You-jeong Jeong - The Good Son

I took a pair of sweatpants and a blue parka from the wardrobe and slung a towel around my neck to complete the look. I put my mobile, the entry card for the building’s front door, a single 5,000-won bill and the pearl earring in my pockets, then ran downstairs. It was 6.07 p.m. If I was lucky, I would be back before Hae-jin returned. I had to confirm something before putting the earring on Mother’s desk: whether the clattering and rolling sound had had anything to do with it, and if it was related to what Mother had seen last night. There was no guarantee that Mr Yongi would give me what I wanted, but he was the one person who might have information. If my luck held, I might even be able to make it down to the dock to look for further evidence.

I put on my usual running shoes, still covered in mud, and took the lift down. Outside, I began to walk quickly. There were three ways to leave the complex of flats: the main gate, which faced the majority of the buildings in the neighbourhood, most of which were still under construction; the rear gate, which was closest to our building; or a side gate that brought you out by the walking path on the road behind Gundo Elementary School. Just like last night, I began to run once I got to that road.

About five hundred metres from the side gate was where you met up with the road along Dongjin River. Further on took you to the crossing by the sea wall, then came the entrance to the marine park, and just on from that, the bridge and the observatory. It was the perfect route for a run. There was even a bicycle path between the sea wall and the observatory, used by runners or walkers, usually in the early morning or early evening.

Of course I had been running regularly since we moved here. It reminded me of swimming: you sprinted forward as fast as you could towards the end. It wasn’t bad: you could look at the river and then the ocean. I liked how my heart would leap and buck like an angry lion when I didn’t have many opportunities to feel that way, or even to feel excited, tense, nervous or angry.

I didn’t always run at the same time of day. Sometimes I went out at dawn, sometimes in the late morning, and other times in the late afternoon. But at night I could run freely without anyone getting in my way, without bumping into someone gazing at the scenery. If I fell over, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. Today was the first time I’d gone out at this time, right after sunset.

Police cars sped by, maybe because of the murder. I noticed taxis from other cities. People were walking in pairs or groups. The first was a man and a woman, followed by three women and two men. They were all holding bags of sugar pancakes from Yongi’s.

Near the First Dongjin Bridge, a bright light shone from behind me. I glanced back. A police car was following me. The way it was slowly moving forward made me think that the officers were going to stop to ask me some questions – where do you live, maybe, or where are you going, or why are you out running at night? Did you know someone has been murdered?

Aware of the officers inside the car, I made an exaggerated gesture of wiping my face with the towel around my neck. I ran so that it would look like I was a professional athlete going about my usual business. When I got to the pedestrian crossing, the police car turned on its siren, made a left, and disappeared toward the marine park. As I waited for the light to turn green, I tried to peer into Yongi’s across the road to see if he was in.

‘Yu-jin,’ Mr Yongi called out from his shack as soon as I crossed over.

I tried to pretend that I was on my way to somewhere else.

‘Come here for a second,’ Mr Yongi said, waving. ‘I have something to tell you.’

I stepped inside the shack, still acting like I had somewhere else to be.

‘Are you out for a run?’

I nodded and looked down at the grill. On the edge was a stack of sugar pancakes.

‘You’ve been out late for the last few days, haven’t you?’ Mr Yongi picked up a pancake with a pair of tongs and handed it over.

I accepted the hot delicacy. ‘No.’

‘No? I haven’t seen you around in the afternoons.’

‘I’ve been coming out at dawn.’

‘I see.’ He nodded. ‘So did you come out at dawn yesterday, too?’

‘No, not yesterday. I didn’t go for a run.’

‘I see.’

I waited patiently.

‘Going to the observatory again?’ He rubbed his hands on his trousers and picked up a paper bag.

I stared at his clothes and raised my eyes to his woollen winter hat. Behind him a change of clothes hung inside a transparent zip-up bag – a grey coat and a hunting cap. A clean shirt, necktie and suit were probably tucked inside the coat. Below the hanger stood a large suitcase.

I’d seen him in that hat, coat and suit, wearing his polished shoes, dragging his suitcase onto the 11.30 p.m. Ansan-bound intercity bus after closing his shop. His outfit made him look like a middle-aged office worker going home after a long trip, not a man selling sugar pancakes in a small shack. I’d also seen him get off the bus at nine in the morning wearing the same things. He would open up his shack, change into his work clothes and get down to business as the town gossip and pancake maker.

‘I wouldn’t go today,’ he finally said, unable to wait for me to respond. ‘I don’t know if you heard the news. They found a body at the dock this morning.’

‘What does that have to do with the observatory?’ I asked.

‘What are you talking about? The police are all over this place! Don’t you see those two cars over there? They’ve been patrolling at ten-minute intervals, but they haven’t found a single clue yet! So only the residents are being inconvenienced. I haven’t done any business today. The police come and go, the plain-clothes guys come and go. They ask the same things. What time did you close up shop yesterday? Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around? Do you know the people who frequent this road at night?’

I looked down and took a bite of the pancake, barely able to contain my curiosity about his answers to those questions.

‘And I tell them I haven’t seen anyone other than the same people who always stop by late at night, and they grill me and want to know who those people are.’

The hot sugar slid straight down, burning my throat and making my eyes water. My throat felt tight.

Mr Yongi quickly handed me a cup of cold water. ‘Hey, hey, take it easy!’

I poured the whole cup down and managed to prise my eyes open again.

‘Oh, you can just give me three thousand won,’ Mr Yongi said, shoving the nine remaining pancakes in a bag. ‘I’m giving you a huge discount! I haven’t seen you in a while.’

I would have to take the bag without protest if I wanted to hear what else he had to say. I held out my 5,000-won bill.

‘So you know how you come out late at night to run sometimes?’ Mr Yongi flattened the bill and slid it into his money belt. ‘If they discover that, they’ll really get up your ass. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. How would I know everything about every person I see? Right? All I know is that you live in Moon Torch.’

How did he know that? Moon Torch wasn’t near the sea wall. I’d never told him where I lived. I stuffed the rest of the pancake in my mouth just to keep up the act of doing something normal.

‘Remember that girl I introduced you to over the summer? The one who was wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night when it was raining? Her hair was long, all the way down her back. She sat there.’ Mr Yongi pointed at the white plastic stool in the corner. ‘You remember?’

I did remember.

‘So yesterday she gets off the bus by herself. It wasn’t that late, maybe it was right after nine, maybe just before. Anyway, she comes in and sits down on that stool like it’s hers, crosses her legs, and asks if you’ve been out today. I say no and she looks so disappointed. So I figure she likes you or something. She tells me you live across the road from her, and she lives in ePurun, so you must be in Moon Torch.’