“Still… yes… I understand… I’m really sorry. Um… please make sure to put the pad on, and if it hurts too much, over here, if you go out to the town there’s a clinic. It’s called Daeo Clinic, and that grandfather is really good. I’m really, really sorry.”
Toward Seonwoo, who turned his back as if he really didn’t want to be any more involved and was about to leave, Yoonjo hesitantly tried to approach him. At that moment, as if he’d been waiting, Yoonjo’s grandfather stopped him.
“Aya, that’s enough. That Seoul boy might report you if you keep going.”
“Ah! Grandpa!”
“What? What did you do right to be making such a fuss?”
With the two bickering behind him, Seonwoo stepped out the front door. The sunlight was still stinging. He made a shade with his hand and walked as if melting into the sunlight.
The house was smaller and more modest than Seonwoo had expected. Yet it was decorated in a charming way. If Yoonjo’s house from earlier was the typical country house he’d imagined, this place gave off the feeling of a well-maintained cottage.
He roughly unpacked the luggage he’d brought and sat still on the living room sofa for a while, then suddenly thought he should check his back and got up from his seat. Entering the bathroom, Seonwoo stood in front of the neatly wiped mirror, crossed his arms to take off his shirt, then turned around. Then he froze.
“How is this even possible?”
He let out a hollow laugh looking at his back, which was bright red as if heated by the sun. Only the distinct marks of five fingers here and there seemed to show how he’d gotten injured.
Seonwoo stood in front of the mirror for a long time, caressing his back with his fingertips, then let out another laugh.
What that officer said seemed to be true. If things had gone wrong, his whole back could have been crushed. It was truly a harsh initiation.
After putting on the cooling pad, Seonwoo examined various parts of his body in case there were more injuries. Then he slowly approached his phone, which was vibrating somewhere nearby.
Manager Woojin
Seeing the name, Seonwoo hesitated for a moment. But it wasn’t a call he could ignore either. Woojin was the one who had sent Seonwoo down here.
When he answered, a worried voice came through.
– How’s the house?
“It’s well-maintained just like you said.”
Seonwoo switched to speakerphone and organized the luggage he’d brought. Not that there was much to call luggage. Just one empty notebook, a few scripts, and some clothes to change into. It was extremely simple, but there was nothing he could do since he’d been practically pushed to come here.
– Are you really not going to return?
He stopped mid-motion while roughly organizing his clothes. It felt as if all the blood had drained from his body. Seonwoo forcibly held his breath briefly. Only then did his airways open a little. Sitting on the nearby sofa, he spoke calmly, pretending to be unconcerned.
“You said that before I came down too.”
Even as nagging directed at him kept coming through, Seonwoo didn’t reply once and just blinked slowly. Unlike his Seoul home, which was no different from a tomb, this place was a world Seonwoo didn’t know. That alone was consoling, but Seonwoo couldn’t overcome the crushing fatigue and lowered his heavy eyelids.
Behind his closed eyelids, foam from the past rose up like an afterimage. That day was exactly like this too. The lights were dimly lit, and each other’s shadows were most deeply visible, revealing their sticky sincerity in full—that day.
Was it you or me who kept holding onto the string of lingering attachment we couldn’t let go?
Seonwoo, who had been piling up questions he couldn’t ask layer upon layer, gasped for breath urgently, as if forcibly pulled up from deep water, at the sound of a small sigh coming through the speaker. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath.
– Yeah, well… I’m the actor, or you’re the actor. Still, I’m just saying it because it’s disappointing, man.
“I told you I’m not doing it anymore.”
– That’s because you’re not even writing scripts now. You have no survival reports, no paparazzi photos, so people think you’re dead. The tabloid news even says you’ve already died—you need to clarify that.
Now even standing in front of a camera felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he was scared, but he didn’t welcome it either. It wasn’t a thought he’d have had just a few years ago, when he was an actor who casually sold smiles in front of screens for money.
The current him, to be precise, found people difficult. One might wonder what’s so troublesome about one inorganic lens, but the eyes of the people behind it made him uncomfortable inside. Even if he repeated to himself that he’d get used to it with time, that he’d be okay, what improved was the public’s gaze, not Seonwoo.
No matter how rotten Seonwoo’s insides were, the public only saw what they wanted to see.
Seonwoo let out a heavy breath and pressed his fingertips firmly against his eyes, which were stained with fatigue. With his other hand, he picked up his phone and raised the volume to hear the speaker more clearly.
“Then say I’m dead. I won’t be acting again.”
I’m a bit tired too.
The added words were so faint, as if hoping they wouldn’t reach the person on the other end of the speaker. Despite Seonwoo’s wish, the other person answered immediately as if they’d heard.
– The CEO says it’s getting hard to keep supporting you now.
Since they’d been supporting an entertainer who doesn’t act for over five years, as a company CEO, they’d done what they could. Still, the reason they were holding onto Seonwoo was the hope that he’d rise back up someday.
However, for these words to finally come out of the manager’s mouth also meant that hope had now reached its limit.
An actor who doesn’t act, a retired actor, or an actor who switched to being a screenwriter. That’s what described the man. Even the scripts he’d touched were all written five years ago.
Now he only had an ambiguous title that was neither here nor there, yet people in the world still seemed interested in Seonwoo. That was quite burdensome.
Still, it was a room blocked on all sides. Without an exit or entrance, not even a window the size of a palm, it felt as if he was trapped alone in a time where neither day nor night could be discerned. The man traced the rounded edges of his phone, then touched the camera as if scraping it off with his fingertips.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”
– What do you have to be sorry for? That bastard’s the crazy one.
“Woojin-ah. Don’t say that. He was someone who had a harder time because of me.”
– Even in this situation, you’re worried about him? Do you even know that his name appeared in the article confirming his casting in Director Jang’s movie a while ago?
Of course he knew. In the messages that came sporadically, his were mixed in too. The man had even carefully taken apart the last message that came, separating it consonant by consonant, vowel by vowel. It was lingering attachment, and also a memory he reluctantly held onto.
People were quite sturdy. With just one small shining memory, they could live on that alone. To dismiss it as nonsense—what held the man were the few memories from the past. He kept rubbing the camera lens of his phone with his fingertips, then slightly turned his head to the side.
Sunlight poured generously into the room. It was a house with very good lighting. Enough to warmly cover Seonwoo’s feet. Here and there, furniture with wear marks caught his eye. The surroundings weren’t cluttered, just appropriately neat.
– No, never mind. Rest there for a while. Think of it as recuperating in a place with good water and air. There, no one will recognize you. It’s such a remote countryside. If you go over the hill, there’s a tidal flat, so if you’re bored, you can dig up whelks or cockles and boil them to eat—they taste good. When I was young, every time the tide went out, I’d catch whelks, boil them, and pop them out to eat. Actually, the internet doesn’t work well there either. It’s at a level where you’re lucky if you get 3G.
“…Thanks.”
– I saw somewhere that a change of mood is really important. So take this opportunity to rest well.
Actually, Woojin, who was his manager, didn’t need to go this far. Because Seonwoo no longer stood in front of screens.
Seonwoo, who was about to habitually move his hand down, suddenly let out a hollow laugh at the emptiness. He belatedly realized that the Samoyed who always hovered by his side was in Seoul.
– Anyway, while my maternal grandmother is in Seoul, stay there comfortably. At her age, arthritis is nothing to take lightly. You remember my brother’s a doctor, right? My brother said it would still be better to keep her close and watch over her.
“…Please tell your grandmother I’m grateful.”
– Just take good care of the house. If you have the means, she’d be happy if you went and greeted her in person.
“When I go back to Seoul… I’ll do that.”
– If it really doesn’t work out even staying there, let’s just throw it all away. Is being an actor the only path? Huh? You can do other things too. With that face, you could make a living doing anything!
After that, several more nagging-like words burst out. Things like whether he was eating properly, stories about diseases from nutritional imbalances poured out endlessly like linked sausages. Seonwoo continued to obediently listen to Woojin’s words, and only after a long while could he finally hang up.
Seonwoo, who had been covering his eyes with his arm, took a big breath as if wanting to crawl out of the water. His chest swelled as it forced oxygen into his lungs, but what he actually held seemed like a formless liquid. It felt as if a gurgling sound of water pooling in his lungs would burst out.
Only after a while did Seonwoo stagger up from his seat and stand blankly in the shade where the sunlight didn’t reach. As if that was the only place for him to stay.
***
Yoonjo, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and crouching in the field to cut melons with quick taps, let out deep sighs. A week had passed since that incident, but he hadn’t once seen anyone come out of Grandma Sunja’s house. He even tried hanging around from morning to night one day.
“I need to apologize properly…”
Yoonjo muttered as he plucked the bright yellow ripe melons with practiced hands. Even the stuffy air of the greenhouse couldn’t cover his worries. Before he knew it, the basket was piled high with plump melons. Unaware of this, when he placed one more melon on top, finally unable to bear it, one fruit rolled down. Yoonjo’s grandmother came and sat beside him as he watched.
“Yoonjo-ya. That thing, if it bothers you that much, go and say you’re sorry.”
“But… Grandma, I need to see his face to say it. That person has never come out once.”
“Oh my? Yoonjo-ya, since when have you cared about such things? Just knock on the door firmly! And say you’re sorry! Wouldn’t that work?”
