by Kim Sagwa
The next moment it occurs to her that she has to go to ESL camp in San Francisco over summer break. Suddenly she detests San Francisco. With a long face she starts to cross a crosswalk. A motorcycle passes by with a deafening roar. The noise and the vibration and the music join into an indistinguishable clamor. She looks up to see clouds tinted orange and purple from the polluted air. In those clouds she sees the decadent beauty of the adults and the frail, pathological beauty that exists in every city. The thousands of rippling neon lights reflect the decadent beauty of the grown-ups. Everything between heaven and earth shines with their decadence. And Crystal makes her way through that decadence. The streets continue without end. Dust clings to her sweaty skin. She wonders what she should be thinking about, and about what she should do. Fragments of the day’s scenes shower down on her, in no particular order. Rage simmers and steeps inside her. To delay it she sings along with a song, this time loudly. But the artless attempt is no use. She tries as best she can to crumple up today’s events. With incredible speed she digs a tunnel deep in the corner of her mind and buries the crumpled remains, essentially un-happening them. And then she tamps the earth down over the mouth of the tunnel, leaving no trace. She removes a tiny fragment from her memory. Files it down and smooths its jagged edge. A simple operation. Her thought processes allow such conclusions. Miscalculations are to be expected but she’s confident she can fix them. But her rage, having reached a wall, has found a way out, an exit that involved breaking her internal laws. She tries to ignore it. To avoid thinking about anything she fixates on the act of walking. The next moment her hands disappear. Wow! Again she focuses, and now she feels her arms, chest, and stomach disappearing. Next it’s her head and her calves and thighs. Last to go are the knees and ankles. All that remain are her two feet, which continue to advance.
It’s impossible to know how many shops, crosswalks, alleys, and homes she’s passed.
But nowhere is there a park with a fountain, or a district where elderly musicians play lively tunes, or benches occupied by people reading books. This is the true face of P City. No metropolis embraces that which doesn’t conform. The moment Crystal stops is the moment she’ll have to pay for something. Her only option is to keep moving. Moving without rest until she can no longer stand straight, at which point she crawls aboard the first bus she sees.
Lilac bushes line both sides of the path that extends from the bus stop to the entrance of the complex where Mina lives. The lush masses of white and purple blossoms trail like clusters of grapes from the branches, exuding a smothering fragrance more akin to the smell of honey than flowers. The path goes gradually uphill, enough to get Crystal huffing and puffing. The thick scent makes it harder for her to breathe. She imagines being suffocated by the scent—her vision blurring, collapsing to the ground, gasping for air, then convulsions and death. And all the painful stages in between. The path changes directions and the thickets of lilac give way to black locust. Low, well-pruned shrubs are blocked off in tidy squares: pines, cherry trees, and magnolias are situated on the well-tended lawns. Arc-sodium lights illuminate the path in yellow. The apartment complex emerges in the distance. Minho is standing in front by a bench watching her. He flashes the grin she finds so refreshing.
She takes cigarettes from her messenger bag, offers one to him, and lights one for herself. They come together tête-à-tête and the end of her lit cigarette lights his. Sitting on the bench, she rests a hand gently on his shoulder and lowers her head onto it. He pulls her close.
“I have a headache.” She touches her forehead with her palm.
“How come?”
“Too much caffeine. I probably won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“What happened to your thumb?”
“I cut it—I told you that.”
Minho takes her hand and puts it on his knee. “Going to be all right?”
“For sure.”
“Mina’s wondering why she can’t get ahold of you. She said your phone’s never on.”
“Mina said that?”
“Yeah.”
“Which means Mina’s the only one trying to get ahold of me.”
“No, I sent you a text a while ago.” She takes his hand and holds it tight. “Two of them in fact.”
“Good for you!”
He smiles. “Did something happen? It’s kind of late, isn’t it?”
“My phone’s not working.”
He nods.
“My ex came to my place.”
He nods.
“I got into a fight with my teacher at cram school and had to leave class.”
He nods.
“I bought a new bag.”
He nods.
“Hey, Minho.”
He nods.
“Stop messing around and answer me. Minho…you there?”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve been wanting to see you. Okay?”
Minho nods. She gives him a light smack on the head and scoots out of reach. He makes a face. Giggling, she crushes out her cigarette underfoot and sits back down next to him. He pulls her close again.
“I’m starting to have some regrets about my life. I think I need to make some changes.”
He nods.
“Enough nodding. Let’s hear some suggestions. You must have something to say.”
He remains silent, his expression grave.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Hey.”
“If you want to do something different, then do it. Whatever you want.”
“Really? I was thinking the exact same thing. The problem is, my head is killing me. I keep getting hassled—who needs it. It all gives me headaches. I feel like something’s going to happen, something big. Killing that kitten wasn’t much of anything. This is going to be more serious. Really serious. It’s going to happen, I feel it. But—do you think so? Do you think I could? Well, the answer is yes, I can. I can do it. Yeah. I know I can. What do you think? Yeah, I could do it. I could do it, yes I could. I could do it. Crystal could do it. I could do it. I know I could. But really? Really? What do you think? I want to know what you think. It’s important. Really important, especially today. So please, listen to me.” She lights a fresh cigarette.
“I’m listening.”
“Do you believe me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you believe me in the truest sense of the word.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you think I could do a good job of it?”
He looks at her and smiles. “I believe in you. Whatever you do, whatever…”
“But how can you? How? Don’t you have to know me better first?”
“I read somewhere that if you know someone, then you can’t trust him. I don’t know you that well, and that’s how I can believe in you.”
Crystal looks at him and sighs. Then she stubs out her cigarette. “Yeah, well, I knew you’d say that. I don’t expect much from people. Maybe just a little bit of faith in me. And I don’t need much in the way of conversation as long as it’s warm and honest. But no one talks with me like that. Everybody rejects me. Every…single…person. They do. I know they do.” She nods several times in a row. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“About this. This.” She points to the ground. “This. Life.”
“You live on, even if it sucks—what else?”
“It’s nice that you’re so straightforward.”
“You are too. Aren’t you? You seem like it.”
“Yeah, Minho, you’re right. And that’s why I’m going crazy. It’s so annoying. Why is everything in the world so complicated? Why can’t it be simple? I’m simple. You’re simple. But this world is complicated. Nothing makes sense. All I did was point out a mistake my instructor made, but she got all pissed off and insisted she was right. She was wrong, obviously. I just can’t figure that out. Was it pride? Embarrassment? I don’t know, but is pride more
important than being correct? What the hell? It’s ridiculous. How could pride be so important? If she’d been right, then she could be proud, like, automatically. It wouldn’t have had to be so complicated. I just don’t get it. She flipped out. I couldn’t put up with it. I took off. I didn’t want to keep arguing with her. Hey, why are you laughing?”
“So cute.”
“What is?”
“You are.”
“Who, me? Cute? Seriously?”
With a smile, Minho nods.
“Really? You’re calling me cute? You think I’m cute. So, you are saying I am cute.” Looking up at the sky, she’s gets lost in thought, but the next moment she grins. “Wow. I get it. Sure. Great. Yeah, great. Great. Right? It’s great that I’m cute. It’s great, isn’t it? Right?” She pushes his shoulder, wanting to hear it from him.
“Yeah, you’re cute.”
“How so? In what way? What’s so cute about me? Why am I cute?”
“You’re different and you’re just…cute, that’s all.”
“So, it’s funny?”
“What is?”
“What I’m saying is funny to you?”
“No, not at all.”
She springs up from the bench and paces back and forth in front of him. “I really don’t like the situation I’m in now—I don’t like anything about it,” she says, making circles in the air with her finger. “We talk as if I’m water and you’re oil. It’s been like that from the start. I’m dead serious, but nobody ever takes me seriously. Nobody. Why is that? Why! Why! Why! I don’t understand it. I really don’t. Minho…I can’t take it anymore.”
Silence from Minho.
“I’m serious. It’s hard for me. If this keeps up…if this keeps up to the end…”
Silence.
“If this keeps up to the end! If this keeps up to the end!”
“You know what the problem is?”
She looks at him.
“You’re talking in circles. What’s your point?”
“Oh fuck!” she screams. “I’m embarrassed. Don’t you see? I’m embarrassed!”
“So tell me,” he says in a voice as soft as whipped cream. “I’ll listen, I promise.” Hearing that voice leaves her giddy.
“What I’m trying to say… No, I can’t. Why can’t I just say it! All right, here it is: I’m going to kill another kitten.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody listens to me.”
Minho looks off into space, nodding.
“You think I’m joking?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Minho looks right at her. “Kill it then,” he says in a clipped voice. “Go ahead and kill it, Crystal.”
She cackles. “Now I know why Mina doesn’t call you Oppa. You’re not respectable enough to be called a big brother, which is what I like about you. It’s what I’ve liked about you from the start.”
Minho laughs, “Stuff like that’s not important now.”
“Then what is?”
“Following through. Coming up with a perfect plan. Getting rid of your fear.”
She nods.
“How are you going to do it? What are you going to do it with? Sixty-five percent of murders in P City involve a knife. It’s the most common way, always has been. It’s messy but sure. And the rush you’d get when you were doing it would be the best. Besides, knives are easy to buy and no one would suspect you. The other thirty-five percent are beatings, like with a hammer or a baseball bat. Strangling with a chain or something. Throwing someone into the ocean, setting him on fire, beating him to death with your hands, shooting…”
“A knife—I think a knife is best.”
“You know how to handle a knife?”
She nods.
“Then you’re all set. But killing’s not easy. Are you ready for this?”
She nods. “But what if she resists? Meows or something.”
“Meows?”
She shrugs. He shrugs.
“Who are you thinking of, anyway?”
“Your sister.”
“Really?”
“With a knife.”
“You sure you want to kill her?”
“What do you think?”
Minho gets lost in thought.
“That flower scent, it’s too much.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind, nothing. What do you think?”
He gives it some more thought, and then, with a nervous giggle, “I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“I’m coming up blank. But it’s going to cause problems, you know.”
“It’s all because of those lilacs…but so…” She turns to Minho and smiles. The smile twists into a sneer. “Well, why didn’t I think of it. Yes, indeed, causing problems…but then—you never really like to stake a position, do you?”
“Do you? Aren’t you the same?”
“Nope. I’ve always been a deep thinker.”
Now it’s Minho who sneers at Crystal.
“You hate your sister, don’t you?”
“Why would I hate my sister?”
“Then you love her?”
He nods.
“If you love your sister, then you should say I shouldn’t do it. I’m talking about killing your sister.”
Silence.
“I’m done with Mina.”
“I’m…”
“You can never be done with Mina—is that what you were going to say?”
“Frankly…” He looks at Crystal and hesitates.
“It’s all right, you can tell me. It’s okay.”
“Frankly, I don’t really believe what you’re saying.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m joking?”
He nods.
“You mean all of it? Everything?”
He nods.
“Why? How come? Tell me why.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“I can do it… It’s because of that pink Dumbo T-shirt!” Her tone grows sharper. “That’s why you think I’m cute. That’s why you don’t believe me.” She frowns. Lowering her head and burying it in her hands, she starts swaying. A faint but piercing moan escapes her palms. Minho gets up and pulls her close. Crystal quiets.
“I wanted to really be serious today. But you aren’t taking me seriously. But then if you did I guess I wouldn’t talk so seriously. And if you had tried to be serious, I’d probably have joked around and tried to avoid the subject, too. I guess that’s our relationship. You don’t care no matter what I do, because you don’t take me seriously.”
She looks at him, wounded. He cups her face in his hands and tries to kiss her. She pushes him away.
“Minho! You’re not listening to me! You’re not! Nobody listens! Nobody! This shows what my friends think of me. Congratulations, Crystal!” Triumphantly she extends her arms skyward. “Thank you!” she screams. “It’s heavenly, that black locust smell!”
Stunned, Minho returns to the bench and sits, downtrodden. He takes a cigarette from Crystal’s bag and lights it. She returns to the bench as well, takes his cigarette, and lights one of her own from it.
“Sorry. Look, Crystal, I’m…”
“It’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m not asking you to apologize. I like this side of you. Really. It’s true. You’re such a kind guy—why didn’t I notice that till now? Of all the guys I’ve known you’re the best. I wish I’d realized it earlier. I should’ve gotten to know you way back when. Too bad!”
“Hey, Crystal. You keep yelling and somebody is going to report us.”
She sighs then continues in a soft, poised tone. “Lately I’m always thinking about what I need to do to make you take me seriously.”
“I do take you seriously.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I never talk this much with other girls.”
“Who’ve you been dating, deaf-mutes?”
He bursts into laughter.
; “Be honest. Isn’t it a problem that I’m Mina’s friend?”
“Why do you think like that?”
“Why do I think it’s a problem? I admit it, it’s my problem, not yours. It’s all mine. It’s my problem that I get so worked up, too. I wonder if I’m getting delusional. I’m cold.”
Minho peels off his hoodie and hands it to her. She puts it on. Arms crossed, he starts shivering. She laughs. “You want it back?” He shakes his head, resolute.
“No, you keep it.” She takes something from her bag. A piece of paper folded four times. She unfolds it and says:
“It’s Cesare Lombroso’s theories on the physiognomy of a born criminal. Here we go: Assassins have protruding chins, broad cheekbones, dark, thick hair, sparse beards, and pallid faces.
“Assaulters have round skulls and long hands; narrow foreheads are rare.
“Rapists have short hands and small…well, you know… and narrow foreheads. The great majority have light-colored hair and abnormalities of either the genitals or the nose.
“Strong-arm robbers, similar to thieves, have anomalies in skull size along with dark hair and scanty beards.
“Arsonists have small, narrow heads and weigh less than average.
“Swindlers have broad chins and prominent cheekbones, are overweight, and have pale, hardened faces.
“Pickpockets are tall with long hands, black hair, and sparse beards.
“Well,” she says, “what do you think?”
“Hmm?” says Minho, a bit dazed. “About what?”
“He says rapists have short hands. What does that mean? That the fingers are short? The palms? Or does he mean stubby wrists?”
“He’s talking about the whole hand. Like this.” Minho displays his arm. “Short hand—see?”
“Really? And swindlers have broad chins?” She holds her hands next to her face to demonstrate. “And prominent cheekbones?” She rests her hands against her cheekbones. “Overweight… With pale faces…” She cups her face. “…and hardened expressions.” She puts on a stern look. “Wow, it’s not easy to look like a swindler.”
