Into Your World (2/2)

[london9calling]

“1954….” Kyungsoo whispered, like he needed to hear it from his own mouth to believe it.

“You want to know how, don’t you?” Minseok said softly, another tear escaping down his cheek. “Of course you do…but you probably will not believe it if I told you.”

Kyungsoo jerked back, letting Minseok’s arms fall from where they were placed on Kyungsoo’s shoulders “No, I don’t want to know how. I just want to leave.”

Kyungsoo stared Minseok down. He had to be insane, completely insane, Kyungsoo decided. Even if something felt genuine about the photograph, even if Kyungsoo felt like it wasn’t the work of an insane fan or stalker, that there was something there. Kyungsoo tried to think rationally, burying the feelings of something else that he dare not consider. He tried to convince himself how crazy all of it was.

Minseok nodded then, stepping back to allow Kyungsoo to move past him. “Go. It is a lot to handle. Just please…take the picture with you.”

Kyungsoo wanted to throw the thing back at Minseok, but he didn’t. He shoved it in his pocket, grabbed the handle of his suitcase, and walked past Minseok.

Minseok didn’t say anything more, and Kyungsoo didn’t turn around to see if he was still just standing and watching him leave. Four hours later Kyungsoo was back in Seoul, the picture still in the pocket of his jeans.

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Kyungsoo inhaled deeply. He was standing in front of Jongdae’s office, a sinking feeling in his stomach. His editor had heard he returned to Seoul two days ago and had asked to see him – in person. If Jongdae needed to see him face to face the news would probably not be in Kyungsoo’s favor, especially since he had yet to write anything.

Twisting the doorknob, Kyungsoo slowly opened the large paneled door. The sound of Jongdae on the phone rang out (Kyungsoo had always made fun of Jongdae and his “phone voice”). The editor was seated with his chair turned away from the doorway; Kyungsoo used Jongdae’s momentary inability to notice him to sneak in and take a seat in one of the leather chairs facing his desk.

“It will be a hit! I know it!” Jongdae crooned into the phone. Kyungsoo figured he must be on the phone with another one of his writers- one that actually wrote, unlike Kyungsoo.

Jongdae turned his chair slightly, noticing Kyungsoo’s arrival. Kyungsoo could almost swear that Jongdae grimaced ever so slightly when he saw him.

“Hey, I have to let you go. Remember, the meeting is at nine tomorrow.” Jongdae nodded “Yep that is correct. All right, take care. See you tomorrow.” He hung up the phone, placing it face down on his desk.

“Kyungsoo!” Jongdae tried to sound excited, but Kyungsoo could see right through him. They had known each other for a long time now, he knew when Jongdae was putting on an act.

“Hey. What is the bad news, boss?” Kyungsoo figured it was better to just get to the point right away, skipping the façade of pleasantries and small talk. If this was bad news, which he was certain it would be, Jongdae was probably struggling with delivering it as much as Kyungsoo was struggling at having to hear it.

“Fine. You know me too well.” Jongdae sighed, “Kyungsoo, I am sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Kyungsoo asked, but he could guess. It was pretty miraculous they hadn’t had this conversation earlier.

“We are not going to renew your contract.” Jongdae looked sad “I tried to fight it, I did. But there isn’t much to go on – you haven’t written anything in four years. We can’t keep representing you, pouring in man hours and handling PR if there is no money to be made. The royalties are now tiered towards your pocket, which means we are making very little off of your last book now.”

Kyungsoo nodded, solemn.

“I am so sorry. Please believe me.” Jongdae pleaded.

“I know.” Kyungsoo said simply. He knew Jongdae went to bat for him, he could always count on him for that.

Jongdae leaned forward in his chair, his expression sorrowful “Kyungsoo, I am saying this as a friend, not as an editor. I know you have the next great novel somewhere in that brain of yours. You do – you always have. You just need to find it and I know you will. And as you try to figure it out I will be there as a friend, I am sorry I can’t be there as an editor too. Not until you finish another book, that is. Then I will fight tooth and nail to sign you again.”

Kyungsoo assured Jongdae it was okay, it would all be okay. As he left the building he wanted to believe that this was true. He really wanted to believe it.

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It was a week later when the package arrived. Chanyeol brought it into the home office, placing it on Kyungsoo’s desk carefully.

“The return address is Mokpo. I’d be careful, it might be that stalker fan of yours – Mansouk or whatever he was calling himself.” Chanyeol eyed the package suspiciously.

Kyungsoo looked at the box, wrapped in brown mailing paper. He had pushed Minseok from his mind in the last week, he hadn’t wanted to think about how much he failed in Mokpo because he was too busy thinking about how much he had failed in the last week in Seoul. More crumpled paper, more blank pages. He picked up the package, shaking it slightly.

Chanyeol jumped back at his actions “It could be a bomb! Don’t shake it!”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “It is not a bomb. I don’t think he wants to hurt me. Plus he doesn’t know my address.”

“He knew you were going to Mokpo – don’t think he doesn’t know your address, phone number, identity card number. Those people are crazy!” Chanyeol began backing towards the doorway to the home office, trying to put distance between himself and the package.

Kyungsoo didn’t bother answering his roommate’s accusations, he was suddenly very curious. Was the package from Minseok? Maybe it was something from the person who owned the rental – maybe he left something behind when he was hightailing it out of there. As he started to peel the paper back Chanyeol hid his face behind his hands.

Once he had the paper off of the package, it was a few seconds and the lid was lifted, revealing a stack of old newspapers. They were yellowed, folded in neat little rectangles. Kyungsoo put them on his desk, shifting them around to see if there was a note. There wasn’t one, so he turned his attention to the dates and headlines on the newspapers.

Then he froze. December 2nd, 1954. He began opening the papers one by one, they were all from that year. It had to have been Minseok that had sent them.

Chanyeol had opened his eyes, noting the lack of an explosion as a signal that the danger had passed “Who sent you a bunch of newspapers?” He asked, picking one up from the desk.

“I don’t know.” Kyungsoo lied. He hadn’t told Chanyeol about his last run in with Minseok. He wasn’t quite sure why he had left that part out, there was just something so strange about it that he wanted to keep it to himself.

“Well, have fun with your musty old news. I am off to dinner, this handsome catch has a date.” Chanyeol lost interest in the package quickly once he realized it held very boring, inane newspapers.

Kyungsoo sat down at his desk, sorting the papers by date. They started in July 1954, working all the way up to May 1955. Headlines about the repatriation of war dead and articles touting the regime of Syngman Rhee dominated the pages. Kyungsoo thought back to the question he didn’t want answered – which is why Minseok had that picture. He guessed that this was part of the answer- that somewhere in these pages was a message that Minseok was trying to send him.

Kyungsoo read through a few articles, growing sleepy as he tried to recall if he had learned some of the details in his history class in college. His eyes grew heavy. Finally he pushed the papers to a corner of his desk and went to bed.

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Kyungsoo woke up around three in the morning. He tossed and turned for a half an hour before giving up on sleep all together. Soon he was back in his office, staring at the stack of papers. And then something miraculous happened. He picked up a blank sheet of paper, loading it into his typewriter. And he began to type. The words seemed to flow, as page after page was completed, all neatly stacked in a pile resting on top of the yellowed newspapers.

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“He is writing again!” Chanyeol announced excitedly. He knew Kyungsoo wouldn’t call Jongdae any time soon, so Chanyeol had taken it upon himself to do so. When Kyungsoo wrote, as rare as an event as that had been in the past few years, he was completely absorbed in his task and hated distractions.

“You have to be kidding me? Really?! That is great!” Jongdae almost fell out of his chair at the news. “Do you know what?”

“No clue. But it is Kyungsoo so you know it has to be good.” Chanyeol smiled. He was happy, so very happy that Kyungsoo had found his voice again. He didn’t particularly care how it had happened, just that it had.

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Kyungsoo examined the felt hat. It was grey, with dirt smudged slightly on the brim. It had arrived that morning via another package with a Mokpo return address. He set it on his desk, staring at it he started to type. It was strange, he decided, how things had turned out.

It had been two weeks since he had received the newspapers. It had been three weeks since he met Minseok. It had been four years since he felt this way – that he was writing something worth reading. It had started off with an idea, born from a stack of newspapers. Of a man living in Mokpo. A soldier, a former prisoner of war recently freed from North Korean captivity. Of a man, returned to an authoritarian regime and a controlled chaos in a port city in the South. Of a man, who had a family that became strangers in his absence. And of a man who found someone who wasn’t so strange to him in such a strange land, a strange land that was once as familiar as the back of his hand.

And maybe this man had a grey felt hat. He probably hadn’t worn it since before the war. It was nice, one of the nicest things he had ever owned. He had spent a good part of a pay check on it before the war. His Mother had tucked it away and kept it for him when he was off fighting. He wore it then, when he was back home, but one rainy day it fell into a puddle. It wouldn’t have been that important, shouldn’t have been, but to the man this hat was more than something nice to wear. It was a symbol, and now it was marked by the world like his life had been during the war.

Five days later another package came. This time it was a lighter, a small cheaply plated thing, badly dented. The man smoked. He didn’t particularly care about his lighter like he did his hat. It wasn’t expensive, it was something he bought from a corner store. He dropped it one day at the factory he was working in, denting it as it banged against a machine. He was nearly fired for bringing a lighter into the factory, near combustible fuel. He cried that night, fearing being fired because he was the only one left to support his Mother and sister.

A week and a half after that it was a small pocket screwdriver. His lucky charm. His Father gave it to him. It was no bigger than a coin, with four metal edges to fit different types of screws. The man had carried it everywhere with him. He had lost it one day, and had mourned the loss. His friend, the man who was not so strange to him, found him another one. Then his luck wouldn’t run out.

The next week it was a playbill. The man and his friend went to the theater one Saturday night. It was the first time they had kissed, in the shadows, in an alley behind the theater as rain fell.

Then came a small silver ring. The man had received it but wouldn’t wear it because his friend wouldn’t wear it either. His friend was engaged to marry someone else, a woman, she was the daughter of a family friend. It was a situation that couldn’t be avoided. It was a tangle of depression, of hopelessness, of abandonment. It was the last thing the man thought of as he felt his hand let go of the cold, metal railing, the sea beckoning him below.

A full eight weeks after Kyungsoo opened a bundle of newspapers the final package arrived. It was an address, in Mokpo. Kyungsoo knew where it led, and he would go there. Right after he finished his book.

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It was raining, a light mist, as Kyungsoo dropped his completed novel off at Jongdae’s office.

“Hey kiddo- I know it is going to be great! The signed contract is in the mail!” Jongdae was all smiles as he took the papers from his friend. “But you are looking a little thin. Have you been eating?”

Kyungsoo laughed, nodding “Yeah. You know how I get when I write.”

“I do, but you still need to take care of yourself.” Jongdae then went back to staring at the stack of paper “I can’t believe you finished this in a little over two months.”

“Surprising, isn’t it.” Kyungsoo agreed. His first novel had taken him the better part of two years to produce.

“What inspired you? I am seriously curious.” Jongdae questioned, setting the precious new novel down on his desk.

“Let’s just say that trip to Mokpo was exactly what I needed.” Kyungsoo answered cryptically.

“Oh…well that is good than. Hey, are you wearing a ring?”

“This old thing?” Kyungsoo looked down at the silver band on his ring finger “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Are you okay?” Jongdae cocked an eyebrow. Kyungsoo seemed unusually spacey for some reason.

“I am fine.” Kyungsoo assured his friend “Just trying to get out of writing mode.”

“All right. I’ll call you once I am done reading it.”

“Sounds good.” Kyungsoo turned to leave, stopping before he reached the door “Hey, I am going to Mokpo for a bit, to unwind. Just to let you know.”

Jongdae nodded slowly “Take care Kyungsoo.”

“I will, you too.” Kyungsoo left Jongdae’s office, hailing a cab for the train station.

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The address led Kyungsoo to the place he wanted to be for the last month and a half- at least. But he couldn’t go there, not until he had finished his book.

It had started off simply. He began writing what he thought might be an interesting story of a man in 1954 Mokpo. He knew that his inspiration was from that crazy fan – Minseok. Then it started to become something else.

Kyungsoo had the first dream shortly after he received the felt hat. He was in Mokpo- he was the main character in his novel. He met Minseok, but Minseok was called something else, a savior for him during a dark time in his life.

The taxi was parked outside of the small house when he arrived. It was already dark. Kyungsoo was nervous. It would be the first time facing Minseok like this….knowing. He knocked quietly on the door, almost afraid that Minseok would answer it and turn out to be a crazy stalker fan after all – that Kyungsoo would be the crazy one for having convinced himself of all of this.

The door opened.

“Welcome home.” Minseok was crying as he pulled Kyungsoo into his arms.

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Kyungsoo relaxed, relishing the feeling of being held by Minseok. They were lying in Minseok’s small bed. The sun was starting to rise, they had spent a long night kissing, caressing, and talking sparingly- explanations falling in the background as they appreciated what had returned to them. Words were not necessary as they busied themselves with their physical reintroduction, decades overdue.

Finally Kyungsoo asked the question that had been bothering him “How did you know I was coming to Mokpo? The first time I came, I mean.”

“You would be surprised what you can find out on the internet.” Minseok laughed.

“You are a stalker fan!” Kyungsoo sat up, playfully hitting Minseok’s arm.

“I think we both know that isn’t true.” Minseok smiled for a moment before growing serious “Like I said, I saw your picture on the back of your book and I knew it was you. And that was…”Minseok mentally calculated “Over a year ago now.”

“So you figured out I was now a successful author – why didn’t you come find me right away?”

“Ha! Based on your reaction after hanging out with me for two days I hate to think what you would have done if I had shown up at your apartment in Seoul. You probably would have had me arrested.”

“Okay, that is fair.” Kyungsoo agreed “But what made you remember?” Kyungsoo knew his own memories had been awakened because of Minseok, he couldn’t imagine how the other man had recalled them without the help of another person, or the help of objects familiar to him in the past.

Minseok looked sad “I was walking near the sea…and I remembered when they found your-“Minseok swallowed, he didn’t want to say it but he did “Your body. Because that is where I walked into the sea…a few days later.”

Kyungsoo remained quiet, taking it all in. He had guessed as much, that Minseok had followed after him then. For a moment he thought it had all been selfish, but then he realized it wasn’t as easy as that. It never had been.

“Let’s stop talking about the sad stuff. I have too many happy things I want to do with you.” Minseok smiled, pulling Kyungsoo back into a tight embrace and planting half a dozen kisses all over his face. “Now comes the important question. Are you moving to Mokpo or am I moving to Seoul?”

“Ah, right. We do still have things to sort out.” Kyungsoo wasn't sure what would be the best arrangement “Let’s think about that tomorrow. For now, let’s sleep.”

The room grew quiet as both men relaxed, their bodies pressed tightly together, a desperation born of a long time apart from each other. Lifetimes apart.

“I love you Kyungsoo, I won’t leave you this time. I won’t ever leave you.” Minseok whispered, wanting to affirm the fact before they fell asleep.

“I love you too Minseok. Thanks for finding me.” Kyungsoo answered, breathing the words into Minseok’s chest.

“Hmm. Thank you for letting me into your world.” Minseok whispered back, planting one last kiss on Kyungsoo’s mouth before they fell asleep, fell into a tomorrow that was sixty years in the making.

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The small grass covered mounds and the concrete tablets jutted out from the landscape. They painted the side of the small hill, the black stone contrasting with the overgrown grass. Kyungsoo didn’t have to ask for directions, he didn’t bother mentioning it to Minseok. He needed to come alone. He found what he was looking for, like he had known where it was all along. It was a halfway up the hill, overgrown.

Kim Kyung Min

1929-1955

He placed the bouquet of flowers on the grave. The memory of the sea, of the fall, of the regret…it was held in this place, heavy against the hillside. It was a kiss by a movie theater, it was a silver ring that symbolized a bond – a silver ring that never displayed that bond openly. It was a thousand days never lived, it was decades of love falling into easy companionship unrealized.

Kyungsoo turned, walking a few feet to the adjoining grave. It was Minseok’s grave - even if the letters carved into the tablet bore another name. He had bought two bouquets at the floral shop. The second white bundle was placed on this grave, carefully. Maybe he was so reverent because he never knew how he had followed him soon after, how could he – it wasn't his story. His story had ended, a few days before. Leaning down he traced the inscription, shedding a tear as he relished the fact all was no longer lost, it was just beginning.

Lee Dong Suk

1926-1955