Read Online I'll Be Right There by Kyung-Sook Shin - Free Book Online
Authors: Kyung-Sook Shin
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name the same way. Nevertheless, when he spoke to me, I felt a sudden premonition that I would soon be walking around the city with the two of them.
“Thank you,” he said.
He stood there without leaving, as if waiting for me to respond. I didn’t know what he was thanking me for, but I nodded. Finally, he gave a slight bow to Professor Yoon. Miruseemed to be looking at me as well, her scarred hand still enveloped by his large one.
After the two of them left, Professor Yoon and I were quiet for a moment. He had seemed so cold to Miru for some reason, but he let out a deep sigh and turned back into the same person who had told the story of Saint Christopher during class.
“Are you a fast typist?” he asked.
I grinned nervously instead of answering.
“Are you?”
I smiled again.
“You should answer clearly, not just smile, when a teacher asks you a question.”
I thought of how his voice sounded when he said then tell us what you do know to the girl in class. I had long been in the habit of smiling when I wasn’t sure how to answer someone. No one had ever pointed it out to me before.
“I’m sort of fast,” I said.
“How fast?”
“Fast enough that I can compose as I type.”
“I see. I envy people who can type with all ten fingers. I’ve tried to learn, but it’s too hard for me. I’m what you call a hunt and peck typist. Unlike you, my hands can’t keep up with my thoughts. When I try to type, my thoughts keep stopping and looking back as my hands try to catch up.”
The professor had a unique way of speaking that was unfamiliar to me, but I sort of understood what he meant.
Maybe what Professor Yoon felt when he was unable to get ahead of or catch up to the thoughts in his head when hetyped and instead watched his fingers slowly lagging behind the sentences that had already come into the world was similar to how I felt the night I walked to my mother’s grave with Dahn, when I realized I had to break through the lethargy I felt at my parents’ house and return to the city. That night, when I nearly asked Dahn if he loved me, after he had told me about the mess he was in after beating up a classmate, I knew I had to come back to the city. That was what stopped me from asking Dahn that question. You should only ask someone if they love you if you love them, regardless of what their answer might be. My decision that night, when I grabbed a handful of dirt from my mother’s grave, had brought me back to the city, but my heart had not yet returned and seemed to be roaming around out there somewhere.
I thought, too, about my cousin’s husband, who had once said something like Professor Yoon. Each time my cousin’s husband returned from a week of flying, the dinner table would be set with his favorite foods. Rice, seaweed soup, grilled dried corvina, steamed egg, toasted dried laver, seasoned spinach, mung bean sprouts, and radish—all of the things he liked. The three of us ate together sometimes. One night, he was too exhausted to eat. My cousin set the grilled corvina on the table and asked if he needed to see a doctor, but he told her not to worry. He said the plane was too fast, his body had arrived first. That he felt ill because his soul could not keep pace with the speed of the plane and was still on its way home, and he would feel better once it had caught up to the rest of him.
Professor Yoon handed me the sheaf of papers.
“It’s a collection of works by Korean writers, dating back to the 1950s. There are a lot of pages. Won’t it be too much for you?”
“I can handle it.”
“After you type them all up, I plan to print copies to use in class as our course reader. I’m sorry to put you up to this, but maybe it will help you study.”
Small scraps of paper were stuck between the pages of the manuscript. Some of the pages had Post-its covered with handwritten notes. Professor Yoon took a large envelope from the top of his desk and slid the manuscript inside. His slim
“Thank you,” he said.
He stood there without leaving, as if waiting for me to respond. I didn’t know what he was thanking me for, but I nodded. Finally, he gave a slight bow to Professor Yoon. Miruseemed to be looking at me as well, her scarred hand still enveloped by his large one.
After the two of them left, Professor Yoon and I were quiet for a moment. He had seemed so cold to Miru for some reason, but he let out a deep sigh and turned back into the same person who had told the story of Saint Christopher during class.
“Are you a fast typist?” he asked.
I grinned nervously instead of answering.
“Are you?”
I smiled again.
“You should answer clearly, not just smile, when a teacher asks you a question.”
I thought of how his voice sounded when he said then tell us what you do know to the girl in class. I had long been in the habit of smiling when I wasn’t sure how to answer someone. No one had ever pointed it out to me before.
“I’m sort of fast,” I said.
“How fast?”
“Fast enough that I can compose as I type.”
“I see. I envy people who can type with all ten fingers. I’ve tried to learn, but it’s too hard for me. I’m what you call a hunt and peck typist. Unlike you, my hands can’t keep up with my thoughts. When I try to type, my thoughts keep stopping and looking back as my hands try to catch up.”
The professor had a unique way of speaking that was unfamiliar to me, but I sort of understood what he meant.
Maybe what Professor Yoon felt when he was unable to get ahead of or catch up to the thoughts in his head when hetyped and instead watched his fingers slowly lagging behind the sentences that had already come into the world was similar to how I felt the night I walked to my mother’s grave with Dahn, when I realized I had to break through the lethargy I felt at my parents’ house and return to the city. That night, when I nearly asked Dahn if he loved me, after he had told me about the mess he was in after beating up a classmate, I knew I had to come back to the city. That was what stopped me from asking Dahn that question. You should only ask someone if they love you if you love them, regardless of what their answer might be. My decision that night, when I grabbed a handful of dirt from my mother’s grave, had brought me back to the city, but my heart had not yet returned and seemed to be roaming around out there somewhere.
I thought, too, about my cousin’s husband, who had once said something like Professor Yoon. Each time my cousin’s husband returned from a week of flying, the dinner table would be set with his favorite foods. Rice, seaweed soup, grilled dried corvina, steamed egg, toasted dried laver, seasoned spinach, mung bean sprouts, and radish—all of the things he liked. The three of us ate together sometimes. One night, he was too exhausted to eat. My cousin set the grilled corvina on the table and asked if he needed to see a doctor, but he told her not to worry. He said the plane was too fast, his body had arrived first. That he felt ill because his soul could not keep pace with the speed of the plane and was still on its way home, and he would feel better once it had caught up to the rest of him.
Professor Yoon handed me the sheaf of papers.
“It’s a collection of works by Korean writers, dating back to the 1950s. There are a lot of pages. Won’t it be too much for you?”
“I can handle it.”
“After you type them all up, I plan to print copies to use in class as our course reader. I’m sorry to put you up to this, but maybe it will help you study.”
Small scraps of paper were stuck between the pages of the manuscript. Some of the pages had Post-its covered with handwritten notes. Professor Yoon took a large envelope from the top of his desk and slid the manuscript inside. His slim
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