Han Kang - The Vegetarian

Even as a child, In-hye had possessed the innate strength of character necessary to make one’s own way in life. As a daughter, as an older sister, as a wife and as a mother, as the owner of a shop, even as an underground passenger on the briefest of journeys, she had always done her best. Through the sheer inertia of a life lived in this way, she would have been able to conquer everything, even time. If only Yeong-hye hadn’t suddenly disappeared last March. If only she hadn’t been discovered in the forest that rainy night. If only all of her symptoms hadn’t suddenly got worse.

—

Preceded by the sound of quick, purposeful footsteps, a young doctor wearing a white gown approaches from the other end of the corridor. He sketches a shallow bow when In-hye stands up to greet him, gesturing toward the consulting room with an expansive sweep of his arm. She follows him inside.

The doctor, who is in his late thirties, has a healthy, robust physique. The set of his jaw and his manner of walking speak of a certain self-confidence; he sits behind the desk and stares over it at her, his brow furrowed. Sensing that the tone of the discussion will not be positive, she feels her heart become heavy.

“My sister…”

“We’ve done our very best, but her condition hasn’t improved.”

“In that case, today…” She blushes as if having committed some embarrassing blunder.

The doctor doesn’t wait for her to continue. “Today we’ll try feeding her intravenously, and if we’re lucky her condition might improve just a little. Otherwise there’ll be nothing else for it but to transfer her to one of the critical wards at the general hospital.”

“Before that, would it be all right for me to try to talk to her, to make her see sense?” she asks.

His eyes show that he holds no great hopes for her attempts at persuasion. He seems worn out, trying to conceal the anger he feels toward those patients who fail to live up to his expectations. He glances at his watch. “I’ll give you around thirty minutes. If you’re successful, please let them know in the nurses’ room. Otherwise, I’ll see you at two.”

She expects him to get up immediately and sweep out of the room, but instead he chooses to drag the conversation out a little longer, perhaps mindful of having been a little abrupt. “I know I told you this last time, but fifteen to twenty percent of anorexia nervosa patients will starve to death. Even when they’re down to nothing but skin and bone, the subject is still convinced that they’ve put on weight. There can be all manner of psychological factors at play; a power struggle with a domineering mother, for example…but Kim Yeong-hye’s is one of those particular cases where the subject refuses to eat while suffering from schizophrenia. We were confident that her schizophrenia wasn’t serious; there was honestly no way for us to predict that things would turn out the way they have. In cases where the subject is paranoid about being poisoned, they can usually be reasoned with. Or else the doctor can eat the food in front of them, let them see that it’s fine. But we’re still not sure exactly why it is that Kim Yeong-hye is refusing to eat, and none of the medicines we’ve given her seem to have had any effect. It wasn’t an easy decision for us to make, but there’s no other way. Our first duty as doctors is to preserve life…and we simply can’t be sure of keeping her alive here.” The doctor makes as if to stand up, then hesitates. “Your complexion doesn’t look healthy. Are you not sleeping well?” His question seems motivated by professional habit, and she cannot think of a quick answer. “Carers have to look after their own health too, you know.”

They exchange bows, then the doctor opens the door and strides away. By the time she leaves the room, his retreating figure is already disappearing down the corridor.

When she returns to the long bench in front of the reception desk, a flashily dressed middle-aged woman is just coming in through the front door, on the arm of a similarly aged man. Have they come to visit a patient? The next instant, an unbroken stream of invective starts pouring forth from the woman’s mouth. Seemingly well accustomed to her cursing, the man pays no attention as he gets the medical insurance certificate out of his wallet and slides it under the window at the reception desk.

“Wicked little shits! You won’t be satisfied even when you’ve sucked my insides dry! I’m going to emigrate. I can’t spend another day with shits like you!”

If the process of admittance is completed in time, the woman will probably end up spending the night in the secure room. More than likely, her limbs will be bound and a tranquilizer will be administered. In-hye stares at the garish flower-patterned hat worn by this shrieking woman. All of a sudden, she realizes how blasé she’s become when it comes to the mentally ill. In fact, after all these visits to the hospital, sometimes it’s the tranquil streets filled with so-called “normal” people that end up seeming strange.

She remembers the day she first brought Yeong-hye here. A bright afternoon in early winter. The closed ward of Seoul General Hospital was actually quite near her house, but the admittance fee was more than she could scrape together, so she’d asked around a bit before settling on this hospital, where the treatment was apparently quite good. It was when she’d met with the doctor at the other hospital, who wanted Yeong-hye to be discharged, that she’d been advised to consider outpatient care.

“So far, the results that we’ve observed directly have been good. She probably isn’t in a position yet to return to any kind of social life, but the support of her family will be a great help.”

“That’s what I was told last time, too,” she told him. “I believed it, and had Yeong-hye discharged. But now it seems like that was the wrong thing to do.”

Though the ostensible reason for her not wanting Yeong-hye to be discharged, the reason that she gave the doctor, was this worry about a possible relapse, now she was able to admit to herself what had really been going on. She was no longer able to cope with all that her sister reminded her of. She’d been unable to forgive her for soaring alone over a boundary she herself could never bring herself to cross, unable to forgive that magnificent irresponsibility that had enabled Yeong-hye to shuck off social constraints and leave her behind, still a prisoner. And before Yeong-hye had broken those bars, she’d never even known they were there.

Luckily, Yeong-hye was in favor of being admitted. Dressed in everyday clothes and telling the doctor in a distinct voice that she was comfortable there in the hospital, she had seemed calm. The look in her eyes was clear, and the set of her mouth was firm. It was almost impossible to tell her apart from ordinary people, aside, of course, from the fact that, skinny to begin with, she was at that point alarmingly thin. In the taxi on the way there she’d gazed quietly out of the window, showing not even the slightest hint of unease, and when they sent the taxi away she’d obediently followed her sister as though they’d simply come out for a stroll. She’d looked so normal that the receptionist had actually had to ask which one of them was the patient.

While they waited for Yeong-hye’s documents to be processed, In-hye said to her sister, “The air is good here, it’ll give you more of an appetite. You’ll be able to eat a bit more and put on some weight.”

Yeong-hye, who at the time was just beginning to speak again, cast her gaze toward the zelkova tree on the other side of the window and said, “Yes…there are big trees here.”

Having been called down by the receptionist, a strong-looking middle-aged nurse came and checked through their hospital bag. Underclothes, everyday clothes, slippers, toiletries. He spread the clothes out carefully, going through them one by one, seemingly to check that there weren’t any strings or pins. He removed the long, thick woolen belt from the coat In-hye had packed, and asked the two of them to follow him.