An Uninvited Guest in Paradise

The sea around the island was tri-colored. The shallowest waters shone transparent white, the middle a clear jade, and the distant depths a deep black.

Drawn by the magazine title “Travel Destinations Unknown to Koreans,” I had been living on the island for nearly three months. Every morning I stopped at my usual café for a mocha latte to go. With a bag holding my snorkeling mask and beach towel slung over my shoulder, I walked the dirt path.

It was a route used by horse carriages, so there was always the chance of stepping in manure. Days like that were especially unlucky. I picked my way north for thirty minutes until my regular restaurant came into view. I planned to spend ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the afternoon in the sea nearby. The day before yesterday, yesterday, today—if nothing changed, my carefully chosen, satisfying routine would simply repeat.

“Hi.”

The restaurant was newly built, clean and spacious. What we would call “Kim’s Eatery” back home had a red fox as its trademark.

“You’re here again today.”

The staff member who brought out a bottle of water on a tray smiled. Her fresh, twenty-year-old face carried a scent of youth that made her feel like a close younger sister every time I saw her.

“Please look after my things again today.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep a close watch.”

Most visitors to the island came for vacation, so theft was rare, but it never hurt to be careful. If nothing else, the coin purse that held my cash was one my mother had knitted by hand. It was a limited-edition treasure from her that could never be replaced if lost.

“Since I went that way yesterday…”

After scouting today’s location with my eyes, I pulled on my snorkeling goggles. I left my shoes under the hammock and trudged into the sea. I hurried across the scorching sand and threw my whole body forward. The not-too-deep water gently embraced my back. I paddled my arms without strain and glided beneath the waves.

My parents, terrified that their only daughter might drown, had forced me into rigorous swimming lessons. The result was that I graduated from the advanced class at the neighborhood pool and grew up fully comfortable in the ocean. Last year I had even taken the time to earn my scuba certification. Thanks to that, I had spent the past month lost in the charms of scuba diving, but for a sea like this, nothing beat snorkeling without heavy gear.

Whenever boredom struck, I would slip on a swimsuit and swim for hours in the shallows. It was hardly surprising that the two swimsuits I had begun with had now grown to seven.

The restaurant staff often asked how I could love swimming so much, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠saying the sea with its unknowable depths frightened her. But that was the opinion of someone who had never known Dalos’s sea. Beneath the beautiful tri-colored water given by the gods lived seaweed that swayed with the currents, rainbow-colored fish, and turtles—the symbol of good fortune. Travelers usually sought the designated turtle spots, but I had used a clever shortcut and gotten help from the locals.

If I bought one of the bead bracelets that cost about ten thousand won each without flinching, the vendor would gladly lead me to the turtles. After accepting help only on the first two days, I began finding them on my own. Once I learned the routes they took while searching for seaweed to eat, it became effortless. In a single week I had become a turtle-finding expert and switched my goal to photographing fish I had never seen before. Having spotted a small blue fish yesterday, I wanted to see it again and had been circling the same spot for an hour.

“Ha!”

I had dived too deep and water had leaked into my mask. I lifted my upper body and hurriedly pulled it off. The cool breeze I inhaled deeply flooded my mouth.

“I’m hungry…”

I would eat, take a short nap, then come back. The blue fish had appeared around three in the afternoon. It was a little past one now, so I decided to return in two hours.

I slowly paddled in the opposite direction of the incoming waves. Drifting like a small fish carried by the current with all tension released, my mind emptied. This was why ocean swimming was so good. There was so much to see that thoughts grew fewer.

“One fried rice, please.”

The moment I left the sea I headed to the restaurant and placed my order. Dripping wet, I spoke from outside instead of going in.

“No drink with that?”

The man taking the order smiled kindly. The café latte I had bought that morning came to mind, but thinking of the restaurant’s sales that I constantly depended on, I ordered one.

“Mango smoothie.”

The male staff nodded, and after we exchanged a few words about the day’s weather and the fish, I returned to my spot. I spread a towel over the long rattan chair and lay down, preparing for a nap. The draped shade of the trees blocked the sunlight perfectly. The meal would take at least thirty minutes. The owner’s hands were slow, but whether in taste or service, this place was considered the best in the area.

The life of eating, swimming, and napping to my heart’s content was so satisfying that I felt no desire to buy a return ticket to Korea. The idea that one or two months would be enough now seemed laughable; I had already stayed a full three months. It was an island so small it could be circled in a day, yet time here felt both slow and lightning-quick. I occasionally joked about immigrating, but the place that had shaped a person like me was not so kind.

“I was wondering why it had been so quiet lately.”

The phone buried deep in my bag rang, jerking my eyes open. The nap that had been approaching so cautiously fled in alarm, as if it knew the caller. Without looking, I reached into the bag, pulled out the phone, and answered it the same way—without looking.

“Hello, my beloved mother.”

It was because ten times out of ten the caller was my one and only mother. I could not possibly pretend not to know the poor soul who had called today, unable to withstand Dad’s pressure.

Mom’s voice was unusually gentle, as though she had cast aside even the minimum courtesy that menopause had stripped from her. Was this a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠signal of happiness, or the flare announcing misfortune?

“Of course I can. Who else would it be?”

I had to be a good, affectionate daughter to Mom. Regardless of her menopause, my travel funds depended on her bank account. If I acted out or upset her, I would have to abandon this peaceful life and board a plane back to Korea.

My poor mother, who had no idea her only daughter was picking her nose while on the phone. The same mother who used to cry every day about feeling lonely without her daughter must have finally found some effective herbal medicine. Her voice carried a buoyant tone I had never heard before.

I could already picture the white living room of our old apartment, the leather sofa, the red kitchen. I had no interest in parents who lived in a setting straight out of a nineties drama set, spending all day wailing my name. Besides, I had personal reasons for feeling awkward around Aunt Su-yeong and would have preferred she cut ties, but if they were all leaving Korea together, I welcomed it with open arms.

“This kid. Where would we get that kind of money? America? Europe? With that much we could go to Southeast Asia ten more times.”

“…Southeast Asia?”

The way Mom’s voice trailed off at the end revived a nightmare I had tried to forget. When Mom and Dad had done something that would make their only daughter explode with anger, they tended to circle the truth.

“Where exactly? Southeast Asia where?”

“Well, you know. There are lots of nice places.”

Even when anxiety made me press her, Mom kept postponing the answer. I could no longer listen lying down, so I sat up and crossed my legs. My toes shook restlessly, making my knees bounce up and down.

“Mom! Did you hang up?”

“Mom leaves in thirty minutes.”

“Congratulations, but where?”

It had been fine when they poured the money saved like misers from their jewelry business into their daughter. But there was no such thing as a free lunch. According to that invisible rule, I always ended up paying the price.

One. Two. Three. I heard the parts responsible for reason, manners, and humanity snapping apart one by one. The hot emotion swirling in my chest surged straight into my throat.

“Mom!”

The call ended with a click. The dark, indifferent screen reflected my face, frozen in shock.

Mom was coming to the comfortable paradise I had wanted to keep to myself. The matching set—Dad—was obviously coming too. Among Mom’s acquaintances, the absolute worst, Aunt Su-yeong, and Uncle as well.

The chance was one in ten million, but perhaps that guy would come too.

“Argh!”

As I slammed the phone against the chair and roared, raindrops began to fall. The staff member bringing my mango smoothie to the table stopped and looked up at the sky.

“A shower’s coming. Want to come inside?”

The island, having left behind its sunny dry season and entered the rainy season, saw sudden downpours at any time.

“It’s fine. It’ll stop soon.”

The staff member set the mango smoothie on the rapidly wetting table and hurried back into the restaurant. She was probably thinking that the crazy woman from Korea was obsessed with water—whether it was the sea or raindrops, she loved it to death.

“Yeah, I’m crazy.”

Four fireballs were about to settle on the sweet cotton candy a person had spun over three whole months. If it was only four, it was fortunate. If five people arrived, I wondered what kind of gutter my fate would fall into.

“This place is turning into hell.”

There was no phrase that fit more perfectly than that.