b Book and Me Read online

  When I was sick or lonely, I always dreamed about going to the End. In my dream, b lived there, because she was turning into a fish. If the people in the city saw b turning into a fish, they’d report her to the police or shut her up in a zoo, but that didn’t happen in the End. People there weren’t bothered by something like that. I’m turning into a fish. I need a house, b would say, scratching at her scales. A man would reply, Is that so? I know someone who’s turning into a plate… and he’d get her a room to stay in. So b—turning into a fish—lived next door to a person who was turning into a plate. When I went to visit b, she had pulled a blanket over herself. I said, Hi, and she crawled out from under it. b’s chest was covered with scales, and in the light they sparkled in all the colors of the rainbow. Feel it, said b. I felt it. Her chest was as cold as ice. b wasn’t going to leave that room until she’d completely changed. When I’m finished turning into a fish, b said, scratching at her neck, put me in the ocean. b’s shorter and thicker neck had faint, crimson lines—she was growing gills. b held my hand. Her fingers had shrunk. You have to come here every day to see whether I’ve finished turning into a fish or not. Or else I might die. Then she started making noises like air escaping, shii, shii. The shape of her face sharpened. Her eyes grew apart. I took a few steps backward. b’s face shined silvery. I screamed. I always woke up from the dream at that moment. Then I’d run to Grandma, crying. Grandma wouldn’t wake up, but it was warm in her arms, and scale-free. “Grandma,” I’d whisper, “I’m not going to turn into a fish. I’m not going to be anything.” And then I’d hug Grandma’s arm tightly and close my eyes. Soon I’d fall into a dreamless sleep.

  11

  Sometimes I did well on tests; sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes I studied hard; sometimes I didn’t study at all. Sometimes I did all my homework; sometimes I didn’t do any of it. My mom and dad didn’t care either way. Whether I finished my homework a hundred times in a row, or skipped it a hundred times in a row, my mom and dad didn’t care. They were constantly frowning, busy with other stuff. When they were home, they were usually asleep. Occasionally, if they were just sitting, not doing anything, they would say, I’m tired, go away. So I was angry. I was angry and I wanted to bring my mom the hundred pieces of homework I hadn’t done and ask her, Why did you have me in the first place? But in the end I didn’t. I decided not to care about my parents either. No, I decided to pretend not to care. Instead I’d go to Grandma. When I lay down on Grandma’s lap and closed my eyes, she told me exciting stories. She talked about things I didn’t know anything about, like the End and hunger and war. Grandma was getting gradually younger. She liked eating candy, and took clothes out of the drawers to refold them a hundred times a day. She kept forgetting to eat and got angry at us. But when she told me stories, Grandma didn’t seem like a child. She remembered everything and told them superbly.

  Through the window in my room on the second floor, I could see two-story houses that looked exactly like our house. At night, cross signs lit up on top of the houses. Against their glow, the stars dimmed. I’d close my window, lie on my bed, and either do or not do my homework. When I got hungry, Grandma called out to me. Most of the time, I lay still on my bed instead of doing my homework. I didn’t read or listen to music or think about boys I liked. Time didn’t seem to flow at all, as though I was in a lukewarm puddle. Everything was quiet and still, like air in a closed room. That was my world. I liked it.

  12

  The teachers at school had never liked me, particularly my homeroom teacher, because I would work hard for a while, and then not at all. But that spring, the boys in class began to hate me as well. They didn’t have a reason. And the teachers who hated me pretended not to notice. One day, I fell flat on my face in the schoolyard, because a boy had punched me. I fell to the ground then rolled over. The boy’s friends laughed hard. Blood was coming out of my nose, and I could see the sky clearly. About ten boys were looking down at me, their faces seeming to think hard about what to do with me. I continued to watch the sky. The boys continued to stare at me. When I turned my head to the side, I saw in the distance, between the legs of the boys, my homeroom teacher carrying a parasol with flowers on it. The flowers were lilies. I knew that my teacher saw me but that she was pretending she didn’t. Of course, the boys knew it as well. So then I pretended with them. We all pretended. A boy kicked at me. I rolled to the right. Then I rolled to the left, then back to the right again. As I rolled, it occurred to me that it was everyone who was watching. That is: the sky, the school, my teacher, Glasses, b, Grandma, my dad, my mom—they were all watching me, but they all pretended not to. That thought made me sad. But I held back the tears with all my strength. Then I stopped rolling and opened my eyes…to see b.

  b, holding a recorder in each hand, was running toward the boys, brandishing them. She reminded me of Don Quixote. The boys stepped back, saying, whoa, whoa. I picked myself up. Don Quixote snatched my hand. She was still waving a recorder with the other. She led me, and we slipped quickly away. A parasol with lilies on it approached, little by little, then moved farther away. Soon, the school’s green gate appeared. Once we’d passed through the gate, five corner stores welcomed us. My right hand, wet with blood from my nose, was still held in b’s. I saw Glasses in the second store. He was peering into the ice cream freezer, holding his workbook in one hand. Glasses! I yelled. Glasses looked at me, surprised. I waved. He vanished into the distance immediately.

  Soon thereafter we were passing Seoul Supermarket. Then we passed the Hahaha Karaoke Lounge and a convenience store, then Seoul Tours, Seoul Kitchen, Seoul Dental Clinic, and Seoul Eyewear, then every other Seoul, still running. I ran with my nose stained red. b ran with one hand gripping two recorders. I was gasping for air. My tongue lolled. The blood on my hand had dried, become powder, and fallen on the ground. The sky shook. A flock of seagulls flew around and around above my head. Salty sand clung to my cheeks. Flat, washed-out houses appeared. The road, and then the sky, widened. And then, here and there, the road started to vanish. There was sand scattered over the disappearing road. The road finally vanished altogether, and we jumped down onto the sand. When I lifted my head, I saw sky, the pale sun, and the breakwater. I saw the waves and the clouds spread low over them. I saw the sea.

  13

  At first, the water was cold. Second: the water was still cold. Third: the water was still cold. I rammed my head under and stretched out my legs. Fourth: the water was lukewarm. I stretched out my arms. Fifth: at last, the water began to feel warmer. I floated on top of the water, then sank. I opened my eyes and spread my arms wider. I could see shimmering boulders. They were drifting away. I pulled with my outstretched hands. Immediately, the boulders filled my vision. I covered my face with both hands. I could feel waves lightly pressing my back. I waited. I waited a little more.

  Now.

  Light poured down on me as I stretched my body. I watched the sky, which was the color of a well-ripened orange. b held my hand. She was as wet as a fish. I laughed. Shh, the waves are coming. I looked in the direction she pointed. A large mass of water and foam was surging toward us. Glaring at the waves, b took deep breaths. I raised my hand from the water. The blood had washed away without a trace. My nose was still a little swollen and hot. b continued to stare at the waves. In the sky, birds were drawing their lopsided circle; b and I swayed silently, only our heads above the water. Now, b said. I inhaled deeply. One. Two. b tightened her grip on my hand. We slid back below the water.

  14

  Three.

  15

  Those who no longer play in the water are called adults. Adults work in the city. They are the ones who don’t see the sky, who no longer think about clouds, stars, seagulls, or the ocean.

  Every weekend, adults seek out the shore with their children, carrying blankets and food. Their faces look as if they’re bored out of their minds. Female adults wear enormous straw hats and rub sunscreen on their arms and faces every hour. Male adults stretch their le
gs and read the newspaper. And then they repeat over and over: Don’t wander too far off. Don’t swim too far out. You’re going to get cold. You’re going to get hot. Stop crying. Stop being so loud. Sit still! The adults, bored out of their minds, gather together with beers in their hands, smoke cigarettes, and grumble as they brush sand from their clothes. At night, the adults light a fire and barbecue. Sometimes a drunk man runs around howling like a wolf and jumps into the ocean. But he quickly gets back out. He looks bored out of his mind. No matter what they do, they look bored out of their minds. A face as stiff as a boulder, stiff with boredom—that’s the face of an adult. Adults don’t think about the ocean even when they watch it. Their minds are full of other things. It’s very depressing to think that someday I, too, will be an adult.

  16

  Every Tuesday, b and I went to Alone. Alone was a café downtown. Adults thought the name was ridiculous and strange, but b and I thought it was cool. Too cool for such a boring neighborhood. Not surprisingly, the owner of Alone was from Seoul. He always wore nice sunglasses and sat under the sunshade in front of the café, reading some book with a cool name: The Tragedy of Modern Civilization; The Fall of the Wall Street Empire; stuff like that. Songs that seemed right for a coastal city flowed from the speakers. b wanted to work there, but Alone’s owner told her that she was too young, and he would let her in two years. “When you’re an upperclassman,” he said. So b was waiting to become a junior. When I said, “I don’t ever want to be an upperclassman,” b said, “I’ll give you free coffee. You can sit under the sunshade and do your homework.” “Cool, I’d like that,” I replied. Then b smiled, and I thought it was a relief that there would be at least one good thing in the future.

  The reason we went to Alone every Tuesday was because drinks were half price on Tuesday afternoons. There were never any other customers on Tuesday afternoons. Sometimes, the owner gave us orange juice for free. But b didn’t like orange juice. b said she would rather die than drink anything but coffee. At first, the owner said he wouldn’t sell us coffee. “You’re too young.” “What does that have to do with coffee?” asked b, and then Alone’s owner looked like he didn’t know what to do. After five minutes, he said, “Fine, you win,” and poured us each a half cup of coffee. Every time he’d say, “But this really is the last time, you’re too young to be drinking coffee; you can have coffee when you’re older.”

  When there weren’t any other customers, it felt wonderful to lie on the worn-out green couch that smelled like coffee and cigarettes and listen to songs that seemed right for a coastal city. There were plenty of books on the bookshelves, and the owner would stand back with a serious look on his face while he picked out a book. When he did that, he looked pretty handsome and maybe even rich, maybe like a genius. “That guy, he’s just running the café for fun,” I once overheard my mom telling my dad. It was night, and I was lying on the couch in the living room. “In fact, I heard he was some kind of teacher in Seoul,” she continued.

  My dad replied, “No, I’m pretty sure I heard he was a car salesman. I think he’s a distant relative of the family that runs Seoul Tours.”

  “No, they say he doesn’t know anyone here.”

  “There’s that one guy.”

  “Which guy?”

  “That guy…remember?”

  “Oh yeah, that guy… Anyway, the owner of the café is strange.”

  “He does seem pretty well off.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but you know…” And that’s when I fell asleep. I was curious, but sleep won. Like always.

  The owner of Alone truly was strange. As strange as the name of his café, and sometimes his oddity brought him attention. One day, a man who said he was a journalist from Seoul came to see Alone, carrying a huge camera and a small, thin computer. The man, who supposedly worked for a travel magazine, interviewed the owner of Alone and took a lot of photos of the café. And then, sometime later, a whole bunch of people came all at once, having searched out our city. They took photos at the beach and ate at the mall, then drank coffee at Alone and then they left. Or they drank coffee at Alone, ate at Seoul Kitchen, then hung out on the breakwater before spending the night at Seoul Motel. People closely examined the books on the bookshelves at Alone, swapped their own books for them, and took the new books home. They took tours around the city and said, “I really hate Seoul, I really want to live in a place like this.” Then they asked about the prices of apartments downtown. Before leaving, they swore that they would come live here once they’d earned enough money, though no one had asked them about it. Of course, none of them came back. The owner of Alone hated those people. Fortunately, over time fewer and fewer people came, and in a few months they had stopped completely.

  But no matter what, regardless of whether it was busy or not, late each night one person always came to Alone carrying a black plastic bag full of books. He’d stack the new books on the shelves, put the same number back in his bag, and then leave. His name was Book.

  17

  On my birthday I invited b and Glasses over to my house. I wasn’t that close with Glasses, but he was the only boy in my class who didn’t hit me or swear at me, so I also thought it would be nice to be better friends with him. My mom made japchae, bulgogi, and gimbab for us, but it was too much for just the three of us, so Mom decided she and Grandma would eat with us. None of us knew how to respond when Grandma said she refused to eat anything but candy.

  “I’ll give you some when you’ve finished eating your dinner,” said b.

  “I’ll be too full to eat it then,” said Grandma.

  Glasses was wearing a very nice shirt, and in his hand was my present, rather than a workbook. He kept looking around awkwardly.

  “I didn’t have any money to buy anything,” said b.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “Here, take this at least.”

  From her pocket, b took a piece of white paper that had been folded several times. It was a drawing of a horse. The horse was all the colors of the rainbow.

  “Cool!” shouted Glasses. “You drew this?”

  “Yeah…”

  “This is so good!” Glasses’ face showed his enthusiasm. b turned red.

  “Really?”

  “Totally!” I yelled.

  “You’re very good at drawing, b,” my mom said. b’s face grew redder. I examined the drawing carefully. The horse had a black mane tied back in two braids.

  “So,” explained b, “I thought you’d look nice if you wore your hair like this.”

  “This is me?” I asked.

  “Yeah…” b said shyly.

  “Thank you.” I hugged her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Glasses stood in the corner watching us, not knowing what to do. When I let go of b, Glasses handed me his present: “Open it.”

  “Okay,” I said, and quickly unwrapped the paper. It was a fish-shaped cup. “Oh my!” my mom exclaimed, “A cup shaped like a fish!”

  “I know!” said b.

  “It…” stuttered Glasses, “it’s from Seoul.”

  “It’s so pretty!” I said. And then I almost hugged Glasses, but I glanced at b and it didn’t seem wise to hug him, so I took a step back. “Thanks,” I said again. Glasses smiled shyly.

  This is awkward, I thought.

  We started to eat our japchae, bulgogi, and gimbab. All of it was very good, and by the time we were finishing eating, the awkwardness had passed. Glasses talked about Seoul, and the rest of us just listened. I was toying with my fish cup, and b said she wanted one too. “I’ll give you one on your birthday,” said Glasses. “When is it?”

  “It’s already passed,” said b. Her mood seemed to darken. “But it’ll come again next year, though, right?” She finally said. Glasses nodded and b’s face brightened.

  After eating, we decided to go see a movie and set out from my house. On the bus to the movie theater, Glasses said, “I wish I was that good at drawing…”

&nbs
p; “It’s okay, you’re smart instead,” said b.

  “But you got a hundred on your Korean test last time!”

  “You remember that?” b said, surprised.

  “Yeah, I graded yours,” said Glasses proudly. “Of course, the teacher was with me…and I am the class president…” Glasses studied us nervously. “It’s okay for me to grade tests if I’m the class president. Right?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said b, quickly averting her eyes to stare out the window. She began humming an unfamiliar song. Glasses bowed his head and rubbed his hands on his knees. This is awkward, I thought again.

  The movie we saw was an animation about a fish. b had really wanted to see it, and it was fun. At every important scene, b muttered, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” And when the movie ended, she clapped, yelling, “Yay!”

  I shouted too.

  “Yeah…” Glasses said, glancing at us. We all smiled.

  We were giddy as we went to Alone. It was Glasses’ first time at the café, so he seemed a little nervous. No, actually, Glasses always seemed nervous, except when he was solving problems in his workbook.

  As always, there weren’t any customers at Alone when we arrived. Since it was a special occasion, the owner made lattes for all of us. The coffees were very weak, but there was enough caffeine to make our eyes sparkle. We got excited, and then very quickly surpassed mere excitement. Glasses took his glasses off. b started singing, her mouth open wide. We shook our clenched fists, not knowing what to do with them. A Cuban song was coming through the speakers. We sh-sh-shook our heads. The owner watched us and laughed. Gradually, the sun started setting. But in our hearts, it was still a bright and sunny day.