Flowers of Mold & Other Stories Read online

  The morning meeting starts before I can finish polishing the glass. Each day begins with a twenty-minute pep talk. This is the one time of day when all forty or so salesmen come together. After that, everyone’s day ends at a different time. We stand in rows, dressed to kill. This meeting is for show, for other eyes only. For example, the average height of our forty plus salesmen is 178.6 centimeters and the women on their way to City Hall or the department store for work are sure to look. I hurry into the meeting and stand in the back.

  Just before we hit the floor, we gather in the back lounge, which consists of two benches outside the men’s bathroom. Here, you’ll find everything you can’t find in the rest of the dealership, like ashtrays and wastebaskets. You can have a smoke, learn the latest way to knot your tie, or drink coffee out of paper cups from a machine. Getting kicked out of a building by security for soliciting, or slipping brochures under windshield wipers at an underground parking lot, only to run into a salesman from another company who’s doing the same thing—these are the kind of tales I get to hear while I fix my tie in the latest style and put mousse in my hair.

  MAY 11

  I recognized her right away.

  I’ve always worked Sundays. We’re supposed to take turns, but when their Sunday comes around, the other employees weasel their way out. And their excuse? Weddings or funerals. I’ve covered for them a few times, and now they just take it for granted. Not that I have a family or girlfriend to spend my Sundays with. And it’s not a complete loss when I’m the only salesman working, because everyone who walks in is my customer. Once I even sold two compacts, and though my commission wasn’t a whole lot, it was still pretty good. I raised the metal screens covering the 4,000-square-foot dealership and went inside. I flipped the switch for the platform and started buffing the windows. The morning flew by before I was even half-done.

  I was breathing on the glass, scraping at a stain with my fingernail, when a woman’s reflection fell across the showroom window. She had parked on the street right outside the showroom and was gazing at the car on the revolving platform as if in a trance. I hurried into the dealership, rolled down my sleeves, and put on my suit jacket. We’d been trained to dress neatly to keep up the reputation of Chrysler. She had on cat-eye sunglasses that looked really good on her slender face. In her arms was a Maltese sporting a red bow. The woman put her nose to the window and peered at the car. She was so close to the glass it kept fogging up. She chewed her bottom lip. It seemed she was having trouble deciding whether to come in or not. She took a step toward the entrance and the doors slid open. She took a step back and the doors slid shut. I shuffled some papers at my desk and tried to look busy. The doors kept opening and closing. Finally, she came in and took off her sunglasses.

  “Hello, may I help you?”

  My voice, resonating with confidence, sounded good even to my own ears. I picked up that little trick, listening to the other salesmen speak in their deep, polished tones.

  The woman had an unusual way of walking: only her hips moved, while everything above seemed to hover motionless, like a vision floating on air. Her face was very familiar. I may not be a top-notch salesman, but I know the basics. The number one rule about selling is having a good memory. Before I knew it, I was pointing my finger at her, practically shouting.

  “‘Paradise on Earth. Visit Hawaii Today.’ That’s you, isn’t it?”

  She was the Hawaiian maiden on the billboard. There was no way I wouldn’t recognize a face I’d stared at for a good ten minutes every day. Faith can move mountains, as they say, and the girl from the billboard had taken pity on me and decided to honor me with a visit. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but that’s what I was thinking. She gave a sheepish smile.

  “Someone actually recognized me. And I’m not even famous.”

  It really was her—the Hawaiian maiden in the flesh. But unlike the brown-skinned model on the billboard, the woman before me was fair. I had imagined someone short and plump, but she was my height and so thin her cheekbones stuck out. The billboard artist had painted a more voluptuous version of the actual woman. She smiled brightly at me, just as she had from the billboard. She drew closer to the car and ran her palm along the curve of the hood.

  “It’s beautiful,” she mumbled, as though to herself.

  “Would you like to sit behind the wheel?”

  She hesitated a bit, but then handed me her dog and climbed in. The car continued to rotate with the woman at the wheel. She pressed the buttons on the dashboard, one by one. The windows went up and down, the driver’s seat moved back and forth. Each time the car came back around, I could see her examining every last feature.

  “So, what’s Hawaii like? Is it really paradise on earth?”

  “There were too many people and a pickpocket stole all my money,” she said breezily as she turned the steering wheel.

  She opened the mini fridge in the backseat and even pulled out the ashtrays. Meanwhile, her dog licked my tie. I sensed she wasn’t going to buy the car. From my three years of experience, I’d learned enough to tell the difference between someone who was serious about buying and someone who wasn’t. We called it “getting the vibe.” I wasn’t getting the vibe this time. Or was I wrong?

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She took her dog back and stepped out of the dealership. Even when she was standing outside, she peered into the showroom window a few more times. She headed to her own car. It was a Le Mans GTI, a model discontinued in 1995. The car accelerated out of sight.

  MAY 26

  I was outside, polishing the showroom window, but the manager must have been watching me for a while. Before stepping inside, he said, “You know, being good at cleaning windows isn’t everything.” I made a note to myself.

  MAY 28

  I saw her again today.

  I got off at Seoul Station and took a cab to the Hilton. The Namsan Loop was filled with couples taking romantic strolls. The young taxi driver kept straddling the median line because he was looking out the window so much. Thinking I should make a trip to the bathroom before heading up to the eleventh floor, I wandered here and there until I ended up on the basement floor. Stage lighting escaped through the open door and illuminated the wall in front of me. In the spacious lobby, which was labeled the Crystal Ballroom, a poster announced “Yi Kangja Fall/Winter Collection.” The ticket table was deserted. I stood by the door and glanced into the ballroom. People watched the fashion show, while dining at round tables draped in white tablecloths. Under the brilliance of the stage lights, models walked out in time to the music. They struck a pose at the front of the T-shaped catwalk, turned, and strutted back. All wore dark eye shadow, similar to the kind of makeup a singer named Kimera had sported—was it ten years ago she’d come to Korea? The fall line ended and winter wear appeared, displaying leather and fur.

  She had on heavy eye makeup, but this time, too, I recognized her right away. A silver fox-fur coat came down to her ankles. I recalled what a customer had once told me. If a fox suffers high stress levels, the fur loses its sheen. And so, electrocution is the preferred method, since foxes have to be put to death in a way that doesn’t damage the pelt. Her coat shimmered under the blue stage lights. She was mesmerizing. I asked a staff member near me what her name was.

  “You don’t know Yi Minjae? She’s a top model these days.”

  When I got to the eleventh floor, I was an hour late. I knocked on the door of Suite 1105. I tried the handle, but it was locked. It seemed the middle-aged woman who had introduced herself as Mrs. Han had gotten tired of waiting and gone home. When I thought hard, I recalled her mentioning her husband was returning from the United States either yesterday or the day before. She had told me many times not to be late. I lost my chance to sell the car on the platform.

  JUNE 3

  I must have walked a total of at least five blocks. It’s been days since I planned to replace the soles of my shoes, but I still haven’t had a chance to get to a repair shop. F
or the last three years, I’ve bought more shoes than I’ve sold cars. I was working an underground parking lot, slipping car brochures under windshield wipers, and was just coming up to ground level when my cell phone rang. It was Sanghyeok.

  “Man, it’s been a long time. You remember me, right? The one with the zit face, always getting in trouble? The student rep even shaved a cross on my head a couple of times. Ha ha ha, I guess only an idiot wouldn’t remember me. Anyway, Seongjin gave me your number.”

  Sanghyeok said he was getting married the day after tomorrow. Friendly threats spewed from the phone. I had no excuse since it was a holiday; if I didn’t show up, our friendship was over. After I hung up, I realized I hadn’t seen Sanghyeok for over ten years. The last time was probably at our high school graduation, but I couldn’t recall his face. As if there wasn’t more than one kid with bad skin and bad haircuts.

  At Sanghyeok’s wedding, we didn’t stick around for pictures and headed to a bar. The drinking continued even after the bride and groom left for the airport.

  “Hey, Seongjin, long time no see. It’s already been a year since I saw you, right?”

  Seongjin seemed to have kept in touch with our high school buddies. A chunky guy squeezed in next to me. I was watching the music video of “Thriller” on the wall TV. Michael Jackson, made up like a zombie, was dancing with other zombies and prowling the night streets. I tried to sing along, but couldn’t remember the lyrics. Suddenly, Chunky smacked me in the back of the head.

  “You retarded or what?”

  The glass I’d been holding tipped over and I spilled beer on my crotch. Feeling my head, I looked up, but just like with Sanghyeok, I didn’t recall his face.

  “You probably don’t recognize me, because I put on a shitload of weight.”

  He stayed glued to my side and bullied me into remembering him, telling one anecdote after another of the trouble he’d caused in high school.

  “All coming back now, isn’t it? Oh, this one you’ll really remember,” he’d say, smacking me in the head every now and then.

  Our group dwindled as we hopped bars for more rounds until it was just the eight of us.

  “Leave the finishing touch to me,” said Chunky. “Trust me, you won’t believe this place.”

  We hailed two cabs and crossed the Han River Bridge. We climbed out of the cabs and walked down a backstreet, stopping in front of a yellow sign that said HERE’S LOOKING AT YOU. This sign would stay in my mind long after I had sobered up the next morning, like a road sign at a dead end. A metal screen was pulled over the door, but when Chunky rattled the screen, a man let us in. We swarmed down the stairs. The ones in front tripped and fell. We laughed and talked boisterously like a group of high school boys. The hall was lined with frosted glass doors. We surged into one of the rooms. A panoramic photo still from Casablanca covered the far wall. Chunky draped his arm around a girl who had hurried into the room and hollered for Madam Kim. An enormous middle-aged woman came in, swinging her breasts. The flesh spilling out of her clothes was like lard. Her thighs, wrapped in black fishnet stockings, showed through the high slit in her skirt, and her flesh bulged from the stockings in diamond patterns. Right then, girls crowded into the room. As the disco ball spun, fragments of light fell on the large table. A girl who had climbed onto it grabbed my hand and tried to pull me up. As I was trying to stand, something like a hammer hit me in the back of the head. I collapsed onto the table.

  When I finally woke from a raging thirst, I found myself in a small hotel room, with Chunky snoring beside me. The rest of the guys were also passed out in their wrinkled suits, piled up on top of each other. Their snores sounded like a chorus sung by a group of off-beat, tone-deaf children. I went into the bathroom and drank straight from the tap. My mind cleared a bit only after I had washed my face with cold water. The room wasn’t big, but it was clean. My head throbbed. I felt it and found some gauze stuck on it.

  In the dark, I found Seongjin and shook him awake. He rummaged through Chunky’s suit pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes and two 10,000-won bills. We found our shoes and stepped out into the hall. The plush carpet, the color of red bean soup, absorbed the sound of our footsteps. Just then the elevator doors opened and a couple stumbled out. A drunk, balding, middle-aged man leaned heavily on a woman, his arm slung around her shoulders, as she led him down the hall in search of a room. The woman had on cat-eye sunglasses. Sunglasses in the middle of the night? Though their backs were turned, I could see everything in the full-length mirror before me. I recognized her, even in the dim light. It was Yi Minjae.

  Right outside the hotel, an aging janitor was lugging a heavy cleaning cart to sweep away our vomit from the night before. Across the street was the Han River. We sat along the riverbank and had a cigarette.

  “My God, we’re turning thirty next year—can you believe we’re still at it? Maybe the night’s to blame. Or maybe we’re just used to living like this? I guess old habits die hard.”

  The voice traveling up my vocal chords was not my normal voice; it was the deep salesman voice I used when talking to customers.

  Seongjin’s laughter mixed with the sound of the water. “Hey, you sure nothing went wrong after Jaebeom threw that pint glass at your head?”

  I smoked my cigarette to the filter. “You mean Chunky?”

  Seongjin lit another cigarette for me. “So you finally remember? He was so pissed you didn’t recognize him. Said he knew a way to make it all come back. Man, we got so wasted.”

  We used Chunky’s money to have some soup to cure our hangovers and said goodbye.

  The early morning bus sped along with three passengers on board. The billboard appeared in the distance. We quickly passed it. I twisted around, draping my arm over the back of the seat, and watched the ad grow smaller. The bus stopped, waiting to turn left. Right then, I saw the maiden’s pupils move. It seemed she was cautiously looking for someone, afraid of drawing attention. Her pupils moved ceaselessly like rolling marbles until they froze at a certain spot in the intersection. Our eyes met. Then she smiled brightly at me. What? How could a woman in a picture smile? I blinked hard and shook my head. Was it because of last night, because I’d been hit in the head? The bus went around the building. When I looked up again at the billboard, she was gone. All that remained was a white silhouette, as if someone had cut her out from the ad.

  My front door was cracked open. I was positive I had locked it. I had even turned the handle to double-check. There was water on the tiles, and the smell of the sea lingered in the air. Nothing was leaking or dripping. I peered at the water marks. They were wet footprints.

  There were wet prints also on the living room floor. I placed my foot on top of a footprint. They were made by a person with small feet. The water seeped into my sock. The footprints led to the master bedroom. I gently pushed open the door. A woman was lying facedown on my bed. Her tanned back gave off a purplish tint, and every breath made her shoulder blades stand out sharply and then go flat. She turned over, breathing heavily. Her long hair was plastered to her face like ivy, but there was no mistaking who she was. It was Yi Minjae.

  Yi Minjae slept for a long time. I went out into the living room and waited for her to wake. I didn’t think it strange that she was in my apartment, sleeping in my bedroom. She came out into the living room. Her eyes were a little puffy, but it was definitely her. She walked toward me, moving her hips in her peculiar way.

  “I don’t know what kind of woman you are.”

  I was a bit angry because of what I’d seen at the hotel.

  “I’m not Yi Minjae,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m the woman on the billboard you see every day. Come with me. Just promise you won’t grow tired of my smile.”

  Yi Minjae, I mean, the woman on the billboard, stroked my shoulder.

  It was the bus driver who shook me awake.

  JULY 18

  I raised the metal screens and stepped into the dealership. I flipped the switch for the platfo
rm and went to the bathroom to get some water to clean the showroom window. During the night, someone had thrown up by the window. I filled the spray bottle and was stepping out of the bathroom when I saw somebody sitting in the driver’s seat of the car on the platform. It was Yi Minjae. Her hair was dyed blond and came down to her shoulders. She looked like a Barbie doll. She saw me and smiled brightly.

  I got the vibe as soon as I saw her face. “So, you’ve made up your mind?”

  “Do you think we could test drive it?”

  “We sure can, Miss Yi. I’ll go get the key.”

  She had moved into the passenger’s seat and was examining the glove compartment. I climbed into the driver’s seat. As soon as I started the car, the dashboard lit up and the gyroscope began to turn.

  “By the way, the fox-fur coat looked really good on you.”

  “You mean you came to the show? I didn’t think you’d be into something like that.”

  “Oh, I just happened to see it. But that isn’t the only place I saw you. I saw you somewhere else, too.”

  Her face stiffened right away. “Careful now, don’t mess with me. You want to sell this car, don’t you? Then just open the showroom window so we can go.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Yi. All clear for takeoff.”

  I stepped on the gas. It was only after the front wheels had come down the platform that I remembered the window. I first needed to disable the window sensor, but I’d forgotten the glass was there, because it was too clean. It was my fault for polishing the windows so much. The car went right through and shattered the huge pane. There wasn’t enough time to step on the brakes. Glass poured down the roof of the car and Yi Minjae shrieked as she covered her face with her hands. The car hurtled across the sidewalk and crashed into a streetlight. With the blare of the horn, my vision turned white.