The Taste of Lies Chapter 4

“Come along quietly and drink some sports drink. If you still don’t feel better after that, then I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Ah, damn. Do whatever you want.”

The taxi sped toward the town center. It was a place where the township office, patrol station, fire station, and health center were laid out in a radial pattern around an empty lot where the market was held.

Youngmin paid the fare and, almost by force, dragged Sangtae into the patrol station.

“Don’t move a muscle until I come back.”

He sat him down on the long bench in the waiting room, pulled a sports drink from the vending machine and tossed it to him, then strode—almost ran—into the area where the officers worked. He stood at attention before an older policeman and said something.

“So that’s the one who got assigned today.”

Sipping the cold drink until the back of his skull tingled, Sangtae eavesdropped on the passing officers’ talk. They were all familiar faces from his many visits. The officers spotted Sangtae and jeered at him, asking what trouble he’d brought this time. Sangtae only gave an ambiguous smile.

When everyone’s attention faded, Sangtae rose.

Thanks to the drink Youngmin had given him, strength had returned to his limbs. He grabbed his backpack and hurried outside. Before Youngmin could realize that the student he’d helped was actually Mukhyeon’s local problem child—and before he could regret it—he wanted to disappear.

All the way home, Sangtae didn’t look back, and no one stopped him. It was nothing new, but for some reason, he felt a little lonely.

Sangtae tossed the half-finished sports drink into the trash can.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Excuse me, have you seen the student who was here?”

After finishing his assignment report, Youngmin rushed back into the waiting room.

“Who?”

The aging officer sitting at the reception desk stared at Youngmin. It was a short and odd question. It seemed both like he was asking who he was and who he was looking for. Youngmin’s lips twitched before he realized the man was asking both.

“I’m Patrol Officer Ma Youngmin, assigned as of tomorrow to the Mukhyeon Patrol Station in Mukhyeon-myeon, Munsan-gun. I’m looking for the student who came in with me. He’s about a span and a half shorter than me, quite thin, and his name is—”

Trailing off as he listed the person’s description, Youngmin closed his mouth. He’d brought him along out of a sense of duty and a bit of sympathy, but he didn’t even know the student’s name. He had no information—not what school he went to, what grade he was in, or where he lived.

Come to think of it, when he’d first seen that kid sitting at the bus stop, he’d even mistaken him for a girl. His features were delicate and pretty, so when he heard the low, husky voice, he’d been startled. Though that wasn’t the only reason for his misperception.

“A student with hair down to his shoulders. His bangs are—”

“Ah, Geulma?”

Before Youngmin could finish his description, the officer reacted. Fortunately, he seemed to know who the student was.

“Why? Did Geulma steal your wallet or something?”

“Huh? No, sir.”

“Then did he lay his hands on someone else’s belongings?”

The officer asked in a tone that mixed half Gyeongsang dialect and half Gangwon dialect, spitting as he spoke. Four mugunghwa flower buds gleamed on his shoulders. The officer at the reception desk looked old enough that he should have had at least one mugunghwa flower on his collar. He’d probably joined as a patrol officer, never been promoted, and spent his whole career at the bottom.

“No, sir. He collapsed on the street, so I was about to take him to the hospital.”

“Collapsed? He wasn’t high on glue, was he?”

“…I didn’t smell any glue.”

“…”

“Honestly. If anything, it smelled like laundry dried well in the sun…”

Even though the student had nothing to do with him, Youngmin argued on his behalf. The boy he’d seen clearly looked like someone who had collapsed from hunger. The Sergeant grimaced and clicked his tongue, tsk-tsk. Then, as if Youngmin’s defense wasn’t worth hearing, he rambled on with his own claim.

“Geulma is a bad seed, a bad seed. A rotten seed from the root. Ever since he set foot in this town, he’s been in brawls day in and day out… Ah, right. Can I call you Patrol Officer Ma?”

“Yes.”

“Patrol Officer Ma, you’d better check your pockets too. If you hang around that Kim Sangtae kid, and something goes missing, you can be sure it’s gone.”

Youngmin wanted to end the conversation now. Still, he didn’t feel like meekly saying “Yes, sir.” Just as bamboo shoots sprout sharply above shadowed ground, a horn sprouted in his heart too. So he answered half-heartedly, “I’ll check,” grabbed his duffel bag, and headed for the station door. He skipped the checking part.

“Patrol Officer Ma.”

The old officer called out to him. Youngmin turned back with his hand on the doorknob.

“Do you happen to know a Ma who lives in front of the county office?”

“Ma? You mean someone with the surname Ma?”

“Yeah, Ma. The Ma who does shamanism.”

It was an absurd question. The Sergeant seemed to have tossed it out casually, curious because he’d come across two people with the uncommon surname Ma. But in contrast to his casual tone, his old eyes were scrutinizing Youngmin thoroughly. Youngmin delayed his answer, rolling his foot on the ground as if checking whether such a person existed in his memory. Tap, tap, tap. Three light taps.

“…Who is that?”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t. Today’s the first time in my life I’ve crossed over to the east side of the Taebaek Mountains. I’m from Incheon, so this is really my first time on the east coast. There’s no way I’d know anyone.”

He emphasized his ignorance by saying “first” twice. The officer nodded as if setting aside his curiosity, but he didn’t hide the bitterness of having his guess proven wrong.

“Who is that person?”

Youngmin asked the officer, who was grumbling to himself.

“Who?”

“The Ma who does shamanism. I’m asking because you asked me about him… Is he someone I should know?”

“No, no. …I just asked because Patrol Officer Ma’s face is so handsome. That Ma is quite a figure too. That woman—”

The officer approached Youngmin and lowered his voice. Acting as if he were about to share some important confidential information, Youngmin leaned in as well.

“She’s the mistress of the county police chief who was recently assigned here.”

“Mistress?”

Youngmin’s eyes went round. At his startled expression, the officer’s mouth gained momentum.

“Yeah, mistress. When I was your age, the chief had just graduated from the police academy and came to Mukhyeon as the patrol station chief. He and the Ma woman, who had just received her shamanic initiation, fell for each other and got into that kind of relationship, but they broke up when the chief went to Seoul. The chief came back, and you showed up as a patrol officer looking just like the two of them mixed together—ah, a mistress’s child is still a child, so the father must be keeping an eye on—”

“So, you’re saying I’m the illegitimate child of the chief and that shaman mistress?”

Youngmin summarized the officer’s words. At this sudden morning-drama-style remark, the station personnel perked up their ears. In the silence, the old officer stammered.

“A-ah, no, what I meant was—”

“Sergeant, can you take responsibility for that statement?”

It’s better not to utter that kind of thing aloud. If it’s true, the whole town would be in an uproar over the scandal; if it’s false, it would cause a commotion over defamation. Once caught up in gossip, everyone involved gets a splitting headache. That was also why the patrol station chief, sitting in the corner, came running out in a hurry.

“Oh my, Sergeant Choi. That mouth of yours. Stop it, stop it!”

The chief covered the Sergeant’s mouth with his palm, hopping about.

“That’s why you haven’t been promoted at your age!”

“What, I didn’t say anything wrong—”

“Just shut up. Patrol Officer Ma, you should head off now. You must be tired coming from far away. Let’s have the official greeting tomorrow.”

The chief almost shoved Youngmin out, urging him to leave. Youngmin slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and bowed politely.

He left the patrol station and walked without looking back. It wasn’t until he’d left the parking lot and reached the bus stop that he stopped. His face was reflected in the convex mirror set up beside the stop.

“Do I really look that much like them…”

Staring at the bulging mirror, Youngmin took off his glasses. The gazes that had poured down on him during the greeting were so sharp he felt his head might be pierced. It seemed like his future as a patrol officer would be as dark as the shadow stretching beneath his feet.

Tap, tap, tap. He stamped his foot a few times, then put his glasses back on. The bus stop, after the last bus had left, was empty. Behind the stop, only an old woman sitting on the platform of the Jumbbang Supermarket stared blankly into space with pale eyes.