Almond Page 8

  It was Gon.

  “Twenty thousand won. Antiques are not cheap, you know.”

  Gon dug into his pockets, grumbling, and threw out coins and bills. “Hey, you,” he said, staring at me with an elbow placed on the counter and his chin propped on his hand.

  “You’re a robot, I hear. Emotionless, right?” he asked.

  “Not entirely.”

  He sniffed a little. “I did some research on you. More specifically, about your crazy little brain.” He tapped his head with his fingertips. It sounded like he was tapping a ripe watermelon. “No wonder. I knew something was off about you. I was going nuts for nothing.”

  “Your dad told me to call him if you came near me.”

  “There’s no need,” Gon snapped, his eyes instantly glinted.

  “I should give him a call. I promised.”

  I picked up the phone but before I brought it to my ear, Gon had snatched it away and flung it to the floor.

  “Bitch, are you deaf? I’m saying I’m not gonna bother you.” Gon stood up and roamed around the bookstore aimlessly, flipping the books for no reason.

  Then he asked out loud from a distance, “Did it hurt, I mean, when I hit you?”

  “Well, it did hurt.”

  “So robots do get hurt, huh? That’s not a real robot.”

  “Well . . .” I tried to say something but stopped. It was always hard to describe my condition. Especially now that Mom, who used to help me explain, was gone.

  “Well, I do know what it feels like when I’m cold, hot, hungry, or otherwise physically in pain. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be alive.”

  “That’s all you can feel?” Gon asked.

  “Tickles, too.”

  “And when you’re tickled, you giggle?”

  “Possibly. I can’t be sure, I haven’t gotten tickled in years.”

  Gon made a deflated balloon sound. I didn’t even notice that he was in front of the counter.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I shrugged.

  “So is it true . . . that your grandma died?” he asked, his eyes avoiding mine.

  “Yes.”

  “And your mom is a vegetable?”

  “Technically, yes, if you must put it that way.”

  “And that happened in front of you? She was stabbed by some lunatic?”

  “Right.”

  “And you just stood there, watching?”

  “In retrospect, yes.”

  Gon’s head shot up. He was glaring at me. “What a fucking dumb-ass. How could you just stand there watching your mom and grandma die in front of you? You should’ve beat the shit out of him.”

  “I didn’t have the time. He died right after.”

  “Heard about that. But even if he were alive, you would’ve done nothing. You would’ve made no difference, you coward.”

  “Maybe that’s true.”

  He shook his head at my response. “Don’t I piss you off, talking like this? Not a change on your face. You don’t ever think of them? Your mom and grandma?”

  “I do think of them. Often. A lot.”

  “And you still sleep at night? How can you go to school? You watched your family bleed to death, dammit.”

  “I don’t know. You eventually just move on with your life. I’m sure others would go back to their normal lives too, eating and sleeping and all, although it may take them longer than me. Humans are designed to move on and keep on living, after all.”

  “What are you, a know-it-all? If I were you, I’d be kept awake every night from the rage. Actually, I couldn’t sleep these past few days after I heard what happened. If I were you, I would’ve killed him with my own hands.”

  “I’m sorry to cause you insomnia.”

  “Sorry, you say? Heard you didn’t shed a single tear when your grandma died. And you tell me you’re sorry? You’re a heartless bastard.”

  “You make a good point. I’ve been trained to say I’m sorry in proper situations.”

  He clicked his tongue. “You’re beyond me. Crazy dude.”

  “I’m sure everyone thinks of me that way, although they don’t say it out loud. That was what Mom used to say.”

  “You idiot . . .” He shut his mouth. A beat of silence passed, during which I replayed in my head my earlier conversation with Gon. This time I struck up a conversation.

  “By the way, you seem to have a limited vocabulary.”

  “What?”

  “Most of them are swearwords, but they are also limited. Reading books will help you expand your vocabulary. Then you can have better conversations with people.”

  “So robots give out advice now, do they?” Gon smirked. “I’ll take this. I’ll stop by again next time I’m bored.” Gon shook the magazine he chose and headed out. The breasts of the woman on the motorbike shook too. Gon turned around at the door. “Oh, and don’t bother calling that douchebag who claims to be my dad, ’cause I’m headin’ home now.”

  “Yeah, and I hope that’s not a lie because I wouldn’t be able to tell if it is.”

  “Acting like a teacher now, huh? Just listen to me.”

  The door slammed shut, pushing a gust of wind into the store. It carried a subtle scent of summer.

  39

  The pizzeria didn’t report to the school. Professor Yun must’ve compensated them well. Back at school, that incident only existed in a form of rumor among some gossiping kids. Cold tension was in the air, but after a few days, everyone realized that nothing else was going to happen. Gon kept his head low, not meeting anyone’s eyes. His two sidekicks hung out with other groups and came nowhere near him. Eventually, Gon sat eating alone in the corner of the cafeteria and slept through classes instead of glaring at others. It didn’t take long for him to be downgraded from a troublemaker to a nobody. As Gon received less and less attention, so did I. The kids’ attention was always shifting to weirder, more exciting things. Nowadays, everybody was talking about a girl who’d passed the first round of a televised talent audition.

  Officially, according to how the kids grouped us, Gon and I were each other’s “enemy.” It wasn’t a stretch, given our history. So, by unspoken agreement, Gon and I ignored each other at school. We neither talked nor made eye contact. We were just two of the components that made up the school, like pieces of chalk or erasers. No one could be truthful there.

  40

  “Fuck, this shit’s too artistic for my taste. Can’t see a thing with those clothes covering everything.”

  Gon tossed the magazine he had bought earlier down on the counter, muttering to himself. His speech and demeanor were almost the same as before, but somehow weaker. He no longer threw books on the floor, and his voice had lowered by a few decibels. But his posture was more upright, his shoulders straightened.

  I had no idea why, but for some reason, I was invaded by Gon’s frequent visits—or his raids—against my will. He started to stop by nearly every evening. The duration of his visits was different each time. Sometimes he tossed a couple of meaningless words and took off, sometimes he skimmed through the books quietly or sipped on a canned drink. Maybe his visit was so often because I never asked him anything.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t like it. But our policy doesn’t allow refunds, unless the item was damaged to begin with. And you bought it a while ago.”

  Pah, Gon said out loud. “I’m not saying I want a refund. I brought it back because I just can’t leave it lying around my room, you know? You can keep the money, take it as a rental cost.”

  “It’s vintage, you know. It has hard-core fans, I think.”

  “Did I just read a classic? Maybe I should add it to my book-list, then.”

  He chuckled at his own joke. But when he saw I wasn’t smiling, he quickly wiped the smile off his face. Laughing along is one of my hardest acts. I could force my lips to twist upward, but that’s the best I could do. A kind of smile so forced, that could easily be misunderstood as a mean sneer.

  My problem with smiling was w
hat had earned me the reputation of being a coldhearted kid since elementary school. Even Mom had to give up, after tiring herself out from repeatedly explaining the importance of a natural smile in my social life. She proposed different solutions. She suggested that I pretend not to have understood or paid attention. But even if I did that, it was often followed by a long, awkward silence. As for this conversation with Gon, I found it unnecessary to worry about these things. Because we just carried on talking about classics.

  “It was published in 1995, so it’s like the grandfather of magazines. It’s a rare issue. Not many people recognize its value, but it’s a real classic.”

  “Then give me another recommendation. Another classic.”

  “A classic in that category?”

  “Yes, ‘a real classic’, as you say.”

  Such classics are usually kept hidden in a secret place. I led Gon to a bookshelf in the corner. I took out a book from the innermost, dust-filled end of the bookcase. It was a collection of pornographic photos taken at the end of the Josun dynasty. An aristocrat hugging a kisaeng in different positions. They were blatant and explicit pictures, some of them actually showing their genitals. The only difference from present-day was that the people in the picture wore hanbok.

  Gon sat cross-legged in the corner as I handed him the book. Upon turning the first page, his jaw dropped.

  “Jeez, our ancestors sure knew what they were doing. I’m proud of them.”

  “The word ‘proud’ isn’t meant to be used about elders. You really should read more books, you know.”

  “Bull,” Gon said, turning the page. He examined each page thoroughly. He gulped regularly, shrugged his shoulders, and shifted his legs as if his body was tingling. “How much is this?”

  “Expensive. Very expensive. It’s a special edition, you see. It’s actually a reprint of a special edition to be exact, but still valuable.”

  “Who the heck wants this?”

  “Probably people who truly know the value of a classic. This edition is really rare, I won’t sell it unless to a real collector. You’d better be careful with it.”

  Gon closed the book and looked through the other magazines. Penthouse, Hustler, Playboy, Sunday Seoul. All rare, valuable issues.

  “Who bought all these?”

  “Mom.”

  “Your mom’s got good taste.” Gon said, then quickly added, “It’s a compliment. I mean, she’s got some great business skills.”

  41

  Gon was wrong. Mom was everything but a businesswoman. All her decisions—except the ones related to me—were made based on hopeless romanticism and whim. Running a used-book store was the solid evidence. When she first opened the bookstore, she had debated what kind of books she should stock. But nothing special came to mind. So she decided to at least take shape like other used-book stores and stocked technical books, academic books or test-prep books, children’s books, and literary books. With whatever money was left over, Mom said she would buy a small espresso machine. Books and the aroma of coffee. They were the perfect combination, at least in Mom’s opinion.

  “Coffee machine, my ass,” Granny snorted. She had a flair for getting on Mom’s nerves with only a few words. Mom was furious that her elegant taste was being mocked. Granny didn’t bat an eyelid as she said in a low voice, “Just get some smut in here.”

  Pah, Mom huffed, and Granny started exercising her persuasive skills.

  “You know, the best of Gim Hongdo’s art was Chunhwa, I mean, those obscene paintings. Everything becomes vintage when time passes. The spicier, the pricier! Try finding those,” Granny said, and not forgetting to reiterate her original point, “Coffee machine, my ass.”

  Mom took Granny’s advice after mulling it over for a few days. Mom used every means online to get her hands on old dirty magazines and finally managed to make a transaction in person with some stranger at Yongsan Station. Granny and I accompanied her to help carry a heavy load of books. The dealer, a man in his late forties, seemed a bit surprised to see two women and a teenager, but quickly took the money and disappeared with a poof. The magazines were bound with a rope, revealing the covers on top. On our way back, people on the subway gave the magazines and us awkward looks.

  “Of course they’re staring, there’s a naked woman tied with a rope.” Granny giggled.

  “Don’t pretend you have nothing to do with this. It was your idea!” Mom shot back.

  With more direct dealings, we were able to acquire some rare issues like the classic I showed Gon. After a lot of legwork, we completed Granny’s “Classic Collection.”

  Unfortunately, Granny’s prediction had missed the mark. I did see some middle-aged men wandering around the adult magazine section occasionally. But in this day and age, people didn’t need to buy erotica in a shop, risking embarrassment like they did in Mom’s twenties. There were plenty of other, easier ways to access this kind of entertainment at home and enjoy in their comfort zones. Therefore it would be exceptionally unusual to see anyone purchasing erotic books from a female clerk at a used-book store in the late 2010s. Except for one time when the owner of a used-record store bought some to use as décor, the classics in that particular category never sold and were soon tucked away. Gon was the first customer to buy a single issue in broad daylight.

  42

  That day Gon bought several more magazines for the sake of “collecting” the classics. He asked if he could rent them, and I reiterated that this was a bookstore, not a rental store.

  “Okay, okay, asshole. I’m going to return these anyway. You know there’s no way I’m keeping them at home.”

  He sounded much softer, despite the swearword. After a few days, Gon stopped by again, with the magazines. I kept telling him that there was no need for him to return them, but he grunted, “Shut up and just take them.”

  “Too conservative. No wonder they were published in the old days. Too far from my taste,” he added.

  I thought it would be pointless to push him further, so I accepted the magazines. I noticed some pages in the middle were missing. A few pages even had holes cut out in the middle. The headline of the magazine survived, dangling, which read, “Brooke Shields.” Gon glared at me, self-conscious.

  “This was a very rare one. There’s hardly any magazines left with pages of Brooke Shields intact, especially in her prime,” I said.

  “Do you have more of her pictures?”

  “Wanna see?” I asked, pointing at a computer on the counter. I typed “Brooke Shields heyday” into the search engine and clicked the image tab. Hundreds of her pictures popped up. From her early career to her prime. Gon was in awe.

  “How on earth can a human look like this.” He clicked on her pictures one by one with his mouth agape, but then suddenly jolted. “What the heck is this?”

  The picture was titled “Brooke Shields Recent.” In her fifties, her wrinkly face filled the whole screen. While her youth may have faded, there was still some faint trace of her beauty. But Gon must’ve thought differently.

  “Whoa, this is really shocking. My fantasies are shattered now. I shouldn’t have seen this.”

  “It’s not her fault. No one can stop time, and people go through a lot in life.”

  “Who doesn’t know that? God, you talk like an old fart.”

  “Should I say I’m sorry?”

  “Oh man, why . . . why Brooke . . . what happened to you . . . Dude, why did you show me this. It’s all your fault.”

  That day, Gon vented at Brooke and me alternately, then he left without buying anything.

  He came back two days later.

  “So I was wondering . . .” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been looking at Brooke’s pictures lately. Not the old ones, but the recent ones.”

  “You came here to tell me that?”

  “You’re crossing the line lately.”

  “I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry if you thought of it that way.”

  �
��Anyway, I was looking over her pictures, and it got me thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About destiny and time.”

  “What a surprise to hear those words from you.”

  “Sheesh, did you know that even when you say the simplest things, you sound like a dick?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you know.”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Gon burst out laughing. Hahahahaha. I counted five ha’s split in one breath. What was so funny about my response? I changed the topic.

  “Did you know chimpanzees and gorillas also laugh?”

  “Whatever, man.”

  “And did you know the difference between their laughter and ours?”

  “What the heck? If you wanna show off, just go ahead.”

  “Humans can laugh a lot in one breath, but apes can only laugh a syllable in each breath. Like ha, ha, ha, ha.”

  “I’m sure they build nice abs,” Gon replied with a laugh. More like a snicker this time. Then he inhaled deeply and gave out a long exhalation, Pheww, as if to calm his unexpected laugh.

  Something was different now. Something had just changed in a moment.

  “So, destiny and time. What about them?” I asked. It was strange to have this kind of conversation with Gon but I didn’t feel the need to stop.

  “I mean . . . it’s hard to describe . . . but like, did Brooke know when she was young that she would change? That she would grow old? That she would end up looking completely different from her youth? You know in your head that you’ll age and change, but it’s like hard to imagine, right? That thought just came to me. Sometimes the people who weird you out, like those homeless people in the subway station muttering to themselves, or those beggars who drag themselves around on their stomachs because their legs are cut off . . . they might’ve looked completely different when they were younger, you know?”

  “Siddhārtha also had similar thoughts and left the palace.”

  “Sid . . . who? I’ve heard that name before.”

  I got tongue-tied. I tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t get on his nerves. “Yeah, he’s famous.”