I met my mother early that evening at the jjimjilbang. She was waiting for me in the changing room, naked, holding two cans of strawberry milk, egg mask on her hair. In the bath area, I sat on a stool and scrubbed her back, then she scrubbed mine.

“You’ve lost weight again. You need to eat more.”

My hands began to shake. I hated it when she talked like that. You’re too thin. You should eat more. Don’t get too fat. It made me feel like slamming myself against the wall.

Three women were padding about, pink leeches glued to their shoulder blades. The youngest was my age, her breasts already sagging. I looked at mine. Firm, like two upturned ladles. Feeling reassured, I went to join my mother in the sulfur bath. She’d wrapped her hair in a plastic bag. Through the steam she looked like a mushroom giving off smoke. Her chest rose and fell spasmodically. I told her to make an appointment with the doctor. She waved my suggestion aside with a gesture of irritation.

“Tell me about the guest house.”

I told her about the girl with the bandages.

“I’ve got some money saved up,” my mother said. “If you want to have an operation too.”

“You think I’m that ugly?”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m your mother. But an operation might help you get a better job. I hear that’s how it is in Seoul.”

I wasn’t looking for another job, I said, just to provoke her. Working in the guest house gave me a chance to meet people. There was an artist there, I liked his work. I didn’t say he was French.

I didn’t know how my mother had been spending her time since I’d moved out. I tried to remember what we did together when I was younger. Television. Beach. We didn’t see many people. She never stopped to chat with the other mothers at the school gate when I was in primary school. It wasn’t long before my classmates began asking me why I didn’t have a father. As soon as I was old enough, I started taking the bus home on my own.

Back in the changing room we put on our pajamas to go into the mixed section. We lay on the ground, our heads on small wooden blocks, sipping barley porridge and peeling hard-boiled eggs. When the time came to leave, I said I couldn’t go home with her. I had to get back to the guest house, I had lots to do. The truth was I couldn’t stand sharing a bed with her any more. She looked upset. I found it painful to see her like that. But I’d made up my mind, I wasn’t going to be swayed.

In the alleyway, Mother Kim gave me one of her meatballs. I was looking pale, she said. I imagined the meat thawing and being refrozen. In the next alleyway, I threw the meatball to a dog rooting around in the bins.