But you’re living here, where it’s nice.
Where is this, by the way? Puam-dong in Chongno-gu, in Seoul… This here is Chongno-gu? Chongno-gu… Chongno-gu… Oh, Chongno-gu! The first house your eldest brother set up as a newlywed was in Chongno-gu. Tongsung-dong in Chongno-gu. He said, “Mother, this is Chongno-gu. It makes me happy every time I write my address. Chongno is the center of Seoul, and now I’m living here.” He said, “A country hick has finally made it to Chongno.” He called it Chongno-gu, but he lived in a tenement house crammed on a steep hill called something like Naksan. I was so out of breath when I went all the way up there. I thought, How can there be somewhere like this in this city? It feels more like the country than our hometown! But I’m saying the same thing here, where you live. How can there be a place like this in this city?
Last year, when you came back to Seoul after spending three years abroad, you were disappointed that you couldn’t even rent the apartment you used to live in with the money you had, but I guess you found this village here. This is just like a village in the country. There’s a café and an art gallery, but there’s a mill, too. I saw them making rice cakes. I watched for a long time, because it reminded me of the old days. Is it almost New Year’s? There were a lot of people making those long, white rice cakes. Even in this city there’s a village that makes those rice cakes near New Year’s! At New Year’s I would cart a big bucket of rice over to the mill to make rice cakes. I would blow on my frozen hands and wait for my turn.
It must be inconvenient, though, to live here with three children. And it must be a long commute for your husband to go to work in Sollung. Is there even a market nearby?
Once, you told me, “I feel like I buy a lot of stuff when I go to the market, but everything goes so quickly. I have to buy three Yoplaits if I want to give one to each kid. If I want to buy enough for three days, that’s nine, Mom! It’s scary. I buy this much, and then it’s all gone.” You held your arms out to show me how much. Of course, it’s only normal, since you have three children.
Your eldest, his cheeks red from the cold, is about to lean his bicycle outside the gate when he is startled by something. He pushes through the gate, calling, “Mom!” Here you are, coming out the front door, wearing a gray cardigan and holding the baby.
“Mom! The bird!”
“The bird?”
“Yeah, in front of the gate!”
“What bird?”
The eldest is pointing at the gate without saying anything. You pull the hood of the baby’s jacket over his head in case he gets cold and come out to the gate. A gray bird is on the ground in front of the gate. It has dark spots from its head to its wings.
The wings look completely frozen, don’t they? I can see you thinking about me as you look at the bird. By the way, honey, there are so many birds around your house. How can there be so many birds? These winter birds are circling your house, and they’re not making a peep.
A few days ago, you watched a magpie shivering under your quince tree and, thinking that it was hungry, you went inside and crumbled some bread your kids were eating and sprinkled it under the tree. You were thinking about me then, too. Thinking about how I used to bring a bowl of old rice and scatter the kernels under the persimmon tree for the birds sitting on the naked winter branches. In the evening, more than twenty birds landed under the quince tree, where you had sprinkled the breadcrumbs. One bird had wings as big as your palm. From then on, you spread breadcrumbs under the quince tree every day for the hungry winter birds. But this bird is in front of the gate, not under the quince tree. I know what this bird is. It’s a black-bellied plover. Strange-it’s not a bird that flies around alone, so why is it here? It’s a bird that has to be near the ocean. I saw this bird in Komso, where that man lived. I saw black-bellied plovers looking for something to eat on the mud flats at low tide.
You’re standing still, in front of your gate, and the eldest shakes your arm. “Mom!”
You’re silent.
“Is it dead?”
You don’t answer. You just look at the bird, your face dark.
“Mom! Is the bird dead?” your daughter asks, running outside at the commotion, but you don’t answer.
The phone is ringing.
“Mom, it’s Auntie!”
It must be Chi-hon. You take the phone from your daughter.
Your face clouds over. “What are we supposed to do if you’re leaving?”
Chi-hon must be taking a plane again. Tears well up. I think your lips are trembling, too. You suddenly yell into the phone, “You’re all too much… too much!” Honey, you’re not that kind of girl. Why are you yelling at your sister?
You even slam down the phone. That’s what your sister does to you and to me. The phone rings again. You look at the phone for a long time, and when it doesn’t stop, you pick it up.
“I’m sorry, sister.” Your voice has calmed down now. You listen quietly to what your sister is saying on the phone. And then your face gets red. You yell again: “What? Santiago? For a month?” Your face flushes even more.
“Are you asking me if you can go? Why are you even asking, when you’ve already decided you’re going? How can you do this?” Your hand holding the phone is shaking. “There was a dead bird in front of my gate today. I just have this bad feeling. I think something’s happened to Mom! Why haven’t we found her already? Why? And how can you go away? Why is everyone acting this way? Are you going to act like that, too? We don’t know where Mom is in this freezing cold, and you’re all doing whatever you feel like doing!”
Honey, calm down. You have to understand your sister. How can you say this to her when you know how she’s been for the past several months?
“What? You want me to take care of it? Me? What do you think I can do with three kids? You’re running away, right? Because it’s dragging you down. You were always like that.”
Honey, why are you doing this? You seemed to be doing fine. Now you’ve slammed down the phone, and you’re sobbing. The baby is crying with you. The baby’s nose gets red. Even his forehead. The girl is crying, too. The eldest comes out of his room and looks at the three of you crying. The phone rings again. You quickly pick up the phone.
“Sister…” Tears fall from your eyes. “Don’t go! Don’t go! Sister!”
In the end, she tries to soothe you. It’s not working, so now she says she will come over. You put down the phone and sit there silently, looking down. The baby climbs onto your lap. You hug him. The girl touches your cheek. You pat her on the back. The eldest crouches over his math homework in front of you, to make you happy. You stroke his hair.
Chi-hon comes in, pushing through the open gate. “Oh, little Yun!” Chi-hon says, and takes the baby from you. The baby, who is shy around other people, struggles to get back to you from his aunt’s embrace.
“Stay with me a little bit,” Chi-hon says, as she tries to cuddle with the baby, but he bursts into tears. Chi-hon hands you the baby. Once in his mom’s arms, the baby smiles at his aunt, tears still dangling from his eyelashes. Chi-hon shakes her head and strokes the baby’s cheek. You sisters are sitting quietly together. Chi-hon, who came running over in this snow because she couldn’t calm you over the phone, doesn’t say anything now. She looks awfuclass="underline" her face is swollen, her eyes are puffy. She looks like she hasn’t slept well in a while.