by Kim Sagwa
But the truth is, Crystal is the dumb one. Not because she’s immature but because she goes to a cram school. The private education system in P City looks down upon P City’s broken public education system, offering a customized and quality education based on a student’s achievement level. It’s not a solution, merely a gigantic market that feeds off the broken public school system. The cram schools make a place for themselves by seizing on the flaws and weaknesses of the public schools, creating a massive market, and so they succeed, but that’s it. They analyze everything from a business’s point of view. They try to provide the best service to their consumers, but they lack any kind of spirit. And what is spirit anyway? How much of a demand is there for it? And how does one market spirit? When one cram-school guru comes up with a document full of English in response to these questions, another guru counters with a document full of Chinese characters. They compare notes, nod in agreement, and adjourn to their whiskey bar, where they straighten their ties and button their cuffs and exchange tips about other places to drink that they’ve discovered. Their lists of “must-read books” include the game-changing classics of Western civilization. The instructors then flash these crammed lists and tell their students, “If you want to get into an Ivy League school or even P University, you need to read this stuff, there’s no other way.” The kids nod, fold the list in half, and tuck it in their backpack. Done—nothing further to think about or concern themselves with. The day is short and there are loads of other students like me. Do I feel lonely? No way—I’m not the only one. There goes a student. And another student. They meet at an intersection, shake hands, smile, and go their separate ways.
High school takes students down one of three paths: one for the really smart kids, who already know the steps they have to take to maintain their elite standing and better avail themselves of the opportunities afforded them; one for most kids, whose only option is to endure in the hope that university has to be better than this; and stuck in between these two are the students who have lost their way, who engage in useless fantasies, who suffer from depression and end up killing themselves. The kids who commit suicide do so not because of the suffering they’ve experienced but because they know nothing about life and think of suicide as a fantasy or delude themselves into thinking death would be an answer for their suffering. Crystal, needless to say, is one of the really smart kids. She’s a model child who humbly accepts that which she’s ignorant of and bows to the knowledge of grown-ups—or at least she pretends to. She never really learns anything. To camouflage her lack of learning she processes the grown-ups’ instructions verbatim and is quick to adapt and mimic. The grown-ups are scared of a girl like her. You’re smart all right, they might want to tell her, but you’re still only a kid, a child, all show and no go, you’ve got a long way to go till you’re fully formed. You need to learn about the world or else…. Doesn’t it scare you? The future is unknown: it’s dark; it’s cold, hard reality and green stacks of money; it’s orbiting out there somewhere, and who knows when and where it will land. Look at my wrinkled face, that’s what comes from life in the open—the air, the sunshine, the humiliation and frustration, they’ve ruined me.
And Crystal might respond: The last thing I’ll do is live your shitty life.
Clutching her pen, she moves on to the next supporting detail.
Grown-ups like to use words they don’t understand. And that planet you’re talking about, you’ve never set foot on it.
Just another adamant denial of the bullshit of grown-ups before it’s on to the next detail. Crystal is confident about her future. Confident because none of this stuff is her fault, because it was all fabricated before her arrival. She arrived after everything was in place; she wasn’t born until everything was already prepared. Accordingly, if she can have everything, it’s probably because she arrived at the perfect time and place with everything awaiting her. The universe has chosen her and she welcomes being chosen. Since her world existed before her arrival, just like her language had its set grammar and tone, all that remains for her is passive learning. But Crystal is not about to complain: even if she yearns to make herself unique, she’s bound and determined to choke back such urges and submit to the establishment. She is perfect because she is unfeeling and doesn’t know love, and she is untainted because she was never on her own as she grew up. And now here she is looking at a chalkboard. She sees a perfect world of sleek numbers and lines, and a door to this world that’s wide open. But she’s already here. She forgets about M. The world dazzles her. The instructor knocks on his desk—time’s up. Crystal looks at her assignment. Perfect!
DEATH
The bus stops and the waiting kids pile on. Crystal and Mina have barely crawled on, grabbed strap handles, before the bus pulls away, rocking and swaying. It’s full to bursting, but quiet—so quiet they can hear what sounds like someone crying. The sound grows and the passengers’ eyes shift to the rear. Three girls in green school uniforms are crying, their faces glistening with tears—Pak Chiye, a student at P School, killed herself the night before.
She jumped from the roof of the five-story building where students rent cubicles. She and Mina had palled around since kindergarten and had lived in the same neighborhood until three years ago, when Mina’s family moved to their luxury condominium near Crystal’s apartment complex. Just before taking her life, Chiye texted Mina saying she wanted to kill herself. Mina hadn’t seen her lately and wasn’t sure whether to take her seriously—maybe it was just a sudden whim? Either way Mina was glad she had texted—the first message from Chiye in a long while—and she had been about to reply when her cellphone died. As soon as she got home from cram school she charged the battery and texted Chiye back, but no reply. In the meantime, Chiye had told her mother she was off to her cubicle to spend the night preparing for exams and that she’d go straight to school the following morning. The other students in the building reported nothing out of the ordinary; she didn’t look or act troubled. She studied till one in the morning then went up to the roof and jumped. There was no note, no instructions for disposing of her belongings. Left behind on her desk were her Ethics and Morals study guide, a pencil, a black Magic Marker, a notepad, an old math test she’d crumpled and then uncrumpled, and a half-eaten container of plain yogurt.
Crystal and Mina don’t interact for the rest of the way to school. After they’ve arrived Crystal keeps glancing at Mina, trying to read her. On the whole Mina seems fine, except at the school gate she momentarily loses her balance. Once in the classroom she collapses into her seat. Other girls gather around her. Crystal hovers uncertainly on the periphery before returning to her seat. Mina doesn’t cry or shout; she merely looks a bit tired and hungry. With an effort she sits up, scratches her elbow, passes a hand through her hair, takes her pencil, and flips through her stupid workbook. When Crystal texts her, “Buck up,” Mina takes her phone from her pocket, silences it, and stuffs it into her bag. Crystal is flustered. From the PA in the classroom comes the head teacher’s voice announcing it’s the last day of testing and encouraging the students to keep up the good work and finish strong. But the news of Chiye’s suicide has sent a shock wave through the kids and they’ve forgotten the test momentarily while they attempt to retrieve their views on life and death, which are more or less uniform but contain a few variations. These views they’re considering are kept in a dusty black container that’s larger than it should be. The kids tilt their containers this way and that, tap on it, sniff at the contents, wipe off the dust, then try to find a box that’s a better fit for the time being. But before returning their views to the original container they gather in the classroom then sweep into the hallway to tromp around as if possessed: like the boy who cried wolf as he chased off dark clouds with his herder’s staff. Then the darkness disappears from their expressions as fast as it gathered and their faces are placid again, as if nothing has happened. The bell for first period sounds and the exam is passed out. The kids nudge their black boxes aside wit
h their feet, take pens in hands, and soon all eyes are fixed on the exam. All except Mina’s. She alone continues to gaze skyward, tapping her shepherd’s staff.
Crystal is caught in a dilemma: What look should she adopt; what expression should she wear? She looks around. Everyone’s manner appears perfectly appropriate. They may not have known her well, this student from the school close by who resembled them in many ways, but now that they’ve heard the news of her suicide they seem to know how to respond. Am I the only one, the one person who’s without a clue? She feels uneasy. Should she make herself look tired? Put her head on her desk and close her eyes? Lament to the sky? She just doesn’t know. Outside, the sun is playing peekaboo behind lazy clouds—a peaceful scene. Can she just sit and watch it? Or maybe she shouldn’t?
Crystal knew Chiye, but only through Mina. She offered a bright hello to Chiye when she and Mina ran into her, but if Mina wasn’t there she’d simply pass by, though it was awkward. Chiye was too distant for Crystal to show interest in, yet too close to neglect. Back when Mina transferred here and was looking uncertainly around her new classroom, when she began to get close to Crystal but still was closer to Chiye, she used to yak incessantly about her. There was the day she and Chiye graduated from kindergarten, and then their first day of grade school, and then the day Chiye turned nine, and then an adventure with Chiye in the caves at the DMZ. Mina’s reminiscing reached its apex when she talked about the year she and Chiye took a trip to Kyoto with Minho—Chiye eating sushi, Chiye eating tonkatsu donburi, Chiye eating unagi donburi, Chiye getting sick on unagi donburi, Chiye taking an antacid that made her drowsy, Chiye falling asleep, Chiye waking up and yawning, Chiye taking photos, Chiye being photographed, Chiye dropping her ice cream on the floor, Chiye picking it up and eating it—all with Mina, of course—and with Minho taking pictures of the two of them. Back then Crystal had doubts about Mina’s relationship with Chiye—were they friends or were they lovers? For Crystal, Mina had been a big question mark. But at the start of the new semester Mina quickly cut back on her stories about Chiye. There were no new stories about her or adventures involving her—they now went to different schools, their homes were farther apart, and Mina, shocked at the study fever at this new school, signed up for Crystal’s cram school. Which meant four hours of supplementary classes every night. It was hard for Mina to keep up with. In time she no longer lined up a train of anecdotes about Chiye, once delivered in a bubbly voice. But still Crystal wondered: What was there about Chiye that had gotten Mina so psyched? Would Mina now get psyched over her? And now that Chiye was gone, Crystal wonders even more. But she can’t very well ask Mina that—how could she?
I don’t think it’s my problem that Chiye bombed an exam and killed herself. I don’t know why she did it, and I don’t want to know when I honestly don’t even know where she lived.
Satisfied with this conclusion, her thoughts now clear in her mind, Crystal scans the notes she’s been reviewing for the exam, but then takes one last glance at Mina. And with that glance she finds the epitome of a schoolgirl who’s just learned of her friend’s suicide. A girl emanating the beauty of an elegant math formula. Crystal wants to open her notebook and come to grips with that formula. The formula is magnificent, its beauty overpowering, leaving her breathless. She imagines, shining six inches behind Mina’s head, a three-layered aura set in Bohemian stained glass. Glittering gold wheels, large and elaborate, turn busily but without a sound. Even that ray of sunlight falling across her gently lowered ivory-colored forehead, is as precise as an atomic clock. How can something that comes from the heart look so perfect? Crystal is dubious. Mina looks unbelievably perfect, as if she had polished this façade for the very moment Chiye threw herself from the rooftop. Overwhelmed by Mina’s flawless beauty, Crystal manages to collect herself and wonders: How vexed would Mina be if Chiye hadn’t killed herself? Gone would be the opportunity for Mina to display her perfected performance, gone the opportunity for Crystal to appreciate her rare beauty. Then is this a good thing, something to be thankful for, a reason to love Mina more? No, it’s not. Crystal feels Mina’s exceptional flair stab at her heart, choking her up. I want it. More than ever she longs for that flair. I want it. I want it. I want it. The sentence repeats in her mind, that and nothing else. But this objective is unattainable, and it turns into rage. Glaring spitefully at her, she feels Mina’s sorrow magnify inside her, a sadness so close and yet out of reach. She is jealous of Mina’s sorrow, no longer of Mina’s friend Chiye. She stares desperately at her exam and finds a realm of silence and peace, perfect and eternal. Suddenly she feels an outpouring of love toward the exam. Wanting to crush Mina, she turns to the first page. And to the next page, and the one after that, peace reigning throughout. Crystal understands everything written on the test, the question she’s now focusing on and the ones before it and after it. She is at peace in this world in which she has perfect control of everything. While she tackles the exam questions, Mina recedes into the distance. Crystal longs for her to go, keep going, and never return.
Mina turned in blank answer sheets for all three of her midterm exams, earning herself a summons to the school office. It was a perfect climax and ending: Mina the femme tragique. What can Crystal say for herself? She feels like a complete failure. Looking out the window and watching the clouds drift past, she smokes one cigarette after another but can’t allay her concern. Instead she sprays air freshener and cranks the window wide open. She changes into a black skirt and red stockings and then, while sneezing three times in a row, manages to stuff her graded midterms into her handbag along with her credit card and cellphone. After checking her watch she fixes her hair in the mirror. From her door to the elevator to the playground in the apartment complex she keeps trying to reach Mina, but Mina’s not answering. Crystal flags down a taxi. When she tells the driver her destination—the posh high-rise where Mina lives with her family—his expression eases.
She finds Mina sprawled out in the hallway outside her apartment, looking up at the light in the ceiling. “Hey, Mina.” She circles her—what now?—then grabs her leg and pulls, bringing a spluttered exclamation from Mina. Crystal lets go of her leg and laughs. Mina manages to scowl and smile at the same time. They’re both smiling. Slowly Mina covers her face with her hands. A faint moan escapes through her fingers, sounding indignant more than sorrowful, like a door creaking open, a live toad being lowered into a pot of boiling oil, a person who has forever lost any memory of her home or its address, a curse that continues till the moment she dies. How could such a sound come from Mina’s mouth? As Mina caves in to the extremity of her emotions Crystal can think of no way to help other than joining her friend in looking up at the ceiling, her arms folded.
Finally, Mina removes her hands from her face: “Let’s go.”
Crystal and Pyŏl are clinging to each other as they sing. Bathed in the rotating colors of the disco light, Pyŏl paws at Crystal’s chest. Mina chugs a can of beer. Chŏng’u seems to be getting a charge out of watching her: whenever she plunks an empty can onto the table he grins and hands her a new one from a plastic bag. Mina plunks down an empty can, he hands her another. Down goes another empty can, out comes a full one. Crystal pushes Pyŏl away and shakes a fist at Chŏng’u.
“Stop it, she’s had enough!”
“Hey, I want mooore,” Mina slurs. “Gonna have mooore…up yours.”
Chŏng’u looks in the bag. “Only one left.”
Pyŏl starts a new song and pulls Crystal to him. As they start kissing again, Chŏng’u forgets about the beer, flips through the songbook, then gets up saying he’s going out for cigarettes.
Crystal frees her mouth from Pyŏl’s long enough to call Chŏng’u over and hand him money. “Get me a pack too, please? And something to sober her up.” The moment he’s out the door she and Pyŏl glue themselves back together. The microphone drops to the floor. Mina drops to the floor. A new song starts and ends, the performance rating comes up on the screen followed by canned a
pplause, and then there’s another song. Crystal and Pyŏl are on the sofa, licking and groping each other. Just as they’re about to stick their hands in each other’s pants Chŏng’u returns.
They reluctantly untangle themselves. Chŏng’u watches, exasperated, as Pyŏl buttons Crystal’s blouse and she straightens his tie. Pyŏl walks out, a cigarette projecting from his mouth. Crystal takes Mina’s hand as she lies listless on the floor, wraps it around the bottle of tonic Chŏng’u brought, and rubs her shoulder. Mina doesn’t respond. Chŏng’u pushes a number on the selector and sings along with the new song. Crystal opens Mina’s mouth and closes it. Her jaws hinge mechanically. “She’s not breathing,” she says to Chŏng’u. Lost in the song, he doesn’t hear her. “Hey! She’s not breathing!” she yells. He slowly turns toward her. “She’s not breathing!” she yells again. He approaches, bewildered, and together they shake her. Still no response. Chŏng’u flips Mina over and raps her sharply three times on the back.
