The Taste of Lies Chapter 8

A white arm was draped over the back of a man in a black suit. Sangtae was holding onto some middle-aged man’s back with one arm and smoking a cigarette with his other hand. The faint frown on his nose bridge wasn’t because of the harsh cigarette.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Youngmin lunged in and grabbed the man by the nape of his neck. The man fell away, his dark red tongue writhing like a leech. It was the same tongue that had been licking Sangtae’s neck just moments ago.

I want to tear it out.

Oblivious to Youngmin’s fury, the man shouted.

“Who the hell are you?”

Youngmin scraped together every ounce of patience from the ground just to keep from killing him. No matter what, he was a cop. Unless the other party struck first, he wasn’t in a position to raise his hands.

The man’s pointing hand froze midair. The thick gray blouson, the black baseball cap with a gold eagle and the Taegeuk emblem—those registered in the man’s eyes before Youngmin’s crumpled face. Though the rank on his shoulder was only patrol officer, to the man who’d been trying to buy the boy, he was no different from the Grim Reaper. The man changed his tune.

“He, he seduced me first. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t! …Aaagh!”

The middle-aged man shoved Youngmin’s shoulder and ran off. A shriek trailed behind him like a tail. Youngmin didn’t chase him. He had more important business. He pulled the cigarette from Sangtae’s mouth and snapped it in half.

“What a waste. It was a good one.”

Sangtae retorted. There was no trace of shame.

“Take your hand off.”

Youngmin tapped Sangtae’s hand, which was clutching his own neck, with his fingers. It was the spot where the man’s lips had touched. Sangtae brazenly tilted his chin up. In the midday sunlight, his swollen, bitten and sucked lips gleamed. Youngmin stepped forward.

“What?”

Staggering backward, Sangtae said. His back hit the wall. This was a dead end. There was no escape.

“Take your hand off.”

“Fine, I took it off. Satisfied?”

Shaking off Youngmin’s hand that was holding his own, Sangtae snapped. On his long, slender neck, like a milky-white vase, ugly lip marks remained. For a moment, Youngmin froze.

“Y-you, you…”

He even stammered.

“What were you doing? You see this and still don’t know? What else, body—”

“Stop, stop!”

Just as Sangtae was about to spit out the crux of it, Youngmin shouted over him. He didn’t want to hear with his own ears what his mind had already figured out.

What had happened between an adult and a minor. A minor should not be able to sell themselves, even if they wanted to. They shouldn’t even want to sell themselves, and shouldn’t be allowed to feel that way. Hearing Sangtae’s confession would only plunge him into self-loathing.

In fact, he was already consumed by self-loathing.

Because he’d let the fleeing man go.

“Why did you do it?”

Youngmin blurted out anything. Sangtae’s mouth fell open. Then—

“Are you really that stupid? Because I don’t have money, that’s why.”

He puffed out his chest and answered shamelessly.

“I gave you money.”

“A lousy thirty thousand won? How am I supposed to live on that? With barely enough for one triangle kimbap a day for a whole month?”

Youngmin’s face flushed hot. He’d thought he’d pulled out whatever he could from his wallet, but it was only that much.

He didn’t have money either. The minimum hourly wage was 1,865 won. Thirty thousand won was what you earned after working sixteen hours—money that would vanish after buying two boxes of forty-pack ramen. Plus, with his military service counted, his third-grade monthly salary before taxes was 588,900 won, so it wasn’t exactly a small amount to him either.

“I’m sorry. I know you meant well in your own way… but thirty thousand won just isn’t enough.”

Glancing at Youngmin’s face, Sangtae apologized. It felt sincere, as if he understood Youngmin’s situation too.

“But that bastard said he’d give me eighty thousand won for thirty minutes.”

At the added excuse, Youngmin frowned. He took off his cap and repeatedly wiped his face with his dry hands. For that amount in thirty minutes, it was certainly tempting. His head ached as if an awl were being driven into his temples.

“Still, you can’t do that. Do you even know what might happen to you in thirty minutes? Get a job. There’s a help-wanted sign at the convenience store in front of the county office—”

“A job? Part-time work? Fuck, are you telling me to get a part-time job now?”

Sangtae suddenly shot back loudly. At the words he’d scraped together helplessly in this unfortunate situation—plausible words that were nonetheless absolutely correct—Sangtae got riled up like a cat drenched by a sudden downpour.

Biting his swollen lips with his upper teeth, he shouted.

“Do you think I’m not working because I don’t want to? Do you think I’m doing this because I’m some lazy rich kid who just wants to play around? Work—they have to give it to me first. Even when I go begging, they won’t hire me. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?”

“Won’t hire you? What are you talking about? Unless you dipped your hand into the cash register at work or—”

Thump!

Sangtae swung a fist at Youngmin. It was a fairly large and heavy punch, and Youngmin staggered on his feet for the first time in a while. Long, slender fingers gripped his collar like a rake.

“Look at me! If you have eyes, just look at me!”

Wind blew into the alley. Unlike the chilly breeze that made his skin prickle, the sunlight beating down on his crown was scorching. In his swaying vision, Youngmin’s eyes widened. His long bangs, covering the bridge of his nose, fluttered in the wind.

“Your… eyes…”

The eyes that met his were blue.

A lake, an autumn sky, the sea of some foreign continent, the Earth seen from space—it was a blue that no metaphor could fully capture.

It was a color that neither Youngmin, nor Youngmin’s father, nor his father’s father, nor perhaps his father’s friends, possessed. In the stiflingly homogeneous Mukhyeon, it was a color that we did not have.

Rotten seed.

Bad seed.

Was this what the old officer’s outrageous words had been referring to?

“I’m not from here. My dad isn’t Korean. Look, there’s the proof right here. No one believes me. Even when I keep to myself, I only get suspected. The people here, fuck, they seem determined to kill me! So what can I possibly do? When even breathing is killing me, do you think it’s possible for me to find a job?”

Sangtae’s confession was a desperate outcry.

His misfortune had a clear root. His father wasn’t Korean, and his mother had abandoned him. Mediocre people, with neither exceptional origins nor achievements, gained a cheap sense of satisfaction by knocking down an unfortunate individual.

I may not be doing well. But I’m better off than Kim Sangtae. Right?

They needed Sangtae’s misfortune. He had to keep being unlucky, so their own idle hands wouldn’t look shabby.

At that absurd logic of hatred, Youngmin felt like throwing up. And it wasn’t solely because it reminded him of his own past.

He pulled Sangtae’s head into an embrace. It was a consideration for someone who had just exposed their most unwilling weakness.

“…Want to live together?”

“…”

“I can’t just leave you. Come on, let’s live together at my place.”

He wasn’t sure what exactly he couldn’t do, but his judgment that he couldn’t leave Sangtae like this was firm. Sangtae lowered his flailing hands and grabbed Youngmin’s forearm. His fingers, pushing away then pulling closer, unable to decide either way, fidgeted restlessly.

“I’ll feed you, give you a room. I’ll even give you an allowance if you need it. I can’t give much, though.”

“Why are you doing this? Did you suddenly decide to start a charity?”

Sangtae shoved Youngmin’s body away. His grimy face was full of suspicion. Even so, he was watching to see if he might be offending Youngmin.

Why are you doing this? It was a valid question, and to survive in this harsh world, he’d need that much sense. In a tone that suggested he wasn’t offended at all, Youngmin answered.

“No. If that were the reason, I’d donate to an orphanage. Less trouble and more convenient.”

“Then, why…? Mister, could it be…”

Squinting his eyes, Sangtae slowly backed away. His posture, with arms crossed over his chest, was tinged with wariness.

“I prefer older people. I’m not interested in kids.”

“…Who said anything?”

Uncrossing his arms, Sangtae looked up. Meeting his blue eyes, Youngmin said.

“You need protection. …It’s not like I’m saying I’ll take you in forever. At most, a year. By then, you’ll have to find your own way.”