I guess that’s why I’m following these two like I’m their new duckling. They have answers. Sadly, they are all in Korean.

We ride three buses to get to a neighborhood where small buildings with hard concrete and cinder block walls are stacked on top of one another. The asphalt is cracked and loose gravel has me looking down more than ahead. The only real vegetation is unruly dried vines that spill over the sides of the walls and climb into and out of the spidering splits in the concrete.

The two women walk steadily ahead, ignoring the man on the side of the street who’s busy relieving himself. This is not the same Seoul I saw in any of my internet searches.

In the middle of the alley, the two women stop in front of a three-story building. Unlike the others, it’s free of the growing vines and the exterior is relatively clean. When they step inside, the older woman points to the stairs on the left and then disappears inside the first door. The younger woman begins a descent. At the bottom of the stairs, she pushes open a dark apartment door. There’s a thin line of light from a window that’s too high to open or close. There isn’t much inside the apartment and it’s not very large. I can make it across the space in less than ten strides. A few thick blankets are rolled up and stacked in the corner. Near the door is a sink set into a row of cabinets and a very short refrigerator. My dorm-room refrigerator might have been larger. Resting on a squat table is a single burner. There isn’t even a bathroom attached to this room. He must’ve shared a communal one.

The entire place is tidy and clean, but it’s so spare and small. This is not the home of a man who was capable of raising a family. A tiny arrow pierces the bag of resentment that I hadn’t realized I’d formed. The sound of the door opening catches my attention. When I turn around, the younger woman is there holding a blue-flowered fabric-covered package. She presses it into my hands and then nods toward the door. It’s time for me to go, she is saying.

The questions I have will go unanswered. My guess is that they don’t know the answers and there isn’t anything left for me here. Not in this near-empty room. Maybe not in this country.

CHAPTER TEN

Thanks to the battery pack Boyoung gave me, i have enough juice on my phone left to reply to a text from her asking me if I need help.

ME: I’m okay.

She sends me the instructions on what buses to take and where to transfer, but my brain is dead and I’m afraid I’ll screw it up so I walk until I find a taxi. There’s some confusion when I slide into the back seat since I don’t speak Korean and the driver doesn’t speak English, but showing him a screenshot of my address seems to do the trick. When he drops me off at the base of the stairs leading up to the house, I barely register the cost. The money I allotted for this trip has already been eaten away by the unexpected funeral. What’s another thirty dollars? As I trek up the hill, the black dress that Boyoung lent me sticks to my sweaty back. The package Kwang Miok had given me weighs my right arm down. In the taxi, I’d discovered that the package was three different plastic containers of food. Not wanting to spill anything on the back seat of the cab, I’d retied the cloth and stuck it between my feet. Halfway up the hill, I consider abandoning it, but afraid I’ll get arrested for littering, I transfer the food to my left hand and power forward.