun marked the last X in his notebook and waited for Detective Oh. There was no promise of when he would come. He had just said they would go on the 14th. Like any other day, Tae-heun spent the night wide awake, staring blankly at his wristwatch. He nervously bit his nails for the first time in his life, worried that perhaps no one would come to pick him up.

So this is what self-harm is called.

Seeing blood seep from the tips of his nails, he stopped biting them.

“Director?”

It was Detective Park.

Detective Park was surprised to see Tae-heun already outside the door and stepped back.

“Let’s go.”

Tae-heun left the stinking detention center without any regrets, holding only his notebook.

On the way to the town, he put on the luxury watch he had received back and changed his clothes. Throwing off the annoying tracksuit felt refreshing. Wearing soft Italian leather shoes instead of slippers made him feel like he was returning to himself.

However, the suit that had fit him well had become loose. He wasn’t pleased with the body change after eight years. Determined to recover quickly, he got his hair trimmed at a salon in town. He styled it himself with mousse. The salon owner and Detective Park were so impressed, as if they were seeing a celebrity. For some reason, that made his self-esteem soar, and he strutted down the street, feeling unusually proud.

Detective Park followed Tae-heun like a caretaker until they reached the parking lot, where he finally said goodbye.

“The mobile phone and pager are registered under the name Kim Tae-heun. The house doesn’t have mobile reception, so the main contact will be through the pager, and I’ve set up a landline, so use that if you need to call. If you go to a place where the mobile phone works, you can use that. Here’s a business card.”

He handed over a business card box engraved with the name Kim Tae-heun. It read Director of Namsan Industries. Below the unfamiliar address and phone number were the newly registered mobile phone number and pager number.

“And this is your bank account and check card.”

The bank account, created at a Nonghyup in Seoul, showed a balance of 5 million won. It wasn’t a bad amount for the expenses he had received.

“It’s registered under my name. Feel free to withdraw cash whenever you need it.”

Detective Park continued, reminding him that he would be staying at Yoon Ki-beom’s house, but not to forget that his residence was the Blue Roof. He urged him to respond that way if anyone asked. He had brought over most of the items Tae-heun would need, including a laptop, floppy disks, copied ledgers, and documents. He had received a lot of help so far, but now it was the real deal, so he politely asked for their continued support in every way.

Whether they cared or not, Tae-heun heard nothing. He was just happy to be leaving the detention center, and his heart raced with excitement at the thought of finally being able to eat Young radish kimchi noodles.

Watching Detective Park leave the parking lot, Tae-heun got into his used Benz with a reverent heart. On the passenger seat was a Boston bag, and on the back seat hung a suit on the handle. It was the luggage he had packed just before he almost died. He had a comfortable tracksuit that could double as pajamas, summer dress pants, cotton pants, three T-shirts including a pique shirt, two dress shirts, underwear and socks, sneakers, and beach sandals, along with cosmetics, hair products, and various toiletries. He even packed perfume and condoms, just in case.

The position of his belongings was completely different from when he had packed them. The inside of the Benz had also changed from the first time. The sunglasses and various odds and ends he had kept in the glove box were all mixed up.

Damn it. Why couldn’t they have organized things properly?

Cursing, he shoved the business card box inside and put on the sunglasses.

‘Won’t it stand out too much?’

Detective Oh had asked worriedly when he handed over the car.

It didn’t have to be a Benz. It was a silver old model that was far from his taste. Nevertheless, the reason he insisted on this car was that it was the same model his aunt had used when she passed away. Somehow, it made him feel closer to her.

Now that he thought about it, he was driving the car in which his deceased aunt was last found, using the name of his deceased uncle. He felt like he was doing something that a pretentious teenage boy would do. Maybe he was experiencing a late adolescence. He chuckled to himself.

His hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. It had been 16 days since he last held it. He fumbled like someone who had forgotten how to drive, finally managing to pull up the handbrake. After shifting the gear to neutral and starting the engine, a pleasant sound of the engine echoed. After that, his body moved on its own.

He rolled down the driver’s side window. The humid summer breeze blew in. Cautiously driving towards Dongjam-ri, he avoided speeding. He didn’t turn on the radio, which he had heard endlessly in the detention center. He wanted to hum a tune, but he couldn’t remember any songs.

Damn it, I should have brought some Baker records. He thought about going back to town to buy a tape at the record store but decided against it. He figured he would have plenty of opportunities to go to town in the future, so he didn’t rush.

Passing the sign that read Dongjam-ri, he parked in front of the village hall. He took off his sunglasses and placed them on his head, then asked a passing elderly man for directions to the man’s house in Yongdu-gol.

“Why would you want to go there? There’s nothing there, except for Ji-hye’s father.”

The old man squinted and scrutinized Tae-heun’s face.

“I know. I’m going to Yoon Ki-beom’s house.”

“What for?”

“I’ll be staying there for a few months.”

“Oh really? What kind of relationship do you have with Ji-hye’s father?”

The old man pried. Not wanting to prolong the conversation with him, Tae-heun cut in, “I’m a bit busy, could you just tell me how to get there?”

The old man reluctantly gave him directions. Since he might have to interact with this old man again, Tae-heun thanked him as politely as possible and drove off.

As he followed the route the old man had given him, memories of visiting with Mr. Han and Detective Park resurfaced. The car bounced frequently over the uneven road. As he sensed he was getting closer to the man’s house, his appetite began to stir. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He felt embarrassed, as if he were some kind of glutton.

The man’s house still had the front gate half-open. How careless, he thought, clicking his tongue.