If I Could See You One More Time

Why couldn't I have been better to them?

Why didn't I notice they were hurting?

Why, in that moment, did I turn away from those bright, shining eyes and call it a bother?

They regret, and regret again. They rage at themselves, and they suffer. And then—

They weep that they want to see again that beloved being who had always been there, gazing at them with such steadfast eyes—and they are people who cannot even give their grief a voice. Alone, they swallow their rage and their sorrow, tormented by guilt. People ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who go on living without ever having been allowed to grieve properly. They are the ones who have seen a beloved companion animal off across the Rainbow Bridge.

Jang Pan-ho was one of those people.

And so, that he would never have to suffer that kind of grief again—that he would not have to hurt—Jang Pan-ho had wrapped his heart in layer upon layer of indifference. Until now, it had worked. Of course, that may have been because he had shut himself in his room, spending his days in self-reproach, and had scarcely had the chance to meet any dogs at all. But even over the past month, meeting the therapy dogs here at the Community Welfare Center had not changed his mind. The indifference in which he had so tightly bound his heart had done its job.

But had a hole opened in that indifference?

Jang Pan-ho found himself bothered by the sound behind him. The soft, measured click of paws drew near, then went still. The movement had stopped. He did not turn his head, but he knew the dog was sitting quietly at his back, and it needled at him—because he remembered. Last week, this same creature had sat just like this, and then gone away.

The dog must have been disappointed then. Even so, Jang Pan-ho would not look back. He'll just sit there and leave again today, same as last time. Dogs always drifted away from anyone who refused to give them attention. He bound the slightly parted indifference tightly shut again and turned his mind to the window.

And just as he had expected, the dog waiting behind him trotted off the moment the others called. Of course. Jang Pan-ho snorted inwardly.

And yet... why did he feel let down?

He hadn't given the dog any attention, so of course it had left. So why?

"Did our Sapsaree eat?"

"Did our handsome boy eat?"

"Janggoon, you're looking so dashing today. Did you eat before you came, Janggoon?"

"Yes, I ate, I did! Did Grandpa and Grandma eat too?"

Sapsaree, who had been watching the shy grandpa sitting by the window, trotted over with bright, confident steps toward the grandmothers and grandfathers calling to him so fondly. Then he greeted them one by one, with great care. When a grandmother or grandfather held out a hand, he gave it a warm lick; when someone stroked his brow, he leaned his head in to make it easier. And for the grandmother who smiled at the sight of him, Sapsaree smiled back, wide and open.

"Aigoo, how can he be this dashing?"

"The two of them standing there together, Bangwool-i and him—it does the heart good."

"Just having my hands on these children warms me right up. It's wonderful."

"That's why I went to the hospital yesterday, you know. I was supposed to go today, but I could see these children so clearly in my mind..."

"I was the same. I've been missing them so much since yesterday I did nothing but stare at my phone."

"Me too. Looking at their pictures is the one joy I've got these days. Ah, speaking of which, I ought to take some photos of Sapsaree and Bangwool-i to look at when I miss them."

"I'll take some too."

"Sapsaree, look over here."

"Here, look here."

Sapsaree looked this way and that as they called him, striking every pose the grandfathers and grandmothers wanted. And even as he did, he kept one part of his attention on the shy grandpa by the window.

That grandpa is still being all shy, he is.

Which meant it was up to him—the popular one—to look after the shy grandpa. Hoesaegi and Gkamnyangi had advised him on just how to do it.

They told me to just look at him with kind eyes, they did.

And that look could not hold even a trace of pity. They had also told him that the shy grandpa might envy Sapsaree too much to open his heart right away, and that he would need time.

The hyungs said to wait, they did.

So Sapsaree showed off for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grandmothers and grandfathers who adored him, and every so often he settled a quiet, steady gaze on the shy grandpa. Even when the time came for Sapsaree to leave the Community Welfare Center, the shy grandpa did not turn to look at him. But Sapsaree knew. He knew the shy grandpa was paying attention.

Grandpa's ears are all perked up, they are.

Of course, a person's ears did not flick the way a dog's did. But Sapsaree, who had always been attuned to the currents of a heart, could feel it—that the grandpa had shown him the smallest flicker of interest.

Before he left the Community Welfare Center, Sapsaree went to the shy grandpa's side. He licked the hand resting on the old man's knee.

A warm, wet lick.

The grandpa flinched and turned his head—and in that instant, his eyes met Sapsaree's. Sapsaree broke into a wide, bright grin, and the grandpa's eyes went round.

Sapsaree left him with that bright little farewell, and was gone.

Jang Pan-ho walked with his left hand folded over the back of his right. The January wind cut like a blade, but he was not cold. A gentle heat had begun on the back of the hand Sapsaree had licked, and it had warmed him through. A warmth he had not felt in a very long time—and one he had missed.

"Hmph."

All the way home, Janggoon kept coming to mind. Janggoon had done that. A little lick across the back of his hand, and then that quiet look up at him. Just like that rascal Sapsaree, a moment ago.

"That rascal... I wonder if he got home all right."

Jang Pan-ho found himself worrying over Sapsaree, who had looked up at him with the same eyes Janggoon once had. Whether the dog had ridden well in the car. Whether anything had gone wrong when he got out... The thoughts caught on one another and branched out in a tangled rush, and his heart began to pound. Sweat gathered in his palms. His stomach turned; he thought he might be sick. He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had better get to the bathroom, he decided, and started to rise.

That was when it came.

A notification chimed.

He knew no one would be contacting him. An advertisement, most likely. He meant to ignore it—but he was worried. What if it was the Community Welfare Center? What if the message was that Sapsaree had been hurt?

The color drained from his face. He snatched up the phone.

It was a group message from the Community Welfare Center, just as he had guessed. That much he had imagined. The contents were not what he had imagined at all. There was a video, and beneath it a short note.

Before he could even tap the video, another message arrived. And while he was still reading, a photograph went up: Sapsaree, beaming, in what looked like a garden at home. The worry that had been clawing at him vanished in an instant, dissolved by that single last picture. Jang Pan-ho let out a long breath of relief. Then, with an unhurried face, he opened the video.

On the screen was the back of a dog. Sapsaree. Just as the veterinarian had taught him, his front paws waved from side to side. Jang Pan-ho's gaze locked on those swaying paws, and the sensation of being tapped on the back rose up in him—and with it, the thin, warm tongue that had licked his hand. The back of his hand began to tingle. And a corner of his chest began to tingle and itch as well.

"Hnnn..."

He rubbed at his chest with his hand. The itching did not go away. If anything, it seemed to be spreading. After rubbing for a while, Jang Pan-ho picked up the phone again and watched the video of Sapsaree saying goodbye to all the elders at the Community Welfare Center, over and over. Every time he watched, it felt as though Sapsaree were waving his paw not at all of them, but at him. The small woof, woof sounded for all the world like, I'll come again next week.

"You rascal."

The corner of Jang Pan-ho's mouth lifted, just a little. He found himself wanting, when they met next week, to stroke him. To hold him, too. And to speak to him kindly. He ran his thumb over the photograph of Sapsaree grinning on the small, cold screen—and then he shook his head.

"Hmm..."

He would not give his heart to a dog again. Not to any living animal. Jang Pan-ho steeled himself and set the phone down with a small tap.

That night, Jang Pan-ho went to bed and slept through until morning without waking once. It was the first time in a year. And that morning, for the first time in a very long while, he finished an entire bowl of rice. His appetite had not stirred in a year, either. Watching him, his wife's eyes grew wet.

From the day Janggoon had gone to the Dog Star, each day for Jang Pan-ho had meant nothing at all. That day had been that day, and the next day had been that day too. Time was only something that passed if he sat still. There had been nothing he wanted to eat, and nothing he wanted to do. He had simply ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stayed in his room and blamed himself for Janggoon's leaving. Beyond that, nothing had interested him.

And now that man had taken an interest in a dog. It was the first time anything like interest had taken root in him since the day Janggoon left. He had worried for Sapsaree. He had been glad to hear Sapsaree had arrived home safely. And he looked forward to the day he would see Sapsaree next week. Of course, Jang Pan-ho himself—counting down on the calendar how many days remained until he could go to the Community Welfare Center—did not realize any of this.

A week that was both long and short passed, and Jang Pan-ho arrived at the Community Welfare Center a full hour earlier than usual. He sat in the same seat and looked out the window. But he was not looking out the window to avoid people's eyes, the way he had last week. He was watching, and waiting, for Sapsaree to come.

Gazing through the glass, he slipped a hand into his coat pocket. His fingers found a plastic bag. Treats he had bought on the way, to give to Sapsaree.

"That rascal... he'd better like them."

It might have sounded like worry, but Jang Pan-ho was sure. These were the treats his own finicky Janggoon had loved. Sapsaree was healthy and big; he would eat them with relish, no question.

Time passed, and people began to arrive one by one. Bangwool-i arrived too. But the one Jang Pan-ho was waiting for did not come.

Is he sick? Or did something happen on the way here?

Tension washed over Jang Pan-ho's face. Sweat gathered in his palms again, and his heart began to pound. If it was going to be like this, he might as well just ask. He turned from the window, about to open his mouth—and someone else spoke first.

"Doctor, is Sapsaree not coming today?"

"Ah, Sapsaree."

Jang Pan-ho swallowed and looked at Kim Kang-hoon, the veterinarian who had brought Bangwool-i.

"Sapsaree went to study today."

"Study?"

"He has to study so he can get his therapy dog certification, just like our Bangwool-i. Then he can take the exam."

Sapsaree would be stopping by the training center today for therapy-dog instruction, and he would sit the exam as well. But a dog who had never received a single lesson was not going to pass. So Kim Kang-hoon had said that Sapsaree had gone to study.

"Sapsaree's so smart I don't think he even needs to study, does he?"

"He is a clever one, that's true."

"I think so too. So we won't get to see him today, then?"

"That's right."

"Aigoo, that little one is so cute, and so full of charm—I was really hoping to see him."

"With that big fellow missing, the place feels downright empty. Hollow, almost."

Jang Pan-ho thought it felt empty too, and silently agreed. Let down, perhaps, was the word.

"I wanted to see him, that rascal."

He muttered it—and then he startled. It was the first time since Janggoon left that he had thought he wanted to see someone.

"He'll be here next week, everyone. Still, Sapsaree's quite the popular one, isn't he? Please give our Bangwool-i some love too."

"Oh, come now, of course we will. Bangwool-i is precious and adorable, no question. No matter what anyone says, he was our first love, wasn't he?"

At that, everyone burst out laughing.

Good thing I'll still get to give him the treats.

He would have to wait another week, but at the news that Sapsaree was coming, Jang Pan-ho's face brightened. He was buoyant with the prospect of seeing him. He told himself, of course, that he was only excited because he would be able to hand over the treats he had bought.

Meanwhile, at the examination hall, Sapsaree was soaring.