The dull face in the mirror felt even more like a stranger today. I ran my fingers through my messy hair. It lacked life and felt flat. I tried to force my bangs up with some old, sticky mousse, but they lost their strength and flopped right back down. I leaned in closer to the mirror, staring at myself as if I were looking at a complete stranger. The dark circles under my eyes had grown deeper. To think that I looked decent only a short while ago! My own haggard appearance startled me. I put on a white shirt, but in the reflection, the collar looked unusually yellowed. I changed into a blue shirt and threw on a jacket, but I still couldn't shake that scruffy, worn-out look.
I tucked a stray collar flap into my jacket and smoothed it over. With my hands in my pockets, my reflection looked like a crumpled bundle of bedding. At the bottom of my pocket, I felt three or four coins. I hurriedly searched through the coats hanging in the closet. I searched with a desperate hope that a stray bill might be hidden somewhere, but then I remembered I had already picked them clean last month. I emptied the glass jar on my desk, spilling coins everywhere. I picked out only the quarters and stuffed them into my pocket until it felt heavy. Ignoring the gaze of the canvas on the easel—as if it were asking why I hadn't even glanced at it—I shoved my feet into my shoes.
The wind was blowing. It felt colder than the actual temperature. I flipped up my collar. My head, heavy with distracted thoughts, kept tilting forward. Since quitting my job in textiles, I had spent nearly a year idling around, telling myself I’d focus only on my art. Now, the money had run out.
"Oh, you’re here. Since you changed your appointment from the day before yesterday to today... we had an urgent task to handle, so we’ve already hired someone else." As soon as I stepped into the publishing house, a female clerk recited the line like a parrot, following her boss's instructions. "Ah... I see." I had hoped to work as an illustrator, thinking it would be better than the tedious textile work I’d done for a living. But I had lost even that part-time spot by being lazy.
I pushed open the heavy door and stepped outside. "See? What did I tell you? I told you to go find a job sooner." The brilliant sunlight stung my eyes as if mocking my laziness. I put on my sunglasses and trudged toward the subway station. Even if I went home, there was nothing to do. It was Thursday, the day galleries held their openings. I figured I’d stop by three or four places and grab some free drinks.
The subway passed through Queens and entered Manhattan. I wandered through a fog of drowsiness. A middle-aged Asian woman wedged herself into the closing doors, forcing them back open. Two other women followed her in a hurry. They sat down in a row in the next section, right across from me.
"Hey, Jung-hee hasn't been active for a while. Why the sudden exhibition?" A woman who looked like a curious monkey asked the woman with a flushed, apple-like face—the one who had just forced the doors open. "Didn't you know? Jung-hee got a divorce. What is art that she had to get a divorce for it? The kids are still young. She left them with her husband saying she was going to focus on her work, so I guess she had to hold an exhibition just to save face." "Oh my god, when?" A sleek, banana-like woman placed both hands on her cheeks, looking shocked. Hearing the sound of my native language, I snapped awake. Then, I leaned back again, pretending to sleep while straining my ears to listen.
The Monkey woman kept asking questions, and the Apple woman answered with excitement. The Banana woman bowed her head and listened intently. The Apple woman’s throat seemed dry; she coughed a few times and sipped her coffee. Their chatter flowed on, muffled by the subway noise one moment and resurfacing the next. The Apple woman pulled out a mirror and applied strawberry-red lipstick. After checking her well-painted lips, she leaned in close to the others. "From what I heard, she’s 'involved' with an older American art critic." "No way! You mean she had an affair with him?" The Monkey woman spoke so loudly she had to cover her mouth and look around. "Not exactly. But after the divorce, if you want to become famous as a painter, you need reviews in art magazines. They say she's living with him in Sunnyside."
Isn't that my neighborhood? At the mention of Sunnyside, my ears perked up. Who was the woman living with an old American guy in Sunnyside? Who could it be? I leaned toward them, thinking.
"Still, how could she? Does she want to be famous so badly that she’d abandon two young children?" "Jung-hee always had that 'vibe' since college. To get famous, you either need that kind of charm or a very strong will. You can't make it on your work alone these days. Shh—it's a secret." As if sensing someone was eavesdropping, they all suddenly turned around. Their eyes stopped on me for a moment. They exchanged glances and fell silent. Suddenly, they began to fuss about getting off at the next stop. I was curious about their destination. I also wanted to see this woman from Sunnyside who was so desperate for fame. Who knows? I might even know her. The moment the subway doors started to close, I followed them out.
I looked up at the gloomy sky; it looked like it was about to rain. The temperature had dropped suddenly. People pulled up their collars and hurried along. I, too, hid within my coat and followed the three of them through the crowd. Their steps, freed from the shackles of daily life, were light and effortless. They were like three birds that had just broken out of a cage. If they had wings, they looked ready to take flight right then and there.
Fortunately, the Apple woman was wearing a red coat, making her easy to follow. She looked fresher than the Monkey or the Banana. Her profile, as she laughed while answering the curious Monkey's questions, was bright and attractive. The red color felt warm to me. I decided to follow them as far as I could. The pale skin of her legs, visible through the slit in her red coat, was incredibly white. Then, my eyes drifted to the slender Banana in the beige half-coat walking quietly beside her. She was wearing sunglasses just like me. Her gestures were familiar. Her back looked like someone I had passed somewhere, sometime. My curiosity grew. I buttoned my coat tight and buried my face in my collar, following closely and carefully so as not to arouse suspicion.
They stopped occasionally to peer into the shops lined up along the main road. Mostly, the Monkey would look into the windows and chatter, while the Apple replied kindly. The Banana just smiled and listened the whole time. They turned off the busy main street into a side alley. They stopped and looked around as if checking an address. The Banana pointed a pale index finger toward a building. In front of a building that wasn't quite finished with renovations, construction materials were scattered about. They hesitated for a moment before heading inside.
I approached the building. They had already vanished. Toward the back of the building, there was a gallery sign. It seemed to be a new gallery. With a vague hope that the truth behind my curiosity would be revealed, I walked slowly toward the sign. I hesitated—should I take off my sunglasses or not? A man in baggy pants and a worn grey tweed jacket, wearing a black knit hat, opened the door and walked in. Caught off guard, I took off my glasses and followed him. A few people were already there, mostly women. I started looking at the pieces from the wall opposite the door, slowly moving inward. On the right side of the rectangular gallery, I saw a table with wine bottles. People were gathered there, talking loudly.
My eyes kept drifting toward the Banana, who was smiling quietly and listening to the others. In her, I saw a woman I once liked—though her name and face had grown blurry. At twenty-one, she was quiet like this Banana, with skin so pale it was almost translucent. If you got close, you could almost see the veins beneath her bloodless face. She had a cold aura, like looking into a frozen river. Ah! I remember now. People used to call her the "Ice Princess." She was the kind of woman you had to lean in close to hear her quiet whispers.
I met her on a snowy winter day. In her grey wool coat with a large hood, she looked like a lost rabbit. "I have to go to my grandfather's house on an errand for my mother," she said with a sorry expression. "May I go with you?" I asked. She nodded and smiled, as if she had been waiting for me to ask. We transferred buses and walked for a long time along a winding path by the river. How many times did I reach out my hand to catch her as she walked slowly to avoid slipping! I can't forget the way she took my hand and hopped over a slushy puddle like a rabbit. Back then, she had pointed to her grandfather's house with her white finger, just as the Banana had pointed to the gallery building. I had paced in front of her grandfather's house for a long while, waiting for her to come out, just as I was doing now. The way she came out carrying a pear as big as her head and placed it in my hands—that was just like the Banana.
The woman who was supposedly living with the old curator in Sunnyside seemed to be her. Her hair was slicked up with mousse, and she wore a long black cotton dress with a silver necklace. She looked very "strong." Just as the Apple had said, she gave off an impression of both talent and a fierce spirit. Beside her stood a tall, pale, elderly American man. He must be the art critic. He looked familiar. He was the old guy I’d seen in several galleries while I was sneaking in for free drinks—the one who was always surrounded by Asian women.
The Apple laughed loudly, tilting her head back while talking to a man with his hair tied back, flaunting her attractive looks. She looked vibrant, her youth not yet faded. Her slightly blunt nose was cute as she tilted it toward the ceiling. Her petal-like red lips opened and closed seductively under the lights. The Monkey was chatting with the man in baggy pants I’d met at the door. Then, she passed him off to the Banana and moved toward an older couple, constantly bringing a wine glass to her small mouth.
The Banana stood with her head down, listening to the man the Monkey had left her with. She held a mug-green bag on her left arm and a book in her right hand. In her black pants, beige half-coat, and a designer floral scarf, she looked like a modest, plain single woman who didn't want to stand out. Pretending not to watch, I carefully moved a bit closer to her. When the Monkey approached the Banana and said something, the Banana turned her head. For a moment, I thought she was looking at me, but she was looking at a woman who had just walked in—a woman with a glowing face, wearing a black-and-white checkered coat and a Chanel bag. I took that chance to look closely at the Banana. I couldn't be sure. The Banana came closer to me as she welcomed the woman in the designer gear. She had thin, un-made-up double eyelids. Unless she’d had surgery, those weren't the eyes I remembered. A man with a camera told everyone to gather for a photo. The women huddled together. The Banana tried to decline, but the Monkey beckoned her over. Standing on the edge, looking shy under the lights, the Banana didn't seem like the woman I once loved.
I quickly downed a glass of wine, took another, and tried to approach the Banana to say something. But I couldn't think of the right words. "Hello. I'm a painter..." No. I couldn't call myself a painter; I was just unemployed. "I think I've seen you somewhere before. I am..." As I was rehearsing the words in my head, the Apple approached the Banana and said it was time to go to dinner. The Banana nodded, then seemed to feel my gaze. She turned and stared straight at me. She studied me for a long time with an indifferent expression, then turned back to the Apple and whispered something.
The women swarmed out of the gallery. Without thinking, I followed. It was already dark outside. The streets were quieter and less crowded than during the day. Better to just go home now, right? While I hesitated, tapping my shoe against the pavement, I looked up. My eyes met the Apple's gaze. Unlike the Banana’s, her look was warm and suggestive. My body followed her red coat, like a man drawn toward a warm hearth. They seemed to be heading toward Koreatown. My stomach, which had been empty all day, let out a sharp cry of hunger. They swarmed into the "Deo Keun Jip" restaurant at the entrance of 32nd Street. The red coat hesitated for a moment, then vanished inside. Feeling the coins in my pocket, I wondered if I had any ramen at home. I realized I only had enough money for three or four packs of ramen. I passed the restaurant and turned my heavy steps toward 5th Avenue.
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