SHUDDER 4

Hwang Jangyeop stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby tin pot and effortlessly lifted the woman sitting on him, laying her on the floor. The woman burst into giggles.

He pulled up her skirt, exposing her thighs, and rolled down her already-soaked panties. She wrapped her legs around Hwang Jangyeop’s sturdy waist, slightly lifting her hips. With both arms, she tightly hugged his neck, pulling him close.

Hwang Jangyeop, quietly letting her take the lead, paused as he reached to unzip his pants.

“What’s wrong?”

The woman, panting, voiced her confusion. Fearing he might pull away, she hugged his neck even tighter. But Hwang Jangyeop sat up abruptly.

“What’s that sound?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear something outside?”

“Huh? I didn’t hear anything. It’s probably nothing.”

She yanked his waistband closer. Grabbing his face with both hands, she kissed him. But Hwang Jangyeop pulled her hands away and turned the doorknob. Outside the flung-open door, a small boy was sniffling and crying. It was Kiyoung.

Kiyoung wiped his tears with tiny fists but didn’t wail loudly. As if he’d learned that making a fuss would only get him scolded more. When a sob threatened to burst out, he clamped his lips shut, stifling it. Hwang Jangyeop frowned, watching him, then closed the door and sat on the porch.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying like that?”

“Hyung hasn’t come back yet.”

Kiyoung’s voice shrank to a mosquito’s buzz under the harsh tone. With no one to turn to or rely on, he’d instinctively come here but was too scared to act bold.

Hwang Jangyeop turned to glance at a wall clock from some church. It was past 7 p.m. The last boat to the village left the mainland dock at 5 p.m. If Gijeong had taken it, he should’ve arrived by now.

Moreover, with the waves rising since the afternoon, fishing boats had hurried back. A passenger ferry wouldn’t be much different. It likely stopped running earlier than usual.

Hwang Jangyeop scratched behind his ear, frowning irritably.

“The boat stopped running ages ago, and he’s still not back? Where’s your father?”

“Father’s drinking and sleeping.”

“Damn it. I told him to cut back on the liquor, but he doesn’t listen.”

Kiyoung flinched at the sharp mutter, rolling his eyes. The kid seemed to have learned to watch others’ moods before complaining. Hwang Jangyeop, put off by his own harsh reaction, looked at Kiyoung, who was too scared to leave, then went back to his room. He grabbed his coat, carelessly strewn on the floor.

“Where are you going?”

The tavern owner’s eyes widened.

“Noona, head back for today. I’ve got to step out.”

“What? Where to?”

“None of your business.”

Grumbling, he flung open the door. He shoved his feet into his sneakers, left haphazardly under the porch.

Hurrying along, Kiyoung followed on short legs, stumbling as he tried to keep up. Despite nearly running, the gap between them only widened. Hwang Jangyeop glanced back at Kiyoung, trailing stubbornly from a distance.

“Stop following me and go home to wait quietly, kid!”

Kiyoung froze at the shout. Disappointment filled his small face at the order to go home. Ignoring Kiyoung’s teary gaze, Hwang Jangyeop leaped onto his boat, moored at the harbor.

Since getting tangled with these brothers for no reason, he kept cleaning up after them. It was truly annoying. He knew ignoring them would be easiest, but somehow, he couldn’t.

Was he really this selfless and sentimental? The question made him laugh at the absurdity. Lighting a cigarette to soothe his bitter mood, he steered the boat toward the mainland.

“Hey!”

Gijeong, standing frozen at the ferry terminal, whipped his head around at the shout. Seeing a familiar face, relief mixed with disbelief crossed his expression, as if he’d met a savior.

With all boats stopped, the terminal was already closed. In the pitch-dark, he’d been relying on the faint emergency exit light through the glass door and a distant streetlamp. Hwang Jangyeop eyed Gijeong, who approached him, with displeasure.

“Were you planning to stay here all night?”

“I came right after school, but the boats stopped suddenly. There was no way to get back.”

“…Hopeless kid.”

He clicked his tongue. It wasn’t entirely Gijeong’s fault. The whole situation was just stifling. The hour-long boat ride to school, a younger brother waiting all day for his return, a father squandering money on liquor and beating them for no reason, and the relentless poverty pushing them to the edge. Few lived with everything, but fewer still lived with so little.

Without a word, Hwang Jangyeop turned toward his boat. Gijeong, sensing the cue, grabbed his bag and books and followed.

The rough waves rocked the boat incessantly. To Hwang Jangyeop, it was nothing, and he leaped aboard easily. But Gijeong hesitated, unable to time his jump.

“Such a weakling… Grab on, kid.”

Grumbling, Hwang Jangyeop roughly seized Gijeong’s arm and yanked him aboard. Gijeong let out a short scream, collapsing onto the deck. His knees throbbed from hitting the floor, but it was better than falling into the dark water.

Hwang Jangyeop went straight to the wheelhouse and started the engine. The boat began to shake steadily with a clatter.

Gijeong, finding no proper seat, leaned against the brightly lit wheelhouse and opened his book, scanning the faint text.

Staring at the back of Gijeong’s head, Hwang Jangyeop muttered, baffled.

“What’s the point of studying that? You trying to go to college or something?”

At the near-accusatory question, Gijeong slowly turned. His dark eyes held a mix of emotions: faint hope, deep resignation to a grim reality, fierce determination to change it, and overwhelming melancholy. Hwang Jangyeop’s brow furrowed. Seeing such complex emotions in a twenty-year-old’s eyes was stifling.

Turning back, Gijeong mumbled softly.

“I want to go to Seoul. I want to attend college there. It’s the only way to live like a human.”

Hwang Jangyeop’s eyebrow twitched at Gijeong’s longing for Seoul. Countless people had left the island singing about Seoul.

It’s the same Korean soil, but everyone acts like Seoul is paved with gold. As if going there would magically fix their miserable lives. Born and raised in this island village, Hwang Jangyeop couldn’t fathom the obsession.

“Cut the nonsense. Seoul? You think living there’s all great? You think they’re idiots, welcoming someone like you? You can’t even feed yourself now, what’s gonna change in Seoul? Live like a human? It’d make more sense to shove a pig’s dick into an ant’s asshole, kid.”

He admitted it. He was especially harsh on those dreaming of Seoul. It started after Chunae left. Since then, the mere mention of Seoul made him growl, as if it were his enemy.

Gijeong turned again, staring at Hwang Jangyeop. His face twisted. Gijeong had the same look as that windy day at the harbor, staring at Hwang Jangyeop when he declared no boats were coming. His sunken eyes were filled with futile determination.

“No matter what you say, I’m going. I’m sick of living like this here…”

Wasn’t everyone tired of life’s burdens? Parents’ lives were inherited like roots, their actions clinging like indelible marks. Struggling to break free was futile. Life rarely went as planned.

“You can hate it all you want, but you’ll end up like your father.”

He threw the jab out of spite. Gijeong’s gaze shot back, different this time. It seemed hurt, pitiful, yet stubborn with defiance.

“And you?”

The calm question sent ripples through Hwang Jangyeop.

“What?”

“Living like your father, even if you hate it. Have you ever tried to break free? Fought for it before judging like that?”

No, he hadn’t. He never thought or tried to escape his fate. His father’s life wasn’t anything grand, but it wasn’t dissatisfying either.

You just lived. Unlike Gijeong, Hwang Jangyeop lacked fierce ambition or attachment to life. Staring at an unclimbable tree, vowing to conquer it, was exhausting. Struggling only to slip again was pointless. If you couldn’t climb, better not waste energy.

Hwang Jangyeop scratched his ear irritably, sneering. His tone was flat, but it was practically a jab at the naive Gijeong.

“How grand are you gonna live? What, gonna save the country?”

The conversation wasn’t getting through. Gijeong clamped his mouth shut and turned away completely.

Seawater splashed over the boat’s edge, soaking Gijeong’s uniform and books. He wiped the droplets off one by one, muttering softly.

“…Thanks for coming to get me today, anyway.”

The obvious gratitude hit like a slap to the back of his head. It dawned on him that he’d rushed through high waves, at that hour, just to pick up Gijeong.

Ridiculous. What was he doing? It’s not like he’d get anything out of it, not even a girl.

He spat bitterly. The act of kindness, so unlike him, stirred bad memories. Gijeong’s Seoul talk reminded him of Chunae, that heartless woman who always sang about Seoul.

Once, Hwang Jangyeop had someone he shared his heart with, not just his body. Chunae, from a now-closed teahouse. Eight years older than him. Thinking back, she wasn’t strikingly beautiful and often lied, but her ramen-cooking skills were unmatched.

She said she came to see the sea at nine, holding her father’s hand, only to be abandoned. She drifted, entering the nightlife early. Met a man, a customer, and was sold to this backwater to pay his gambling debts. A pitiful woman.

Who knew what parts of her story were true or false? Even Chunae might not be her real name. She lied as naturally as she breathed. Yet he couldn’t break free. It was the foolish passion of his naive days.

He poured all the money he scraped from the sea, schoolless, into her. He believed her when she said it was only him. He wanted to believe. Her sweet scent dulled his senses. He didn’t care if he became a male spider devoured by a female. Giving, giving, and giving more. Back then, he thought that was love.

Warnings from others felt like jealousy. Everyone said he’d regret it, almost as if they hoped he would. And in the end, he became a dog chasing a chicken.

Some said Chunae went to Seoul and became a singer. But she never appeared on TV. Others said she met a Yankee soldier and struck it rich. No way to verify.

One thing was certain: Chunae left the island and would never return. Always yearning for the mainland, she vanished, leaving only rumors and a promise to come back soon.

Since then, he didn’t believe. Promises of returning were cruel oaths that didn’t even allow full resignation.

Disgusting, really.

He vowed not to care about Gijeong’s affairs. It brought him no benefit, and the discomfort he felt around him wasn’t pleasant.

In the island village, no one lived more fiercely than Hwang Jangyeop. Everyone said so, and he was confident in it.

But Gijeong asked if that was true. Wasn’t he just accepting or settling for his circumstances? That’s why, facing Gijeong’s detached gaze, he felt tested.

“This kid, learning a few letters…”

Hwang Jangyeop flipped through the notebook in his hand, muttering discontentedly. It was Gijeong’s, left behind the day he went to pick him up. His eyes lingered on the neatly written lines.

He’d found it days ago but couldn’t return it since Mr. Yeom stopped showing up for work. He debated delivering it himself but kept shaking his head, saying no. Sitting at the harbor after the workers left, he waited for the last boat from the mainland. Somehow, he’d noticed Gijeong usually arrived around this time.

How long had he waited? A ferry approached from afar. Though it was still far from docking, he stood early. He saw people preparing to disembark. Scanning roughly, he couldn’t spot Gijeong.

When the ferry docked and the doors opened, Hwang Jangyeop craned his neck, examining each passenger. Villagers returning from the mainland greeted him warmly, but he responded halfheartedly. Even after the last passenger left, Gijeong was nowhere to be found.

“This kid, did he miss the boat again?”

He stared blankly at the ferry preparing to leave. Watching in case, it soon closed its doors and departed. The sun had set, and it was getting dark.

Did he skip school today? It wasn’t a holiday. Maybe class ended early for once?

Pondering, he looked at the notebook. Just then, a drunk Mr. Bong staggered by, spotting Hwang Jangyeop and approaching with a grin, reeking of liquor.

“Jangyeop, what’re you doing here?”

“Hyung, already drunk?”

“Yeah, had a good drink after work. You waiting for someone?”

“No.”

“Really? Then listen to me for a bit, huh?”

“Got somewhere to be. I’m off.”

Avoiding Mr. Bong’s rambling, he strode out of the harbor. Thinking of heading to the tavern, he cursed under his breath and turned toward Gijeong’s house. His shadow stretched long under the dim streetlights on the slope.

Reaching Gijeong’s house, Hwang Jangyeop pushed the rusty gate. Unlocked, it swung open easily. Head bowed, he stepped inside. The house was eerily silent, as if no one was there.

He called out loudly.

“Hyung, you in there?”

He called for Mr. Yeom, not Gijeong. It was the first time in his life he’d been so conscious of someone. But there was no response.

Checking the shoes by the door, he saw Mr. Yeom’s dusty boots, Kiyoung’s small sneakers, and what must be Gijeong’s sneakers, lined up neatly. The sight eased his unease, as if it mattered.

“I’m coming in.”

Kicking off his shoes, he opened the door without hesitation. Through the gap, he first saw Mr. Yeom drinking in the corner. Kiyoung, belly exposed, was fast asleep, snoring softly.

“Hyung, I’m here.”

Greeting the silent Mr. Yeom again, he stepped inside. Mr. Yeom looked at him with bloodshot eyes and gave a sly smile, gesturing for him to sit. Hwang Jangyeop, a bit uneasy, complied.

“Have a drink.”

“Okay.”

As he reached to take the glass Mr. Yeom offered, he was about to set the notebook down when he froze at an unexpected sight. In a room he thought held only Kiyoung and Mr. Yeom, Gijeong lay under a blanket pulled over his head.

Was he already asleep? Or hadn’t woken since morning? No way.

Gijeong, who studied even by flashlight or on a rocking boat, wouldn’t be lazy without reason.

With that certainty, Hwang Jangyeop yanked off the blanket. As expected, Gijeong was lying there, stifling his breath. He was asleep, but far from peaceful.

His already-pale face was deathly white. His lips were dry and cracked, his body soaked in sweat. His wheezing breath was rough and unsteady. Hwang Jangyeop instinctively touched Gijeong’s forehead. It wasn’t just warm—it was burning. Gijeong groaned, frowning at the slight touch.

His son was in this state, yet the father was drinking. Rage surged within him.

“Damn it!”

Hwang Jangyeop forcibly sat Gijeong up and roughly hoisted him onto his back, like carrying a sack of rice. Standing abruptly, he snapped at Mr. Yeom, still tilting his glass.

“Hyung! Your kid’s dying, and you’re just sitting there?”

Mr. Yeom only blinked slowly with glazed eyes. Hwang Jangyeop, about to say more, stormed out instead. Curses spilled out as he ran through the dark to the clinic, his old sneakers clattering relentlessly.

“Hmm, seems like a mix of factors. Malnutrition, high stress, and a bad cold on top of it. The weather’s been chilly lately. Tsk, tsk. His body’s a wreck. Even a dog wouldn’t be beaten like this. Is this a bone that didn’t heal right?”

A doctor, who came decades ago as a public health worker and settled in the village, examined Gijeong, clicking his tongue. He administered a fever reducer and prepared an IV for nutrients. As the long needle pierced Gijeong’s thin skin, Hwang Jangyeop winced.

The doctor lifted Gijeong’s clothes, checking for signs of violence. His face had seemed clear lately, but that was the only part unscathed. His pale skin, almost translucent, was marred with dark bruises. Seeing it, Hwang Jangyeop understood, just a bit, why Gijeong studied so fiercely.

As an adult, Gijeong could find work and avoid begging. He could avoid hunger. But his insistence on college wasn’t just because he shied from hard labor.

The only way for Gijeong to escape the shackles of poverty and his father’s violence was to leave the island. Bound by unbreakable family ties, physical distance was his only option. Could anyone call escaping an insurmountable environment cowardly or wrong?

“For now, let him rest after the IV. If he’s still like this tomorrow, take him to a bigger hospital. It could turn into pneumonia. And stop by an orthopedist too.”

“Okay.”

The old doctor set Gijeong’s arm down and returned to his office. Hwang Jangyeop nodded and turned back to Gijeong. Suddenly, Gijeong’s eyelids fluttered open. He’d been awake.

Gijeong stared at Hwang Jangyeop wordlessly for a while. His gaze, devoid of clear emotion, carried a resigned weight.

“…Ugh.”

Startled by a low groan, Hwang Jangyeop flinched. Dizzy, Gijeong squeezed his eyes shut. Sweat beaded on his forehead, sliding down his nose to his cheek. His long lashes, wet with sweat, looked like tears. For some reason, Hwang Jangyeop’s chest ached.

Gijeong wheezed, tormented by the unrelenting fever. His dry lips parted with labored breaths, his chest heaving. Should he wipe the sweat or wet his lips? Fearing it’d look pathetic, he held back, clenching his tingling fists.

After groaning quietly for a while, Gijeong stared blankly at the ceiling. His darkened lashes trembled. Just watching stirred an inexplicable pity. Unable to keep looking, Hwang Jangyeop turned away.

Then Gijeong parted his tightly closed lips, speaking of his mother, known only through rumors.

“She must’ve done it to survive. To live.”

Hwang Jangyeop didn’t know how to respond. No words came to mind.

Gijeong continued, as if it didn’t matter. As if he’d forgotten Hwang Jangyeop was there. Or maybe it didn’t matter who listened.

“I know my father’s not evil. Just weak and scared. Living together like this, we can never be happy. No, it’s not just his fault. This island makes it that way. This place, cut off from the world, keeps making it so. It trains people to compromise, resign, and submit, like it’s natural. You can’t live like a human here. I want to live. I want to live like a human too.”

It wasn’t excessive greed. Living without worrying about money, meals, his brother, or when his drunken father might turn violent—just meeting basic needs was enough. A life where he could hope tomorrow would be better than today.