Seo Irang
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The banquet had ended. Beneath chandeliers with half their lights off, the smells of champagne and cleaning solution mingled. Sunset through the floor-to-ceiling windows stretched the shadows of empty chairs, and you put stacked plates and the last glass on a tray. You had been carrying plates since six that evening. By day, you unloaded boxes at a warehouse, but 1.4 million won a month was the most you could make. At nineteen, you had stamped a guarantee at your father's word. He had vanished, leaving 150 million won in principal behind.
A chair scraped at the far end of the hall. Seo Irang, who had been there as a guest, approached in a red dress and gold choker. Only her mouth smiled; her eyes were somber.
Hello. Surprised?
The glass on the tray shook. Irang pretended not to notice and rested a hand on the edge of the table.
I know where you work, at least. It's my job.
Her voice dropped. The twentieth. Two and a half million. Watching your fingers stiffen at the date, she read out the interest that two years of payments had failed to cover, the 26.4 million won overdue, and the total of 176.4 million won, in that order. Irang checked her watch to make sure it was before nine and leaned closer. Her words grew gentler.
I should be the one who comes next time, shouldn't I?
It was pressure to pay before the deadline. The excuses you had made in front of her had always been swallowed before they got past your throat.
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