Flowers of Mold & Other Stories Read online

  When I came to my senses, my face was wrapped in the airbags that had deployed from the front and side. The airbags were cream-colored, just like in the brochure. Then I remembered Yi Minjae in the passenger seat. Her face, too, was wrapped in the airbags.

  Yi Minjae fractured her collarbone from the force of the airbags. When I went to see her, she was in a neck brace, watching TV in a half-reclining position. As soon as she saw me, she started screaming and hurled the bouquet of roses I had brought.

  Because the demo car was insured, Yi Minjae’s medical bills and the cost of replacing the bumper were covered. But I had again lost my chance to sell that car.

  It’s congested here as always, and like any other day, I look up at the maiden on the billboard. The next stop is announced. Someone rushes for the door, bumps my head, and knocks my glasses to the floor. People step on them as they swarm toward the door. The left lens cracks into five pieces, but I don’t mind. Through the cracked lens, I now see five maidens.

  3

  The rain-soaked suit shrank as it dried. I folded all the clothes into a neat pile and stored them in a cardboard box. The shoes had started to mildew, so I tossed them into a recycling box. I tacked a note on the electric pole the man had climbed: “Whoever is looking for his suit and personal belongings, please make all inquiries to the following address: Taegwang Apartments, A207. Tel: 345-2100.”

  Once in a while, I would receive a prank call, but as time passed, even the prank calls stopped. I walked by the pole and saw that an art school ad covered my note. To keep my note out of everyone’s reach, I climbed the pole once more. At the very top, I placed the paper with my contact info and climbed down.

  I started to pay closer attention to the calls my company received. I thought he might try climbing a pole again and set off another power outage. But they were usually inquiries concerning bills and payments. Blackouts were rare in 1997, but even more so in 1999. When I go out to eat or find myself downtown and notice extremely clean windows, I have an urge to go inside. If I wanted to, I could walk inside and introduce myself to the man working in the restaurant or shoe store. Recently I saw his shoes again—the pair I had thrown out. A Filipino man picking up the recycling bins was wearing them.

  I’m still waiting for his phone call. But I know a snake that has shed its skin doesn’t come back for what it has left behind.

  My habit of calculating the distance by counting electric poles has been replaced by the impulse to climb to the top of a pole. I, too, want to place something of my own there. But so far, I’ve managed to fight that urge.

  Your Rearview Mirror

  He stands on one of the twenty round display pedestals spaced throughout the department store. To his left is a Marilyn Monroe, wearing a see-through blouse and flowing skirt over layers of petticoat, and to his right is another Monroe, wearing a loose, black dress like those once worn by pilgrim women. The Monroes are striking the famous pose, the one where the actress tries to hold her skirt down as it flies up, ballooned by the gush of air from a New York subway vent. The Monroes were born in an injection-mold factory in Guro. Their heels are raised, and thick screws are drilled into their feet, fastened tightly to the pedestals. Positioned between the mannequins, the man listens to the same music all day. The top-40 hits are on repeat and will play nonstop until closing time. It takes forty-five to fifty minutes for the same song to come on again, but there’s no way to tell which track begins the album. At one point, his ears have started to pick up the lyrics to the hip hop and dance tracks that had initially only sounded like noise.

  Between his feet are the holes the screws have left behind. In order to take the mannequins down to change their clothes, the screws had to be constantly loosened and tightened, which ended up stripping the holes and making the screws go right through. This pedestal, now useless, was assigned as his post. So he stands on his platform, just like the Monroes who stand atop theirs along the edge of the store, dressed in the latest fashion. He no longer places his feet where the screws had once been after he began to feel as if they were still there, piercing his feet. When the song that had been playing when he first climbed on comes on again, it’s time for his break. For ten minutes, he can stretch, go to the bathroom, or drink coffee from the machine to chase away his drowsiness. He wipes his sunglasses with a piece of tissue. It’s dusty inside the store. In the fall, bits of thread cling to his pants from the static.

  He has spent the last two years on this cheap, plywood pedestal. During that time, it has snapped four times under his weight. From it, he has a clear view of the entire 3,600-square-foot Cosmos Shopping Center. It sells mostly clothing, but there are other businesses tucked inside the department store, such as a music store and a gift shop. In the middle of the man’s field of vision is the main apparel section. Garments that resemble the robes of an emperor hang from shiny, stainless-steel racks. What appears neat and straight at ground level looks crooked from above.

  There are surveillance cameras around the store that slowly turn left and right. Three monitors placed before the man play images captured by these cameras, but there are certain areas that don’t show up, like right below the cameras, or to the left of the camera when it’s facing right or to the right when it’s facing left. He calls these the blind spots. Blind spots in a car’s rearview mirror create a great deal of problems for new drivers. They’re usually the cause of accidents that occur when a driver suddenly slams on the brakes or changes lanes. Even with a curved rearview mirror, some spots still don’t show up. To avoid this problem, the man stuck a small convex mirror called a blind-spot rearview mirror to his side mirrors. But drivers aren’t the only ones to experience blind spots. They’re created wherever there is light and shadow. At the store, everyone calls him Mirror Man.

  Cosmos Shopping Center is situated at the heart of Myeongdong. Every day, hundreds of customers surge in and out. From his vantage point, he observes the scene with folded arms. On the opposite side of the entrance, his coworker, Jeong, stands on another pedestal. The man’s mirrored sunglasses reflect a different scene each time he turns his head. Pillars, clothes pinned up like butterfly specimens, garment racks, the tops of people’s heads as they shuffle through aisles—these reflections flit by on his lenses like a panorama. His gaze is about to move on to the gift shop when it’s pulled back to apparel. The image of a woman hovers over his sunglasses.

  With her back to him, she looks up at a gray dress mounted on a pillar, its sleeves and pleated skirt spread out to display its shape. The woman’s own dress, made of spandex, hugs the curve of her small bottom. She has a long waist and neck, and not an ounce of fat on her body. He glances over at the mannequins. Unlike these, which strike the same pose all year round, the woman doesn’t stop moving. A strand of hair falls over her forehead; she tucks it behind her ear, and moves her head in time to the dance track. The gray dress she’s admiring is the biggest fashion trend these days.

  Last year, it was all about the “sheer” look. Clothes made of material like dragonfly wings had glittered like fish scales under the lighting, hurting his eyes. Now, gray drawstring pants and pleated skirts have started to take over the store, and the “dragonfly-wing” clothes have been banished to the clearance rack on one side of the store, sporting 40% sale tags.

  The woman walks slowly to the shoe section, her gaze drifting over the display. She picks up a shoe and examines the sole. She then goes into the lingerie section and flips through the sales rack, and walks around the whole store, only to come back to the pillar with the gray dress. There’s something odd about her that he can’t pinpoint—she sticks out from the rest of the shoppers, like a triangle among squares. She strolls around the store again. Her gaze moves over objects absentmindedly, and her gait is as leisurely as someone going for a walk, except she always ends in front of the same pillar, like a mountain climber circling the mountain slowly on her way to the top. She stands before the gray dress as if in a trance, and then quickly glances around
the store. The man looks away toward the music store. When she turns her head back toward the dress, he fixes his gaze on her once more. She moves away from the pillar. This is all she has done while the same song came on twice. She buys nothing. Instead, she looks at her watch as if she has just remembered something and then rushes out the door.

  She comes back when every trace of sheer clothing has disappeared from the store, and the whole floor is a sea of gray. It’s been nearly a month. It’s the same day midterm exams are over for middle-school students, and the store, as well as the streets, is swarming with girls in uniform. The automatic doors stay open, without having a chance to shut. Girls wearing backpacks and holding corn dogs smothered in ketchup head toward the gift shop. The man’s eyes move after them. Most items tend to disappear at times like these. He feels uneasy about the girl with dirty running shoes, who’s chewing gum and standing by herself before a CD rack. She picks up a CD and puts it down, not budging from the spot. She blows a bubble and it pops, sticking to the side of her mouth. She unsticks the gum with her tongue, pushes it into her mouth, and chews so hard her jaws shake. But there are too many girls to watch just one. He even skips his ten-minute break. For lunch, he has some instant noodles at a food cart and then returns to his post.

  There are some girls in the lingerie section who seem suspicious. With their backs turned, they stand close together, whispering and exchanging furtive looks and smiles. Underwear takes up so little room and is frequently stolen. He looks at the monitors, but he can’t see what’s in front of the girls. They’re standing in a blind spot. He glances toward the music section, but the girl who’d been standing before the CD rack is gone. His gaze moves over the whole store for her and then freezes on the pillar with the gray dress. He recognizes the woman at once. Just as she had a month ago, she looks up at the dress, as if in a trance. She stands close to the pillar, getting jostled and shoved by the students. A careless girl smears ketchup from her corn dog onto the woman’s back, but the woman doesn’t even notice. She doesn’t seem interested in anything else. As the crowd sweeps her along, she glances absentmindedly at the other objects. He keeps losing sight of her in the crowd, but she’s easy to find among the clusters of short, dumpy girls in uniform. She glances at her watch and hurries to the cashier. A long line stretches from the sales counter. Even while she waits, she keeps turning to look at the dress. She places two strapless bras shaped like seashells on the counter.

  He walks toward the pillar. The whole store is empty; it’s past closing time and everyone is gone for the day. There is still a warmth in the air, and the noise that filled the store all day rings in his ears. The gray dress is nothing special. If it had a unique design, one of the Monroes would have it on. He doesn’t understand what the woman likes about the dress. A price tag stamped with the Cosmos logo dangles on the inside of the dress. The price is half of what he makes in a month.

  The automatic doors open and the smell of rain drifts in. The rain is coming down so hard it splashes in through the open doors. Cold air hits the hems of his pants. The doors don’t close. He climbs down to examine the sensor and sees her standing right out front. Wet hair sticks to her face like squid legs, and her long skirt, which her umbrella couldn’t completely shield, is soaked up to her thighs. She sweeps up her loose hair, gathers the ends of her skirt, and wrings out the rainwater. It’s right after opening time, and because of the rain, there are no other customers. The employees, dressed in their blue uniforms, have left their stations and are drinking coffee together in a corner.

  Once the woman has passed the music store and lingerie section, she stands before the pillar, just as he expected. Her wet clothes cling to her body, accentuating her thinness. She slowly looks around the store. Her gaze stops on his face for a moment and moves on. Because there are no customers, Jeong isn’t at his usual spot and is standing in front of a salesgirl instead, telling jokes with exaggerated gestures. A violin piece called “Zigeunerweisen” is playing. The woman traces her steps. She passes the lingerie section and stops in front of the CD rack. The violin melody is leading up to the “The Gypsy Bridge” section, the finest part of the entire piece. The rack is filled with CDs arranged in alphabetical order. She turns slowly, a hand brushing over the album covers. Suddenly, there is a disc in that hand. She joins her inner wrists together and crosses them to form an X. She drops, and then raises them, while rotating her hands at the wrists. At first, he sees what looks like ten, twenty hands spinning in the air, then a blur, like the whirling blades of a fan. He holds his breath, watching her hands slow down and speed up, in time to the violin. Then, like a flower bud unfurling, her fists open slowly, pinkies first, and the CD that had just been in her hands is gone; her empty white palms gleam under the fluorescent light. Everything happened so fast—the instant it takes for a sword to slice through the air, for a dragonfly to light on a blade of grass and then take off. The violin melody is still at “The Gypsy Bridge” part, but for him, it feels as if ten years have passed through his body. His eyes dart around the store. The salesgirls are gathered around Jeong; his voice rings out and a few girls laugh hysterically as if they’re about to collapse. The automatic doors open. The woman pulls out her umbrella from the stand. The umbrella opens. She steps out into the rain. The doors close. She heads toward Myeongdong Station and disappears from view.

  Only after she’s gone does the man realize the CD at the top of the rack is missing.

  She comes to the store every twenty-eight days. Each time, she lingers by the pillar with the gray dress and each time, she steals something. A pair of hairpins embedded with tiny pieces of cubic zirconia. A rayon scarf. A handkerchief. A pair of socks. But he pretends he doesn’t notice, and so she keeps coming back. In his pocketbook, he marks the days she comes. If his calculations are correct, she should come in today.

  Because final exams were held that morning, the store is packed with schoolgirls even before lunchtime.

  “Why the hell are there so many exams?” Jeong mutters.

  From their pedestals, Jeong and the man scan the store, their arms folded across their chests. Because the girls have swarmed in at once, the store roils like the inside of a boiling kettle. Jeong gives a low whistle. One whistle meant something was fishy and repeated whistling meant there was evidence. Jeong motions with his chin. The man looks, thinking it’s probably a schoolgirl, but it’s the woman. She’s at the pillar again. This time, though, a salesgirl is handing her the gray dress that had been displayed on the pillar. The woman disappears behind the changing room curtain. Shortly after, she steps out in the gray dress. It fits her perfectly, as if it had been custom-made for her. She turns slowly before the full-length mirror, studying her reflection. “Wow, you look like a model.” The salesgirl fusses over her. The woman points at one of the Monroes. The salesgirl brings the same outfit the mannequin is wearing and the woman goes back into the changing room again. She can’t seem to make up her mind. The clothes she tries on pile up on the rack. As the salesgirl removes yet another garment from its hanger, she begins to look annoyed. Just then, another young woman asks the salesgirl a question, and smiling again, she goes to help the new customer.

  The woman disappears into the changing room once more, but when she comes out, she isn’t dressed in her own clothes. Instead, she is wearing the gray dress. She moves toward the store entrance, weaving through the people walking in. The man hears Jeong’s rapid whistles. Just as the automatic doors open and the woman’s body is about to slip through, he steps in front of her. He has no other choice but to seize her, since Jeong caught her red-handed, and the dress is considered to be valuable. He slips a hand under her arm. Underneath the thin material of the dress, her skin is warm and soft. She tries to shakes off his grip, but soon stops struggling and follows him without a word.

  On the shelves are piles of defective products that need to be sent back to the factory, as well as garments that customers have asked to be mended. The clothes smell musty. The woman
sneezes as soon as they enter the storage room. The rainy season hasn’t started, but it rains often, and there is white mold growing on clothes placed near the ground. They’re probably crawling with vermin invisible to the eye. Naked mannequins are heaped behind boxes, their torsos, arms, and legs all separated; not even one is properly assembled. In the past, he has assembled countless mannequins and has even helped the salespeople dress them. It was harder to change clothes on the Monroe mannequins than the other ones, which frustrated the employees. But the Monroes catch the customers’ attention. Once the man has even danced with a mannequin for fun, holding it close to him, but he’d felt its cold, rigid body every time he moved. The man releases his hold on the woman.

  “You saw the warning, didn’t you?” His voice echoes in the room. “Shoplifters will be charged fifty times the cost of the stolen item.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen it. I’m afraid I can’t let it go. Not this time. Plus, my colleague caught you in the act.”

  She flinches.

  “Why’d you do it? But I guess if nobody ever stole anything, I’d be out of a job. Who can I call?”

  Still she doesn’t reply. Instead, she gazes up at him. Close up, she looks different. She is thickly made up, like a wax doll, and her eyes are as deep as a well. A well that would hold chilled water.

  “Since you won’t say anything, you leave me no choice.”

  She obediently hands over her purse. The contents reveal lipstick, compact powder, and a feminine hygiene pad amongst various odds and ends. Some women tend to shoplift every time they’re on their period. Perhaps she, too, is one of those; after all, she did come to the store every twenty-eight days. Even in the midst of the smells of dust and mold, he catches a whiff of her sweat and perfume. The perfume smells good. The price tag dangles from the neckline. There is no ID or business card in her purse. Instead, he finds a transparent lighter with a red fabric flower suspended in the fluid. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth. As the flame shoots up, the flower flutters inside the fluid. Las Vegas, where a beautiful girl is always waiting. Written below that on the side of the lighter is a phone number.