Octopus Sausage
Miyoung called for her daughter but didn’t hear a sound. The whirring of UFOs and alien meepmorps was a quiet nothing. She scoped out the awfully beige living room, following a trail of bright green alien stickers.
“Hyejin-a…” Her soft voice echoed through the hallway. No response.
Miyoung heard the gentle sloshing of water whispering from the bathroom. Steam peeked out from the bottom of the door. She leaned against it, pressing her ear on the cold wood.
She opened the door. The tiling below her slippers was slick with condensation, and the mirror was frosted over. Her white dog lay limp in the tub, its neck twisted like a rung-out rag. Like seaweed, its fur gently swayed under the water. She snatched her dog and laid it on the rubber mat; its jaw slacked open like a loose hinge.
Hyejin came waltzing in behind her, light on her toes, wearing her baby pink romper. She held her alien toy tightly in her arms. Her ponytail swung side to side like a little girl, but her tall shadow loomed over her mother.
Miyoung sat on the tiled floor as she shook her beloved pet. His flesh was raw, almost boiled underneath her soft, wrinkled hands. Everything else in the world ceased to exist.
“Umma… I’m hungry!” Hyejin complained. She stomped her foot. “Hyejin-a, do you know what happened to Sarang?” Miyoung mumbled, her voice maintaining a high pitch.
“I saved her! Now, can I have my food?” Hyejin asked.
Miyoung's shoulders shook. An aggravated groan exited her throat.
“You’re… so fucking… stupid!” Miyoung shouted, standing up. “How could you do this to our dog? You’re a 32-year-old woman who can’t take care of a simple animal? Is this my fault? Is it the way I raised you? Tell Me! You don’t do this!” She gripped the sides of her daughter's face, squishing down on her like a ball of aluminum foil.
“You’re sh-pitting on me,” Hyejin said.
Miyoung kicked the toys and screamed at the alien stickers on the counter. Their cartoonish, bug eyes stared back at her.
“Are you making dinner now?” Hyejin asked.
Miyoung didn’t want to respond. Instead, she rummaged through the cutlery drawer and threw Hyejin a spoon.
Miyoung cooked the same thing for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day for 25 years. Everything was just the way Hyejin liked it—a bowl of miyeok-guk and sausages cut in the shape of octopuses. Hyejin pretended the sausages were alien ships invading her bowl of miyeok-guk, occasionally dropping food for their dog. But Miyoung didn’t want to think about those stupid sausages she tediously cut every day. She didn’t want to think about the seaweed sashaying in the steaming broth.
She didn’t want to think about any of it. But she couldn’t not think about any of it. Right next to her, Hyejin sat on the sofa and bit into a Melona pop as she watched a TV drama, scratching her exposed belly.
“Eat,” Miyoung said.
She slammed the food on the table. It was made just the way she knew Hyejin liked it.
“Do you know why I like miyeok-guk so much?” Hyejin asked, beaming. She began making spaceship sounds as she played with the rice grains.
Miyoung didn’t respond.
“They look like aliens, don’t they?” Hyejin asked.
“One day, I'm going to space, you know,” Hyejin added.
“You're helping me give my dog a funeral after you eat, okay?” Miyoung interjected. “Okay.”
Miyoung’s lips raced, taking the spotlight from the rest of her friends. Her behaviour was the amalgamation of them. Each had a different cadence in their voice and tone. Some talked with their hands, others stood stoically still. Miyoung became an annoying copycat, putting her friend’s behaviours on display.
Today was different. But no one bothered to comment. In the corner of the busy cafe, Miyoung drank her latte in silence as she looked down at all her girlfriends’ shoes. Luckily for her, the son of one of the women in the brunch group got promoted in his workplace and had a wedding set for the following Summer. And even more luckily, another one was expecting a grandchild. Miyoung sat in her chair, slumped over, sad and 58, with no expectations of anything but to meet Hyejin at the front of her apartment door, doodling terrible drawings of aliens and UFOs. The landlord would reprimand her again, call Hyejin a Satan spawn again and threaten to evict them again. Miyoung knew he couldn’t, but she still complied.
“My daughter killed my dog last week,” Miyoung said, interrupting one of the women. The women paused.
“It was an accident, though.” Miyoung continued.
The women hesitated to continue drinking their teas or eating their pastries. One of them broke the awkward tension. “I know someone I can set your daughter up with.” The other women nodded eagerly.
When Miyoung got home, she ripped off the note taped onto the door, crumpled it, and threw it down the stairs. Hyejin wasn’t outside this time. She sighed deeply and struggled to fit the key in the hole. Someone tapped her shoulder.
“Ajumma, do you happen to live here?” A low voice asked. She turned around and saw her reflection in the cross-shaped pin on his lapel.
“No, I don’t have money for your religious bullshit.” Miyoung dully stared at the pin. Her eyebags sagged low. It felt like her face creams weren’t working.
“Actually, I'm here for Hyejin.” His voice was soft like delicate chocolate. Miyoung wanted to taste more.
Miyoung looked up, meeting eyes with a young, handsome man with a clean-shaven face and well-groomed eyebrows. He wore a well-tailored suit and a watch that glimmered under the lamp lights as he moved his hands. His smile was pinned wide open like a taxidermized bug. Miyoung brushed her hair down, removing stray hairs from between her fingers.
“Ah, please, come in,” Miyoung said, reprimanding herself as she unlocked her door.
“No need. I'm just here to pick something up.” There was nothing special enough about Hyejin for a man like him to be looking for her.
She called out for her daughter and heard rustling coming from her room. Hyejin came out with her hair unbrushed and crust in her eyes. She handed him a large, muddied backpack. He kissed her on the cheek, muttered a small “Thank you,” and Hyejin retreated into her room.
“Excuse me?” Miyoung stammered.
“I'm sorry,” he said, “I should have introduced myself. I'm Noah Hong, founder of Arc.” He bowed. He had a slight American accent as he stumbled over a few Korean syllables. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, the rigorous motion changing his hair's perfected, coifed shape. Miyoung noticed that his eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, and his muscles protruded from his suit.
“I’ve been trying to court your daughter for some time now. But I was recently introduced to her, only affirming my decision.”
“My daughter? My Hyejin?” Miyoung's lip didn’t know what direction to twitch.
“Yes. She’s quite beautiful,” He looked at her longingly, “Like yourself. You are a very beautiful woman, Mrs. Kwon.”
His use of Mrs. didn’t seem to bother her like it usually would. She hid her face in her shoulder, her cheeks blending into her red Merino sweater.
“I hope you'll help me with your daughter if I have your blessing.” He handed her a business card with his name large in gold letters on the front. “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time… She’s a unique girl.” He let out a soft chuckle.
“We shall have dinner here one day then. I will let you know.” Miyoung began to flip through the recipes in her head. Everything she could remember to cook when trying to impress her husband back in the day.
Miyoung woke up before the sun could. She sent her clothes to the dry cleaners and insisted on taking Hyejin to the mall to buy her a nice dress. Miyoung dug out an old lip tint from a musty purse and an eyeshadow palette that had probably expired five years ago.
“Do your makeup!” Miyoung shouted from the bathroom. “Wear the dress I got you too! I spent 60 thousand won on it. Don't let it go to waste.”
Miyoung meticulously placed her eyeshadow and lathered face creams under her eyes. She ironed her shirt and Miyoung's dress, cooked an elaborate dinner, cut all the sausages, and re-heated the miyeok-guk.
The doorbell rang, and Miyoung hurriedly skittered over to the door, ensuring her shirt was long enough to cover the fact that her dress pants no longer fit. She checked her hair, which she dyed the night before, and fixed up her lipstick. The doorbell rang again. With a pause, she opened the door. Hyejin sauntered to the foyer with her hair down, speckled in dandruff. She looked like a schoolboy with her rocket ship t-shirt and basketball shorts. Miyoung glared at her. Hyejin chewed her nails.
“Noah! It’s so good to see you!” exclaimed Miyoung. Noah walked in, saying his hellos, bowed, and placed his briefcase on the ground. She then took his jacket and put it on the coat rack, afraid to dirty it. “Please sit down.”
As if it coursed through a mother’s blood, when they began to eat, she placed heaps of food on his plate, insisting he eat more. She watched him chew because she hadn’t cooked anything besides what Hyejin had eaten since she was little. She didn’t know if it tasted good.
It was awkwardly silent. The sound of chewing and Hyejin playing with food filled the air.
“Tell me about yourself,” Miyoung said.
“Well, I grew up in California, graduated from Stanford, and worked in business for a bit,” Noah said. “That's all. I'm not very special.” He chuckled.
“Stanford? Did you come here then for work? What do you do?” There was a glimmer in Miyoung’s eye.
“Yes, I opened up a holistic practice, healing people with mental diseases. We are quite a new company, but we have a lot of clients already. Sometimes, western medicine doesn’t cut it. We have to return to our Korean roots!” Noah preached. Miyoung could envision him standing at a podium.
“That’s quite amazing. I haven’t had any luck with hospitals lately. I should visit.” Maybe Korean medicine was what Hyejin needed. They were a match made in heaven. Noah's leg accidentally brushed against hers.
Miyoung turned her attention to Hyejin.
“Hyejin-a, you know that Noah is here because he wanted my blessing to ask you to become his lover,” Miyoung stated, putting her hand on her daughters.
“Okay,” Hyejin responded. She picked around at her food and ignored her. Miyoung gave her a stern look. She earnestly looked at Noah, apologizing with her eyes. Noah responded with a gentle, tight-lipped smile.
“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Kwon,” he mouthed.
Miyoung shook her head at Hyejin's awful behaviour. This should have been the moment where she could sit down, look at her daughter, and be proud for once. But no, Miyoung could never get what she wanted.
It was the end of the day. Miyoung profusely apologized. The atmosphere died as Hyejin scrambled into her room, and Noah repeated, “It’s okay,” multiple times. Before he left, he grazed Miyoung’s arms and looked at her with incredibly gentle eyes, placing his soft hand on her shoulder.
“Please reach out to me. Whenever.” Noah said as he left.
And so, she did. She did the day Hyejin presented Miyoung with a trash bag with two dead doves. Their soaked feathers flopped onto the floor.
There was a heavy pit in her stomach, and she felt nauseated. The stench of congealed blood radiated from the bag as both birds were mutilated differently. One was missing a wing, and one was missing its head. Miyoung felt a mass well up in her throat as one of the doves’ wings flinched.
At Noah’s company, Miyoung sobbed into her purse. Noah brushed her hair behind her ear and wiped the sweat beading off the nape of her neck. Miyoung kept mumbling incoherent tangents under her breath as bubbles of snot coated the back of her throat. She looked up, a string of spit dripping from her lips. Noah looked into her dark eyes and wiped the saliva off with his finger.
“You’re my last hope.” Miyoung choked, “I can't do this anymore!”
She let out another cry before she fell into her purse.
Without a word, Noah lifted her off the chair, holding her purse under his armpits, and guided her down a hall and into a jjimjilbang room. Miyoung began to be conscious of all the other women staring at her. They sat there, quiet and cross-legged, with towels tied around their head and rosaries draped across their necks.
“I can't do anything about Hyejin until you feel better,” Noah said, turning her attention towards him.
Noah brought Miyoung into a tiny hut where she felt clay rocks underneath her feet.
“Let me help you release all your pain,” Noah whispered, “Strip down for me.”
Without hesitation, Miyoung slowly undid the buttons of her cardigan and unclasped her bra. She took her pants off, leaving her in her blue underwear. Noah watched.
“Lay down.” He ordered.
The hot rocks toasted her skin, and she felt at ease. Noah laid his soft, oiled hands on her body. He massaged her neck down to her lower back, her waist, her thighs, and her feet. Miyoung moaned at the tension releasing from her body. She felt in harmony with her inner consciousness. It felt right. So warm. So reminiscent.
“You are a very beautiful woman, Mrs. Kwon.” Noah whispered under his breath, “A very beautiful woman. Mr. Kwon is so lucky to have you…”
“It’s just me,” Miyoung replied, her skin tugging underneath the palm of his hands.
“Hm, you remind me of my mother,” he sighed.
Noah laid a slightly dampened towel underneath her as she turned around, vulnerable beneath his gaze. Her eyes met his. His face glowed under the warm light.
This was a ritual of possession. She finally belonged to him.
For a month and nine days, Miyoung drifted down to Noah’s facility with a presence to her that no one could explicitly describe. She invited her friends to the expensive café in Seoul every Friday to brag. Her voice was confident, and she wore an uncanny grin. When Hyejin bothered her, begging for dinner, Miyoung did so with a grin.
When Hyejin spilled paint all over the floor, Miyoung cleaned with a grin. The corner of her lips stretched so wide they looked sawed open.
On the tenth day, as Miyoung waded in the bathhouse, Noah massaged her hips under the jet streams in the water, kissing her. The other women watched from afar.
“I love you,” Miyoung gasped subconsciously. She leaned into his kiss.
“Then, I need you to prove it,” Noah replied.
Miyoung kicked her shoes off and placed her purse on the couch. Hyejin lay on her back in the hallway, drawing aliens on the walls with crayons.
“Dinner?” Hyejin asked. Miyoung replied with a grin.
Miyoung entered the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her undereyes glistened from the eye creams, her cheeks were red with blush, her lips stained a wine red, and her eyes smoked in gold eyeshadow. Her dress was freshly dry-cleaned and ironed.
She ran the bath.
“Hyejin-a, can you come here?” Miyoung asked. Hyejin rolled over, getting up in a stagger.
“What?” Hyejin asked, holding a crayon to the wall as she walked toward her. Miyoung reached her hand out and guided her in, making her sit on the closed toilet seat.
“Turn the water off when it fills up, okay? We’ll bathe together, just like when you were a baby.”
Miyoung entered the kitchen and turned the stove on, and the pot of day-old miyeok-guk became a violent simmer. She turned the stove off and removed the pot, placing it on a wooden mat.
The water stopped running. Miyoung entered the bathtub dressed and told Hyejin to grab her toys and join her. So, she did.
Hyejin sat in the hot water, facing her mother. Her lips turned up into a kind smile.
“Let's play a game, Hyejin-a. You will be the submarine under the water, and I will be the aliens invading the ship, okay? So put your head under and blow as many bubbles as you can.”
So, she did with a laugh. Hyejin put her head under the water. She blew out some bubbles, and Miyoung grabbed her daughter's head and pushed it deeper into the tub. Miyoung could feel the vibrations of her daughter’s forehead hitting the acrylic bottom. The second, the last bubble, popped at the water's surface. She let go.
“Hyejin-a?” Miyoung lifted her daughter's head above the water. She shook her as hard as she could. “Hyejin-a? Can you please wake up?”
Hyejin’s unresponsive body sat up straight. Snot dripped out of her nostril as she coughed up water.
“Why didn’t you keep going?” Hyejin asked as she spat into the tub. They both sat there in the still water, staring at each other. “Why didn’t you save me?”
Miyoung watched the floating spit approach her arms.
“Why aren’t you letting me go to space?” Hyejin asked. “You were supposed to bring me to space!”
Miyoung was briefly human.
Yoon Bae is a Korean writer based in Toronto and the editor-in-chief of the UofT creative magazine “With Caffeine and Careful Thought.” Her fiction prose explores the world of “Han,” an unexplainable Korean phenomenon encapsulated in a single term.