Please Look After Mom - Kyung-Sook Shin [26]
“Since it’s Saturday, the office is probably closed.”
“I guess that’s right.”
The taxi driver is about to say something else, but Hyong-chol takes out a flyer from his pocket and pushes it toward him. “If you see someone like this while you’re driving around, please let me know.”
The driver glances at the flyer. “Is this your mother?”
“Yes.”
“How terrible …”
Last fall, he didn’t do anything even though his sister called to say that Mom was acting strangely. He thought that, at her age, Mom would have ailments and illnesses. His sister ruefully told him that Mom seemed to be fainting from her headaches, but when he called home Mom answered warmly, “Hyong-chol!” When he asked, “Is anything going on?” Mom laughed and said, “I wish there was something going on! Don’t worry about us. What would be going on with two old folks like us? Take care of yourselves.”
“Come visit us in Seoul.”
Mom said, “Okay, we will,” and trailed off. His sister, angry at his indifference, came to his office and shoved into his hands a scan of Mom’s brain. His sister related the doctor’s words that a stroke had occurred in Mom’s brain without her realization. When he listened placidly, she said, “Hyong-chol! Are you really Yun Hyong-chol?” and stared into his eyes.
“She said nothing was going on, so what’s all this?”
“You trust her? Mom always says that. That’s Mom’s mantra. You know it’s true. You know she’s just saying that because she feels guilty about being a burden to you.”
“Why does she feel guilty?”
“How would I know? Why do you make her feel guilty?”
“What did I do?”
“Mom’s been saying that for a long time. You know she has. Let me ask you, why in the world does Mom feel guilty when it comes to you?”
Thirty years ago, after he passed the fifth-level civil-service exam, the first placement he received was at the Yongsan 2-dong office. In high school, when he didn’t get into any university in Seoul, Mom couldn’t believe it. For her it was an obvious reaction. From the early days of elementary school through high school, he had always been the best student in his class. Until he failed to get into college, he had always placed first, no matter which test he took. When he was in sixth grade, he got the best score in the middle-school entrance exam, which allowed him to attend school tuition-free. For three straight years, he was the best student at school, so he never had to pay a cent. He was admitted to high school as the first in his class. “I wish I could pay my Hyong-chol’s tuition at least once,” Mom would exclaim in pride. It was hard for her to understand how someone who was the top student throughout high school didn’t pass the college entrance exam. When they heard that he not only failed to pass at the top but didn’t make it at all, Mom was puzzled. “If you can’t pass, who can?” she asked herself. He had been planning to study hard in college to remain at the top of his class. It wasn’t really a plan—it was his only option. The only way he could go to college was on scholarship. But because he didn’t pass, he had to find another path. He didn’t have the luxury even to consider retaking the test the following year, and he soon figured out what to do: he took two civil-service exams and passed both. He left home, taking the first assignment he received. And a few months later, he learned that there was a night law college in Seoul and decided to apply for it. He realized that he needed his high-school graduation certificate. If he sent a letter asking for a copy and waited for it to come by mail from the countryside, it would arrive after the application was due. So he wrote a letter to his father, requesting that he go to the bus terminal with a copy of the certificate and ask someone coming to Seoul to take it for him. He asked his father to call him at work after doing that—if his father could tell him what time the bus was due to arrive, he would go to the terminal and get the certificate from the person carrying it. He waited