Bluebeard's First Wife

by Seong-nan Ha

  “Mom!” I yelled. “Over there! That’s the one!”

  My sister woke up from the noise. When we got off the bus, I couldn’t afford to wait for my mother, who kept lagging behind. It was exactly where I had roamed about with Jini that day. My mother ran after me, shouting at me to slow down.

  The streets were like a maze, but I ran with ease. The train tracks that my mother and I had searched for in vain finally appeared. When I saw the building by the railroad where the singing class had been held, I became excited.

  “To think it was so close to home …”

  It seemed my mother had never once considered he might be so close. Jini’s house was only four bus stops away. As the saying goes, it’s the darkest right under the candlestick. At long last, I stood in front of Jini’s house.

  “Go and see if your daddy’s there. And if he is …”

  The rage that had consumed her when we’d first set out was gone. She hesitated by the entrance. I left her standing outside the gate and went inside. The hallway was dark. A light shone faintly from a room down the hall. I shouted toward the light.

  “Dad!”

  A head popped out from the room. It was him. It seemed he couldn’t make out my face from where he was. “Dad!” I shouted again.

  He rushed out of the room without putting on his shoes. I saw clearly the expression on his face. He stood there flustered, his mouth open from shock. In triumph I put my hands on my hips and thrust up my chin, while blocking the front doorway—the only opening that let the sun into that house. I had just one thought. Here I am, your one true daughter …

  My heart lurched in my chest, knowing I had not failed him.

  Joy to the World

  There seemed nothing wrong with our plans to marry. After all, I knew all there was to know about him. Whenever he gripped a knife or wrung a rag, he favored his left hand, and once a month, he went to a downtown salon to get his hair cut, the same one he had gone to for the last ten years, despite the trouble of transferring buses. I also knew he hoped I would continue to work after marriage. My friends say these things are common knowledge if you’ve been with someone for three years, but I was sure I knew him inside out. We made the decision to get married around the time our relationship started to feel a little boring.

  “Dating for a long time is a waste of time and money,” he’d said one day, while peeling a mandarin orange served at the end of the meal.

  “Then why don’t we just get married?” I said, as I pierced a pear slice with my fork.

  Our marriage was settled this way like an afterthought, like some fruit or candy served after the main course. What difference would it have made if it’d been decided any other way?

  When we announced the news to family and friends, no one seemed particularly surprised. “Well, what did you expect?” they said. “Did you intend not to, after dating for that long?”

  However, something seemed off. Not once had we ever fought, and we even liked the same foods. If anything, the fact that we didn’t have any problems seemed a problem. “What would have happened if we’d been from the same clan?” I asked him one day, but he didn’t even bat an eye.* “I hate things that are overly complicated,” he said. But there was no need to worry about that, since we weren’t from the same lineage. Nothing seemed to be the matter.

  My fiancé lived in an old rented house at the base of a mountain. After getting off the subway, you needed to walk for another half an hour. It was much worse if it snowed. Where he lived was a different world from the area around the subway station. The house was so old that he had to use coal briquettes for heating, and dust and ash swirled about all day long. But I liked his room in that old, shabby house. There was plastic roofing attached to the eaves to block out the lashing rain, and in the summertime, I loved the sound of the rain hitting the roof. My fiancé taught math at the local all-girls senior high.

  That night, I bought a cake and bottle of wine and climbed the hill. It was to celebrate his birthday for the last time as an unmarried couple. My calves strained as I went over the steep hill. The laughter of young men drifted out into the narrow street. The front gate was open and the light was on in my fiancé’s room, and strewn under the wooden porch were three pairs of shoes. I opened the door to find three men whom I assumed were his friends, half reclining against the walls. They were complete strangers to me. Under the dim fluorescent lighting, their faces looked tired, and their wrinkled, grimy dress shirts spoke of their busy day. One man’s face stiffened like congealing tofu when he saw me.

  Although I had opened the door, I wasn’t sure if I should go inside, especially when my fiancé wasn’t there. But one stood and made room for me. I placed my shoes away from the other shoes and stepped inside.

  They seemed to have been in the middle of a funny story, but the room fell silent. It had probably been men’s talk, just as there are stories meant only for women’s ears. Someone brought up the stock market, but the conversation soon died out. At last, one of them asked me, “So, what do you do?”

  “I’m a receptionist,” I said. “I’m sure you don’t need me to explain what a receptionist does.”

  He nodded slowly, as if he understood very well.

  “How about you?” I asked him.

  “I’m a surgeon. I’m sure you don’t need me to explain what a surgeon does.”

  I found myself grinning at his words.

  “Oh, you do know how to smile. You have nice teeth.”

  I pursed my lips. He seemed too forward, somewhat pushy. Plus, it wasn’t like me to smile so easily at the words of a man I’d just met.

  He whispered something to the others. They seemed very close. It was obvious from the way they addressed each other.

  I heard my fiancé come in through the gate. I could tell it was him from the footsteps. Of course I’d know. After all, he knew things about me, too, like what shampoo I used. I crawled across the room on my knees and opened the door. He was squatting by the tap in the middle of the yard, washing his hands. I took the towel that was hanging on the wall and crouched by his side.

  “You didn’t say you were going to invite other people.”

  He rubbed his hands vigorously with soap and gazed at me as if I were making a fuss over nothing.

  “I had no idea they were coming. We’ve been so busy we haven’t had the chance to get together. I think high school graduation might have been the last time we were all together. Consider tonight a fluke, since I don’t even know if they can all make it to the wedding.”

  “You mean you haven’t seen each other in fourteen years?”

  “No, I saw one of them last week. I’m sure they meet up on their own. I’m just saying all four of us haven’t gotten together like this for a long time.”

  My plans for a romantic birthday were ruined, but he didn’t seem a bit sorry.

  My fiancé had hardly any furniture; all he had were a garment rack and a low desk piled with textbooks and reference books. We sat in a circle. The room was so small that my knees brushed against the knees of those next to me whenever I shifted positions. Instead of a table, two pages from an old sports section were laid on the floor. On the front page was a picture of a popular actress. She claimed that next spring she would be marrying the young businessman with whom she had been involved in numerous scandals. I stuck candles into the cake, and my fiancé blew them out. They poured the red wine into paper cups and elbowed one another in the ribs, swearing cheerfully like high school boys. The wine disappeared in no time. The surgeon took out a plastic bag from his satchel. It was an expensive bottle of cognac. He poured it into our wine-stained paper cups. As they poured drink after drink, I learned that the man sitting next to me was the assistant branch manager of a bank, and still single. But the man across from me, who sat drinking without a word, offered no information about himself. The cake sat between us, its shape now unrecognizable after being dug at with our wooden chopsticks.

  “And what do you do?” I asked.


  He tossed back what was left in his cup and made a face. Perhaps it was the burn of the liquor, but he seemed to disapprove of my curiosity. He lifted his left hand and swiped at his brow. On his left ring finger was a large solitaire ring. It was moonstone. He was probably born in June.

  “Let’s not talk about work.”

  That was all. While the rest of the men laughed and talked, he hardly spoke. The seating arrangement changed naturally as people went to the bathroom and came back. The surgeon now sat to my right. He was funny. Even though it was a joke I already knew, I ended up laughing when he said it. I laughed a lot. When he complimented my teeth again, I was even able to say, “Are you actually a dentist?”

  Maybe it was because of the alcohol, but I didn’t flinch when my knees brushed against theirs. When the silent man left to go to the bathroom, I leaned across to where my fiancé sat and asked him what he did for a living. He was about to answer, but the surgeon cut him off.

  “All you have to know is that he works for a certain organization. I’m sorry if he seemed rude earlier. Even his parents don’t know what he does, so what can you expect?”

  When the cognac ran out, the banker said he would go to the store. He stood up, the loose change jangling noisily in his pockets. We all laughed as he stumbled a little and knocked over a paper cup, spilling the contents onto the newspaper. A large gray stain spread on the actress’s forehead and the headline from the reverse side soon seeped through onto her face. It was about the grand slam during the Korean Series. My fiancé and the surgeon began to talk about that game. We heard the banker run into the metal basin by the tap as he crossed the courtyard. The basin clanged and rattled clamorously. But no one went out to check on him. After a while the banker returned, holding two plastic bags filled with beer bottles. The coins in his bulging pockets jingled with each step.

  By eleven o’clock, we were all drunk. I slid back with my cup in hand and leaned against the wall. Our paper cups were soft now, having wilted as we switched from wine to cognac to beer.

  “What do you think happened to her?” the banker slurred, talking to himself.

  The surgeon burst into laughter. But I didn’t miss the way the muscles in my fiancé’s face twitched. The silent man who worked for some institution filled the banker’s cup with beer. When the cold beer frothed to the rim, the banker quickly put his lips to the cup so that he wouldn’t spill any. He took a gulp and blurted, “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” His bleary eyes became fixed on my face.

  “Shut up,” my fiancé said, staring at the banker. “You drunk already?”

  “I want to get drunk. How much do I have to drink to get there? How drunk do I have to get to forget everything?”

  All of a sudden, my fiancé seized the banker by his tie and pulled his face close. The banker went pale. My fiancé appeared to have received some sort of assurance, because he let go. Freed, the banker loosened his tie and leaned against the wall. Something unspoken passed between them.

  It was close to midnight, but the friends seemed to have no intentions of leaving. I got to my feet and picked up my coat and purse, but the surgeon clung to the ends of my skirt and refused to let go. My fiancé gave me a look that said to stay put. The banker’s eyes filled with tears. The night was becoming stranger by the minute.

  “How did you all meet anyway?”

  I wondered how four men who seemed so different from one another had managed to stay in touch for fourteen years after high school. My fiancé had never once mentioned these friends. The one who worked for the organization looked at me as if he once again didn’t approve of this question, and kept drinking. He hadn’t softened a bit in the past five hours. The only change in him was the stubble on his face, which showed the progress of time.

  “We’re part of a group called Faust,” the surgeon said.

  It was the last thing I expected to hear. Faust? It hardly suited them.

  “Are you saying you fell for the devil’s temptation? I guess you were real troublemakers.”

  The surgeon’s eyes flashed. They flashed with a different curiosity than he had shown until now. “When he said he was getting married, I wondered what kind of woman he’d met. Now it all makes sense…”

  I didn’t believe they had actually read Faust. It was a work that required patience. I glanced at my fiancé. He made no response and continued to drink. Faust aside, this was the first time I’d seen him drink so heavily. Red splotches had spread down his neck. I realized there were things I didn’t know about him. I poked him lightly in the side. As though his mind had been elsewhere, he flinched, dropping his cup. His pants got soaked. I wadded up some tissue and dabbed at the stain, but all he did was gaze down at my hands moving busily to clean up the mess. He felt like a stranger.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your little group? I had no idea.”

  “You expect me to tell you every single detail?” he snapped, rolling up his sleeves. “Like when I stopped wearing diapers? Or the first time I ever shoplifted?”

  The surgeon snickered again. “You mean you didn’t tell her the first thing you ever stole was a pack of Juicy Fruit? This guy has a real gift for stealing. If he wanted to, he could have robbed a bank. But I’m sure he has no desire to steal anything now, since he stole your heart …”

  My fiancé punched him lightly in the shoulder. The surgeon fell over, pretending to be in pain, and collapsed on top of me. His weight sent me tumbling over and I ended up grabbing my fiancé’s thigh to steady myself. I looked up to find his face set in a scowl.

  “What kind of perfume are you wearing?”

  The surgeon put his nose right up to my earlobe and sniffed. From his hand that grazed mine, I caught a whiff of disinfectant. He backed away only when my fiancé glowered at him. The banker, who sat off to the side, kept drinking. He turned paler. The one who worked for the organization talked less and less, until he’d said nothing for the last hour.

  My head was swimming from the liquor. I broke into a cold sweat and the ceiling turned black. My stomach churned from the smell of the smoked cuttlefish jerky, and when I burped, I could taste the cognac I’d drunk earlier. I leaned my spinning head on my fiancé’s shoulder and fell asleep.

  The banker was crying. When I woke from the noise, I was lying on my side in the corner of the room, with a pillow under my head. I could hear their low voices behind me.

  “I still dream about her. But it’s someone else lying on the cement where she’d landed. When I get close enough, I realize it’s me. My head’s split open like a watermelon and chunks of my brain are scattered all over the ground.”

  “Are you ever going to shut up? It happened fifteen years ago. Her bones have rotted away and turned to dust by now.”

  It was my fiancé’s voice. I lay still, pretending to be asleep. I wanted to roll over but I couldn’t. A girl had fallen to her death and there were four men behind the incident. If it had happened fifteen years ago, they had been in eleventh grade. The surgeon laughed; it sounded like a hiccup. The banker seemed to have thrown something at his face. I heard what sounded like a peanut bounce off the ground.

  “You assholes. I swear, you’re not even human,” the banker said. He continued to fret and whine. “How can you sleep at night? How can you act like nothing happened? You’re just a bunch of animals. A bunch of goddamn animals.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” the surgeon said, his voice as sharp as a scalpel. “I guess you don’t remember, but who was so desperate to hang out with us animals? Did you forget, you stupid prick?”

  The surgeon went on. “Why did we let this loser tag along? Didn’t I say he was no good? Just look at him pissing his pants like a total bitch. He’s been nothing but trouble from the start. He’s got a lot to learn.”

  “Sure she’s asleep?” asked the quiet one, finally opening his mouth. He seemed bored with everything that was happening. He had a habit of omitting unnecessary words.

  My fiancé crept toward
me. I sensed him peer into my face. I kept my eyes closed, making my breathing shallow and even. I felt him wave his hand over my face. Believing I was fast asleep, he returned to his spot.

  “We’ve come too far to turn back,” he said in a low, firm voice. “No one forced her to follow us and no one forced her to jump. It was her own choice.”

  “You think you actually have to push someone off a building for it to be murder?” cried the banker. “She was drunk! Only if we hadn’t done that—it was us who made her do it, we made her jump. We’re murderers—”

  Someone struck the banker in the stomach right then. There was a heavy thud on the wall and the empty bottles that had been lined up on one side of the room were knocked over. He opened his mouth again. “We’re not Faust! We can’t be saved!”

  “You better keep your fucking mouth shut. We have to take this to our graves. I’m not going to jail.”

  My fiancé sounded strange; I hardly recognized his voice. The wallpaper my nose was pressed against was damp and smelled bad. The voices lulled me back to sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Various scenes met my eyes every time I managed to surface from my stupor. The three men were punching the banker, who had been forced into a corner. Then all of them were smoking, sitting side by side, and leaning against the wall. The last thing I saw was the four of them drinking again, as if nothing were the matter. Every time someone went to the bathroom, cold air struck my forehead.

  When I opened my eyes again, it was pitch dark. The room reeked of smoked cuttlefish and cigarettes. Someone lay pressed up beside me. Although I couldn’t see, I knew it was my fiancé. Mixed with the smell of liquor, I recognized his scent. Even in my drunkenness, I wondered what had happened to his friends. I assumed they had taken the taxi home.

  In the darkness, I felt him touch my bottom. I had no energy to raise my arm. Drowsiness kept crashing in. His hand traveled down to my thigh. With the curtains drawn, I couldn’t see a thing, but I could tell it was him. I was sure his friends had gone. This time, I felt his hot breath on my neck. I smelled liquor and something rank. He pressed his hot lips against my skin. I mustered all my energy to turn and felt his face with my fingers. I couldn’t even see my own hands as they grasped his face. How could it be so dark? Like a drunk, I kept repeating how dark it was. And I thrust my mouth up to the darkness.