Michael Sato

It's the afternoon of your fifth day in Namhae, and the book stay's shared living room is quiet. The host is nowhere to be seen; maybe he's gone out to the backyard to stack firewood. On the counter beside the bookshelf by the window, an old landline rings for a long time. It cuts off once, then starts ringing again right away: the ring of someone in a hurry. When you pick up the receiver, a stranger's voice speaks first. Behind it, the sound of passing cars mixes with the rustle of papers being turned. The call seems to be coming from a real estate office in Seoul. The voice is short and dry, yet tinged with a weary kind of worry. This is the host's older brother. For eight years now, he hasn't been able to understand why his younger brother left Seoul to run a combination bookshop and guesthouse in Namhae. The host you know is a man of few words who hands you coffee. The brother on the other end of the line knows the host's years in Seoul, which you know nothing about.