Pathology

Originally Written By : Decadence
Translated into English By : 익명

 

  Dark blood ran across the surface of the dead. Running against personal emotions always resulted in pain. People thought of it as an illness, a disease — so searching for a reason of the latter would be no more than pathology. It was never easy; how could one become an invalid without getting sick? SeulGi could not stop the pathology of agony. Of course the pain of the disease stayed sharp still — never erased, like a scratch drawn to concrete. Never to be gone, only to be hidden by yet another scar. So far it has stayed that way, and never will it change.
  
  
  Scenery outside the window was in an uproar at nightfall. The Queer Parade and a protest of the former were held simultaneously — as if setting a backfire. SeulGi thought she had become numb of the event — but witnessing it through the window made her feel as if she scraped her head with her own nails. Protestants. She thought; closing the window and draping her curtains shut. One just cannot live without looking and hearing things one wish not to, but it was a clear mental benefit to try when she could. SeulGi raised the volume of her headphones, listening to a classic symphony. To tell the truth, she was nowhere near a classic listener. But it was a small hobby of hers, playing famous pieces of music and feeling welcomed by some fond classics. Reminding oneself that no such harmony existed in life — at least in a natural one. As The Four Seasons played its last note, SeulGi took off her headphones. The deadline for her writing was drawing near. Serializing a novel for the literary circle was always like that — the last month busiest of the three she received. It had been that way this spring, and no differences were made this summer.
  
  Empty hearts were filled from evening to next dawn. Only stories poured out onto the manuscript remained as a locus. Ashtrays were filled, and mugs stained with dark coffee stayed on her side. The sun rose — calming down her racing heart, disturbing her peaceful mind. Hearts filled with loneliness sank back to its original place. Warmth sent by coffee and delusions full of smoke could not handle the problem fundamentally. Vacancy existing in her heart was not filled by rubbing skin shared with another woman — as the latter was not her long missed lover. Somewhere deep down, it was still empty. SeulGi collapsed onto her bed, instantly feeling blinded by sunshine coming from the crack of her curtains. Stretching out her leg, she closed the curtains once more with her toes.
  
  Hunger awoke her slumber late at night, her back full of sweat. Every inch of her body was burning hot and aching. SeulGi roughly washed a green apple in the sink. Biting it through the shell helped some of the heat in disappear. Putting down her bitten apple, SeulGi swallowed a pill of Tylenol. The action itself seemed to have meaning, as she felt instantly better after the pill went down . A message by the editor was sent to her phone.
  
  [It seems that the days have become much colder lately, I wonder how you are doing. Autumnal deadlines are approching—]
  
  SeulGi swept only through the previews, and erased the message. She sat down, smoke between her lips as a habit. As she did, SeulGi thought of the French author who died of lung cancer. She used to come up with his name whenever she needed an excuse of her habits to SeungWan. It’s only natural that artists smoke — Sartre did too you know. Despite of her lack of interest in existentialism, SeaulGi always mentioned the name Jean-Paul Sartre. Only then would SeungWan tell her to stop speaking nonsense, and ask SeulGi what she would do if SeulGi died earlier than her due to lung cancer. Despite the fact that everything was in past-tense now, that was how life had been when the two were still together. SeulGi’s cigarette burnt out. She picked up her pen, letting go of the leftover cigarette . Writing; it had nothing to do with creativity. It was a battle — a harsh, lonely battle between a feeble being and the world.
  
  In fact, there was not much that SeulGi could change, even after her debut as a star author. The pen she thought mightier than the sword turned out to be very limp. People who had a certain interest in literature, and who were quite open minded. Only people who intersected with both conditions were interested in her writing. Only few people listened to the problems of fundamental gender equality and ual minorities, even when SeulGi cried out about them until her hands were bleeding. Even then, she was not able to fall down to defeatism. In spite of the immeasurable wall in front of her, SeulGi swung her hammer with torn-out hands. Never falling in front of the flawless wall. Ironically, that was what kept SeaulGi alive.
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  The two were rough from start. SeulGi; who stuck herself at the corner of a public study room to become a author, and SeungWan, who was stuck next to the former to become a police officer didn't seem to have a speck of sunshine for their future — as their relationship began only when they left the 5-square-metered study room to share a 40-square-metered semi-basement as a roommate. Though their body was close together, they did not have time; not even for a quick chat. Nevertheless, attachment to one another grew like weed on a harsh environment. After SeulGi was turned down by the publishing house for the tenth time, and SeungWan failing her police examination — which were held once a year — for the second time, the two kissed one another below the moldy ceiling wallpaper, their lips stained with vodka. Come to think of it, they might have shared the words I love you — their tongue twisted, due to all the vodka.
  
  The two spent another year of sorrow, hunger, and unbearable heat and cold. They were lucky. SeulGi made her debut, winning a renowned literary award. SeungWan, proudly passed her exam and became a policewoman. Their 40-square-metered house became history, as they both earned enough money for a 60-square-metered studio. The aloe pollen raised by the two for SeulGi, the electric rice cooker used by both for SeungWan; that was the way they packed their things. However, their love was constant, despite their change of environment.
  
  The two girls lived as lovers for much longer. Change of mind due to financial improvements in life — such things did not happen between the couple. But things dramatically changed after SeungWan’s sudden outing. Neither knew how news spread about their relationship. But contempt, even at its lowest choked both their necks. All they ever wanted was quiet, cautious love; suddenly treated like a dirty freak was no different than physical abuse. The promise that they have made — to come out to the world then the time is right, became meaningless.
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  When SeulGi finished her novel for the autumnal literacy circle, and passed her papers to the editor, SeulGi received an interview request for the first time in a long time. She made it to the cafe around noon. It was said that it was a series of interviews for rookie authors in the spotlight this year — the term flattered her. Yerim — an editor she has seen since her debut — was there, waiting for her.  SeulGi sat face to face with her, a coffee cup between them. Soon the interview started, and Yerim threw the questions that she had noticed SeulGi beforehand. What are your latest interests? What is the message of your recent novels? On which direction, do you think your literature should be headed? Cliche questions for an interview, intentions clear to fill the small curiosity of readers. SeulGi answered the questions skillfully, as she had already thought about the answers beforehand.
  
  “Next up is, what do you think about people telling you you write too much about the same topics?”
  “Society does not change. That makes me unable to move on to the next stage.”
  “Then if those problems are solved, what would the next task for you to handle be?”
  “It won’t. It probably doesn’t even have a way to be solved. At least while I am still writing … therefore, I have not thought about such a thing.”
  
  Yerim wrote down every word SeulGi said. SeulGi watched her hand, unmoving. Unlike her own, Yerim’s hands were busy gliding onto paper, moving and alive. The cafe was quiet inside. Waiting for her next words, SeulGi listened the humming of music played in careful volume. Dance music — unsuitable for such a conversation they were having. It was like pieces of lemon randomly placed on any food, just in case. SeulGi sipped her coffee, which was now cool enough to drink. Caffeine and nicotine was needle and thread. She arose, temptations for smoke filling her.
  
  “Umm, excuse me, I’m just going to take a quick smoke.”
  “You won’t go home without telling me, would you?”
  “Of course not. When are you going to stop accusing me for that? The last time I did such a thing was 3 years ago.”
  “Just joking. I’ll wait for you.”
  
  SeulGi lit up her smoke at the terrace behind the cafe. She liked it — for it had an ashtray made of broken mug cups, filled with leftover coffee beans. It was also a good thing that people didn’t come by too much around. Maybe that was the reason why she went to the same cafe for years. It was a strange thing that people were over sensitive with woman smoking — SeulGi was better off with fewer eyes around. She chuckled, thinking about her first interview, which she ran away, excusing herself with some time to smoke. I couldn’t help it. SeulGi popped down to the wooden chair, distinguishing her cigarette butts with the coffee beans. Memories of the day flooded into her — SeungWan calling her, telling that she had something to say. The anxiety she felt with the tone of her lover’s voice.
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  “How long could we be happy?”
  
  SeulGi went to the park behind the library, after leaving Yerim behind at the interview. SeungWan asked with calm voice, under the shade of a big tree. Wind blew, making the leaves fall much quicker than it should. SeulGi had the illusion that the cruel aura coming out of her lover was slowly making the tree dry to death. And despite the presence of parting right in front of her, she thought about the answers to SeungWan’s question. Until when, could we be happy? No, even now, are we happy? With the tightly-closed lips of her lover in front of her, SeulGi dropped her head. Now knowing that her heart was closed as tight as her lips, SeulGi could not dare look at SeungWan in the eye.
  
  The eyes that once felt as if all her senses would fall into made her scared now. SeulGi thought for a moment, and breathed out the words that would end their relationship.
  
  “That, I do not know. But I do know when we would be happy.”
  “When is that?”
  “When we do not have to wonder when we would become happy. Then I will begin to feel happy a hour advance.”
  
  SeulGi said, thinking about the fox in The Little Prince. The two girls knew that they were not happy by heart yesterday, and the same it had been for today. And the fact that the world would not let go of them even when tomorrow came. At his last moments, Saint-Exupéry died flying an observation plane across northern Africa. Their love was alike him. The plane fell onto the dry desert sand weakly. And it broke into pieces — never to fly again. With rays of intense sunshine and sandy winds, SeulGi and SeungWan became mummies. It was an example of an aerial sepulture — not like cremation or burial. Only done by the passing wind. As SeungWan opened , sand came crumbling out of . Crackled voice came out.
  
  “Such a thing would not happen. Yet, you need to stay happy. You might want to quit smoking.”
  “If you say so, maybe I should …”
  “You must.”
  “…. I loved you.”
  
  If there anything more left to say? No, anything that I forgot to say? In a question that no means yes and yes means no, SeulGi told her beloved about her last love for her. As SeulGi came back to her senses, she noticed she had been called by Yerim several times. She called her back, telling her that she was sorry. She did not remember what happened exactly, for she had been out of her mind too much to do so. Plus, it was quite a long time ago. Things left in here memories were such like receiving another interview a week later, and finishing it at the same cafe. If breaking up with her first love felt like pulling out a baby tooth, parting with SeungWan felt like several back teeth strongly bound into pulled out at once. Naturally, it bled much longer, and made her dizzy.
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  “Kang, are you okay?”
  “Yeah, I just spaced out a bit. Where were we?”
  “We asked you what would you write when you finish the novel you are writing now. Is there anything that you wrote just in case?”
  “No, but I do have plans.”
  “Can we understand that as you will not have any time for rest?”
  “Yes, you can.”
  
  SeulGi’s interview was on the autumnal circle, as well as her novel. And during the winter, her novel was finally finished. During that early December, SeulGi received a wedding invitation from SeungWan. Nothing changed. She now vaguely knew what caused her illness, but it was impossible to diagnose a something that was not a disease in the first place. SeulGi also knew that very well. She was only finding a way to be free of her illness. Nevertheless, SeulGi did not give up. She was planning to publish a book with her new writing, and the novel she finished. It was only for the book itself. Nor it was for the editor’s advice. Defining her past — becoming an invalid without getting sick — was meaningful itself.
  
  In spite of the time that passed, never could SeulGi forget the sorrow of being alienated because of her feelings for SeungWan. In any case, her beloved SeungWan would have become a good mother now, in a happy family. SeulGi wished her to be so. She placed the invitaion card in front of her, and wished happiness of the one who had no choice but to leave her. No tears were shed, no pain was felt. She was only confused, whether the paper in front of her was really just a wedding invitation or — it was a medical certificate; diagnosing her illness once more. Pressing the tip of her pen, she felt her thumb ache bitterly. Dark water dripped down. The liquid flowing onto paper was not water-based ink. They were tears; shed by the heart which died of illness.
  
  Today as well, dark blood ran across the surface of the dead. Running against personal emotions, always resulted in pain.