Ch.485Side Episode – Sonata for a Beautiful Soul

When you repeat waking up at dawn, your biological rhythm naturally changes. That’s why my eyes opened even though the alarm I had set didn’t go off.

Outside the frost-covered window, the scenery was pitch black, and the digital clock showed midnight. It was 1 hour and 21 minutes earlier than my scheduled time.

This was the kind of dawn where I could close my eyelids and go back to sleep without anyone saying a word.

As my drowsy mind touched the night air, my senses began to sharpen. My stiff neck throbbed with pain. Joints overworked day and night screamed in protest.

After swallowing a few Tylenol tablets from the nightstand and using my arm as a makeshift sleep mask, I was about to drift off again when suddenly, I heard a sound.

The friction of rubber.

Someone was dragging slippers in the hallway.

I turned on my side, arm under my head, still covered by the bedding. And I pondered.

A villa not far from the remote countryside.

According to Mr. Park from the real estate agency, this place was deserted, with no residents. He said foot traffic had stopped since forward military units were consolidated as part of defense reforms.

He added that the only people living in this section were shift workers, college students, and me.

The soft blanket fell to the floor.

Lifting the pillow with its visible impression, I revealed a taser gun. Its sharp needles capable of penetrating muscle tissue and thin wires were ready to subdue a target at any moment.

‘……’

Holding the taser, I pressed a speed dial number on my smartphone. After connecting to the office, completing all preparations, I pressed the taser against my chest and carefully approached the front door.

When I opened it, a familiar face peeked in.

‘Son, are you still awake?’

‘…Mom?’

Side Episode – Sonata for a Beautiful Soul

The black marlin clock’s hour hand passes 6 o’clock.

The more accurate smartphone calendar indicates Sunday, and the rich aroma of doenjang (soybean paste) opens a stiff morning.

Having spent the night wide awake, my insides felt jumbled. I forced my automatically closing eyelids open and pushed kimchi into my empty stomach.

‘How is it that you don’t have a single proper side dish in your refrigerator?’

‘…I ordered from Coupang yesterday. The delivery must be delayed.’

Doenjang soup simmered until the potatoes and zucchini were mushy. I scooped enoki mushrooms, broth, and tofu with a spoon and mixed them into my rice.

The moist rice grains crumbled at the touch of my tongue. As I picked at side dishes with chopsticks while holding my rice bowl, a fried egg was placed on the table.

And as always, the familiar nagging followed a beat later.

‘Eat slowly.’

With an indifferent expression, I nodded and tore into the fried egg.

The salt-seasoned egg had a familiar taste. Breaking up the salty egg white with chopsticks and wrapping it with rice and seaweed, I could finally feel that I had returned to my home country.

‘Are you eating properly?’

‘I do. The military provides meals.’

‘Don’t make it sound like they’re free. I know they deduct food expenses from your salary… You might fool the King of Hell, but you can’t fool your mother.’

Kimchi prepared by my maternal grandmother, store-bought dried seaweed, well-simmered doenjang soup, and salty eggs. This ordinary yet refined Korean meal was something I hadn’t eaten in a very long time.

My mother emerged from the kitchen with sausages and a stainless steel bowl in her hands. After carefully clearing away some side dish bowls to make space, a couple of sausages took their place.

Sitting across from me at the low table, with one knee raised and sitting slightly askew, my mother began peeling chestnuts in the stainless steel bowl with a fruit knife. After aligning the crooked bowls, she smiled softly.

‘My son. Your taste is just like your father’s. He loved doenjang soup too.’

‘……’

‘How’s your unit these days? Is work manageable?’

What’s special about the military? It’s all the same everywhere.

‘It’s ordinary.’

Despite my curt response, her smile showed no signs of fading.

Strangely, my stomach felt bloated. The spoon that had been moving busily gradually slowed down. It was natural to lose appetite despite having a delicious meal in front of me, probably because of the question that would follow.

Who said it? Ominous premonitions always come true.

As my mother tore kimchi, she casually asked in an indifferent tone:

‘Is life abroad bearable?’

The spoon hovering over the rice grains stopped abruptly. It was an unconscious habit.

After staring at the table for a moment, I deliberately scooped up some rice. And then I gave my habitual answer.

‘I don’t go abroad.’

‘I saw foreign ingredients with squiggly writing in your refrigerator.’

Ding. A clear sound rang out as the knife hit the stainless steel. My mother, who had been peeling chestnuts, continued with surprisingly good German pronunciation:

‘Nürnberger Rostbratwurst. Didn’t you bring this from Germany?’

My mother, who had apparently been renowned at the foreign language university in her youth, recognized the writing on the packaging at a glance.

It was only natural. A German language major would certainly recognize German.

I picked up a sausage I had bought on a business trip with my chopsticks. My mother’s voice followed between the crackling sounds of the sausage.

‘I ate them often when I studied in West Berlin. I met your father, who was studying at the German military academy, at a sausage shop.’

‘……’

‘Didn’t I tell you? You might fool the King of Hell, but you can’t fool your mother.’

I had just received leave after escaping the chaotic office. Due to an incident in Kyiv, the department had been visited by the inspection team and internal affairs investigators, creating a funeral-like atmosphere even before my return.

Having barely escaped that gloomy place… why couldn’t I rest comfortably even after returning home?

‘I should get going now. I have urgent business.’

After soothing my stomach with cold barley tea from the kettle, I got up from the uncomfortable dining table.

*

Although I had escaped the uncomfortable situation by going out to the streets, my mind was still uneasy. I just felt complicated.

To soothe my gloomy mood, I tried calling every contact that caught my eye, but unfortunately, no one was free.

“Oh, I’m on a business trip to Busan right now.”

“Sorry, senior. I’m busy with work.”

“Vacation? I’m on my way to support the Moscow team… I’m so sorry.”

“I got dispatched to the Foreign Ministry the day before yesterday. Did you hear Russia and Ukraine are fighting big time? The atmosphere at the internal affairs division is no joke. We’re going crazy helping the staff in Kyiv, absolutely crazy.”

“Hey! Do you have time now? Perfect timing. I’m playing golf with Director Hwang, so get over here quickly. What? Hospital? Damn it. Alright, I’ll call someone else.”

Let me reiterate, no free “people” were available.

By that, I mean a superior who calls a subordinate on leave to the golf course doesn’t qualify as a person. Such beings shouldn’t exist and can’t exist.

Eventually, after contacting various people, I turned my attention abroad: a USFK intelligence officer working in Osan, a greasy British gentleman stationed at the embassy, an Iraqi acquaintance who came to Seoul after being posted in a remote area and was now enjoying his free time, and so on.

After being on the phone for a while, a foreign company employee who happened to be nearby accepted my invitation.

‘Hey- long time no see!’

‘…You again, Michael?’

I ended up meeting Michael at a quiet sashimi restaurant overlooking the sea. The blue-eyed foreigner had perfectly adapted to local customs and was downing soju with flounder.

I greeted him as he waved enthusiastically. Sitting around the plastic table, I snapped apart wooden chopsticks. After dipping a piece of white flesh in chojang (vinegar soy sauce) and stuffing it in my mouth, I exclaimed in delight at the chewy texture.

‘Mmm-‘

‘Kid, you don’t know how to eat. Who dips it in chojang?’

‘What are you saying? Big-nosed Yankee. Anyway, what brings you here?’

‘An intelligence unit near the front line called me, and on my way back, I suddenly craved sashimi. But what were you doing? I heard you’re on leave?’

‘I ran away after getting an earful of nagging.’

‘From the office?’

‘Home.’

‘Oh….’

Michael, who was dipping carrots in ssamjang (spicy paste), sighed as if he understood the situation. He chewed the carrots like a pufferfish and kept nodding.

‘Domestic discord is a time-honored tradition in our industry. Your mother. Very angry?’

‘That’s not even funny…’

I gave him a cold look, but the foreigner just chuckled. Starting the engine on the topic of divorce—a CIA tradition with deep history—Michael began what must have been his hundredth self-pitying monologue.

‘Overseas assignments. Mmm, I know it well. My wife left because of that too. Said she couldn’t maintain a family with someone who’s always poking around Kabul, Damascus, and Tehran. She asked how I could miss every school entrance and graduation ceremony.’

‘It’s not that bad, man.’

‘We’re in similar situations, you and I. Unable to maintain both career and family at the same time, wavering between the two.’

‘……’

I had nothing to say. So I silently drained my full glass of soju.

Michael used a borrowed torch to grill the flounder fins. As a savory smell wafted up and the oil sizzled, the American, after thoroughly grilling the fins, devoured a fin topped with wasabi in one bite.

Savoring the flavor of the golden-brown fin, the CIA employee continued in a bitter voice:

‘When I was in the military and often deployed, or when I attended support groups for spouses of deployed personnel, she didn’t say much. But after my promotion to DIA, it became unbearable for her. When I was offered a job at my current workplace, she tried to stop me from taking it.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. She opposed it for a while but eventually gave in after much persuasion. My DIA colleagues also convinced her that such a good opportunity wouldn’t come again.’

Michael inhaled deeply with a displeased face. Haah, a deep sigh tinged with intoxication escaped his lips.

‘But after I nearly died in Mosul and came back… she immediately asked for a divorce. Said she couldn’t raise three kids who had just graduated elementary school as orphans for the rest of their lives.’

‘……’

‘Well. It was an understandable decision. The youngest was entering middle school, and the oldest was in high school. Although my wife decided to cut ties completely, wouldn’t the kids still want to see their dad? I keep in touch with them often, so they’re not lonely.’

So that’s why he secretly contacts them at the office.

That explained why Michael, who prominently displayed family photos in his office, rarely contacted his family.

‘…Does their mother allow it?’

‘Nope. Of course I contact them secretly! Last time, Kate caught me talking to them and confiscated the kids’ phones. Of course, I got them new ones.’

Sigh.

‘You’ve got it rough.’

Hearing what might have been concern or a mumble to himself, Michael chuckled.

‘Don’t worry, kid. I am your future.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s true! You’ll understand when you get married. Sometimes, wives can be scarier than North Koreans.’

I don’t even think about dating, let alone marriage, so keep your worries to yourself. That’s what I would have retorted in the past.

But after hearing so many taunts like “A bachelor should be ashamed of being a man” or “Cut off your thing right now,” I couldn’t even muster a perfunctory excuse anymore.

Better to die than suffer. What else could I do?

As I was downing shots of soju one after another to soothe my bitter feelings, Michael suddenly offered advice:

‘Be good to your family.’

‘They say family is all you can trust. Whether it’s your wife or mother, try to treat them well.’

‘What are you getting at now….’

‘You keep pushing your mother away.’

He continued as he filled the soju glass, and I silently stared at him.

‘Even though many people at the company have given up on marriage… you’re a bit different, aren’t you? Always working. Going abroad reluctantly despite not wanting to travel. When I look at you, it doesn’t seem like you enjoy your work. You know it too, right? Even at your company, they treat you as odd.’

‘….’

‘It was the same when your office staff was attacked. And when Park Chung-sik, the Chongryon executive and your informant, was killed by the Yakuza. While everyone tried to stop you, you gritted your teeth, went after them, and caught the guys who attacked your contacts.’

‘……’

‘It’s the same this time. Shortly after a Mossad employee was killed, several Iranian intelligence agents were found dead.’

Wasn’t that you?

There was no answer. Silence substituted for a response. The complex silence said nothing yet implied much.

‘Fortunately, no one raised issues, so it could be quietly resolved. But from now on, pay attention to things other than work. Control your temper too. Why do you keep causing incidents? It’s not like you have anger management issues.’

Glug. The tilted bottle was placed on the table. One full glass was placed in front of me, and another in front of Michael.

The CIA officer who handed me the soju glass opened his mouth in an indifferent tone, and that single question pierced my liver:

‘Is it because of your father?’

My lips quivered. A burning thirst made my tongue writhe.

I tried to move my dry lips, but no answer came out. Only muffled words leaked from my constricted throat.

The table flipped over, and seawater flooded into the restaurant. The black, sticky, tar-like seawater began to bind my limbs.

In my sinking consciousness, I barely managed to open my mouth, but no words came out from my blocked lips.

And so, swallowing a firm denial…

I wake up from the dream once again.

*

“Welcome back, Section Chief. The classification work you mentioned is almost complete.”

“I’ve also organized the damage reports from across the Mauritanian continent. Terrorist attacks by armed groups, robbery, looting, arson. There’s also information about sporadic protests and riots. As a special note, there’s something about ‘man-eating trees’ first reported by Nabuktu region media… The local Interior Ministry briefing materials have arrived, so I’ve attached them as supplementary documents for your review.”

“……”

“…Um, Section Chief?”

Pippin calls out in a puzzled voice. Frederick silently takes the analysis report from Pippin’s hand.

His expression is dark. He looks like a department head who has received bad news.

As the gazes of the two intelligence officers meet briefly in the air, Jake, after exchanging glances with Pippin, carefully begins to ask a question without disturbing his mood.

“Did something happen, sir?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Ah, yes… It’s just that. You look a bit tired.”

Pages flip. Frederick opens his mouth while scanning the report. It was a new directive.

“Send all materials coming from the Nabuktu region to my desk. Prioritize them over other reports, without missing anything.”

“Understood.”

“And that’s enough for today. Everyone go home.”

The subordinates’ expressions brightened when their superior permitted them to leave. Pippin put on his jacket from the coat rack and packed his things, while Jake gathered documents as he removed his indoor shoes.

After all preparations were complete, Jake’s gaze turned to the inner table as he was about to turn off the office lights. Frederick was there.

“Aren’t you going home, sir?”

A hand waving through the air entered Jake’s field of vision as he wondered if he could leave now. It was a gesture telling him to go ahead.

“Good work.” Pippin and Jake left the office after exchanging brief bows as a substitute for verbal farewells.

The lights that had turned on after detecting movement closed their eyelids again. The friction sound of shoes is heard. The chattering voices of subordinates fade away beyond the empty offices.

Frederick took out a cigarette from his front pocket. The oil-soaked wick burned itself, lighting the cigarette.

The red sun was setting outside the office window.

The sky where seasons pass is filled with shyness, and at the end of summer that has arrived before we knew it.

An intelligence officer with a cigarette in his mouth watches the sunset turning crimson.

With a pistol placed on the desk.

While bringing a mobile phone to his ear.

“…Yes, Mother. Is everything alright?”

Side Episode – Sonata for a Beautiful Soul -END-