The Mutable World
Page 5
Chapter 5
Today was awesome. Dad brought me to the toy store for the first time in a long time, and he let me buy a Pokémon action figure. It’s not just any old Pokémon action figure either. This one is made of high quality tempered rubber, conditioned for endurance together with its vibrant paint treatment. It said so on the package! Pikachu looks great with “vibrant” yellow; he looks even better than on the TV show!
“Son, look at that,” said Dad.
Ripping my gaze from the wonder clasped between my hands, I tilted my head up and looked; and look I did. Above us hung a giant dragon, sporting scales colored the hue of fern-littered swamps, and wings bearing red streaks mottled with gold. My eyes pulsed with wonder, each subsequent heartbeat swelling my admiration for the object. Once more with my pupils I blazed a lazy line from its tail end to its gaping maw framed in gleaming white teeth. Orange and yellow wedges of balsa wood protruded from within the creature’s throat, fanning outwards in brilliant patterns of flame. It was the most beautiful kite I had ever seen.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“Yes, son?”
“Can we get it?”
Still fixed upon the kite, I perceived a small chuckle.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think so son.”
I riveted my focus upon him. There before me, he was wearing a toothy smile, almost mocking me.
“Why not?” I asked, slightly annoyed by his expression.
“It costs 4,000,000 won.”
“Oh.”
Well, at least it made sense. I still hated that stupid smile painted across Dad’s face though. He smiles like that because he thinks I’m “cute”. I’m not a little boy anymore, and I’m definitely not “cute”. When will he realize that?
“Let’s go pay, Kee Jin.”
Dad tugged on my hand and began walking in the direction of the cash registers. In my left, I grasped Pikachu, hanging by my waist as I turned my head to face the receding dragon. What a beautiful thing. Then we reached the sluggish payment line, followed not long thereafter by incomprehensible boredom. My mind drifted, and was brought back to reality when the cashier lady requested my Dad’s payment. He pulled out his wallet and scrounged within, searching for the bills necessary. Another thirty seconds later, and he had yet to remove any such thing from his wallet. The cashier lady was becoming annoyed. She didn’t show it, but I could tell. Her eyelids sagged slightly, accompanied by a tense jaw. She looked like a rather unpleasant woman.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, son. Don’t worry. Just have patience.”
“It’s okay if we don’t get the toy, Dad. It’s not that important.”
“No, no. We can’t do that.”
“Dad, it’s okay—”
“Here we are!”
From his wallet, dad pulled two 20,000 won bills from their leather encasing along with a coupon marked with the number 5,000. The cashier lady promptly accepted the bills and the clipping, processed them, and sent us on our way.
Dad smiled at me and said, “All yours, son.” He handed Pikachu back to me, before once again taking my hand. Together, we made our way to the exit. The sliding glass doors opened before us and we left the store.
Immediately upon leaving, I was blasted by a wave of fresh air mixed in with sunlight. I am not known to be the melodramatic type, but this time I threw my hands in the air and danced a small jig with Pikachu in tow. Dad smiled again, but it bothered me less this time. Dad deserves to perpetuate his perceptions however long he wants; he’s done so much to preserve mine. He has never belittled me, or intentionally hurt my feelings, or been too harsh in denial or overindulged in asphyxiating expressions of love. I always hear other kids at school complaining about their parents, for various reasons and motivations. Either their father is too strict, or their mother is embarrassing or some other negative trait among an army of negative traits. Dad is as close to perfect as I can imagine. Their complaints confuse me, because I bear no similar experiences to draw from. They whine incessantly of seemingly minor annoyances, especially about their mothers. “She makes me do the dishes,” they say. At least they have a mother.
At that moment, my dark ponderings were abruptly interrupted when I felt my arm being pulled behind me. Dad had stopped walking and was staring in the direction of a green-painted brick wall adorned by vertical columns of windows traversing the sides at least 20 floors upwards. What could be so interesting about that wall? Tracing his line of sight, I then saw it. A man in rags sat upon the pavement, leaned against the bricks. He bore a can in his right hand, and at the moment, was peering into it. I don’t normally see homeless people do that. Isn’t that supposed to be disrespectful to people who donate?
“Hey! You!” shouted the man. “Is this funny to you? Who gives another person 10 won in an act of kindness? You should be ashamed!”
It was clearly apparent to whom his anger was directed, as he rabidly wagged the index finger of his free hand before himself as he rebuked the female stranger. Observing her, I noticed a distinctive lack of reaction. She did not turn to respond, nor did she offer any other form of perceivable retort. In short, she ignored him.
Briefly leaving the bounds of the moment, I peered upward at Dad. He seemed to be taking stock of the situation. He gripped my hand tighter and guided me forward as he approached the rag-cladden man. Dad removed his wallet from his rear pocket and began inspection of its interior. Sitting below and directly before him was the beggar, an expression of premature gratitude shaping his features. Dad pulled out a 500 won coin, replacing the beggar’s expression of gratitude for one of disappointment. He solemnly raised the can, in which Dad lowered his hand into. Removing his hand from it, I could clearly see two coins in his grip, the original 500 won denomination and another 10 won coin. Dismay overtook curiosity as I looked on while anger tangibly radiated from the ragged man’s now bulging veins. Dad still looked calm however, as he placed the coins in his wallet. What is he doing? The homeless man began climbing to his feet. Then, Dad took out 100,000 won and dispensed them in the can still gripped by this stranger. His jaw dropped at the same time he reached a standing posture. Dad closed his wallet, smiled at him, and turned in the direction of the subway station with me in close pursuit. What was that about?
Behind us, the beggar yelled, “Thank you!”
Dad continued walking, and I followed suit. After a few minutes, we arrived at the subway station. Above the stairway leading downwards stood a glass canopy, refracting the light upon passengers entering. It hurt my eyes as we descended. Once within, we bought our tickets and began waiting upon the platform.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you give that man that money? Was it because of the mean lady?”
“Partly yes, son.”
“What was the whole reason?”
“I did it for the sake of kindness, and for the sake of justice.”
“What do you mean?”
Dad stopped walking and pivoted his fore to face mine. He took both my hands in his, after placing Pikachu on the ground, and then kneeled upon the top landing of the staircase.
“I did it because it was the right thing to do. Do you know what justice is, son?”
“Of course I do. It’s making something right when someone does something wrong, like stealing.”
“Yes, that is a part of it, but there is far more to justice than simple reaction. Reward and punishment are only a small part of what makes justice. In a similar manner, the law is not the only way to tell if someone has done something wrong, or what the right thing to do is. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes.”
“Justice, as with what is right and wrong is a spectrum of any number of things. What I did was an act of kindness, for a man sorely in need of it after a life of humiliation and need. Any random act of kindness is justice, as it rights past wrongs that have been committed. Do you see how it is? On rare occas
ions, even violent actions can be ones of justice. Remember this. It is an important part of life.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll remember.”
“Good boy.”
The train was arriving. Stepping to the doors, I watched as a blur of people, advertisements and window frames whizzed past. Behind the train, directly across from me on the wall above the tracks hung another advertisement. It was difficult to discern its contents as the people within the train as well as the window frames adorning the train obscured my vision repeatedly over the next several seconds. I perceived little, only that it was quite ugly for an advertisement. I wonder why that could be.
Finally the train came to a stop, prompting first the train’s double doors to separate, then the platform’s. The train and platform exchanged people, the doors closed, and we were on our way home. The ride home was spent mostly in silence as I pondered the things Dad had told me today. I understood what he meant, but it seems so foreign. Why have I never heard anything similar from someone before? There’s no possibility that so many people could be so blind, so ignorant of such truth? Right?
“Arriving at Seoksu,” announced the PA.
“This is our stop, Kee Jin,” said Dad.
Together, we exited onto the platform. On our right and left, impatient crowds jostled past into the train. I don’t like impatient crowds, they necessitate competition where none is required. Pointless, really.
“Did you not hear me?”
The question echoed through the station, reverberating over and over and over, rising to a cacophony of fury. The doorways roared with repeated sentiment, slowly calming themselves after seemingly having their tempers bubble over. Countless pairs of eyes looked on as a man awaited his trembling son’s answer. None came.
“Ah!”
The station’s walls and halls and doorways and tunnels amplified the boy’s pain infinitely. Bystanders remained bystanders.
“Open your ears, boy!”
People were turning away now. They wanted no part of this. It wasn’t their problem. They should mind their own business.
“Oof!”
I shut my eyes as tight as possible, as my skull bred terrifying possibilities within, each adding to the storm of pain brewing in my head. Why was nobody helping? What about the boy? The clouds parted. The sun’s rays had penetrated the ceiling of angry clouds. The cry had come from a man’s voice, not the boy. I opened my eyes, and saw the man gasping for air upon the ground. Dad stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched at his sides. Still breathing heavily, he strode back to me and took my hand.
“Let’s go,” he said.
That was justice, I thought. I bent down and picked up Pikachu, who was slightly dirty from being on the ground. He was less vibrant now. I liked him better this way.