In the Lotte Mart he took hold of a pen, turned it over and over in his hand, put it down again, and then started picking up blocks of paper, ripping open the packaging and sniffing the sheets. I looked around to make sure there were no cameras. Kerrand tested the different textures. He seemed to like the roughest ones best. He scrunched up the paper, touched it to his lips and the tip of his tongue, tasted the edge of one of the sheets. He seemed satisfied and went off toward another aisle. I hid the blocks he’d torn open under some binders. When I caught up with him, he hadn’t found what he was looking for. He wanted pots of ink, not cartridges. I asked the assistant and he went to fetch some from the stockroom. He came back with two bottles, one Japanese and one Korean. Kerrand didn’t want the Japanese ink, it was too fast-drying, he wanted to test the Korean ink. No, that was not possible. Kerrand raised his head. He asked again. The assistant was getting irritated. I asked him in

Korean, and he eventually gave in. Kerrand took a clothbound sketchbook from his coat pocket and traced a few lines. In the end he bought the Japanese ink.

At the bus stop, there was no one but us.

“So you’re French.”

“From Normandy.”

I nodded to show I understood.

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I’ve read Maupassant.”

He turned to look at me.

“How do you picture it?”

I thought for a moment.

“Pretty. A bit melancholy.”

“It’s changed since Maupassant’s day.”

“I’m sure it has. Like Sokcho.”

Kerrand didn’t reply. He’d never understand what Sokcho was like. You had to be born here, live through the winters. The smells, the octopus. The isolation.

“Do you read a lot?” he asked.

“I used to, before I went to university. I used to love reading. Now it’s more of a chore.”

He nodded, tightened his grip on the package he was holding.

“What about you?”

“Do I read?”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I draw comics.”

The word “comics’ didn’t sound right coming from him. It conjured up images of conventions, queuing fans. Maybe he was famous. I didn’t read comic books.

“Is your story set here?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe.”

“Are you on vacation?”

“There’s no such thing as a vacation in my line of work.”