Korean/한국어: 마술사 – 1부
It was the year of loss. First my father, then my job, and finally my mother. After I got fired, I began to spend my days watching people from the top of an abandoned building. That’s where I first saw her— the magician.
It was a morning in early March, and I was sitting cross legged at my usual spot on the roof. I was spying on a couple arguing at a window seat in a coffee shop. So far it was a bit boring– the girl was just yelling and making a scene, but there was nothing physical going on.
Suddenly a flash of bright red flitted by the window. It was a scarf, wrapped around a woman’s neck. She was tall and lithe, dressed completely in black. Her short, cropped hair was so white it looked like she was wearing a helmet.
I followed her with my binoculars as she rushed into the subway station on the street corner. There was a purposefulness to her stride that was out of place with the slow, shuffling movements of the stay-at-home mothers pushing strollers and older people who usually walked the streets at this time. I’d never seen her in this neighbourhood before. Who was she? What was she doing here? I carefully noted the time and day in my notebook: eight twenty two, Sunday morning.
I did not see the woman for another few days, so I decided to camp out at the coffee shop inside the subway station the following Sunday. It was a stretch, but I was desperate to see her again. I had become obsessed with the woman. I’ve always had a bit of an obsessive-compulsive personality.
On bad days my parents brought me into their arguments, each blaming the other for my perceived character flaws. Usually things ended with my mother brandishing a dull knife at my father’s retreating back, bruises blooming on her arms and legs like flowers in spring.
I almost missed the woman rushing past, in her usual purposeful stride. I downed the rest of my cold Americano and followed her down the stairs to the subway platform.
I stood ten feet away from her, making sure that when the train arrived I would still be in the same car as she was. She seemed not to have noticed me at all. She was reading a book, her fingers tracing her progress. Her lips moved ever so slightly, mouthing the words.
The train arrived, the car only half full. I casually walked over and sat across from the woman. She was still engrossed in her book. It was a short story collection, judging by its slimness. I squinted at the title. Something about death. The author’s name looked foreign.
I studied the woman’s face. With her white hair she looked to be about fifty, though if I imagined her with dark hair she could pass for at least ten years younger. Her face was smooth and unlined, her features neither beautiful nor ugly.
She was like a smooth piece of porcelain, elegant in its simplicity. She was dressed in almost exactly the same clothes as the last time I saw her– a black trench coat, black jeans, black combat boots. Her scarf, I noticed, was a slightly different shade of red than last time, and had a subtle argyle pattern distinguishable from the solid print she wore last week.
At Junggye Station she got up, adjusting her black leather messenger bag. I hadn’t noticed before how big her bag was. It looked like she had at least five more books in there. I stood at the doors on the other end of the car, pretending to check something on my phone.
I followed the woman into a hospital near the station. I realized she was heading toward the elevators, and wondered whether I should just leave. But I’d already followed her this far. I pretended to check something on my phone again, and stood behind her with a male nurse standing between us.
The elevator took several minutes to arrive. The woman resumed reading her book, and this time I could read over the nurse’s shoulder to see the title: The Death of Ivan Ilyich and other stories by Leo Tolstoy. She was already three-quarters through.
The elevator arrived, and a total of eight people including us squeezed inside. The woman pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. I looked at the floor index out of the corner of my eye. Fifteenth floor: Hospice. She and I were the only people who got off at fifteenth. I felt a sudden wave of nausea at the smell— sweat, urine and excrement barely masked by strong disinfectant. I waited until she was down the hall and turned the corner.
I saw the edge of her scarf just as it disappeared into a room at the very end of the hall. I walked toward the room stealthily, glancing behind me to make sure no one was watching. The door was ajar, and I peeked into the small room. The woman was sitting with her back to the entrance.
An old woman was lying on a bed, her eyes closed. Her face was completely wasted away, her skin almost translucent. The woman was stroking the old woman’s hand and murmuring something in low tones.
Just as I was about to leave, the woman spoke.
“Excuse me– who are you?” the woman said.
I froze. I realized too late that there was a window directly across from the door, and that the woman had seen me reflected in the glass. I stood still, my back against the wall next to the door.
Even if I were to run down the hall, she’d catch up to me in no time. I could feel a low roaring in my temples.
“I know you followed me from the subway,” she said. I could tell she was standing close to the door.
I stepped into the doorway to face her. She stood a few steps away, her arms crossed.
“I’m sorry. You just looked like someone I knew from a long time ago,” I said, not meeting her gaze.
“Then why didn’t you say anything earlier, on the subway?”
“I guess I would’ve been embarrassed if it wasn’t you.”
“Well, you’re even more embarrassed now, I bet.”
I could feel her eyes boring into me. I nodded.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“S-s-soyeon,” I said, barely able to get it out. Her aggressive curiosity was undoing years of intensive speech therapy.
“I don’t know anyone called Soyeon,” she said. She paused. “My name is Jin.”
At this the old woman on the bed stirred. “Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s no one you know, mother,” the woman said gently, as if talking to a child. “Get some rest.”
At this the old woman nodded, and closed her eyes.
For a few moments Jin and I watched the old woman drift off with the reverent silence of new parents watching their baby. Finally, Jin broke the silence with a whisper.
“Shall we get a cup of coffee, then?”
