It was the year I turned eight, late in the winter when the piles of snow were starting to melt and turn to slush. That day I was taking the private school entrance exam, standing there, stamping my freezing feet, waiting my turn in front of the classroom. The school was notoriously difficult to get into; it was for the richest people in the city, and I still remember the shiny hardwood floor of the hallway was cold as ice. The reason I’d applied to that school was purely due to my mother’s greed. There was a public school near the house where we rented a room back then; it was practically on the other side of the wall, but my mother had to drag me all the way to this school that was more than half an hour’s walk. The moment I stepped inside, I realized it was a place I was not meant to be. I understood at a glance that the kids there were of a different species than me. And most of all, even at that age, I could see how it just didn’t look right—my mother standing there stuck between the other parents. To put it bluntly, this wasn’t the kind of school where the parents were going to welcome a woman who sold drinks at a market stall.
Finally, it was my turn. With my mother holding my hand, I entered the classroom where the test was given. Five or six teachers were sitting in front of a window facing me. One of them told my mother to please wait there. Mom stayed standing by the door, and I walked up to the teachers by myself. They asked for my name and age first. I answered them in a loud and confident voice, the way I’d practiced over and over.
—What’s your father’s name?
They all wore nice suits and ties; one woman teacher wore glasses. It was the first time in my life so many adults were looking at me.
—Your father’s name? Don’t you know your father’s name?
They repeated their question but I still wasn’t able to answer. I actually didn’t know my father’s name—no one had ever asked me before and I’d never been told. My mother, still by the door, answered for me in an urgent voice:
—She doesn’t have a father.
—Is he deceased?
—No…that is…how can I tell you about all the hardships we two had to live through…
—That won’t be necessary, the older, dignified teacher, said, cutting her off. Then he asked me:
—Is salt bitter or sweet?
I was confused, squinting at the bright light that came through the window in front of me.
—Quickly, please. Is the taste of salt bitter or sweet?
The voice, still so soft and calm, urged me to answer. My feet were going numb and I thought I was going to go blind from the dazzling sunlight that streamed through the window behind their backs.
—It’s b-bitter!
That’s all that came to me after a long pause. But even as I spat out those words, I knew I’d given the wrong answer. My mother shouted from where she was standing by the door:
—No, you little brat! Bitter salt?! Salt is salty! Answer again! Now! Tell them salt is salty!
But for some reason, I couldn’t open my mouth. My mother’s face was twisted in despair.
—What are you waiting for? Answer, quick! Tell them: Teacher, salt isn’t bitter, it’s salty…. Like that! Answer like that!
—Enough. We’re done here. You can go out with your daughter, said a calm, young voice, straight out of the light.
But my mother didn’t give up.
—Please, sirs and ladies, ask one more time. She’ll answer right this time. Please give this poor little girl who grew up without a father another chance….
—We’re done, ma’am. You can take her out now, please.
—You stupid bitch! Answer, quick! What does salt taste like?
I couldn’t speak. For some reason I couldn’t open my mouth. I couldn’t move a muscle, as if my whole body had turned to stone.
Those unfamiliar faces in the dazzling sunlight, that suffocating silence, my mother’s twisted face—the memory of that terrible moment remained etched in my mind for a long time. Even now, after twenty years, I realize I’m still not able to get away from that question. Even now, I’m being assaulted by questions that can’t be answered.
Now you’re asking me who I am. But unfortunately, I don’t know the answer to that question. I know only one thing for certain: the fact that you’re forcing me to be something other than myself.
“Hey, what’s the matter? You having a dream?”
Shinhye woke up suddenly, terrified. The creased face of the police chief, with his patchy beard, was thrust right up against her nose, and it was only then that she realized she had dozed off for a moment, curled up on the narrow sofa in the corner of the police station. Still, she couldn’t quite tell if this was a nightmare or reality, and her heart was hammering like a drum. She shivered and turned her body to look out the window. The blinding headlights of a car illuminated the glass as it parked in front of the building. She could hear the stuttering of the engine.
“Get ready!” said the chief. “They came from the central station to get you.”
She saw from the wall clock that it was already six a.m.
Her teeth were chattering. Her whole body shook in the grip of the icy cold, and Shinhye thought she must be trapped in yet another bad dream—a nightmare that was reality itself, one from which she could never wake. It made her desperate.
“Look, I’ll give you a little advice up front,” said the chief. “You’re gonna have to be truthful and let everything out when you’re at the main station. You’ll suffer less, too, that way. Understand?”
“What is it you keep saying I have to let out? I already told you I don’t have anything else!”
“Are you gonna keep acting this way? I’m telling you all this for your own good!”
Before the chief had even finished speaking, the door swung wide-open, letting in a blast of cold air. A man in his mid-thirties, wearing a gray jacket, entered the room. He raised his hand absentmindedly to salute the chief before rushing directly to the stove, his body shuddering from the cold.
“Inspector Nam! It’s good of you to run down here so early in the morning. You’re still on duty today?”
“Don’t even ask!” Nam said. “It’s been three days since I got to stretch my legs and get some sleep! And the heater went out again in that piece of crap car—it’s a refrigerator now. Aigo, I just want to beat this, get another day over with as soon as possible. Better off being a monk in some temple somewhere…”
As he spoke, he suddenly noticed Shinhye.
“Is it you?” he said.
His eyes quickly scanned her head to toe. Shinhye, not knowing how to respond, just nodded. He gestured with his hand. It meant she should come closer. Shinhye hesitated before she went to him.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“…Twenty-three.”
“You’re older than you look. What university you from?”
“Sir, I’m not guilty of anything…I just work at the café here and sell coffee. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The inspector’s face was thin and pale, almost white. A blue vein protruding at his temple made him look angry, and at first glance, he looked more like a rural middle school teacher than a police inspector. For a while he simply stared at her without a word. In front of those piercing eyes that seemed to stick to her body, Shinhye felt embarrassed and confused. She didn’t know what to do.
“You’re saying you work at Café Yonggung. You ever see me there?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I remember seeing you. I never forget a woman’s face.” His own face seemed to be lit by a faint smile for some reason. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get going. We don’t have much time.”
“No. I don’t…”
When he pulled her by the arm, she held tight to the armrest of the sofa and wouldn’t let go. She was suddenly like a child seized by a blind fear. “I haven’t committed any crime,” she said. “Why do you need to drag me all the way to the central station for questioning? I’m not going.”
A hard expression came over Nam’s face, as if he were saying You’d better, and suddenly he grabbed her in a bear hug. It was almost playful—she struggled with all her might, kicking her feet, but the more she fought, the more tightly he wrapped his arms around her. She bit him. He screamed and rolled up his sleeve. Teeth marks were clearly visible.
But instead of being angry, he looked at her, his eyes amused.
“Getting cute with me?”
It seemed like he was searching for something on his belt. Shinhye heard the snap of metal and felt a ring of ice tighten around her thin wrist. Strangely, the cold and eerie touch of the steel on her flesh made her lose any will to resist. She had never once imagined the chill of handcuffs could reach all the way into her bones. That specific sensation seemed more real to her than the unbelievable situation she was in.
Shinhye jerked her arm free of the inspector’s grip as soon as they were outside. “Let me go,” she said. “I’ll get in on my own.”
Parked in front of the building in the cold morning fog was a Jeep covered in mud and dust. He pushed Shinhye into the passenger seat, got in, and immediately started the engine.
“Angry? If you’d listened earlier, I wouldn’t have put you in cuffs. If you behave, I’ll take them off in a little while.”
He looked at her and smiled. The inside of the vehicle was bitter cold, the windows white with frost. Outside, the station chief approached.
“Inspector Nam, I’ll join you later. I need a little shut-eye first. I was up all night questioning her.”
“It seems you’ve been working hard, Chief. Who knows? Maybe it’s a big fish you caught after all this time.”
“Well, whether it’s big or not—we’ll have to wait and see.”
The chief’s eyes met Shinhye’s for a moment. He seemed to want to say something to her, but at that moment, the car pulled away. With both hands shackled and wedged between her knees, defeated, Shinhye was jostled about as she looked out of the window at the receding early morning street.
They drove past the café where she worked, the street still dark. The electronics store, the newspaper depot, the Gohang bathhouse, and the Ant Mini Supermarket appeared in the shadows—amidst them was the familiar acrylic sign that read “Café Yonggung.”
Just then, a young woman emerged cautiously from the Manhojang Inn across the street. Shinhye leaned her face against the glass, wondering if she might know her. She was probably a café employee like Shinhye, or a bar girl, leaving after a short night sleeping with the young mine workers. Inspector Nam swerved the car, honking the horn, pretending to sideswipe her. As the woman turned her head in surprise, her pale face, tired and sagging, freshly washed and cleaned of makeup, appeared momentarily in the car’s headlights, then disappeared. Along the bottom of the bank wall, what the drunks had vomited up had turned to slush. A mine worker, still drunk, staggered like a ghost out into the middle of the street. He stopped abruptly and made an obscene gesture at the car.
“Son of a bitch,” the inspector said under his breath as he continued on his way.
Ding, ding, ding!
The bell at the rail crossing rang, and with a loud commotion, a train passed by, every window lit up. Realizing it was the express to Seoul, Shinhye felt a dull pain rising from deep in her heart. It had only been a month since she’d left and yet it felt like whole seasons had passed since then. Suddenly, she felt a nostalgia so intense she thought it would tear her heart.
When she got off the train, a gloomy afterglow still remained of the winter evening, but the unfamiliar mining town that wound along the ravine seemed to be trapped in a darkness as dense as a blanket of carbon paper. It must have been the coal dust covering everything in sight: the coal heaps at the station depot, the muddy and black earth mixed of coal and snow, the miserable shacks clinging to the foot of the barren mountain like a series of identical scabs, everything sunk into the darkest dark as if it had been smeared in black oil pastels. In the pit of that blackness, the lights of the cafés, bars, and inns seemed out of place; their neon lights lit up seductively, competing with each other in the background of this gloaming. Shinhye gazed at all of this for a long time, clinging to the rusty iron railing on the slope leading from the station down to the streets. Those who got off the train with her hurried by and scattered in the dark. But she didn’t have the courage to go down with them. It had been nearly four hours since she had boarded the train, four hours of being gripped by doubt and anxiety, and now that she had arrived at her destination, she was paralyzed. Why did I come all the way here? she thought. What could I possibly do here? Maybe I made an irreversible mistake….
Suddenly, a truck came from the station behind her at a terrifying speed, honking its horn. As she turned around to look, something wet and thick hit her face. The truck passed her, leaving behind the laughter and shouts of the young men on board.
“Hey, we’re coming tonight! Clean up your honeypot and wait for us!”
Shinhye opened her bag and found the toilet paper she had bought from the peddler on the train. She wiped herself again and again. But how odd—at that moment, what she felt was not just disgust but a strange thrill. With her face covered in the sticky saliva of a man she didn’t even know, she’d suddenly felt as if she belonged in this unfamiliar place. All right, let’s give it a try, she said to herself, shuddering. I’m not backing down now. Didn’t this strange and evil land just welcome me in the most fitting way?
“How long will it take?” Shinhye asked.
Inspector Nam had both hands on the steering wheel. Outside town, the road was no longer paved and the melted snow had refrozen into a mix of gravel and ice.
“It’s only around twenty kilometers,” he said. “But since the road isn’t good it’ll take at least half an hour.”
“I meant the interrogation,” Shinhye said. “I haven’t caused any problems since I’ve been here, so I’ll be released quickly, right?”
There was no answer. Shinhye looked at her watch. But it was dead. Maybe it was the battery, but no matter how many times she shook it, the needle-thin hand wouldn’t move.
“The reason I came here…really, I just came to earn some money. You must suspect me because I’m a college student, and I’m working as a café waitress. But that’s the only reason I’m here. I needed money and I couldn’t find another job.”
Still no response. The sun had not come up yet. Rattling like a cart, the old Jeep sped along the white road that stretched like a tunnel into the dark.
The twists and turns of the dark road, its frozen surface, and the low-lying stream shimmered drearily in the headlights. On the hillside, the frightening shapes of trees were illuminated before their bodies stretched out, buried again in the darkness. All of it seemed unreal to Shinhye, like frames of a black-and-white movie flickering momentarily on an old projection screen.
“You like music?”
Inspector Nam put on a cassette. A soft pop song came on. “The Saddest Thing” by Melanie Safka. It was a song she’d loved in high school. Who would have imagined she would be listening to it now in handcuffs?
The inspector was smacking his lips as if he were keeping time with the music. What sort of man is he? Shinhye wondered. He probably wouldn’t be any different from the other men who came to the café, who spewed obscene jokes and tried to grab her arm whenever they got a chance. This thought relieved her for some reason.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
Nam glanced over at Shinhye, still keeping time with his lips. They were red and glistening—enough to make her feel uncomfortable.
“How did you know about me?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Someone reported me, right? Who was it?”
He didn’t answer. Shinhye knew it was a dumb question. Even if he had known, he would never have told her. The plump face of Miss Seol, who worked at the café with her, suddenly came to mind. Had she even gone out tonight? Does she know I’ve been taken by the police?
Miss Seol had worked at the café for more than three years. She was three years younger than Shinhye, just twenty, but given all the things she had endured, Shinhye considered her a far more experienced senior. She said she came from Suncheon in South Jeolla Province and that her original name was Kim Boksun, but she’d changed it herself to Seol Yeonga. Her new surname was “Seol,” she said; “It means ‘snow,’ ” and she had laughed out loud.
“How did you get here?” she asked Shinhye one night. “You really don’t look like the kind of person who ends up in a place like this.”
After their shift at the café, they would sleep in the tiny closet-sized room attached to the kitchen, and Seol would tell Shinhye about all the hardships she had suffered in her life.
“Is there some certain kind of person who comes here?” Shinhye asked.
“Of course! Don’t let my looks fool you—I know how to read people. And from what I see, I can tell you’re someone who’s educated. Just from the way you talk.”
Shinhye felt like she’d just been jabbed in an old wound. The factory workers she once lived with had told her the same thing. No matter how much she tried to be like them, renting the same rooms, wearing the same clothes, eating the same instant noodles together, they’d never accepted her. They always thought of her as being different from them.
“So you’re, what do they call it? A student activist?”
When Shinhye told her about her own past, Seol was immediately full of longing and admiration.
“I knew it. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were special.”
“I’m not a student activist. I’m nothing. It’s just—you told me everything about yourself, and I couldn’t just keep my mouth shut about me. But I’m not the kind of person you think I am.”
“I know what you’re saying,” Seol said. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I know at least that much. It’s such a scary world these days and saying the wrong thing can get you in big trouble.”
Shinhye did not believe it was possible for Seol to have denounced her. If someone had backstabbed her, she suspected it was the madam of Café Yonggung. The one-month contract Shinhye had signed with her was up in three days, and she was due to collect her salary of four hundred thousand won. But if she was arrested by the police, the madam wouldn’t have to pay her. Shinhye blamed herself for being so distrustful, but she couldn’t shake off her suspicion.
The madam always wore bright and elegant traditional dresses when she sat at the counter guarding the entrance to the café. She glossed her plump lips with deep red lipstick and greeted each customer in a high-pitched nasal voice, with a sensual smile, playing the coquette. The men were helpless when she made eyes at them with that voice. She reminded Shinhye of a queen bee surrounded by a swarm of drones who brought her pollen. The madam’s attachment to men and money was truly pathological. According to Seol, she’d been the second wife of a rich mine owner and had inherited the café from him. Even now, there wasn’t a single man of any influence in town whom the madam wasn’t involved with in some way.
When the call had come from the police station last night, it was almost midnight. It was after business hours and there were no customers in the café. Shinhye and Seol were cleaning up together. There were two other employees, but they had gone out on deliveries and hadn’t yet returned.
It was the madam who answered the phone. For a delivery the conversation usually didn’t last more than a few words, but for some reason this call took a bit longer, and the madam only answered “Yes, yes,” or “I understand.”
“Miss Han,” she said when she hung up. “You’re going to have to go out and deliver some coffee. They’re working late at the police station tonight and they just ordered three cups.” Like all the other girls, Shinhye worked there under a different name.
“But it’s almost midnight,” Shinhye said. “Didn’t you say there wouldn’t be any tickets after eleven?”
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t afford to displease these people if I want to stay in business.”
Seol, who was mopping the floor, looked up, worried.
“Shinhye, I can go for you.”
“No, not you,” the madam said. “They want Miss Han.”
“Me? Why do they want me?”
“How would I know? Maybe somebody thinks you’re pretty.”
That was when Shinhye first sensed something was a little off. There was nobody at the police station who knew her. The station was at a three-way intersection on the far end of the street, and unless there was a special reason, the people there didn’t come in very often. It was less than a five-minute walk from the police station to Café Yonggung, but there must have been a dozen other cafés along the way.
Shinhye was about to leave with the thermos bundled up in a cloth. The madam was watching, her arms crossed. “You’re going dressed like that?” she said.
Shinhye wore jeans and a thin gray sweater—not enough for the cold outside—but it was a bother to put on extra clothes, so when she had a delivery, she would just go out in what she had on.
“Why? What’s wrong with these clothes? This is how I always go out.”
“Never mind. Just go.”
The madam had looked a bit upset, but with the thermos bundle in hand, Shinhye pushed open the café door and left without trepidation. Though it was late at night, three officers were at their posts at the police station. Shinhye served them the coffee and stood waiting for them to finish their cups, but she could sense something odd about their behavior. They just sat there, rigid, ignoring their coffee and taking quick sideways glances at her from time to time.
“Could you drink a little faster, please?”
“Why are you rushing us?” said the officer with two leaves on his epaulets.
“I have to hurry back. To close up.”
“You won’t need to go back tonight.”
“Oh?” Shinhye said. “Why?”
“You’re going to have a little chat with us.”
“About what?”
“We’re very interested in you.”
“Oh, that’s scary,” Shinhye said. “I get so scared when a policeman says he’s interested in me. Even if I haven’t committed a crime.” She was just playing along, since what he said was like the usual flirtation of the men when she delivered coffee, and yet she couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.
“Haven’t committed a crime?” the officer said. “Hey, there’s no point in playing innocent. We already know everything.”
“What…do you mean?”
“Jeong Shinhye, the show’s over! You can quit the charade now.” It was the chief, the other man, who had been silently watching until then, speaking for the first time. “Why are you acting so surprised? You want to pretend your name isn’t Jeong Shinhye?”
Without even being aware of it, Shinhye covered her burning cheeks with her hands. She tried to remain as calm as possible. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “That’s my real name. But have I done anything wrong? Is it a crime to change your name to work in a café?”
“Are you going to play this drama to the end, Jeong Shinhye? Do you think we don’t know you were kicked out of college for organizing a demonstration? Who sent you to this little coal town? What are you doing here?”
Shinhye couldn’t even think of what to say in response. Strangely, she had long anticipated this moment when she would be caught, and now that it had arrived, she felt helpless and full of resignation.
The Jeep stopped suddenly.
“I need to take care of something. Be right back,” Inspector Nam said, getting out. When he returned a few moments later, his head and shoulders were dripping wet. The snow had been falling for a while.
He climbed back in the Jeep, but he didn’t seem to have any interest in continuing the drive. He lit a cigarette instead, took a few puffs, and started coughing.
“Shit!” he said. “I can’t even smoke with this damned cold!” He snubbed the tip of the cigarette and put it out. The cassette had run out and, for a moment, there was a strained silence in the vehicle.
“Why aren’t we going?”
“Let’s take a little break. It’s snowing…pretty, isn’t it?”
Shinhye didn’t know what to say.
“I like it when it snows,” the inspector said, his voice suddenly mellow. “It reminds me of my first love, in college, a long time ago in Seoul.”
“You went to college in Seoul?”
She only asked because it seemed to her that he was expecting her to.
Inspector Nam spoke slowly and deliberately in a low voice. “I was in technical school for two years. I had to do my military service after that. Came out on my first leave and my girlfriend had already left me. She tried to hide her tracks, but I found out she married some guy from a rich family. An only son. After I was discharged, I dropped out and studied for the civil service exam. Failed seven times and ended up in the police force.”
She wondered, uneasily, why he was taking his time to tell her all this. He was silent for a moment, then he turned and grabbed her hands.
“What are you doing?”
“No reason to be scared,” he said, smiling. “I’m just removing the cuffs. I told you I’d take them off if you were nice.”
He undid them and took off his jacket.
“Here, put this on.”
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
“Put it on. You’re shaking. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s duck down. It’ll warm you up right away.”
He draped it over her shoulders. Shinhye didn’t know how to interpret that gesture, but she already felt her body getting warm under the jacket.
“It’s curious,” Nam said.
“What?”
“You really don’t look like a student activist.”
“Why? Did you think activists had horns or something?”
“It’s not like that. But, you know, the kind of girl who’s aggressive like a guy, makes you lose your appetite to look at them.”
“That’s not true. Those girls can be sweet and kind just like any other female student. And I’m not an activist. If I was really an activist I wouldn’t be doing what I do now.”
Nam was silent. Maybe he just wasn’t listening to her. Shinhye noticed that he was watching her with a feverish look in his eyes. After a while, he said, still staring at her:
“You have experience with men. Am I right?” His voice was soft and too quiet.
“I…wouldn’t know about that.”
The snow was hitting the windshield and dispersing, the wipers endlessly beating left and right, pushing it aside. But it came back immediately to pile up on the windshield. Suddenly Nam stretched out his hand and touched her face.
“To me, it looks like you enjoy men. I have a good eye. You’re not fooling me.”
“What are you doing? Let’s just get going!”
Shinhye pushed his hand away.
“Working at the café, you must’ve offered up your body a few times,” Nam said. “I have to figure out why you came out here and hid your identity. You’re going to suffer. But I could take care of you. I’m not heartless. If we meet under different circumstances, it could be beautiful. You know what I’m saying? I’m telling you this because I like you.”
She knew exactly what he was saying. Despite the shiver running up her back, she took off the jacket he had put over her shoulders.
“You’ve got the wrong person. I haven’t done anything wrong, so you can investigate me however you want. Just take me to the central police station.”
Nam’s face seemed to harden for a moment, as if he’d been insulted.
“You don’t like me?”
“What’s to like or dislike? I don’t even know you….”
He stared at Shinhye silently for a moment. Suddenly a horn sounded in front of the Jeep. It was a plow coming toward them, clearing snow from the road.
“You think you’re really something special, huh? Now I see you’re one special bitch.”
Shinhye hugged herself. Looking at her, Nam’s eyes shone with a frightening animosity. He abruptly switched on the ignition.