You-jeong Jeong - The Good Son

I swallowed the blood that had pooled in my mouth. The smell of it filled the air. My heart began to tick. It was dark outside. The snow was getting heavier, and delicate flakes were sticking to the sliding door, but it was quiet except for Hae-jin’s weeping. We both lay there and soon Hae-jin grew still.

The living room clock broke the long silence. Once, twice… six times.

Hae-jin sat up. ‘Get up. I have something to say.’

I raised myself. Blood covered the floor.

Hae-jin got up and handed me some tissues. His hair was drenched in sweat, like he had just run a marathon. I was soaked in blood. It wasn’t fair, but that was okay. This was fine. I obediently took the tissues and shoved them against my nostrils.

‘I’m going to give you two hours,’ Hae-jin said.

I looked at him with shock.

‘Have a shower, get a grip on yourself, and come downstairs by eight.’

I faced him. What did he mean, get a grip on myself? What was he planning?

‘I want you to tell the police.’

My ears rang, just the way they had when the pebble hit me sixteen years ago, as if my head had been smashed in.

‘That’s the only way,’ Hae-jin said.

I looked at him. His eyes were still teary. Weren’t those tears for me? Wasn’t he wailing for me? Didn’t he beat me up because he was so frustrated with me? Or had I misunderstood?

‘That’s the only way we can sort this out.’

What was he going to do? How could we possibly sort it out? Find a lawyer? Beg for a reduced sentence by confessing? Would he send me packages until I died of old age in prison?

‘You’ll get caught if you run.’

I knew that. Of course I knew that. But I wanted to forge my own path. ‘All I need is for you to do nothing,’ I tried. ‘If you could look the other way, just for one day…’

‘If you leave, I’m going to call the police.’ Hae-jin’s voice grew cold.

I tried to get up.

‘You can’t sneak out, either,’ he warned. ‘I’ll be by the front door and the dog will start barking if you go out through the roof.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me the razor.’

Laughter almost escaped. Why did he want the razor? Was he afraid I’d cut his throat? There were tons of things I could cut his throat with: the saw on the roof, Mother’s beloved chef’s knives hanging in the kitchen. I could break his neck with my bare hands if I wanted to. Did he think this was easy because I’d let him hit me a few times? I threw the tissues across the room and wiped the stream of blood with the back of my hand. I opened the drawer and held out the razor. I sensed him hesitating.

‘Two hours. I’m not waiting more than that.’ His voice was low and steely. This was a new side to him, but it wasn’t unfamiliar; it was just as if Hae-jin were possessed by Mother.

‘You mean this?’ I asked helplessly.

‘I do.’ He was serious. He put the razor in his pocket and left my room, his heavy footsteps disappearing downstairs.

My legs gave way and I crumpled to the floor. I leant against my desk. Confess? I didn’t even want to consider it. But I gave up the option of fleeing overseas. It would be hard to sneak out of this neighbourhood, let alone through the airport. Hae-jin, true to his word, would call the police the moment I disappeared. It wasn’t that I’d thought it impossible that he would react this way, but it confused me now that he had. I would consider confessing if that made my life easier, but there was no point if it all ended the same way whether I confessed or was caught.

If there was anything to consider, it was the weight of guilt; not mine, but Hae-jin’s: his guilt that all this had happened without him being able to stop it, his guilt about Mother’s death. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trying to deal with it by forcing me to confess. Maybe he’d been seized by a foolish sense of duty or ethics. Or maybe he was so angry at what I’d done that he couldn’t just let me be. I realised that any sympathy he felt towards me would have disappeared as soon as he’d seen Mother and Auntie’s bodies.

In the end, I had to decide: Hae-jin or me? The answer was obvious, but it wasn’t an easy choice. Of course it wasn’t, given my feelings towards Hae-jin. If I got rid of my feelings, it would be as easy as deciding which pair of shoes to put on. The problem was that I wasn’t deciding between different shoes. Hae-jin was purely and wholly an emotional consideration for me. No matter which option I chose, I knew I would regret it until the day I died. I was trapped.

Time trickled by. The clock passed 6.30 and headed to 7. I yanked myself out of the thoughts swimming under the surface of my consciousness. I needed to make a decision.

I stood up. I stopped debating what I should do. A complete picture drew itself in my head, as though it had been planned by my subconscious all along. The only variable I needed to keep in mind was the patrol car that circled the neighbourhood regularly.

First I picked out the stuff I needed to throw away – Mother’s mobile phone and credit card, the pearl earring and my roof key. I put on latex gloves and rubbed the fingerprints off each item with a tissue. Next I grabbed the Private Lesson jacket from the wardrobe and pushed them all into the pockets. I took that outside and shoved it into the pergola table. I grabbed a towel and wiped the fingerprints from the outside tap and the bin, then tossed the towel and gloves in the barbecue and set them on fire.

When I got back to my room, the clock indicated 7.47. I had to hurry. I took out two 50,000-won bills I’d hidden in my bookcase for emergencies, along with Mother’s car key. I pulled on loose jogging bottoms and a checked shirt, though I didn’t fasten the buttons around the wrists. I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. I paused. I heard Hae-jin’s footsteps going to the front door, then heard the door open. My mobile began to ring. I answered. ‘Come downstairs,’ Hae-jin said quietly.

Hae-jin was leaning against Mother’s door, his arms crossed, watching me descend the stairs. Only when I got to the bottom step did I realise that there were two other people in the flat – the two detectives who had visited yesterday, sitting side by side on the couch. I paused awkwardly, one foot on the last step and the other on the ground. In my head I was searching for the quickest escape route; I could run upstairs, slip out the roof door… but there might be twice as many policemen outside, surrounding the block.

Panic began to spread in my stomach. I was dizzy. I hadn’t ever imagined this scenario. I would be handcuffed and dragged out in front of everyone before I’d had a chance to work something out. I looked at Hae-jin from under my swollen eyelids. How could he have done this to me? After promising he’d wait. It wasn’t even eight yet.

Hae-jin glanced at the island, as though to tell me to go there. The two detectives stared at me and then at Hae-jin. Probably because I had been beaten to within an inch of my life. It must have looked even more gruesome because I hadn’t washed the blood off yet. It was obvious who must have done it, unless I’d gone crazy and tried to beat myself up. I was embarrassed. If I turned and ran away now, I would be a wimp and a coward. And when I inevitably got caught, I would be a wimp and a coward and an idiot who didn’t even know how to flee.

I turned and walked towards the island, head held high. I tried to breathe calmly and not reveal anything on my face.

Hae-jin moved from the door to the wall dividing the kitchen and the stairs, and spoke without looking at me. ‘They say they’re from the police station.’

They say? Why was he talking like that? I leant on the island and crossed my arms. The clock began to chime. Once, twice… eight times.