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By Root 319 0

’t even rent the apartment you used to live in with the money you had, but I guess you found this village here. This is just like a village in the country. There’s a café and an art gallery, but there’s a mill, too. I saw them making rice cakes. I watched for a long time, because it reminded me of the old days. Is it almost New Year’s? There were a lot of people making those long, white rice cakes. Even in this city there’s a village that makes those rice cakes near New Year’s! At New Year’s I would cart a big bucket of rice over to the mill to make rice cakes. I would blow on my frozen hands and wait for my turn.

It must be inconvenient, though, to live here with three children. And it must be a long commute for your husband to go to work in Sollung. Is there even a market nearby?

Once, you told me, “I feel like I buy a lot of stuff when I go to the market, but everything goes so quickly. I have to buy three Yoplaits if I want to give one to each kid. If I want to buy enough for three days, that’s nine, Mom! It’s scary. I buy this much, and then it’s all gone.” You held your arms out to show me how much. Of course, it’s only normal, since you have three children.

Your eldest, his cheeks red from the cold, is about to lean his bicycle outside the gate when he is startled by something. He pushes through the gate, calling, “Mom!” Here you are, coming out the front door, wearing a gray cardigan and holding the baby.

“Mom! The bird!”

“The bird?”

“Yeah, in front of the gate!”

“What bird?”

The eldest is pointing at the gate without saying anything. You pull the hood of the baby’s jacket over his head in case he gets cold and come out to the gate. A gray bird is on the ground in front of the gate. It has dark spots from its head to its wings.

· · ·

The wings look completely frozen, don’t they? I can see you thinking about me as you look at the bird. By the way, honey, there are so many birds around your house. How can there be so many birds? These winter birds are circling your house, and they’re not making a peep.

A few days ago, you watched a magpie shivering under your quince tree and, thinking that it was hungry, you went inside and crumbled some bread your kids were eating and sprinkled it under the tree. You were thinking about me then, too. Thinking about how I used to bring a bowl of old rice and scatter the kernels under the persimmon tree for the birds sitting on the naked winter branches. In the evening, more than twenty birds landed under the quince tree, where you had sprinkled the breadcrumbs. One bird had wings as big as your palm. From then on, you spread breadcrumbs under the quince tree every day for the hungry winter birds. But this bird is in front of the gate, not under the quince tree. I know what this bird is. It’s a black-bellied plover. Strange—it’s not a bird that flies around alone, so why is it here? It’s a bird that has to be near the ocean. I saw this bird in Komso, where that man lived. I saw black-bellied plovers looking for something to eat on the mud flats at low tide.

You’re standing still, in front of your gate, and the eldest shakes your arm. “Mom!”

You’re silent.

“Is it dead?”

You don’t answer. You just look at the bird, your face dark.

“Mom! Is the bird dead?” your daughter asks, running outside at the commotion, but you don’t answer.

· · ·

The phone is ringing.

“Mom, it’s Auntie!”

It must be Chi-hon. You take the phone from your daughter.

Your face clouds over. “What are we supposed to do if you’re leaving?”

Chi-hon must be taking a plane again. Tears well up. I think your lips are trembling, too. You suddenly yell into the phone, “You’re all too much … too much!” Honey, you’re not that kind of girl. Why are you yelling at your sister?

You even slam down the phone. That’s what your sister does to you and to me. The phone rings again. You look at the phone for a long time, and when it doesn’t stop, you pick it up.

“I’m sorry, sister.” Your voice has calmed down now. You listen quietly to what your sister is saying on the phone. And then your face gets red. You yell again: