Excavations, p.11
Excavations, page 11
“It’s not him.”
“Have you checked the other morgues?”
“This is the first one.”
She looked back at the row of bodies yet to be put back in the freezer. These bodies that had once been washed lovingly by a mother, caressed and held, who had felt the warm touch of another and yet now lay so alone. Where was Jae? Where was he without his boys crawling over his limbs, the warmth of her hand on his back as he slept?
Seeing the expression on Sae’s face, the attendant gave her a sympathetic look and said, “It gets a little easier, if that’s any consolation. I’ll keep an eye out for the rabbit foot. Why don’t you leave me your pager number?”
* * *
—
Tae-kyu was waiting for her in the lobby of the hospital, upstairs from the morgue. She hated to cry in front of him but could not stop. He led her by the arm to the bench, away from the hospital entrance and out of view of the curious glances of those standing by.
“I told you to wait,” Tae-kyu said, angry. “I told you I would wait with you. Why would you go in there alone?”
“What am I missing here? Tell me I’m missing something,” she said, ignoring his question. She wanted, more than anything, to see Jae’s face, to hear from him that he had been looking for her, that there had been a mistake, that he was not involved in any of this. Just as quickly she knew his omissions would needle her, puncture any certainty she had about him. She needed to know what had happened. She was determined to find the answers, even if it meant digging it out of the earth with her bare hands. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat in her swollen eyelids. “They can’t be responsible for this, can they?” she said.
The humid heat began nosing itself into her clothes, expelling the chill of the morgue.
“Jae said they were cutting corners. He was unhappy,” she said. “But I still can’t believe it. How am I going to face all of those families?”
“Well,” Tae-kyu said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to worry about that for now. They’ve only named Mr. Bae. No one is going to be knocking down your door just yet.”
Sae froze. “You don’t think that’s strange?”
“Do you want an angry mob at your door?”
“No,” she said. “But why wouldn’t they name Jae as well?”
Tae-kyu shrugged. “Mr. Bae was the head of the company. The families only want to know who was in charge. It’s not as though they need the names of everyone who…What is it? Hey, where are you going?”
* * *
—
In the disorientation and confusion of the first few days after the Tower’s collapse, Sae had been so focused on looking for Jae and then, later, Mr. Bae, that she had not considered broadening the scope of her search to include others she might know. After the morgue, Sae went through the newspaper archive. Every day after the collapse the paper had printed the names of those who had been killed alongside a list of survivors.
In revisiting the list, she spotted a familiar name: Lim Hae-soo. Hae-soo was a common name, but it was also the same name as the overworked administrator—the only other permanent employee who worked in the office with Jae and Mr. Bae. It seemed to be too much of a coincidence that another person of the same name should be on the list. They had worked in a tiny office where a begrudging intimacy was inevitable—Sae hoped that Hae-soo would be able to tell her what frustrations Jae wrestled with in working in the Tower.
Hae-soo was difficult to track down, and her mother was cagey on the phone, speaking only of her financial troubles and worries for her daughter, but Sae had been able to piece together that Hae-soo was still recovering in Ansan hospital.
The hospital was new with gleaming white marble floors and a modern-looking reception area. Sae approached a receptionist wearing bright red lipstick.
“I’m here to visit Lim Hae-soo,” Sae said.
The receptionist typed something into her computer before glancing briefly at Sae.
“Room 401,” she said. “You can take the elevator on the other side of this wall.”
On the fourth floor, the afternoon light revealed a throng of patients communing in a narrow ward. Hae-soo’s mother had given Sae the impression that their family had been struggling financially, so the private room was a surprise. A small sofa area where presumably visitors could rest was partitioned by a low wall. A large bouquet of lilies and roses took up most of the bedside table.
Hae-soo was asleep, her bandaged arm resting awkwardly across her stomach. Her long hair looked waxy and unwashed. Sae was unsure how long she sat there before Hae-soo opened her eyes.
“Hi,” she rasped, wide-eyed. Sae was uncertain whether Hae-soo recognized her. “Could I have some water?”
Sae rose and filled a glass with the barley tea from the jug that had been standing on the cabinet.
“How are you feeling?” Sae asked, grasping her hand.
“I don’t know.” Hae-soo gave a weak smile. “I’ve been sleeping a lot…”
“Are you in pain?” Sae gestured at her arm. “That’s one heck of a bandage.”
“Is it? I guess it is,” she said, as if unsure of what she was doing there. Then, after a moment, she seemed to find her footing. “At school there was a girl who broke her arm, and everyone signed her cast leaving her sweet notes. I was kind of envious; for a while I wanted one too.”
“I know what you mean. Maybe I can be the first to sign your cast.”
Hae-soo’s smile contorted into a wince as she shifted in the bed. “Are you okay?” Sae asked.
“It’s the bruising in my ribs. It hurts to laugh.”
“I’ll hold off on the jokes, then,” Sae said.
“I was watching this comedy show the other night. It’s the only thing I want to watch, and I had to turn it off. I was cracking up. It was this gag where—”
Hae-soo continued describing the comedian’s performance in great detail and then abruptly recalled her high school days. She spoke continuously, as though afraid of silence. Sae waited for an appropriate moment to enter the conversation, but after a while Sae sensed Hae-soo’s stream of consciousness was a form of self-protection.
It was only when a nurse came in to check on the IV fluid that Hae-soo stopped speaking, her mouth clamped shut.
Sae sensed an opening. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been unable to find Jae. I was hoping—”
“You know what I’ve been craving?” Hae-soo said, interrupting her abruptly. She seemed terrified by what Sae might say. “This shrimp and cream pasta from the restaurant downstairs. Sometimes I’d skip lunch for the whole week to save up and then go and have a whole dish for myself.”
Sae was taken aback by this turn in the conversation and was unsure of how to respond. “Would you like me to get you something from downstairs?”
“No, at the office, I mean. Is it strange that I wanted to eat by myself? I never ate with anyone.”
“Everyone needs a break sometimes,” Sae said at last.
“Mr. Bae was always asking me to do things, sometimes things that I had no idea how to do. He was always leaving me notes with tasks I had to complete. It was overwhelming.”
Sae nodded, urging her to continue.
“I was thinking about quitting. I wasn’t even supposed to be in the Tower. Usually I’m in Buam-dong; they rarely need me on-site. But Mr. Bae asked me to pick up an envelope to be couriered over. I was at the atrium. There was a perfume shop by the café. I was going to treat myself. So I was there,” she said. The glass in her hand was shaking. “And then there was this sound; I can still hear it in my head now. Like this long moan.”
Sae’s ears pricked at the mention of Buam-dong, a sleepy residential neighborhood. Before Sae could ask her more about it, Hae-soo continued.
“They say the bone is shattered,” she said. “I can’t remember how many screws the surgeon said he put in it. It could have been a lot worse. They think a column fell over me. They had to cut me out of there.”
“I’m sorry, I realize this must be hard for you,” Sae said, the imagined scene seamlessly merging with her memories of the rubble as she looked for Jae. “I don’t think you were alone in being unhappy,” she began cautiously. “Jae didn’t think the project at Aspiration Tower was going as it should.”
Hae-soo fidgeted with a piece of loose thread on her blanket and fought back the tears. Their eyes met briefly, and Hae-soo looked away.
“There was the usual stuff,” she said with a shrug. She seemed to sense that this wasn’t enough. “A tight deadline. Worries about money. We had to move because one of their projects fell through. The investors ran out of money. There was a problem with the building that made it tough.”
“A problem? When you say ‘building,’ do you mean Aspiration Tower?”
Hae-soo’s eyes grew wide, as though she realized she had made a mistake. “I don’t know the details.”
Sae decided not to push Hae-soo. “Was there anyone Jae was working with that he was in conflict with?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” Hae-soo said quickly.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“They’re saying that the building collapsed because of a miscalculation made by L&S. Do you think that could be true?”
Hae-soo shook her head vigorously. “I wasn’t supposed to speak to anyone,” she said softly.
“What do you mean?” Sae asked. “Did Mr. Bae ask you not to talk to me?”
Hae-soo looked nervous. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think you should leave.”
* * *
—
At the nurses’ station outside the room, Sae caught the attention of a young nurse with a large mole on the side of her nose.
“Can I ask you something?” Sae asked. “It’s about Lim Hae-soo in 401. Does she have many visitors? A boyfriend?”
The nurse shrugged. “Why do you ask?”
“I saw those expensive flowers,” Sae said, trying to sound as casual as she could. “I’ve been trying to set her up for years, but she’s always turned me down. I wondered if she already has someone.”
The nurse seemed to relax. “I don’t think so. She just had one visitor. Young man, corporate type. I had the feeling it was work related.”
“Thanks,” Sae said, placing her hands in her pockets so the nurse would not see that they were trembling. She wanted to ask her who was paying for the private room, but knew she was unlikely to get an answer.
She took the stairwell instead of the lift and walked into the heat, thinking of the office Hae-soo spoke of in Buam-dong. It was an unusual place for an office. For the first time in days she felt calm. Finally she had something to work with, a trail uncovered in the rough. Sae found a phone booth on the street and held the receiver in her hand until she knew how she would conduct the call.
* * *
—
Buam-dong was nestled at the base of Inwangsan Mountain, at the end of a military checkpoint that had recently been opened to the public. The neighborhood was filled with large single-family homes behind imposing gates. The only dim lights on the narrow strip of the main street came from a hole-in-the-wall corner store—the kind that was slowly being replaced by fluorescent 7-Elevens. The few other businesses—a coffee shop and small restaurant—were closed for the night. Sae slowed as she reached a realtor’s office at the end of the street, where a portly man sat with his ankle on his knee, reading the day’s paper.
“We’re closed,” he said, without taking his eyes off the paper. “I’m waiting for someone.”
“I’ve come on behalf of L&S Engineering. I called you earlier,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m Hae-soo’s cousin. She just wanted me to do her this favor. She said you would have a spare key for the office.”
“Ah, yes…” he said, patting his shirt pockets, unconcerned. “I haven’t seen Mr. Bae in a while; he must be busy. He’s always standing out by the alley, smoking, pacing like he’s waiting for bad news.”
The implication that Sae was unlikely to encounter Mr. Bae in the office did little to calm her. She was sure that some sort of confrontation was inevitable—whether it was in the form of evidence, or more clues to where Jae might be.
“He’s working on a contract out of town,” she said quickly. It was clear that the man had no idea about L&S and what they did, or that they were somehow connected to the Tower.
The last hurdle was finding the office itself, though her conversation with Hae-soo had given her a clue. Sae was familiar with small neighborhood businesses like this—the way information would circulate easily like a light wind. She had to be careful not to rouse suspicion. She thanked the man before pretending to remember something. “Is there an Italian restaurant here at all? I promised my son I would bring home some pasta.”
* * *
—
The office was on the second floor, in a residential studio just above an Italian restaurant, which had closed early. Sae paused at the top of the stairs, placing her ear lightly on the door, and heard nothing more than her quickened heartbeat. After several moments, she opened the door to find a small room with two narrow desks. A stale smell hung in the air. The small kitchenette was not in use and several boxes were piled high in the sink. A large ashtray filled with cigarette butts lay on the windowsill. She looked for signs that someone might have been living at the office, but there was no bedding or evidence of any meals. It was clear that neither Mr. Bae nor Jae had used this office as a place of refuge.
Sae immediately recognized one of the desks as most likely belonging to Hae-soo—it was neatly organized, and a wilting flower hung its head in a jar marked with water stains.
On the other desk, Sae found a calendar with Jae’s neat handwriting on it. The sight of it brought him to life in the room and filled her with a desperate feeling—a sense that she had to find him urgently, the fear that this might be all that remained of him.
Sae looked around her, eyeing the drawers and papers on the desk. Somewhere, she thought, she would find a vital clue or detail that would lead her to him. She opened the drawers and rifled through the papers, looking for a contract that might detail the work that L&S Engineering had agreed to do, or even an invoice or agreement with the name of a contact at Taehan Group.
After trying to pick at a locked drawer with a paper clip, Sae gave up and sat at Hae-soo’s desk going over a book of accounts, running her finger over transactions that meant little to her. Moments later she slammed the binder shut and crossed the room to rifle through the papers that were scattered on the other desk. Buried under several manuals, Sae found a large orange envelope with a set of blueprints and felt her heart quicken as she unfolded them, recognizing them as the structural sketches of Aspiration Tower. She flicked through the pages several times, trying to decipher the notes and calculations, more aware than ever that she would struggle to do this alone.
TWENTY-ONE DAYS AFTER THE COLLAPSE
“I’ll have another,” Yung said, setting his glass down on the table. Myong-hee paused before reaching for the empty bottle of whiskey in front of her, surprised. He had never been much of a drinker; he was disciplined about his two-whiskey limit. Over the years, she had marveled at his restraint—the way he would drain his glass or switch it for an empty one on the table while his business partners were distracted. He was a man who maintained absolute control in his dealings, even personal ones; he was vulnerable with no one.
“More of the same?”
He nodded.
She left the room to get another bottle, diluting it to stretch out the evening. With his generous forehead and receding hairline, Yung did not resemble the Chairman, but he could conjure his father into the room with a gesture, and serving him was a point of ambivalence for Myong-hee. She set down a plate of fruit and dried cuttlefish on the table and reached for his glass to pour him another.
“Before I forget, there was one meeting that I meant to tell you about,” she said. “The head of corporate loans at Nara Bank came in with Mr. Jo of Sangmyong Electronics. They were talking about the acquisition of a company called Onha Tech. They seem to have developed a special technology—”
Yung raised his hand. “Not now. I can’t.”
Myong-hee nodded, though the response was unexpected. She had assumed that he had come in for her reports, not because he had nowhere else to drink. The recent announcement about the third-party vendor’s assumed responsibility for the Tower’s collapse had quickly been followed by rumors that Taehan Group could still be held liable. The realization that the disaster posed a real threat to Taehan Group filled her with a strange tingly feeling that she could not place.
“They said on the news that it was the swimming pool,” she said, calmly smoothing her skirt. She suspected that even if the public were forgiving, the Chairman would not be. “How is the old man taking it?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Yung said with a smirk. “I don’t know where the old man is.” Yung raised the glass to his lips. “I can’t seem to keep track of anyone these days. Mr. Bae, the incompetent little shit. I asked only one thing of him. How difficult is it to find someone?”
He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Mr. Li was in here all the time. Did he tell you where he was going?”
“I wish I could tell you,” she said, lowering her gaze, afraid her eyes would give her away. Though she saw she did not need to worry. Yung was not looking at her.
“I’m kidding. Of course he wouldn’t tell you. I don’t know why I said that.” Yung was slurring now and spilled the remainder of his whiskey on his shirt. He seemed not to notice. Instead he began to laugh. “Maybe Father is right. I’m not as meticulous, or as paranoid as him. Father used to take us all on a tour of his factories. He wanted us to know that he knew every department, every section of the production line like the back of his hand. Then afterward he’d take us to the top of Namsan and point to every building he’d ever built. Not because it was our inheritance, but because he wanted us to know what he had built from nothing. A reminder that we will never achieve as much as he has.”
