Read Online I Have the Right to Destroy Myself by Young-Ha Kim - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Young-Ha Kim
Ads: Link
later the Evian started tasting like it. I began to collect it. He thought it was funny. I told him I would save it and drink it later. Whenever he came, I would funnel it in an empty Evian bottle and keep it in the fridge. Finally, when the bottle was full, I put on the paper dress again. He paid for all the pieces. He sat in a chair and waited for me to kneel. I went behind him and put a gun to his head. I forced him to drink all the stuff in the Evian bottle. He threw up. I left him there and ran out. Then I came on this trip."
Her story smelled of fiction. But I couldn't tell where the lies ended. The last part might be a lie. Maybe that guy dumped her. She might have fantasized every night about threatening him with a gun and forcing him to drink his own ejaculate. But it didn't matter. Whether her story was true or somewhat false, it was clear that she vomited whenever she drank waterâsomething must have happened to her to cause that kind of reaction.
"I guess we're both fugitives," I commiserated.
"What are you running from?"
"I'm not in such a desperate situation as you. I always run from myself. I have to do that in Hell."
"Try drinking your own sperm. Then you won't have to keep running away."
She smiled bitterly and climbed on my lap, facing me, and kissed me. A gap persisted between us, as vast and fundamental as the ability to drink water. Even though our lips
were joined, even though we had sex, there was a river we could never cross.
After, we stumbled out of the chair. She reached for her Coke, but grabbed the Evian. In the dark, she might have thought the water was Coke. I left her alone. Keep vomiting, I thought. You'll stop when you can't anymore.
The next day we parted ways. I went to Brindisi to go to Greece and she left for Venice. Luckily, the train to Brindisi came first. She waved from the platform. I wonder if she went back to Hong Kong.
I return to the computer and reopen the file. I have to edit the last part of the novel. I hope I can finish before dawn. When I work at night, I'm disrupted only when the sun rises. I banish thoughts about Judith and the woman from Hong Kong and settle back to work.
Part IV
Mimi
"Boredom is no longer my love."
âArthur Rimbaud, "Bad Blood"
WHEN C GOT THE PHONE CALL FROM K, he instinctively knew it was about Judith. C always got bad news early in the morning. In a subdued voice, K related that Judith had passed away peacefully. K didn't criticize him, which made C feel all the more uncomfortable. So he just listened. K didn't forget to ask before hanging up, "You did know it was her birthday the day you went away with her, right?"
"Yeah. I didn't believe her, though. I found out it was true after I got back."
"I didn't know it was her birthday until after she died." K hung up without waiting for C's reply. C looked at his watch. It was ten in the morning. He opened the curtains and sunlight filled the room. His head was empty. He went out to the balcony to smoke. He leaned on the railing and looked down. From the twentieth floor, it looked like the world was going about its business as usual. Nobody would
be thinking about the woman resembling Judith this morning. He stubbed out his cigarette, went into the kitchen, and washed the dishes from the night before, piling them carefully on the dish rack.
The water was boiling on the stove. He made coffee and ate a piece of his day-old baguette. Hidden in the paper was an article about an exhibition opening that day. Only two lines were written about his work, so he skimmed the whole article before he finished eating. The article was merely a reprint of the publicity materials the gallery distributed to the papers, edited a little. He couldn't really trust the veracity of the other articles in the paper now that he knew this, so he glanced at the headlines and pushed the paper away.
C thought back to that snowy day. Judith, who had disappeared five months ago, riding away on the snowplow,
Her story smelled of fiction. But I couldn't tell where the lies ended. The last part might be a lie. Maybe that guy dumped her. She might have fantasized every night about threatening him with a gun and forcing him to drink his own ejaculate. But it didn't matter. Whether her story was true or somewhat false, it was clear that she vomited whenever she drank waterâsomething must have happened to her to cause that kind of reaction.
"I guess we're both fugitives," I commiserated.
"What are you running from?"
"I'm not in such a desperate situation as you. I always run from myself. I have to do that in Hell."
"Try drinking your own sperm. Then you won't have to keep running away."
She smiled bitterly and climbed on my lap, facing me, and kissed me. A gap persisted between us, as vast and fundamental as the ability to drink water. Even though our lips
were joined, even though we had sex, there was a river we could never cross.
After, we stumbled out of the chair. She reached for her Coke, but grabbed the Evian. In the dark, she might have thought the water was Coke. I left her alone. Keep vomiting, I thought. You'll stop when you can't anymore.
The next day we parted ways. I went to Brindisi to go to Greece and she left for Venice. Luckily, the train to Brindisi came first. She waved from the platform. I wonder if she went back to Hong Kong.
I return to the computer and reopen the file. I have to edit the last part of the novel. I hope I can finish before dawn. When I work at night, I'm disrupted only when the sun rises. I banish thoughts about Judith and the woman from Hong Kong and settle back to work.
Part IV
Mimi
"Boredom is no longer my love."
âArthur Rimbaud, "Bad Blood"
WHEN C GOT THE PHONE CALL FROM K, he instinctively knew it was about Judith. C always got bad news early in the morning. In a subdued voice, K related that Judith had passed away peacefully. K didn't criticize him, which made C feel all the more uncomfortable. So he just listened. K didn't forget to ask before hanging up, "You did know it was her birthday the day you went away with her, right?"
"Yeah. I didn't believe her, though. I found out it was true after I got back."
"I didn't know it was her birthday until after she died." K hung up without waiting for C's reply. C looked at his watch. It was ten in the morning. He opened the curtains and sunlight filled the room. His head was empty. He went out to the balcony to smoke. He leaned on the railing and looked down. From the twentieth floor, it looked like the world was going about its business as usual. Nobody would
be thinking about the woman resembling Judith this morning. He stubbed out his cigarette, went into the kitchen, and washed the dishes from the night before, piling them carefully on the dish rack.
The water was boiling on the stove. He made coffee and ate a piece of his day-old baguette. Hidden in the paper was an article about an exhibition opening that day. Only two lines were written about his work, so he skimmed the whole article before he finished eating. The article was merely a reprint of the publicity materials the gallery distributed to the papers, edited a little. He couldn't really trust the veracity of the other articles in the paper now that he knew this, so he glanced at the headlines and pushed the paper away.
C thought back to that snowy day. Judith, who had disappeared five months ago, riding away on the snowplow,
Similar Books
