-
The Underground Man
- University of Hawai'i Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
196 The Underground Man He opened his eyes, but he didn’t look at his watch. Even without turning on the light and looking at the watch, he knew it read four o’clock. It was about five minutes fast. He had to wait five minutes for it to be exactly four. Of course there was no reason he should wait until four, but he held his breath and listened anyway. At the stroke of four, the bell at Sôg’wang Temple on the lower reaches of Wonmi Mountain produced its hollow toll, and the neighborhood’s ubiquitous churches launched into a confused chorus of electronic chimes. He always woke five minutes early and waited for these sounds. Those five minutes passed slowly. It was dawn, but the basement room weighed with a heavy darkness, bereft of light. He tossed in the gloom, turned toward the wall, and scowled at the musty odor of mildew from the damp wallpaper. It wasn’t just the walls that smelled but the damp bedding as well. The room didn’t leak water, but it was dank and humid. When had he last fallen asleep wrapped in crisply starched linens that rustled when he turned? He tried to hold on to memories of days gone by as he slowly pulled his legs to his chest. He tried to ignore it, but the urge to empty his bowels gradually intensified. He buried his face in the smelly bedding, body tight as a bow. The musty quilt cover clung to his face, and he grimaced again. And then, as if it had been waiting for this moment, the bell from Sôg’wang Temple began to ring. It almost sounded as if it were ringing from underground . If he hadn’t known the temple was there, he would have thought the bell was ringing from somewhere inside the earth, calling the spirits for the early morning chant. He rolled himself into a The Underground Man 197 tighter ball and strained to hold out as long as he could. His body had cooled through the night, but now a fever coursed through him, and a cold sweat collected on his lower back. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Finally, he jumped up and slipped on the work pants he had flung on the floor the night before. Today, as usual, a truck and a chocolate-brown sedan were parked side by side. The cars blocked the view from the road, and the other side was completely obscured by the outer wall of the Rose of Sharon Apartments where his room was situated. Careful not to step on other deposits of excrement, which were sure to be his, too, he walked around the back of the car. The darkness had lifted somewhat , but it was still too murky to see what was beneath his feet. He squatted by the back wheel of the brown car and glanced up at the sky. Faces freshly washed, the morning stars were gathered there, gazing down on him. As he finished his business and emerged from behind the car to walk past Sunny Electronics, a bicycle rolled silently toward him. Morning newspapers filled its freight rack. The legs of the boy riding the bicycle were too short, and his buttocks hovered precariously in the air as he pedaled. The boy stopped in front of him, pushed a newspaper through the closed gate of number 64, and mounted his bicycle, glancing at him nervously. Then he rode into the distance, glaring at the man loitering in the dark empty streets at dawn. There was no ignoring the fact that the gate to number 64 was locked. On the first floor were the Wonmi Wallpaper Shop and the Happiness Photo Studio; on the second were two or more households . The gate hadn’t always been locked. He had been able to push it open and go inside anytime he wanted and had used the downstairs bathroom on several occasions. Then one day they started locking the gate late at night. Number 65, home to Sunny Electronics and the Kangnam Real Estate Office, started locking its gate, too. It was the same with the inner gate of Im’s Butcher Shop and the Seoul Beauty Salon. He knew the reason. After checking each iron gate along the streets of Wonmi-dong, he turned toward home. The stairs leading into the basement were steep and cramped. He had once tumbled down them as he groped...