He was someone who frequently checked Geun-yeong’s current location. What the man was asking now wasn’t about the general location that could be checked through the phone. He meant exactly where in the hospital and what he had been doing.
“It’s for the case report…”
In fact, the case assignment was about endocrine disorders. Geun-yeong hid the fact that he had spent time in the general surgery ward, not the endocrinology department. There was a moment of silence.
[When will you be done?]
“I just left.”
[Wait at the main entrance. Let’s go in together.]
No. I don’t want to.
He wanted to say, but the call had already ended. He glared at the phone that contained everything that constrained him, then shoved it back into his pocket. Geun-yeong walked as slowly as possible. He wanted to delay arriving at the main entrance as much as possible.
He felt the light breeze created by cars passing in front of the hospital. He lifted his head and looked at the darkening sky. As many things in his sight disappeared and his view became monotonous, his downcast heart seemed to calm a little. Suddenly, the man’s face appeared over the gray sky. It was the face of the man who had been bewildered when Geun-yeong, in his desperate state of mind, unexpectedly recited a children’s book.
“Fuck, this is so cringeworthy.”
Thinking about it now, the man’s expression was a bit funny. His eyes, which had been staring like pinning a target, wavered for the first time.
A faint smile, which Geun-yeong had never been able to show in front of the man, passed over his face, much too late.
‘Hey, kid.’
‘Kiddo.’
Two voices—one thick, one thin—were calling Geun-yeong simultaneously. Just as the faint smile was about to take on more color, the main entrance came into view. A familiar car was visible.
The brief smile disappeared without a trace, like a sand drawing washed away by waves.
* * *
On the way home, they stopped at a hotel restaurant where they occasionally dined out. They sat facing each other in the exact same spot they always sat. After calling the server, Seokhun completed the order for both of them.
“Here, you don’t need to bring this dessert.”
And as always, he said not to bring the cake-type dessert that would come last. After taking a sip of water poured by the server and setting it down, Seokhun asked:
“Who did you decide to do for the case?”
“Patient Jung Aram.”
“Ah, Cushing. Yes, that’s fine. That’s the patient the first-year presented at last month’s conference. I’ll ask for the materials.”
“No. It’s okay.”
“…”
Geun-yeong, who had been looking at the basic table setting in front of him, felt the staring gaze and raised his head. Meeting his eyes, he spoke again:
“I already received them.”
“Hmm. I see. Good job. I’ll give you the pathology report. What the first-year prepared is garbage. I can’t let you submit something like that.”
“Yes.”
It was an answer mixed with a sigh, and Seokhun once again spoke with glass-like eyes:
“You have a handicap, don’t you? Don’t have the foolish thought that you need to be equal to the others. Above all, I am your father. You are already not equal to the others. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Noticing that Seokhun’s nagging had lengthened because of his sigh, Geun-yeong answered briefly, trying to keep any emotion from showing.
The appetizer soup arrived. A line creased between Seokhun’s brows after he tasted a spoonful. The mushroom soup was a bit sweeter than usual today.
“Leave one spoonful. It’s a bit sweet.”
“Yes.”
“I heard you were spacing out during PBL time today. Do you have something on your mind?”
Geun-yeong, who was about to put a spoonful of soup in his mouth—soup that somehow seemed more tempting because he was told to leave some—stopped his hand. He answered “No” first, then ate the soup.
“Is it perhaps a girl problem?”
“No.”
“Give me your phone.”
Geun-yeong put down his spoon and slowly moved his hand to take out his phone, thinking about the messenger content he had exchanged with friends. Since Seokhun would check his phone unexpectedly even normally, he had a habit of immediately deleting anything that might be problematic. But today, as the man sitting across from him said, he had been spacing out all day, so he worried if he might have missed something. Even so, there was no way to check now.
After receiving the phone, Seokhun opened the text and messenger apps to check the contents. There was nothing special.
“Why didn’t you answer the phone earlier?”
“I was interviewing a patient.”
“Patient Jung Aram?”
“…Yes.”
Having lied, Geun-yeong studied Seokhun’s face. Wondering if he had been found out. While staring at the eyes of the young man who was watching him cautiously, Seokhun twirled the spoon stuck in the soup bowl and lowered his gaze, saying:
“Fine. For now, eat.”
After that, there was silence. Geun-yeong sensed that something was wrong. But since he couldn’t leave any food, he forced down the dishes placed in front of him. He felt like he was going to throw up.
After finishing the uncomfortable meal, there were no other questions on the way home. But the absence of questions meant there was a problem, and Geun-yeong, who knew this well, had to remain tense throughout. It seemed there was an issue with his answer about meeting patient Jung Aram.
What went wrong? Had his lie about meeting patient Jung Aram not worked? Had the man somehow found out he’d gone to see that person? Geun-yeong, looking out the car window while reflecting on the afternoon’s events, turned his head to face forward while crossing the bridge.
It was difficult to breathe when looking at the black river that seemed like you could never emerge from if you fell in. So whenever Geun-yeong crossed the bridge, he always looked straight ahead with blurred vision. Despite trying not to look, his heart was racing just knowing the black river was right beside him.
The time of arrival at home was eight o’clock. The housekeeper, having finished the cleanup, left at eight-thirty as usual. And at exactly 9 o’clock, the door opened without a knock. A man entered carrying a gray box. It wasn’t yet time to change the injection needle.
“Lie down.”
It was confirmed. Something had been discovered, and the man was angry. Geun-yeong felt his breathing quicken. However, he tried his best not to show it. The man didn’t like it when he looked scared, especially when he cried. On days when tears were visible, the discipline sessions would often last twice as long.
As soon as Geun-yeong lay on the bed, Seokhun roughly pulled up his clothes to expose his stomach and turned off the insulin pump. He ripped off the firmly attached shield without hesitation. Geun-yeong flinched at the stinging sensation, but the man’s hands didn’t pause. He removed the needle that had only been replaced a day ago. After putting the removed pump in the box, he said:
“Take them off.”
Geun-yeong didn’t ask why and immediately did as he was told. He got up, removed his t-shirt, knelt to undo his pants, and pulled them down along with his underwear. Sitting back down, he removed his underwear and pants from his legs. Now completely naked, Geun-yeong sat on the bed waiting for the next instruction.
“Get on all fours.”
Geun-yeong climbed onto the bed and got on all fours. Normally, when told to lie face down, one would press their stomach and thighs against the bed, but Geun-yeong knew exactly what Seokhun meant by “get on all fours.” He positioned himself on his hands and knees, like a four-legged dog.
“Hands behind your back.”
Geun-yeong released his hands from the bed. He buried his face in the bed and stretched both hands behind him. He felt a strong rope being wrapped around his crossed wrists.
“Do you know why you’re being punished today?”
“…Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“…Because I lied.”
“Yes. You know well. Patient Jung Aram wasn’t in her room when I called you.”
That patient had been in the nuclear medicine examination room all afternoon, including during the time Geun-yeong claimed to be in the surgical ward, undergoing a scan that took three hours. After tightly binding Geun-yeong’s wrists behind his back, Seokhun grabbed his buttocks and spread them. There was a sharp pain in his tightly stretched buttocks as they were spread wider than should be possible.
“Ugh!”
“Tell me. Where did you go? Who did you meet?”
“I-I met another patient. I wanted to change my case study topic. Ugh!”
Geun-yeong’s groan was drowned out by the sharp sound of a hand striking his buttocks.
“How many.”
This was a question that had terrified him in his childhood. He had been scared and afraid because he didn’t know what to answer. One wasn’t enough. “Do you think I’m joking?” would be the rebuke. But twenty was too many. “Are you defying me?” would be the stern scolding. What the man wanted was about ten. Fortunately, now he didn’t need to worry about the answer. Since he knew the correct answer, the question was no longer terrifying.
“Ten… lashes.”
It wasn’t terrifying anymore, but it was humiliating that even now, when he had grown taller than the man punishing him, he still had to hear the same question and give the same answer.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
