“Dad! I’m home!” Sol tosses her bag on the floor and yells at the top of her lungs. She throws open the doors.

“Your father went into town for an embalming. He won’t be back till late.”

“Again? Who died?”

“Now that the weather’s warming up, there are funerals constantly. The night before the New Year, Hakgyu’s uncle died, and then the town officer, who was healthy one day and then dropped dead the next.” She gave a little tut-tut of disapproval. “Your dad had to go over to his place in the early morning.”

“Tell Dad to get a new job. Choi at the morgue can take care of embalming, right? The village people keep calling me the embalmer’s daughter. I don’t like it.”

“Don’t be like that. When your father dies, this town will be full of ghosts who can’t move on because your dad won’t be there to embalm their corpses.”

Sol’s mother dozes off holding the spoon she was eating sikhye with. A grain of rice sticks to her lips. She must’ve been exhausted. Sol and I look at each other and quietly leave the room. We watch the river from the wooden deck. The dark river looks like teary black pupils. The moon drifts in and out of the clouds, reflecting on the water like an aluminum plate jaggedly cut with a serrated knife. Why am I here? Where did I come from, and where am I going? Such grandiose questions enter my mind. I thought I was just getting a headache from an infection in my wisdom teeth, but I feel worse. I think I have a fever. I could probably cook an egg on my forehead.

“It’s too cold. Let’s go inside.” The bedroom Sol takes me into isn’t heated, so it’s freezing cold.

“Sol, feel my forehead.” I grab Sol’s hand and place her hand on my forehead to confirm my self-diagnosis.

“You’re burning up! When did you notice this?”

“I dunno. I don’t know why I’m getting sick! I wasn’t that soaked from the rain.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well lately, though, right? You don’t seem to eat right, either. When was the last time you took a shower? Frankly, you stink pretty bad. Your eyes are red, your cheeks are sunken … the bags under your eyes … it’s as if you want to follow Jimin to the grave. You’ve changed so much, you suddenly seem old.” Sol walks out of the room and leaves me standing there with her critique. She comes back with an electric blanket. Somebody must have been using it, because it already feels warm, like it’s holding onto body heat. Sol turns the control dial to the maximum heat, and I lie down under the blanket, burying my face into the pillow.