Read Online Our Happy Time by Gong Ji-young - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gong Ji-young
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something kept blunting my anger. I couldn’t erase those stories from my mind: five hundred without a single cent and just as many with less than a thousand won in their accounts; making do with less than a thousand won for six months; a man on death row fasting until a priest was healed; his saying that God should take those with more sins instead; Yunsu giving all of the money Aunt Monica had given him to an elderly prisoner serving a life sentence… Every last grain of those millet-sized words rolled toward me like a gathering ball of snow and blotted out the words
rape and murder of a seventeen-year-old girl.
They faced off inside of me: on one side, a snowman lying on its side; on the other, bulls readying their horns.
His face looked paler than last time. A faint but awkward smile flickered around the corners of his eyes, which had not yet entirely lost their murderous gleam. I had zero intent of cooperating in this trite parade of so-called rehabilitation that Aunt Monica had been engaged in for the last thirty years, but I also didn’t want to agonize over it. After this, there were just two more meetings, and then I would never return to this place again. I had promised her a month. Afterward, I would go to my uncle and tell him that I had met with death row inmates in accordance with Aunt Monica’s program and freed myself of the neurosis of death while spreading the Gospel to them. Then my uncle would be happy. Because he was a good man. And because it was so easy to fool good people. The less they deceive others, the more they think others never deceive them. But I wasn’t sure if he was going to stare right back at me and say,
I wish you would cry.
If he did, then I would tell him I was sorry. Sorry, because, in any case, my uncle was a good man.
Just like last time, the four of us, including the guard, sat in the Catholic meeting room. Aunt Monica took out the pastries she had brought and set them on the table. And just like last time, she put one in Yunsu’s hands, and he hunched over to take a bite. Since he always had his hands bound like that, whether sleeping or eating or going to the toilet, I thought it was not unreasonable to think death might be preferable.
“Did you stay out of solitary this time?” Aunt Monica asked.
He stopped in the middle of chewing and hesitated. Officer Yi spoke for him and said, “He took it easy this week.” The two of them laughed. Yunsu laughed, too, but only briefly.
“Thank goodness. Don’t go back there, Yunsu. It’s nogood for you or for anyone else. But most of all, it’s hard on you.”
He ate the pastry without saying anything. The look on his face said that the meeting would be too difficult to get through if it weren’t for the pastries. Aunt Monica sat close to him and touched his frostbitten ear. He grimaced from the pain.
“Poor thing. I brought you two blankets so you can bundle up at night.” Aunt Monica clucked her tongue and mumbled to herself, “Those judges and prosecutors should try spending a few nights in those unheated cells. Must be so cold.”
Yunsu swallowed a bite of pastry and coughed. Aunt Monica picked up his coffee and brought it to his lips. He reared his head back shyly.
“Drink it. It’s okay. If I’d married and had children, you would be about the age of my youngest. I wish we could unshackle you, but we can’t. It must be so hard. You’re holding up well, though. If you can endure this place, then you can endure any place.”
To my surprise, Yunsu obediently replied, “Yes, ma’am.” Aunt Monica carefully fed him the coffee as if she were giving milk to a baby. He drank the coffee she offered him just as a baby would. But he looked like he was in agony. I don’t think he could have looked more pained if I had been holding a piece of burning charcoal to his head.
“I got the books you sent me,” he said.
“You did? Did you read them?”
“Yes. I mean, I didn’t have anything else to do, and I was
rape and murder of a seventeen-year-old girl.
They faced off inside of me: on one side, a snowman lying on its side; on the other, bulls readying their horns.
His face looked paler than last time. A faint but awkward smile flickered around the corners of his eyes, which had not yet entirely lost their murderous gleam. I had zero intent of cooperating in this trite parade of so-called rehabilitation that Aunt Monica had been engaged in for the last thirty years, but I also didn’t want to agonize over it. After this, there were just two more meetings, and then I would never return to this place again. I had promised her a month. Afterward, I would go to my uncle and tell him that I had met with death row inmates in accordance with Aunt Monica’s program and freed myself of the neurosis of death while spreading the Gospel to them. Then my uncle would be happy. Because he was a good man. And because it was so easy to fool good people. The less they deceive others, the more they think others never deceive them. But I wasn’t sure if he was going to stare right back at me and say,
I wish you would cry.
If he did, then I would tell him I was sorry. Sorry, because, in any case, my uncle was a good man.
Just like last time, the four of us, including the guard, sat in the Catholic meeting room. Aunt Monica took out the pastries she had brought and set them on the table. And just like last time, she put one in Yunsu’s hands, and he hunched over to take a bite. Since he always had his hands bound like that, whether sleeping or eating or going to the toilet, I thought it was not unreasonable to think death might be preferable.
“Did you stay out of solitary this time?” Aunt Monica asked.
He stopped in the middle of chewing and hesitated. Officer Yi spoke for him and said, “He took it easy this week.” The two of them laughed. Yunsu laughed, too, but only briefly.
“Thank goodness. Don’t go back there, Yunsu. It’s nogood for you or for anyone else. But most of all, it’s hard on you.”
He ate the pastry without saying anything. The look on his face said that the meeting would be too difficult to get through if it weren’t for the pastries. Aunt Monica sat close to him and touched his frostbitten ear. He grimaced from the pain.
“Poor thing. I brought you two blankets so you can bundle up at night.” Aunt Monica clucked her tongue and mumbled to herself, “Those judges and prosecutors should try spending a few nights in those unheated cells. Must be so cold.”
Yunsu swallowed a bite of pastry and coughed. Aunt Monica picked up his coffee and brought it to his lips. He reared his head back shyly.
“Drink it. It’s okay. If I’d married and had children, you would be about the age of my youngest. I wish we could unshackle you, but we can’t. It must be so hard. You’re holding up well, though. If you can endure this place, then you can endure any place.”
To my surprise, Yunsu obediently replied, “Yes, ma’am.” Aunt Monica carefully fed him the coffee as if she were giving milk to a baby. He drank the coffee she offered him just as a baby would. But he looked like he was in agony. I don’t think he could have looked more pained if I had been holding a piece of burning charcoal to his head.
“I got the books you sent me,” he said.
“You did? Did you read them?”
“Yes. I mean, I didn’t have anything else to do, and I was
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