Please Look After Mom - Kyung-Sook Shin [44]
“Did you say Kyun?”
“Yes, Kyun.”
She says that Kyun is going to start middle school next year; your wife has promised to buy him a book bag and a uniform when he does. Kyun. A chill comes over your heart. You listen quietly to Hong Tae-hee’s story. You can’t believe you didn’t know that your wife has been going to the orphanage for more than a decade. You wonder whether your missing wife could be the same woman Hong Tae-hee is talking about. When did she go to Hope House? Why didn’t she say anything to you? You gaze at your wife’s picture in Hong Tae-hee’s newspaper ad and go into your room. From a photo album buried deep in a drawer, you peel off a picture of your wife. Your daughter and wife are standing at the pier on a beach, clutching their clothes, which are blowing astray in the wind. You push the picture toward Tae-hee. “Is this the person you’re talking about?”
“Oh, it’s Auntie!” Tae-hee calls out happily, as if your wife is standing in front of her. Your wife, her brow furrowed against the sun, is looking at you.
“You said you were supposed to read to her? What do you mean?”
“She did all the difficult work at Hope House. She particularly enjoyed bathing the children. She was so efficient that, after she came to visit, the whole orphanage would be sparkling clean. When I asked her what I could do to thank her, she said there was nothing, but one day she brought in a book and asked me to read it to her for an hour each time. She said it was a book she liked but that she couldn’t read anymore, because of her bad eyesight.”
You are quiet.
“It’s this book.”
You stare at the book Hong Tae-hee takes out of her bag. Your daughter’s book.
“The author is from this area. I heard she went to elementary and middle school here. I think that’s why Auntie likes this author. The last book I read her was by this author, too.”
You take your daughter’s book, To Complete Love. So your wife had wanted to read her daughter’s novel. Your wife had never told you as much. You had never even thought of reading your wife your daughter’s books. Does anyone else in the family know that your wife can’t read? You remember how your wife looked hurt, as if you had insulted her, the day you found out that she didn’t know how to read. Your wife believed that you did everything you did because you looked down on her, because of her illiteracy—leaving home when you were younger, yelling at her at times, rudely replying to her questions, “Why do you want to know?” That wasn’t why you did those things, but the more you denied it, the more she believed it to be true. You wonder if you did look down on her, unconsciously, as she insisted you did. You had no idea that a stranger was reading your daughter’s novel to your wife. How hard your wife must have worked to hide from this young woman the fact that she didn’t know how to read. Your wife, wanting so badly to read your daughter’s novel, couldn’t tell this young woman that the author was her daughter, but blamed her bad eyes and asked her to read it out loud. Your eyes sting. How was your wife able to restrain herself from bragging about her daughter to this young woman?
“Such a bad person.”
“I’m sorry?” Hong Tae-hee stares at you, her eyes round, surprised.
If she wanted to read it that badly, she should have asked me to read it to her. You rub your dry, rough face with your hands. If your wife had asked you to read her the novel, would you have read it to her? Before she went missing, you spent your days without thinking about her. When you did think about her, it was to ask her to do something, or to blame her or ignore her. Habit can be a frightening thing. You spoke politely with others, but your words turned