Perfect Solitude
It was Yeon-doo's mother on the line—the same mother who hadn't contacted her once in all this time. Yeon-doo stood frozen with the phone in her hand, visibly hesitating over the call button. She drew a short, deep breath.
Hoo…
Only then did she answer. A voice dry and sharp as cracked ice came piercing through the speaker.
"Why don't you ever pick up your phone?! You saw Mom calling—when your mother calls, you answer right away!"
It was a colder voice than even the grandmothers who shared not a single drop of her blood. Yeon-doo bit down hard on her lip and absorbed the verbal blows.
"You're the older sister—why aren't you looking after your younger siblings? Other families say the moms personally dig through college applications for their kids during application season! If Yeon-jeong has to retake her exams, you're the one paying for that academy, you know."
Yeon-doo said nothing.
"Anyway. I'm in front of your place, so open the door already."
"I don't live there anymore."
"What?! You moved without even telling your own mother?!"
Even though no one had told her anything, the office worker could feel it immediately. Why Jeong Yeon-doo lived alone. Why she had wanted to flee to Hyangdo County. Yeon-doo hadn't been running only from her coworkers and her college classmates. On the other end of the line, her mother began to rage.
"You've lost your mind, you've lost it! Think you're something special now? Living all by yourself? And you couldn't even breathe a word of it to your own parents! You've always been like this. Never any affection in you!"
Yeon-doo's throat, holding its feelings down with all its might, quivered. It looked as though she was swallowing something back down.
"When have you ever shown me any interest?"
The voice straining to hold back tears was thick with bitterness.
"You want to blame your parents at your age? You've always done everything on your own since you were little, so—"
"Because you were always like this! That's why I ended up doing everything alone! Because you're like this…!"
Eyes brimming with tears wavered. Yeon-doo's voice rose higher and higher.
"Don't pretend to care about me now! You don't need to worry about me! It's annoying. Just do what you always do. Like you don't even know whether I'm dead or alive. Live like that."
And with that, Yeon-doo hung up without a flicker of regret.
Wind blew in through the window she'd left open against the heat. The snow-white chiffon curtain billowed. Beyond the low wall of Yeon-doo's house, the grandmothers were pacing in anxious circles.
"What now, what now…"
"Guess we'll have to go in and talk her down…"
"Leave her be. Let her be alone. Let's stop being a bother…"
One by one, the grandmothers—who had each come clutching peaches, plums, rice cakes, and the like in their tight fists—trudged wearily back home.
"The child… she came all the way down here for a reason, didn't she…"
"Why are you saying nice things about her? Just pretend you didn't hear."
"I'm only worried, that's all. She's looked after us well enough, even when we were a nuisance…"
Yeon-doo, as if trying to forget the call with her mother, pulled her hair back tight and threw herself into a deep clean. Pride kept every last tear from falling.
She scrubbed the floor and scrubbed it and scrubbed it again, beat out the curtains, and even organized the dishes. Before she knew it, the unusually long summer sun had sunk far below the horizon and the sky had turned the color of embers, but Yeon-doo's house stayed silent.
…
Yeon-doo had finally gotten what she had longed for so desperately—to be alone. The house was utterly still.
"Might as well get some work done."
Her fingers clattered across the keyboard. The manuscript Yeon-doo was writing out was sweet, sweet in a way reality never was. The expression on her face as she stared at the monitor was bone-dry.
The next day, while cleaning, Yeon-doo glanced out the window. But no one was there. The grandmothers who had pestered her so relentlessly no longer came looking for her.
"…That's a good thing, I guess."
But despite her words, the next day, and the day after that, Yeon-doo spent an awfully long time cleaning the windowsill, gazing outside.
The house remained as quiet as ever. With a rough hand, Yeon-doo yanked the curtains shut and sat back down at her computer.
That was when it happened. A small commotion rose outside her door.
Clunk—
"Oh, come on."
The moment she heard a sound outside, Yeon-doo burst out of the house like a man chasing off a hornet.
"What is it now?"
Despite the curt tone, her hands fumbled the door open in a rush. But there was no one beyond it.
"Ah…"
It had only been the wind, knocking at her door.
"Guess everyone's finally done with me."
Now Yeon-doo was truly, completely alone.
Several days passed like that. The only person Yeon-doo had contacted was her editor at the publishing house.
As Yeon-doo stared blankly at her editor's reply with hollow eyes, a knock finally sounded at her door.
BOOM BOOM BOOM—!
At the slightly urgent sound, the corners of Yeon-doo's mouth lifted before she could stop them. She quickly fixed her expression back into place and opened the door with theatrical annoyance.
"What is it."
"We're, we're so sorry to bother you again, but…"
Desperation was written all over the grandmother's face as she clasped both hands together and looked up at Yeon-doo.
"Have you seen our Boksun?"
"Boksun?"
"She's been missing since a while ago…"
The tense, urgent music swelled once more—a sinister sound designed to call someone to mind.
The dog dealer!
The office worker's heart raced along with it. Yeon-doo snatched the flashlight hanging on the wall and sprinted out the door. To find Boksun. For that ball of fluff she'd been forced to pretend not to know, all because taking responsibility was too much to bear.
"BOKSUN—!!!"
Yeon-doo's voice rang out across all of Dangbok-ri.
"If you kill Boksun, I swear…"
Ae-tami clapped a hand over her mouth, utterly absorbed.
Before anyone noticed, the sun had set, and the sky was bleeding violet from the far horizon inward. Running through the village, Yeon-doo called for Boksun, and called again.
"Boksun?"
At the foot of the mountain, the rawhide chew she'd given Boksun lay rolling in the dirt. Squeaky was there too. Yeon-doo scrambled over in a panic. But Boksun was nowhere to be found.
"Boksun! Boksun!"
With a face on the verge of tears, Yeon-doo kept searching. Then, as if possessed by something, she began to climb. The sun had set completely, and the world had gone pitch-black.
Click—
Yeon-doo didn't so much as think about coming back down the mountain. She switched on her flashlight and clenched her teeth. She had to find Boksun, who might already have been taken by the dog dealer.
Dark clouds were rolling in from far away. Rain began to fall, drop by drop.
"Because of me…"
She should have taken her in long ago. She shouldn't have refused so coldly when he asked if she wanted to keep her. She shouldn't have pretended not to know her—she should have shown her a little warmth.
Yeon-doo pushed through the brush, searching for Boksun. But Boksun was nowhere. Before she knew it, the rain was coming down harder and harder. Her clothes were soaked through.
"Aagh!"
That was when it happened. Yeon-doo tumbled straight into a pit dug to trap wild animals. With a resounding thud she hit the bottom, curling into a ball and trying to will the pain away. Her whole body was trembling.
Hoo…
Yeon-doo took a single deep breath. It was Jeong Yeon-doo's lifelong habit—handling everything on her own, and handling it well. One more breath, and she'd be able to get up. Just like she always did.
Her whole body smeared with wet mud, Yeon-doo tried the flashlight with her split, bleeding hand.
Click. Click.
But no matter how many times she pressed the button, only darkness answered. It was a perfect, textbook stranded-in-the-wild situation.
"…Why…"
Yeon-doo's voice shook.
"Why is it that for me… it's always like this…"
Even with her face drenched in rain, it was obvious she was crying. Her trembling jaw muscles quivered with sorrow, betraying her. The rims of Yeon-doo's eyes had gone red.
"No matter how hard I try, why am I always… alone."
The rain lashed down ever harder.
"Why… it's not, it's not even my business, but…!"
With a mud-caked hand, Yeon-doo tried to wipe away her tears. It was useless. No matter how she wiped and wiped, the tears kept streaming down without pause.
"None of it was my business, but I treated it all—all of it—like it was mine! Why is it that for all of you, what's yours always comes first?! Nobody—nobody ever—nobody cares about me… nobody…"
There was no one to soothe her even if she cried. Jeong Yeon-doo had learned that lesson over a lifetime, and so she couldn't even allow herself a proper, full-throated weep. Even as she strained to hold it all in, the tears came wrenching up out of her, and she seemed to resent them for it.
The music that had played when Yeon-doo first arrived in Hyangdo County began again—slower this time, and smaller, like a toy xylophone.
"Then what am I…"
Jeong Yeon-doo lifted her head, and the world that met her was darkness from edge to edge. She was perfectly alone. The perfect world Yeon-doo had wished for so desperately—a world where nobody paid her any attention, and where she owed none to anyone.
And the Jeong Yeon-doo inside it looked unbearably lonely.
Woof!
That was when it happened.