by K T Durham
He had boiled some rice and found some over-fermented kimchi and a small can of sardines. His tummy was still growling by the time he’d wolfed down the small bowl of food. He didn’t have much to eat at school that day. The bread she had given him had been mouldy again. Even though it was nearly ten o’clock, he was still hungry. Besides, nobody was here to keep an eye on him anyway, so what did it matter?
His fingers brushed against cold metal, and then it was in his grasp. Yes! Triumphantly, he tore off the lid and thrust his hand inside. He devoured one yeot, then another. The sweet taffy melted in his mouth, warming him from the inside out.
“What are you doing?”
Jong-Min froze at the cold, husky voice and groaned inwardly. He hadn’t heard the front door open. His hearing hadn’t been so good since the last beating, and sometimes his ear ached at night.
He turned to face her, defiant. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh?” She walked over to the ancient dirt-coloured fridge and yanked it open. She was wearing one of her ugly long floral dresses and a lumpy brown coat, her black boots wet from the snow. Her heavily powdered face was twisted into a sour frown. She must have lost a lot of money to her friends tonight. That never bode well for Jong-Min. He clenched his fists.
Then she swivelled around and towered over him. “I see you’ve helped yourself to the rest of the kimchi and the last can of sardines. The rice bucket is empty, too. After scarfing down every scrap of edibles in the house, why are you still stealing from my yeot tin?”
Talking back would only make things worse. She would complain to Father, and Jong-Min didn’t want another visit to the hospital, especially with Christmas around the corner. He didn’t want to miss seeing Santa, the big-bellied, blue-eyed man with the flowing white beard booming “Ho-ho-ho!” as he handed out presents on Christmas morning in their neighbourhood. It was the only chance in the entire year for him to get something really nice.
To be fair, Grandma always wanted to get him something nice, but she didn’t have much money, so he never told her what he really wanted. Instead, she would bring him his favourite snacks. Last year, Santa gave him a small Transformer, the Optimus Prime. It was just what he’d wanted!
No, he would not jeopardize his chance at getting a present from Santa. So he’d play nice. He took a deep breath. “I’m sor—”
“Oh, be off with you, you greedy boy,” she hissed. Then she sat down at the kitchen table and poured herself a glass of water. She crossed her legs and stared at him over the rim of the glass with a peculiar expression. He willed himself not to flinch as he stared back.
Then she shrugged. “Never mind. Off you go. Not worth stirring things up now, is it?” Her eyes were black slits as she continued to stare at him, her lips curled up into a small, self-satisfied smile. Wordlessly, he turned and slipped into the cramped hallway, almost tripping over his broken old slippers. He pulled on his gloves and jacket, thrust his feet into his fraying snow boots, and ran out into the night. He didn’t want to stay in that house alone with her for any longer. Father should be back from work in another hour. Not that having him around was much more pleasant.
The icy wind blasted his face as the snow squished beneath his boots. He had forgotten to wear a scarf. But then again, he might not even have a clean one to wear. Grandma had knitted him several, but one by one they had disappeared. Just yesterday, Father was in the hallway wiping his mouth on one of Jong-Min’s scarves after having vomited from drinking too much soju at the pub.
At last the hustle and bustle loomed up, and soon Jong-Min was enveloped in a flood of warm neon lights attached to stores he had never ventured into. Samsung. LG. Finger Lickin’ Chicken and Hoff. Laneige. Etude House. Dunkin’ Donuts. Burger King. Baskin Robbins. Many people were out and about, happily doing their last-minute Christmas shopping. He spotted a classmate walking in his direction, laughing with his parents merrily weighed down by bulging plastic bags. That’s right – he had forgotten that many of his classmates might be staying up late with their parents tonight, out exploring shops that were open for late-night Christmas shopping, an experience Jong-Min had never known.
Jong-Min pulled the hood down lower over his face and quickened his steps as he walked past this classmate who didn’t even glance in his direction.
He stopped in front of a large window display flaunting enormous, sleek, flat-screen television sets amid a tiny forest of gold and silver tinsel. He stared up longingly at the twinkling Christmas tree with its golden angel perched on top, its wings spread out. How Jong-Min wished he had wings, too! If only he could fly away – with Grandma, that is.
The biggest television was showing MacGyver, his favourite American show. He would come here every Friday night just to watch the show, with Korean subtitles, on this impossibly huge TV that probably cost more than the monthly rent of their small house.
Too soon, it was ten o’clock. The store lights started blinking off, and as the credits were rolling, Jong-Min felt the colourful world of his imagination recede into the gloomy dark that was his reality.
He turned and trudged back home, the wind blowing angrily against him. At the front door of his house, the sight of the familiar, small, black boots instantly brought a smile to his face. Happily, he slipped into the hallway and was about to call out for his grandmother when he heard raised voices. He stopped in his tracks.
“You think I haven’t noticed how thin and pale he looks? And now this madness … He is already 7 years old, how could you do this to him? He is your son!”
Father sounded sober, but his voice trembled a little. “Calm down, Mother, we’re doing what’s best for everyone—”
She interrupted. “We’ve already drawn up the papers, so that’s that. Now that I’m expecting a baby, I really don’t need the unnecessary strain. He causes so much trouble, and he won’t get along with our little one anyway.”
Grandmother’s voice was shrill. “Trouble? Trouble! What have you done in the past three years, gone out of your way to be a decent stepmother?”
Jong-Min started backing away from the doorway, his heart hammering. A baby?
Then there was the sound of glass shattering on the floor. His heart jumped. Was Grandma hurt? Without a second thought, he barged into the kitchen with a shout. Fragments of a green celadon mug lay sprinkled on the floor. She was still in that hideous dress, her face stony as she swivelled around to look at him. Father, in his brown security guard’s uniform, was sitting at the table in front of a big bowl of steaming ramyun piled with kimchi and pork. Where did they get all that pork? Jong-Min wondered.
Grandma, always neatly dressed despite her poverty, stood alone in a corner with her hands clasped to her chest. Her face lit up at the sight of her grandson. “Jong-Min!” She rushed over and held him to her tightly, his face crushed against her small silver crucifix and woolly scarf that smelled of mothballs. Father’s eyes flickered over his son. Then he quickly looked away and stared down at his ramyun. She fussed at the sink, as though the dishes couldn’t wait to be washed. Neither of them looked at Jong-Min.
Grandma then abruptly pulled Jong-Min towards his closet-size bedroom with the small collection of broken toys piled up like a shrine next to the thin, frayed mattress. His Optimus Prime with the missing arm stood atop that pile like a glorious victor.
Grandma crouched down next to him, and he looked at her questioningly. She hadn’t been coming over as often lately, and she seemed to be looking thinner these days. Her voice was soft and urgent when she spoke. “My dear boy, listen to me. Whatever happens, you must be strong. Oh, oh … I’m so sorry.” She began to cry.
Jong-Min was confused, and he started panicking. What was happening? Why was Grandma crying? He didn’t see her wincing in pain as she put a hand near her abdomen.
Before he could utter a word, she stood up abruptly. Grandma was a tiny woman, but suddenly she looked formidable. “E
verything will be all right, Jong-Min. Now, go and pack your favourite things and wait for me out at the front door in fifteen minutes. Quickly. Now!” She placed a small bag of roasted cuttlefish on his mattress, squeezed his hand, and left the room. The sliding door closed with a soft click.
Jong-Min stood rooted to the spot for a moment. He heard hushed voices, the scraping of a chair against the floor, then hurried footsteps passing his room. The front door opened and then slammed shut. The house fell silent.
It was Christmas Eve, and he really wanted something to go right before the evening ended. Grandma always made him something nice to eat at her place, which was even smaller than this shabby house. But he liked going to her home. She made wonderful ddukbokki, japchae, kimbap, and even her ramyun tasted better than the ones at the street stalls. The dduk she made was heavenly; his mouth watered thinking about all that food. In fact, if he had a choice, he would live with Grandma forever.
So he would do as Grandma asked. He opened up his fraying Pokémon backpack and surveyed his tiny, sparse bedroom. This would be quick. There wasn’t much to pack.
When Jong-Min walked out of his room and went past the kitchen, he saw that it was empty, except for the bowl of ramyun which was left half uneaten. That was odd. Why would Father leave his dinner like this? His own stomach growled, but that was OK; Grandma would make him something yummy to eat at her place.
Grandma was waiting for him at the front door. Jong-Min frowned. Where was Father? Where was she? Grandma was holding his school bag, as tattered and dirty as his old boots.
“Grandma, what’s going on?” he asked curiously.
She smiled down at him and took his hand. “You’re coming to live with me for a little while, Jong-Min. You’ll like that, wouldn’t you?”
He blinked, incredulous. No way! Had Grandma read his mind? A huge grin spread across his face. This was a dream come true! “Yes! Yes! Yes!” He started jumping up and down with excitement, which made Grandma laugh a little, though her eyes looked sad. Then he paused. “But what about Father and …?”
She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. “They have to go abroad for a little while. I will take care of you. Here, let’s go.” She started tugging him out the door.
“Abroad?” he asked. Why would they suddenly go abroad? Father had never taken a plane, or that was what he claimed the last time Jong-Min asked him. “How could I ever afford to go travelling with your big mouth to feed?” he grumbled. Jong-Min only asked because he was wondering how much it might cost to take a plane to America. But was it really that expensive? Would he ever be able to go?
He scowled. “Where are they going, Grandma? They’re not going to America, are they?”
Grandma scowled. “Of course not. But never you mind. You’re coming home with me.”
They stepped out into the cold night. Grandma lived in another suburb far away. They would need to take the bus to Dongdaemun and walk another ten minutes to get to her place.
So they ambled to the bus station together in silence, hand-in-hand. Jong-Min sensed that Grandma wasn’t in a talking mood, but he was so happy that he was going to be living with her that he couldn’t stop smiling. He hoped it would be for a very, very long while.
The bus took ten minutes to arrive and then another thirty-five to drop them off in front of a corner store near Grandma’s little house, which had once belonged to her postman husband who’d died fifteen years earlier of a heart attack.
Grandma remained quiet as they walked slowly up the sloped street. Jong-Min glanced up at her. Her breathing was laboured, and she was walking much slower than usual. Was there something wrong with her leg? She didn’t look well. He must make her some hot tea when they got home. He would make her feel better. He would take care of her.
As they approached the small green-roofed house, Jong-Min saw something that slowed his steps and quickened his heartbeat.
There on the front steps sat a person. In the dim light, he could make out the long curly hair that stuck up in several places, and a pair of thin legs tucked up against her body, and she seemed to be staring at something glowing in her hands.
Then the girl looked up, and Jong-Min’s jaw dropped when he saw those familiar green eyes.
Elly stared down at Nebulane as she walked up the deserted sloped street, the darkness punctuated by tall lamp posts. The blue and red dots had momentarily merged, glowing as one silver dot, confirming that she had indeed arrived at a pit stop. But then the silver dot had split into two again, the red dot beckoning her to a specific place, somewhere to the north-west. Who was sending her these signals – the Order or the Guardian? Whatever the case, according to Nebulane, she was getting close to her next pit stop.
Marlow was squirming in her coat pocket. He must be hungry. “Hang in there for a bit,” she murmured. “We’ll get some food once we’ve found a place to settle, OK?”
Then she heard a scuffling sound, and suddenly a man emerged from the shadows, stumbling towards her. She froze. The man reeked of a pungent smell that she later learned was soju. “Ahhh, look here!” he jeered, his face flushed from the alcohol. His tie and shirt were askew, and the front of his shirt was wet. “You’re one of them foreigners, aren’t you? American? European?” The man spat at the ground, and Elly recoiled. “You’re all loaded, aren’t you? Say, you don’t have some cash to give away, do you?”
Her stomach churned. She was sorely tempted to exercise her magical powers to fly away or use her invisibility perfume. But the Order had warned her against using magic in front of humans unless it was absolutely necessary. This didn’t seem to be one of those times. She could not risk being seen using magic, even if it was witnessed only by a drunken idiot.
Then her skin crawled as the man stretched out his hand. She turned and ran, and she could hear the man yell, “Hey, what’s a little charity to you rich brats! I just lost my job!”
She ran for a full minute to the north-west, then skidded to a stop when she looked down at Nebulane. The blue dot had just intersected with the red, and now they had merged, and a silver dot was glowing! She gulped. She had arrived at another pit stop! Wheeling around, she saw nothing but rows of small, bent-over houses on either side of her. The house she was standing right in front of had a single window with a cracked green roof.
Greymore, Nebulane is indicating that I’ve found my pit stop. But what is this place?
This is your destination for now, Ellanor. Remember what Mrs Silverwinkle instructed; the Guardian may lead you to several pit stops before you get to meet. Once you reach the Guardian’s location, the blue and red dots will become one and glow gold.
Elly sighed. She wrapped her arms around herself, her breath turning into steam. Tentatively, she went to the front steps of the house with the cracked green roof and sat down, shivering. Was it possible that it was even colder here than in London? Her face felt frozen, and she was so tired.
How am I supposed to know what to do here?
The Guardian will let you know in due time, Ellanor. Be patient.
She grunted and kicked at the ground irritably. Why was the Guardian wasting her time like this? She thought of her family and of Aron, and her heart clenched. She was missing them so much already. Why did the Guardian have to make things so difficult? Didn’t they care that her homeland would be destroyed by the Beast if she didn’t get the orbs restored in time?
She brooded in the dark, frustration and anxiety gripping her like two bullies. Then Marlow squirmed yet again, and his head popped out from her coat pocket. What’s going on?
She sighed and shook her head. Sorry, Marlow, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I feel lost.
Then her ears pricked up as she heard footsteps approaching from yards away, and she immediately tensed. Marlow’s head popped back into her pocket. Who was coming? For one awful moment, the goblin flashed across her mind.
Then suddenly, there stood a boy and an old woman staring at her from the front gate.
Grandma halted next to Jong-Min. “Who is that?” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. She grew even more wary when she noticed the girl’s wild black hair and the unusual glittering green eyes in her pointed, pale face.
She clucked her tongue. “A foreigner! What is she doing at my house?” she demanded. She rarely saw foreigners in the neighbourhood. But she had seen plenty of them on TV, and to her they were like another species. In fact, anybody who could not speak Korean was like a foreign species to her. She had never stepped foot outside her Han-Gook, her home country.
Jong-Min was gazing open-mouthed at the girl. He didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she looked exactly like the girl he had been seeing in his dreams for the past two months! He was certain of it as he was certain that Optimus Prime was the best and most noble Transformer in the universe, hands down.
“Kah!” Grandma advanced towards the girl with a frown, hands on her hips. “This is my home! What are you doing sitting here?”
The girl stood up. To the old woman’s surprise, she bowed in the proper Korean way and said in the most courteous of tones, “Good evening, Madam. I am so sorry. I don’t wish to impose myself on you. My name is Elly, and I am lost. This is my first time in Seoul.”
Grandma’s jaw dropped. “You can speak Korean?” she asked meekly. But perhaps she shouldn’t be too surprised, since there were several foreign-looking actresses on TV who spoke fluent Korean, and they were from strange-sounding places, like Kazakhstan …
Jong-Min beamed. This girl named Elly could speak his language! This couldn’t be a coincidence. She must be the girl from his dreams!
