“Alright, you got the gist of the song, right? Which one of you wants to come onstage and sing it?” the Sunbe asked. Most freshmen shrank and looked away. The theater fell silent. Then a voice rang out, “Me! I’ll sing.” The voice came from right next to me. I turned and saw the face of a girl with a raised hand. She looked like a middle schooler. A young, innocent smile. Her wrists in the rolled sleeves of her yellow shirt were so thin, they looked as though they could snap right off. I watched the laborious process of her making her way to the stage: odd movements, like a bird trying her wings. She got up from her seat, walked down the stairs of the auditorium in her strange gait, and climbed the stairs of the stage, limping. The theater filled with swirling uncertainty. I couldn’t quiet the rippling wave in my chest, so I escaped through the back door. The voice spilled out through the door, a delicate, bright, and yet solemn voice.

* * *

“Here.”

Sol, like a fortune teller with a pendulum, stops at the corner of the river. She sets a newspaper down on a cold sand dune and anchors its four corners with rocks. “Ugh, this wind! Come on, help me out over here. Hold this down.”

I notice a man standing on the bridge by his bicycle, watching us. My ears hurt so much they feel like they are going to fall off. Sleet, not quite rain or snow, scatters around us. I tilt my head back and catch the wet snow with my tongue; they are like icy flakes of a delicate wafer. The flakes land on the rushing water and become part of the river. I watch the river intently, standing like a crane. A crane doesn’t watch the river because it’s admiring the beauty of nature.

“The ashes floated away so we don’t have to set things up right here.” My voice is cold and detached.

“But don’t you remember? This is the very spot you stood and scattered the ashes. I remember. We could see the pine forest ahead of us this way. We were away from the bridge, just like this.”

“Everything looks the same around sand dunes like this. And with pine trees everywhere.”

I don’t want to do the ritual jul, the deep bowing. Sol insists on greeting Jimin this way, however. She lays down fruits, sponge cake, soju, and paper cups on the newspaper. After rummaging through her bag, she pulls out incense and a lighter.

“Do you see the jujube tree on the river bank over there? The single one among the zinnia trees. I can tell from that tree that this is the correct spot. My family used to run an orchard, so I know something about trees. They all look different individually, even when they are the same kind.”

“Show-off.”