“18 years ago—”
“Kid. I told you not to do a dementia test.”
“It’s not a dementia test.”
“It’s not?”
“No. A dementia test would be asking what you had for lunch today.”
“I was fasting.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Then I don’t have dementia.”
“Yes. So—”
It wasn’t a dementia test. Getting caught up in the conversation with the man who suddenly cursed at him, Geun-yeong had wasted time on an irrelevant dialogue and was becoming a bit anxious.
“I didn’t come to do homework.”
Geun-yeong timidly pointed with his index finger to a spot slightly above the man’s chest but below his face. So that area,
“Someone I know… has the same name… I came to confirm if you’re the person I know.”
As he had been doing from the beginning, the man who had been staring at Geun-yeong’s face intently, though not enough to bore through it, broke the momentary silence that had formed and said:
“I don’t know you.”
“Since it was 18 years ago, you might not remember well. But if you listen to what I remember, you might recall.”
“Come on, 18 years ago.”
Clicking his tongue and snorting, his explosive words were heavily tinged with the nuance that this was truly useless and futile. Something like, what’s the point of finding someone you knew 18 years ago?
But for Geun-yeong, these weren’t useless or futile memories. They were memories that had kept him alive for 18 years. He wanted to thank the person for helping him live, and also resent him for making him live. No, beyond gratitude or resentment, first and foremost, he just wanted to find that person. While remembering, waiting, searching, and wondering, reasons and everything else had already faded into insignificance. Finding that person had itself become the purpose and meaning—that was the situation.
After staring once again for a while at Geun-yeong’s face, which had inadvertently revealed his desperation, the man turned his gaze to look at the wall in front of him and said:
“Go ahead.”
“Did you… around age ten or twelve… live in an orphanage around that time?”
“No. Why are you arbitrarily making me an orphan?”
Ah.
The first question had already failed. But there are many situations where one might meet someone at an orphanage without being an orphan. Geun-yeong twisted his question and asked again:
“Then… did you live near an orphanage, or maybe visit one? I mean, Gangdong Dreaming Daycare, which is now changed to Peace House. It’s across from Dunchon-dong Community Center, about 150 meters straight down the back road from the 50-year-old Obok Seolleongtang restaurant—”
“I don’t remember.”
With one decisive word like a knife, the man cut off the flow of words that were pouring out incoherently, and said to the boy who still hadn’t fully closed his mouth:
“Do I have to remember every detail of where I lived and where I played when I was a little kid?”
Geun-yeong, while checking if the seemingly ill-tempered man might be lying, organized his chaotic thoughts. The man didn’t say “no.” He said “I don’t remember.” There was still hope. With a desperate face like a child trying to grasp sand slipping through his fingers, Geun-yeong urgently asked:
“Don’t you really remember Jang Saetbyeol? When I was at the orphanage, my name was Jang Saetbyeol. You gave me chocolate, saying I was like a white puppy. The ones in the glass jar on the director’s table, the ones with A, B, C alphabets written on them, you stole them—well, I’m not sure if you stole them, but anyway, you gave them to me.”
Thinking that even if he couldn’t remember the location of the orphanage, he might remember people or situations, Geun-yeong laid out whatever came to mind. The man, who had been staring at Geun-yeong as he spoke rapidly, without context or coherence due to his urgency, asked:
“You said you have diabetes.”
“Yes.”
“But I gave you chocolate.”
“…Yes.”
“Seems like I had some grudge against you? Was I trying to kill you? Maybe to make dog soup?”
No. Eating one chocolate won’t kill you. No, before that, he wouldn’t have known I had diabetes. I didn’t even know back then. And what’s with the dog soup? Anyway.
“He probably didn’t know—”
“Listen, kid.”
The man interrupted Geun-yeong, who was about to make excuses for the boy’s actions. And at that moment, Geun-yeong had to stop not just his words but his breath.
‘Hey kiddo, want hyung to read you a book?’
A memory that flashed by for a moment. It was because of how that boy used to address him.
“Making an innocent person an orphan, making them out to be a terrible person, what’s the point of going so far to find that person? Find them and, what, give them a slap?”
The man laughed at his own words, then said “ow” as he grabbed his side and grimaced.
And Geun-yeong once again became a broken robot. Just now, the man had called him “kid.” And just now, the smiling face that had quickly appeared and faded away, it really seemed like it was him. That smiling face seemed to contain the face of that boy from back then. If he could see the smiling face a little longer, he felt he could know for sure, but it was too brief. It was disappointing.
Now, as Geun-yeong was pondering how to make someone laugh, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t take it out to check because he already knew who it was.
“Why did I have to mention seolleongtang, damn it. Now I want to eat seolleongtang. When are they going to serve food anyway?”
The man, who had already erased his smile and was now grumbling about seolleongtang of all things he had mentioned, made Geun-yeong firm in his resolve. He wasn’t confident about making the man laugh. But somehow, he was determined to make this man remember Jang Saetbyeol who had lived at Dreaming Daycare. What he would do after making him remember, he hadn’t thought about yet, and it was no longer important.
* * *
The man’s footsteps dragged as he crossed the now-quiet lobby after most department consultations had ended. His gaze directed forward, but the eyes within were dull as if his soul had left his body.
In the end, the man didn’t remember Jang Saetbyeol who had lived at Gangdong Dreaming Daycare.
Geun-yeong tried pulling out various memories to tell the man who claimed he wasn’t an orphan and had no memory of staying at an orphanage, but it was useless.
Didn’t he remember scolding a boy named Wook who had bullied him? Didn’t he remember telling him that the side dish pretending to be meat was actually beans? He said he had thought it was meat until then. Didn’t he know about the large storage jars on the roof where they read books together? Hadn’t he sat leaning against them reading books to him? There were so many ladybugs and butterflies there, didn’t he really remember? He said that when he was playing in the yard, the man would suddenly appear and pat his head. He had called him a puppy, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he said his eyes looked like a dog’s eyes? He tried various memories as they came to mind, but the man ultimately couldn’t remember the child who had been “Jang Saetbyeol.”
“Don’t you remember this? ‘Beautiful butterfly. Don’t give up flying for fear of falling. I will be your strong wings. Cute ladybug. Don’t stop walking for fear of getting wet in the rain. I will be your big umbrella. Good and diligent ant. If you’re tired, just reach out your hand. I am always by your side. Don’t be sad because you can’t see me. I’ll be the wind you breathe, staying by your side. Forever.’ This. You read this to me. I kept asking you to read it, and without saying no, you read it repeatedly about ten times. Do you really not remember?”
Geun-yeong was so desperate that he even recited the book that hyung had read to him back then. Despite the man saying he wasn’t that person and didn’t remember, Geun-yeong persisted, refusing to give up, questioning incessantly, and then suddenly reciting a children’s poem with earnest eyes that must have been smoothly moistened. The man who had been staring at him turned his head away. While facing the wall, he unnecessarily rubbed his itchy nape and muttered:
“Fuck, this is so cringeworthy.”
Around the fifth vibration of the unanswered phone, a nurse carrying a tray entered, perhaps because it was time for medication. The man’s eyes, which had seemed to soften slightly, once again sharpened like a kitchen knife. He glared only at the tray with those eyes. He continued to glare at the tray regardless of whether the guy reciting the cringeworthy children’s poem was beside him.
The slight interest in the memories Geun-yeong was desperately searching for was easily pushed aside by the strong aversion to the injection the nurse had brought in.
“I’m sorry for taking your time. Excuse me.”
Even as Geun-yeong bowed in apology and left the room, the man didn’t give him a single glance.
Afterward, throughout the elevator ride down and crossing the lobby, Geun-yeong felt drained. His body felt heavy, having tensed up only to suddenly lose all energy.
Is he really not the one…?
He felt embarrassed for making a fuss without properly verifying if it was just someone with the same name. Beyond embarrassment, he felt disappointed. He felt let down. That’s why he kept sighing. As he trudged across the lobby and was about to push through the revolving door, his phone vibrated again.
Under the phone number saved as [Father], five red arrows indicating missed calls were lined up. He answered the phone as he pushed through the revolving door and continued his dejected steps.
“Hello.”
[Where are you?]
“…At the hospital.”
[I know.]
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
