It’s midnight and Grandma still hadn’t come home. Fear reared its head and Dooyoung shot up and out of the house. He shuffled around in his slippers, drifting in circles. Then, at the far end of the downhill path, a figure came dimly into view — pulling a handcart.
Dooyoung hurried down the slope. One slipper flew off but he didn’t stop running.
“Grandma! Why are you only back now?”
Kim Chunnyeo, spotting her grandson, smiled her disheveled smile and waved him over.
“Why aren’t you in bed, pup? Go on up, go on.”
“Come here. I’ll pull it.”
“Oh, we’re almost there, never mind that. Put your shoes on properly.”
Dooyoung shoved his foot back into the slipper and stubbornly claimed the front of the handcart. He gripped the ice-cold metal handle firmly and pushed from his thighs, driving the cart up the hill. The uneven ground made the climb a little rough.
“Why’d you come out without sleeping?”
“Just — couldn’t fall asleep.”
“You don’t sleep, that’s why you won’t grow.”
“What kind of logic is that. That’s because I take after you.”
“Excuse you. I was on the tall side in my day.”
“Sure you were.”
Dooyoung let a small smile slip as he kept climbing.
“Is your father home?”
“…No.”
“Tsk tsk. I wonder if he’s at least eating.”
Dooyoung’s grip tightened on the metal handle. He had wondered sometimes. Whether her child hitting his own child still made him someone she loved. Whether a son who didn’t support his aging mother, still drifting and wandering, whose every word was a sharp weapon — even when that weapon was turned on her —
Just then, a dry hand came to rest gently against his left cheek.
“Why’s this cheek all flushed, I wonder.”
“…Cold weather. You know my skin gets red easily.”
“…Is that right. Well then.”
A brief flicker of unease passed through Kim Chunnyeo’s eyes. Not pressing further was a lie they both kept — to protect each other, to preserve the fragile little world they shared. And it was Kim Chunnyeo’s way of holding on to the hope that her world would not fall apart any further.
Kim Chunnyeo rattled off stories from her day, lightening the heavy air. Dooyoung, too tired to let himself feel any more, gave loose responses to her effort. That was enough to make Kim Chunnyeo smile until her cheeks dimpled.
At that smile, Dooyoung smiled too — just a little. Maybe his tendency to avoid things had been passed down from her. He sometimes took comfort in thinking he hadn’t inherited anything from Heo Samhyeok. He’d even forced himself to use his left hand because using his right — like everyone else — felt too much like becoming him. All it got him was being ambidextrous.
They left the cart on level ground and went inside. Dooyoung washed his face, brushed his teeth, and lay down beside Kim Chunnyeo.
“Why were you out so late today?”
He scratched lightly at Kim Chunnyeo’s small back with his fingertips as he asked. She squirmed and told him that tickled.
“A night-shift posting came up. Went to learn the job.”
At the news of the frail old woman suddenly talking about a night job, Dooyoung propped himself up.
“Night shift? Where? Why all of a sudden——”
“Time to start working properly. Can’t keep picking up scrap paper for next to nothing.”
Dooyoung pressed his lips shut. His chest felt stuck, like something was wedged inside.
“Night shift… what kind of work? Won’t nights be really hard on you?”
“There’s a restaurant down the hill that takes older folks too. Better grab it before someone else does. They say people live past a hundred these days, right? Then I’d better earn while my body still works. That way I can buy nice things for my family.”
Dooyoung’s chest ached at Kim Chunnyeo’s calm, matter-of-fact back turned toward him. She had surgery for cancer a few years ago. She was fully recovered now, but the what-ifs never stopped gnawing at him.
The exhaustion he’d felt back then came flooding back. When anyone in the family got sick, it hit everyone. Someone had to care for them, and since the sick person couldn’t earn, the ones who were well had to pick up the slack.
In this house, that person was him and him alone. Which meant he couldn’t cheer Kim Chunnyeo on with a pure heart — and because the poverty that compounded with every blink of his eyes was so relentless, he couldn’t even tell her to rest and stop working.
In the end, he wasn’t worried about his grandmother — he was worried about his own bleak future and whatever disaster might come next. The contradiction made his stomach turn. The thought of exploiting an old woman made him feel like a monster, made him want to hurt himself.
Dooyoung forced out a small sound past the tightness in his throat.
“Picking up scrap paper… that must have been exhausting. You’ve worked so hard until now.”
“Hard work nothing — I couldn’t even buy my pup the things I wanted to.”
“Don’t say that.”
“When Grandma gets her paycheck, let’s buy our pup a nice thick winter coat.”
Something hot caught in Dooyoung’s throat. He lay there for a long time before answering, barely a whisper. He turned to face the other way and dragged his nails hard across his own thigh. The stinging pain dulled the hollow ache. When he blinked, tears slid sideways and soaked into the pillow.
He swallowed the piercing darkness barely, and closed his eyes. It was time to force himself to sleep.
The hillside shantytown had no shortage of problems. Leaks appeared whenever they felt like it, mold spread through every corner, and the air was perpetually stale. Come summer it was a sauna, and come winter the pipes freezing was nothing out of the ordinary.
Dooyoung took a slow, deep breath, gritted his teeth, and splashed cold water on his face — but flinched away after only a few times and buried his face immediately in a towel. Nearly split his face open. If it was already this cold now, what would midwinter be like……. The future looked pitch black, and a sigh came out on its own.
He got through brushing his teeth and applied lotion carefully all over. He changed into his school uniform and stepped outside, the cold air stinging his nose at once. A bare moon floated alone in a warmthless sky.
Dooyoung arrived at the office, opened the door carefully, and called out a greeting.
“Morning.”
Kang Sunja, with her rounded shoulders, smiled warmly and patted Dooyoung’s thin back with vigor. The greeting landed a bit harder than expected, and Dooyoung bit the inside of his cheek.
It had been nearly four years since he’d started working with Kang Sunja. About six months ago she’d drastically cut the delivery staff, and Dooyoung had nearly lost the job — but she had specially arranged to give him a small amount of milk to deliver on his own.
Her bright voice, cheerful enough to push the heavy predawn aside, asked if he’d eaten breakfast.
“I don’t really eat breakfast.”
He answered flatly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and sneaking a small glance at Kang Sunja. She was someone who revered the power of a good meal, and the word “empty stomach” hit her like a shock.
“Goodness gracious! At your age you should be chewing through steel beams to grow taller!”
Dooyoung blinked awkwardly. Even after years of it, Kang Sunja’s meddling never got easier to handle. He busied himself loading the day’s quota onto the back of his bicycle to cover the awkwardness, but Kang Sunja stuck close behind him and kept talking.
“I hear these days women look at a man’s credentials too. It’s changed from when I was young. My husband — if I’d had just a slightly higher standard for myself, that man would’ve died a bachelor. Dooyoung, you and my daughter are about the same height, aren’t you?”
“I — I’m a little taller.”
He answered in a thoroughly deflated voice and promptly got on the bicycle to escape Kang Sunja’s lingering gaze. He was about to take off when she grabbed the bike with both hands. He didn’t move an inch — like something caught on a mooring line.
He couldn’t bring himself to look up under the weight of the unavoidable embarrassment. He’d overstepped. A scraggly little pup with a chip on its shoulder tried to hold its tail high — and promptly got kicked back down for it.
“My daughter’s 170, and you two are about the same, I’d say.”
The pup received a finishing blow, lower lip jutting out. Kang Sunja laughed pleasantly and continued.
“What kind of soy milk do you want? Warm or cold?”
“Warm… thank you.”
A faint smile formed on its own at the small warmth settling into his hands.
He worked through the delivery list, crossing each stop off as he went. With only one place left, a sharp headache rolled in. Or maybe it was a death wish. Doing nothing more than delivering milk, wondering why me, why does it have to be me — he sank into a misery so thorough it was as if every unhappiness in the world had been packed into him.
Dooyoung parked his bicycle in front of the apartment complex. His hands trembled from low blood sugar as he opened the soy milk. He took a full chipmunk-sized sip and looked up at the building. Luckily not a single window had its light on — but somehow he still couldn’t feel at ease.
