HOSPITAL ROOM

“How are things at the center?” Professor Kwon asked as he put down the book he was reading.

“Same as always. Messy, disordered, unreasonable… not to mention the absurd phone calls.”

“I heard you went to Mt Taebaek recently?”

What a peculiar old man. How did he know about that, lying here in his hospital bed? That stubbornness which means he doesn’t believe in the people closest to him; that paranoia which causes him to have unbearable anxiety if he doesn’t have his feelers out – that’s what ruined Professor Kwon. Pretending not to have heard his question, I turned my head slightly to look out the window.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“If I hadn’t gone to Mt Taebaek, Mr Hwang would be in a coffin by now. And a big one at that, seeing as he’s a big man.”

“Don’t waste your time. And besides, that magician’s a fake.”

“I saw him levitate a sphere of alcohol.”

“You fell for that trick? Even illusionists can do that. Tell me, after showing you his trick, did he start reminiscing about magic in the old days?”

“The important thing is not whether he’s a fake or not. What’s important is hope.”

“So did that fat ass get hope? After being fooled by fake magic, does he believe he can turn into a cat?”

“He been jogging every morning and even bought a membership at the gym. He also says he’s going to go hiking on the weekends and learn yoga. He’s healthier than he’s ever been. Those are life changes he couldn’t have imagined even in his wildest dreams.”

“We’re not miracle workers, Deok-geun. We can’t do anything for them and nor should we try.”

“Then why for the last thirty years have you obsessed over that old cabinet? If you can’t give them even the smallest bit of hope? I didn’t go all the way to Giseok on my precious weekend because I wanted to.”

I was surprised at my sudden outburst. Professor Kwon also looked surprised. He looked like he was about to say something but then stopped, which was unlike him. He turned to look out the window and stayed silent for a while. The two of us just gazed outside without talking. The hospital room was quiet. The room, which Professor Kwon had all to himself, was so quiet that you could even hear the dripping of the IV fluid. Come to think of it, it was strange that Professor Kwon had chosen to upgrade himself to a single. I have never once seen him spend extra money on himself or for others. He even took the bus and train when going to the provinces for business trips. And because the strange people we dealt with often lived far from civilization, he sometimes would walk for the better part of a day just to get there. He always bought a banana and a castella for lunch. He liked castella. I hated it. Even so, we always ate castella. “There’s not a cheaper nor a better way to eat lunch than castella,” Professor Kwon once told me. I told him about a million other foods that were cheaper and better than castella. And yet we always ate castella. And this was the guy who chose to have a hospital room all to himself. It was an unusual extravagance.

After staring out the window for some time, Professor Kwon finally spoke:

“We look after the files, that’s all we do. I wish we could do something for them, but we don’t have that ability. And besides, when it comes to surviving in this cold world, futile hope does more harm than good. We’re just custodians: people who put files into the cabinet and lock the drawer. Nothing more, nothing less. I hope you remember that.”

His voice was low and lacking in vigor, which was also unusual for him. “If you do something like that again, I’ll bash in your teeth with a hammer.” This was what he would say normally. Saying in a low, feeble voice, “I hope you remember that,” didn’t sound like Professor Kwon at all. Perhaps thinking that I had got the message, Professor Kwon didn’t say anything more about my taking Mr Hwang to see the magician. He turned again to look out the window and fell asleep watching the oak tree outside. I look at his face for some time.

Professor Kwon was dying. Cancer and cirrhosis were simultaneously taking over his liver. When Professor Kwon asked the doctor, who was also his friend from high school, if he would be OK, the doctor smiled bitterly as he said, “When it comes to livers, there are no miracles.” It wouldn’t have been so bad if the doctor had said, “Well, let’s wait and see,” but that’s not what the doctor said. Livers never experience miracles. Professor Kwon should have looked after his health a little and not been so obsessed with research and organizing files. If only he’d eaten something healthier than cup ramen and castella.

As there weren’t going to be any miracles, it was settled that Professor Kwon was going to die. Even he knew it. He wasn’t married, and because he had no wife and was conservative when it came to relationships, he didn’t have any children either. All he did his whole life was research. But even so, because he hadn’t published a paper in forty years, no one was interested in his research.

Why in the world did he use me as an assistant? Over the last forty years, he never once had an assistant, nor did he have any students; so why did he entrust the management of all these monsters to me of all people, someone with no background in science? For the last seven years I’d been asking myself this question. And now that he had only a few months to live, that question was becoming even more nagging. No matter how I looked at it, there was no reason for me to be entrusted with Cabinet 13.

It was late in the evening when Professor Kwon finally awoke. I was just about to head home.

“You’re still here?” Professor Kwon said.

“Not because I was worried about you, or anything like that. I just wanted to avoid rush hour on the train.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

Professor Kwon stared at the ceiling and let out a sigh. It was a warning. He was about to evoke my sympathy and make some sort of great request. But I wasn’t going to be tricked this time. As expected, Professor Kwon turned his head toward me and looked at me with sad, vulnerable eyes. Secretly I wanted to say, “Haven’t you asked enough of me? Just with answering your phone my head feels like it’s about to explode.” But whatever it was that Professor Kwon was going to say, I wasn’t prepared for it. Being prepared. Professor Kwon would know better than me that it’s impossible ever to be prepared.

“You know, right? I don’t have much longer to live. When I die, what will happen to the poor people of Cabinet 13?”

“Why are you asking? Professor, people should have a sense of shame. And they should feel guilty making someone work so hard. And what’s more, I don’t know the first thing about biology, genetics, anthropology, archaeology, or psychopathology. And there’s one other thing you should know; I majored in Korean Literature in college. Perhaps you, as a STEM major, don’t know what that means, but Korean literature majors research useless things like features of vowels and consonants; there’s nothing I’m qualified to talk about in those files except for the fact they’re written in Hangul.”

“No, you’re perfect. You’re perfect because you’re outlandish and stupid. And you’re terribly sincere. I can tell that just from seeing how you fell for that stupid parlor trick and how you’ve worked for seven years without any compensation.”

“I didn’t do it because I’m stupid; I did it because I pitied you.”

“Even better. You’re not just stupid, you’re sympathetic, too. Must be hard living in this cruel world.”

“Do you really intend on making me your successor?”

“My successor? I’m just a failed scientist and a loser. Someone like me doesn’t have any need for a successor. I just need someone to look after those poor people when I’m gone. Someone like you.”

“I can’t do anything.”

“You’re just like me, then. For the last forty years, I haven’t been able to use the power of worthless science to help those people. In fact, you’re much better than me. You’re stronger and nicer. I’m not asking you to do everything I did. I just want you to record and safekeep. And in such a way that people understand symptomers are not dangerous or dirty monsters, but our new descendants, and eventually, the new destiny we must come to accept.”

“Isn’t there anyone more suited for the job? Like another researcher in the field?”

“They don’t understand. Science is stuck in a hole it created for itself.”

Professor Kwon grabbed my hand with his, a hand that was now just skin and bones because of a liver that couldn’t detoxify anything anymore, a thin hand that was black and brown from all the needles. The hand was cold despite having come from underneath his blankets.

“I’m begging you.”

I didn’t know what to do. And the fact I didn’t know what to do was obvious to Professor Kwon because I lacked any skills or talent that would allow me to do anything. But I couldn’t say no to a dying man; I had to at least lie. And yet, it felt like I was going to regret it if I said even a single word. Professor Kwon was reaching the end of the road, which was sad, but no one lives forever. Couldn’t I say something humanitarian and encouraging at least? Then I remembered how much I resented him for having done nothing for me over the last seven years. How could he think of asking this of me? But then again, wouldn’t it be too cold to say no to a dying man? I was afraid, too; taking over Cabinet 13 wasn’t your everyday request. But here was Professor Kwon, batting his big, sad eyes at me.

So I hesitated. Why did I have to take over that headache of a cabinet? Professor Kwon had devoted forty years of his life to it; what more could I do? Wouldn’t I first need to read some books on genetic engineering, molecular biology, and Mesopotamian hieroglyphs? These questions seem like they might have been smart things to consider in the moment, but actually, at the time, I wasn’t thinking much. There was no way I was smart enough to consider all of this on the spot.

I was probably thinking instead about the bathroom on the fourth floor of the office. In that bathroom there’s a large steel fan that spins round and round, and as it spins it slices and devours the smoke from my cigarette. I sit there with some coffee, a newspaper, and a cigarette as I take a satisfying shit, and as I sit there I always imagine absurd things, like my soul floating away with the smoke, up to the fan, where it is cut into tiny pieces before dissipating through the grates.

My tongue started to move on its own as the last remaining logical thoughts in my head were sliced up and dispersed by the memory of this fan blade, unable to reform into definite shapes.

“Professor Kwon, Cabinet 13 scares me.”

Professor Kwon stared at me for a moment with a look of regret. Even so, he didn’t press me any further. After saying goodbye to Professor Kwon, I took my bag and left the hospital room.

“Was I being too selfish?” I asked myself on the way home.

“You’ve always been selfish,” I replied.