CONJOINED TWINS

The two women were born joined at the head. Their names were An and Chi, Chinese for eyes and teeth. Odd names, to be honest. I had never seen An’s younger sister, Chi. She died at the age of seven from complications after a surgery to separating them. Chi died, and An survived. On An’s face are the marks left from the parting with her sister.

While talking with An, she often covered her hands, which were remarkably small, like a doll’s.

“After graduating from high school, I worked for a long time at a factory that made ship radios. My job was attaching parts to the radio boxes on the assembly line. Have you ever seen a 2mm diameter screw? They’re terribly tiny – hard to pick up if you’re new to the job. It takes some time, but eventually they stick to your fingers like magnets. Actually, stick would be the wrong word; it was more like they embedded themselves into the calluses on my fingers. I screwed on all sorts of parts to radios with those 2mm screws. Nine hours a day. Thirteen hours when I had to work overtime. Doing the same thing over and over: it was very monotonous work. I’d work from 8am to 10am, take a fifteen-minute break, then work again until 12:10, our lunchtime. After lunch, we’d work from 1 to 3, take another fifteen-minute break, then work again until dinner at 5:30. We were only given forty minutes for dinner. And then it was back to work again until 8:30. We had no time to rest outside official breaks. And that was because the conveyor belt could never stop. If one person went to the bathroom, all the remaining workers would have to work that much faster. The radios on the conveyor belt were like a never-ending wave. I would tightly grip my 2mm screws and parts as I stared at the radio chassis marching toward me.”

“Everything is automated these days, isn’t it?”

“Ship radios are all custom orders, so each radio has to be made to specification. Each ship’s a bit different. Some want sets of 200, others want sets of 500. You know, stuff like that. So I guess you can’t automate it.”

“Tell me about your first experience being split in two.”

“We weren’t allowed to listen to the radio at the factory. Listening to the radio of course would lead to music, chatting, and, in general, fun. But as far as the factory manager saw it, listening to radios only increased the probability of defective products. Because of this I always had to work listening to the sound of running motors and metal on metal. Some people are sensitive to the sound of metal on metal. I think I’m one of those people. I tried plugging my ears with this and that, but the sound of metal still seeped through. And now it sounded even louder than before because it was the only sound that I could hear. I worked there doing the same job for eight years. And only four times did I skip overtime.”

“Was overtime mandatory?”

“No, it wasn’t mandatory. I just didn’t really have anything else to do.”

She took a sip of her water. Her hands looked so small as they gripped the cup. They looked like the hands of a seven-year-old. I couldn’t believe those hands could have calluses.

“Not being allowed to listen to the radio, I spent all day daydreaming. I was dreaming about different places. The playground I used to play at as a child; the sidewalks I used to walk while holding my mother’s hand; the alleyways where I used to jump rope with my friends; the art room where I used to hear the praise of my teachers. If you think about it, there are so many places held fondly in our memories. But on that day, what I was thinking about was the flower bed at the end of the factory. There was a flower I would give water and Yakult to during my breaks. Oh, I wish I knew the name of the flower; it would be so much easier to explain. But I’m not very good with flower names. Anyway, it was a tiny little flower with yellow petals. Smaller even than a fingertip. So small, you might not even think it was a flower.”

“So, a flower like yourself.”

Looking somewhat embarrassed, she gave a sheepish laugh.

“But the male workers liked to play foot volleyball around that flower bed. Naturally, it worried me. That day I was terribly sick. So, I went to the employee lounge during lunch to take a nap. But all the while I could hear the male workers kicking the ball; I was so worried about what might happen if their ball landed on the flower. I wanted to open the window and yell at them to not play foot volleyball there. I wanted to admonish them for being so inconsiderate. But I’m not the kind of person to do that. Besides, foot volleyball was the only thing that gave the male workers enjoyment. When the bell rang, I tried getting up, but my limbs felt so heavy. I needed to go back to the conveyor belt, but I was worried. What if they had killed the flower? I kept having an ominous feeling. So, I quickly ran to the flower bed in the back of the factory. Just for a quick look. I could hear the sound of the conveyor belt revving up, even from outside the factory. I ran faster toward the flowerbed. Thankfully, those yellow petals were safe and sound. But when I went back into the factory, there I was, sitting in what should have been an empty seat, screwing 2mm screws like always. It was so strange.”

“What were you feeling?”

“I didn’t have much time to think. I looked at myself for a second, marveling at how strange it was to see myself working, but then I was startled by the head technician who passed me and yelled, ‘Why aren’t you working!’”

“Do you think it was an astral projection?” I asked.

“I’m not good with big words. But if what you’re referring to is like those scenes in movies where your spirit leaves your body, I think it was a little different from that. I was able to leave the factory and eat ice cream and gukbap. And it wasn’t for free, either. I liked watching movies, and it would have been nice if I were a spirit and could enter the movies without buying a ticket.”

“Was your consciousness in both bodies or just one?”

“For the first few minutes, my consciousness was only present in the separated body, but later it was in both.”

“How do you think that’s possible? I mean, the bodies were in two different places at once.”

She let out a slight laugh at my question.

“It doesn’t require much focus to use a screwdriver. The screws basically turn themselves. So, even though my consciousness was in two places at once, I could focus on the body outside the factory. The body inside the factory was really just moving by muscle memory.”

“But wasn’t it a little strange? Watching a movie in one body and looking at radios in the other?”

“No, it wasn’t strange at all. No different from daydreaming about the playground from childhood while screwing together radios.”

“What happened to the separated body after that?”

“My hometown is in Namhae. It’s a beautiful place. Anyway, not long after being separated from my body, I took a bus and went down to Namhae. Of course, my other self was going to work every morning as if nothing had changed. I guess this sounds strange. But that’s what happened. Anyway, I got off the bus and walked to the sports field of my old elementary school. I always used to imagine it while working at the factory. Seeing no students, I figured the school had been closed. I looked around the premises. I went inside the art room; plucked on the reed organ which was missing a few keys; went inside an empty classroom and wrote on the board with a piece of broken chalk as I pretended to be a teacher scolding children, “You there, stop talking!” When I was young, I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. After that, I wiped down the dusty windows as I remembered the way I used to have fun cleaning the classroom with my friends. Swinging on the creaking playground swings, I looked at the leaves on the persimmon tree as I thought to myself how I hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. I had spent the last eight years of my life turning 2mm screws. I just sat there for a long time. Then suddenly, the thought that I was going to die soon came to me. It’s hard to explain, but I just knew I was going to die soon. I quickly left the playground. It would be bad to leave a corpse in a school. Children coming to play would be frightened by the corpse, and people would become suspicious. I thought for a second about where I should go next. Then I ran to where my mother and father’s graves were located. I plucked the overgrown grass surrounding their graves and apologized for not coming more often. Then, lying down, I looked up at the sky and died.”

“You died?”

“Yes, literally. So each weekend, I would go to Namhae to dispose of my dead body. At first I just buried it in the mountains out of fear. But now I go to the hermitage of a Buddhist monk to have it secretly cremated.”

“You mean to say this is a recurring happening?”

“Yes.”

“How many times has this happened to you?”

“I’ve died a total of seven times. And each time I’ve had to dispose of my dead body. The Buddhist monk lays a pile of firewood to burn me, just like a Buddhist cremation. As the body catches fire and the smoke rises, you can smell the scent of burning flesh. I can see the sight of my body shriveling in the flames. And once the flames have subsided, white bones emerge from the ashes. The monk grinds my bones into a fine powder with a mortar and gives it to me. They’re still hot to the touch. Feeling the hot bones, I think to myself, ‘So many beautiful and happy selves have died, but that self which turns 2mm screws all day survives in utter monotony.’”

Seeing her cry as she finished talking, I quietly hugged her. She had a slight frame, no taller than 4’11”, no heavier than 90 lbs. She cried for a long time, so I held her for a long time – that small-handed girl who looked like baby’s breath.