Geun-yeong’s heart became indescribably heavy. It felt like he had swallowed a large stone. He felt sorry for the child. He felt even more sorry for the children who died without proper investigation.
And he felt apologetic that he was getting public attention and appearing in the news for something relatively minor. While stories of these children were all being buried.
He then felt ashamed for having given up and talked about dying because of trivial difficulties that couldn’t even be compared to the abuse this child had suffered. This child, who had only lived for a few years, was killed so cruelly without even having a chance to contemplate life.
Baek Moonjong, while separating blood clots from the child’s small heart—only the size of the child’s fist—with forceps and tweezers, called to the young man who was clearly genuinely saddened by the child’s death.
“Geun-yeong.”
“Yes.”
“It will be difficult, but continue attending school.”
“What?”
The sudden change of topic made Geun-yeong ask again. He picked up and handed over the tractor that Baek Moonjong was pointing to with his eyes. Baek Moonjong was moving his hands, which had inevitably started to shake a little, as carefully as possible to avoid damaging the heart that no longer beat. The aging man, who was approaching his seventies, said:
“It will be hard to face your classmates, and the professors’ gazes will be sharp, but still, attend.”
Geun-yeong couldn’t answer. After enduring such gazes and graduating, would there be a hospital willing to accept him for internship? Would he be able to get a job as a resident? Even if he somehow became a doctor, would there be people who would seek treatment from him?
“I’ve grown old, and when I retire, many more children will be unjustly buried.”
Baek Moonjong wasn’t confident about how many more years he could continue this work. If that happened, he was deeply concerned about who would listen to the stories of these children. It wasn’t just his problem. The number of registered forensic pathologists in the country was woefully insufficient, but there were hardly any applicants, to the point where the related educational institutions were at risk of closing. Medical forensic pathologists were especially rare.
“I want you, Geun-yeong, to do this work.”
Ah…
Geun-yeong thought he understood why Baek Moonjong was telling him to attend school. Since there were many doctors who save lives, he wanted him to become a forensic pathologist who listens to the stories of the dead. After all, the dead wouldn’t care about a doctor’s past.
“If you think there might be issues with returning to school, I can speak to the school administration. Believe it or not, I’m from the faculty of that school. Back then, Baek Moonjong’s anatomical pathology was notorious—for strict grading.”
“What?”
Geun-yeong was extremely surprised. Of course, he didn’t need to know all the professors in the school’s history, but he knew almost all who had held professorships at that school. Most of them were now serving as directors of large general hospitals or, at the very least, as directors of sizable hospitals, so it was impossible not to know them. He hadn’t thought there would be someone running such a small clinic and doing forensic work.
Baek Moonjong smiled gently at the young man whose thoughts were so transparent, and while removing a clip that had been holding a valve and moving it aside, he said:
“I want you, who can comb the hair of an old man with a cabbage-like head and hold a child’s hand, to do this work—not those who treat the dead carelessly.”
Geun-yeong felt dizzy. No, his heart was fluttering. His vague and blurry future, his career aspirations, were now clearly drawn.
That was right. Geun-yeong wanted to do forensic work like Baek Moonjong. He wanted to listen to the final words that an old man with a cabbage-like head or a poor child with such tiny hands and heart couldn’t speak.
But there were many practical problems that remained unsolved. First, he needed to take a leave of absence and earn money for about a year. He thought he needed to resolve his basic living needs before he could study or attend school.
But Baek Moonjong, who had already decided to make Ji Geun-yeong his successor, had a clear plan.
“I can provide you with a place to stay and living expenses from now on. As for tuition, well, since you’re smart, you’ll get scholarships if you study hard. Isn’t that right? So study hard during the weekdays, and in return, work here on weekends. We often have a backlog of autopsies on weekends.”
Feeling a bit embarrassed for revealing his ulterior motive, Baek Moonjong cleared his throat once or twice, then removed the tractor and all the clips.
“Now, shall we stitch our baby up beautifully? Would you prepare a 2-inch needle for me?”
Unable to laugh out loud while suturing the body of a young baby, Baek Moonjong smiled gently at the young man who would clearly help many such children in the future. And as he began suturing with the needle that Geun-yeong had prepared and handed to him, he said:
“After a fierce storm passes, a quiet and clear day arrives as if nothing had happened. They say that the summer following an especially cold winter is the greenest. It’s a natural course, but not everyone gets to see the clear day and green mountains. It’s like a gift that only those who endured the strong winds and cold can see.”
There was sincerity in his calm voice as he sutured the child’s heart stitch by stitch. Baek Moonjong muttered, “I’m getting too talkative with age, that’s not good,” and snipped the thread with a snap. Then, while stitching the flesh that had opened in a different direction, he said:
“So, Geun-yeong, let’s continue attending school, even if it’s hard. Finish your residency and get your anatomical pathology certification. I’ll give you this hospital then. I’ll try to hang on until then somehow.”
The child’s heart, which had been open, was now gathered up as if it might beat again. Baek Moonjong smiled, more deeply than before.
And tears welled up in the eyes of Geun-yeong, who had been standing in the center of the storm, enduring fierce cold. He thought he had nothing, but it turned out there was a future standing just a step ahead, beckoning him to come. They were tears of gratitude for that future.
* * *
After finishing the morning autopsy, they decided to have lunch at the clinic. They would cook fresh rice in the electric rice cooker in the pantry and eat it with side dishes bought from their regular side dish shop at the market.
Geun-yeong stood right next to Bong Tae-gu as he cooked rice, learning how to measure the water. Tae-gu, who was quickly washing the rice, draining, washing, and draining repeatedly, spoke with an expression and tone like someone teaching a well-behaved puppy how to chew a dog treat:
“What’s there to learn? If there are three cups of rice, then three cups of water with the same cup. Easy, right?”
“Ah… it is easy.”
It was easy. While truly thinking it was easy, Geun-yeong furrowed his brow. It was a reaction against some unknown person who had left the instruction “add enough water to just cover the rice” somewhere in his memory.
“Doesn’t Detective Kyung teach you? That guy makes good rice too.”
“…”
Geun-yeong, wanting to avoid a situation where they would talk behind Detective Kyung’s back, kept his mouth shut. Tae-gu, reading the intention not to answer from his tightly closed lips, snorted.
“Oh my. So he’ll continue making the rice in the future too. What a doting person.”
After setting the rice and pressing the cook button, Tae-gu turned around and looked at the face of the young man who had loosened his tightly closed lips but still had an expression like a dog guarding its owner. While trying to hold back his laughter, he asked:
“Geun-yeong, what do you think of Detective Kyung?”
“What? De-Detective Kyung? What, wh-what, why, why do you ask?”
Geun-yeong, stuttering severely, again narrowed his brow and even took half a step back from Tae-gu. It was a defense that amounted to: What are you saying? Why are you asking that? I have no idea why you’re asking such a thing.
Tae-gu looked at the young man who was trying his best to put up a wall, not realizing his own face had turned bright red, and turned away with a smirk. As he opened the refrigerator door and took out the side dishes, he began singing in a lilting tune:
“It’s mutual~ It’s mutual~ Oh my~ How fun~”
Around two o’clock. Kyung Jiho, wearing dark sneakers, dark jeans, and a leather jacket as usual, entered Boramchan Clinic.
Bong Tae-gu, sitting at the station, raised one hand in greeting, and Kyung Jiho, without taking his hands out of his pockets, just raised and lowered one eyebrow.
And Geun-yeong, sitting next to Bong Tae-gu, slowly stood up like a clam that had encountered light and salt.
His heart was pounding. Detective Kyung looked even more handsome today. He seemed to have just greeted him with his eyebrow, and it was so cool that he felt dizzy. His stomach fluttered. He stood there blankly, not even realizing his mouth was opening by itself, then suddenly came to his senses. He felt Nurse Bong’s gaze. He tensed his eyes, which had certainly been unfocused. Why was his mouth open? He tightly closed his mouth, which had opened for reasons he didn’t understand.
He felt that Nurse Bong had noticed something. The question about what he thought of Detective Kyung was suspicious too. Of course, he hadn’t answered, but the fact that such a question was asked in the first place was suspicious. And the mischievous gaze, the incomprehensible song—everything was suspicious.
He was grateful for being taught how to measure water for rice. Nevertheless, his feelings shouldn’t be revealed. Especially if it reached Detective Kyung’s ears, it would be a disaster.
Geun-yeong lowered his head to avoid the gazes of Nurse Bong and Detective Kyung.
“Let’s go. Put on your coat and come out.”
Since the place he had to go to now was serious, Detective Kyung’s words sounded equally serious, and Geun-yeong, without raising his lowered head, immediately turned around and entered the staff changing room behind the station.
Bong Tae-gu was giving Kyung Jiho a sly smile, and Kyung Jiho slightly turned his body to avoid the uncomfortable gaze.
* * *
Reporters were gathered in front of the Seoul Central District Prosecutors’ Office. The man, who already knew well that the back door was no different, parked the car far from the entrance. Just as he was about to get out of the driver’s seat, he stopped and grabbed the arm of the guy who was about to open the passenger door to follow him.
“Stay put.”
Though he didn’t know why, Geun-yeong, knowing he had to do as told, stayed still. He watched the man getting out of the driver’s seat taking off his outer coat while walking around the front of the car. As the man came toward the passenger side with the coat in his hand, several reporters were pointing in their direction. The man opened the passenger door and commanded, “Get out.”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
