Umma was now lying on the grass and staring up at the sky. She looked incredibly calm. At peace. I wondered if that ninety-nine-pound, fifty-eight-year-old woman staring at the fading firmament was feeling the same way I was feeling. That my life could not be summed up like the neat columns of numbers on a chart, that it could swerve in an unpredictable direction at any time. That the person I thought I knew best just because we had blood ties could actually be the most mysterious and unknown. That there were times in life when you just have to stop holding on. And that was why the only thing I could do now was to cease all thinking, to simply watch her as she smiled and attached meanings to silly things like the rising and setting of the sun. All I could do was await her death. And hope that she would die without having known.

PART THREE

PART THREE

Love in the Big City

1.

Gyu-ho and I decided to go on a trip to Japan together, to commemorate our two-hundred-day anniversary. We pretended to be working in our respective offices while actually composing on a spreadsheet our itinerary for the three-night, four-day trip. Or to be more accurate, I would propose something, and Gyu-ho would automatically agree.

—We’ll go to Asakusa, take pictures with the Doraemon at Odaiba, and do the hot springs in Hakone.

—Sure, sure.

We took so long packing on the day of the trip that we arrived with only minutes to spare at the airport. The queues at security and immigration made me sure we would miss the flight, but thankfully everything was moving fast. Until we presented two passports at the ticketing counter and one came back to us.

It was mine.

—Sir, this passport is expired.

Like an idiot, I had brought my expired passport, issued from before my military service. Gyu-ho was freaking out next to me (“What do we do what do we do”) and we had only a few minutes until boarding.

I gave up and handed him the envelope of Japanese yen we had exchanged in advance.

—Pocket money from your hyung.

—What?

—Everything is booked and it’s too late for refunds. At least one of us should get to enjoy it.

—You want me to go to Japan, by myself? What’re you going on about?!

Gyu-ho’s Jeju accent was rearing its cute head, which always happened when he was upset. I stuffed the envelope into his pocket and showed him the itinerary on my phone.

—Follow this plan and find some guy to spend the night with. They say Japanese men have bigger dicks. Have a million affairs. OK?

—Seriously, what the hell?

Gyu-ho grinned, more disconcerted than anything else, as I pushed him into the line for customs. He kept looking back at me, and I waved at him to go on.