By Hyoungshim Choi
Knock, knock, knock. Exactly three times. This is what you have to do to get the fridge to ready itself for conversation. It must have been white originally. But now it’s an outdated model, like an old woman, covered in blotches like liver spots and freckles. With its yellowish tint it resembles a yokel from the country, totally devoid of sophistication. Flush against the stained wallpaper, it looks like a built-in wardrobe that’s been part of this shabby gosiwon (1) from the start.
First, I scan my surroundings. No one’s about. I place both of my hands on the middle of the fridge’s door. It’s a little cold. That means it’s running quite well. Following this ritual, I open the door a crack and shut it again. Then, I greet the fridge a tad overdramatically.
–Hey, babe!
Whir, whir, whir. The fridge hums three times in a staccato rhythm. That’s the signal that it’s ready. A smile quietly forms on my face. As I wait for it to ease open, I reach up and touch my chin. My stubble feels coarse.
–Got chased for the rent again today, huh?
The fridge clicks open and immediately sours my mood with its sudden opening remark.
–Says who?
–I’m a refrigerator. Do you think I haven’t noticed you stocking up on beer when you have money and opening and closing the door empty-handed when you don’t? It’s not like I just met you.
–So what?
My blunt tone shuts it up for a moment.
–By the way, don’t you think there are more ants in the communal kitchen these days?
I change the subject. Instead of replying, the fridge emits a single whir.
–I don’t know where they’re coming from. Strangely enough, it feels like more and more are spawning out of nowhere.
–Ants need a home, too, I guess.
The fridge’s words make me think of room 201. That room has been vacant for a little while now. I heard that the guy was six months behind with the rent. Then one day he was not to be seen, and a few days ago the superintendent came and took his belongings away. Not that there was much to clear out––just enough to fill two large boxes and a few black garbage bags.
–Where do you think the guy from 201 went?
I ask. The fridge hesitates.
–He probably found another place.
–A guy who couldn’t even afford rent?
–There might be a place where he doesn’t have to pay rent anymore.
I stare at the fridge, dumbfounded.
–And where is such a place?
The fridge doesn’t reply. I nearly lose my grip on the handle.
–Oh… Oh…
The fridge door threatens to shut. With all its strength, the fridge lets out a whir. Startled, I grab the door as it’s closing. For as long as we’re talking, I have to keep a respectful hold of this guy’s doorhandle.
–Be careful. If you keep doing that I won’t speak to you again.
The fridge pretends to sulk.
–Whatever. This is because it’s getting hard to hold you since you’re growing fatter by the day. What are you keeping so much of inside?
–Hmph! Have you contributed anything to my expanding waistline? What do you think you’re doing, moving the occasional couple of beer cans in and out of me?
The fridge huffs out a sharp blast of cold air. Finding the spectacle ridiculous, I laugh and take out the last can of beer.
–Actually, I need to find somewhere, too. Not a gosiwon like this, where even one person feels cramped lying down.
–Why?
–My girlfriend said she has nowhere to go.
The fridge is quiet for a moment.
–Then come to me. One can just live here.
I laugh.
–How’s a human supposed to live in a fridge!
It doesn’t reply.
At that moment, I hear the thud of approaching footsteps. The fridge suddenly turns cold. We close our mouths nearly at the same time, it’s difficult to tell who is first. I quickly grab my beer and close the door. I give the fridge a discreet nod in parting. As if to say it got it, the fridge buzzes three times again: whir, whir, whir.
It’s a shame, I feel, that my chat with the fridge was so suddenly cut short. Nonetheless, I head to my room as if nothing happened. I briefly exchange glances with the man emerging from the narrow corridor. His sweat-soaked shirt smells like cheap cologne. I quickly open the door to my room, which is in front of the communal kitchen. Behind me, I can hear the sound of the man opening the fridge.
I lay down on the bed and close my eyes. At that very moment, my phone rings.
–Baby, what about the house you said you were gonna look for?
Without so much as a hello, my girlfriend brings up the house first thing. Her voice pronouncing the word “house” through the receiver is a jagged point that stabs me straight through the heart. I feel my body curl up strangely.
–Do you really have to call me at this hour just to ask about the house?
–I really have nowhere to go now.
At those words, I close my eyes for a moment.
–Once I find work again I’ll chip in with the rent. For now, you should do the looking.
I know it. She’s not asking for some sort of luxury apartment. Even a single room would be fine; she just doesn’t want to be kicked out of places anymore. But I don’t even have that money, enough money to get that one room.
–I’ll ask my mom tomorrow if she can help out a bit.
At my reply, she lets out a sigh and hangs up without a goodbye.
The next morning, as I leave the gosiwon for my part-time job, where I work twice a week, I call my mom.
–What?
She asks sharply, annoyed. I falter a few times before finally speaking.
–Mom, the thing is…
But I fail to bring myself to speak about the house. Mom says she got burned by hot soup while working at the restaurant, so for the time being she’ll have to take some time off. I roll the word “house” around in my mouth and then finally swallow it.
I hang up and light a cigarette. At that moment, my girlfriend calls. I don’t answer. The phone keeps on ringing. It keeps on ringing. At some point, it begins to sound like “house, house, house”. I cover my ears, feeling like I’ll be driven mad by it. With every ring, it feels as if my body is being pulled bit by bit. As if my arms are shortening and my legs thinning. Finally, I decline the call. I stub out my cigarette and hurry off to work.
On my way home from work, in front of the gosiwon, I run into the situation I’ve been wanting to avoid. Over the past few days, my girlfriend has grown noticeably gaunt.
–Why didn’t you answer my calls?
She is absolutely seething.
–I couldn’t even bring it up with my mom.
–Why?
–She got hurt.
–So?
–Please just give me a little more time.
One corner of her mouth twists.
–How much longer do I have to wait?
I can’t reply. She looks up at the gosiwon. Then, she lets out such a heavy sigh that the ground seems to give way. I can’t utter a single word.
–But there are so many houses in the world…
Her gaze moves to the large apartment complex across the road. The word “house” lands heavily on my shoulders, with a thud. Simultaneously, my heart tightens. House–I flinch and recoil at the word.
–Why can’t you find just one lousy house!
She shouts tearfully. House–this time, the word makes my toes curl up in my shoes.
–That damn wretched house, house, house!
Her voice engulfs me like a hurricane, and, like ripping off a roof, wipes out the insides of my head. I become useless, a hollow house with no roof. My knees buckle. She stops talking.
–My God, babe…
She looks down at me.
–You just… shrank!
I open my mouth to reply. As I do, she takes a step back. She speaks in a trembling voice.
–Have I lost my mind over this house problem? Why have you suddenly got small?
With those words, I get smaller once again. Seeing this, she takes a few more steps back. She then shrieks and runs away down an alley. Click-clack, click-clack… Her footsteps resound strangely. House, house, house… It seems like I’m the one who’s lost his mind. As her footsteps recede into the distance, I shrink even further. I reach out my hand and try to call her. But my fingers have already become as small as a young child’s. I want to erase the word “house” from my head. But it keeps playing in an endless loop. Before I get any smaller, I start scrambling up the gosiwon stairs. With every step I climb, my body gets markedly smaller. By the time I manage to get to the top, I’ve shrunk to the size of an ant.
Panting, I head to the communal kitchen. I stand in front of the fridge. I knock exactly three times. Knock, knock, knock. A moment later, the fridge hums three times: whir, whir, whir. I’m relieved.
–You’re back.
A voice greets me, seemingly welcoming, as the fridge opens slightly.
–I… I’ve suddenly got really small.
–Glad you’re here.
–Huh?
I told you before, if you need a home you can come to me.
I look up at the fridge.
–Is this a home?
The fridge doesn’t reply. Instead, it opens its door wide. Spread out before me is a massive city of cylindrical beer-can towers and sliced-bread buildings.
–Come on in.
Hesitating briefly at the fridge’s words, I then start to climb the steep steps within a gap in the worn rubber door seal. Cold air envelops my entire body. When I reach the top of the stairs, I’m out of breath. As I’m about to catch my breath, a bunch of people begin murmuring behind a tower of beer cans.
–Did someone new just arrive?
I’m so startled I’m almost frozen to the spot. Right then, someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see a familiar face smiling at me.
–You…
It’s the guy who used to live in room 201. He smiles as he steps aside. Under the bright lights inside, a group of people are waving at me. Just then, the door slams shut, and the fridge gives out a small, soft whistle-like sound, whirr…
