ATTEW – Chapter 4

“A mother who looks like that—no wonder you’re a mess too.”

“…….”

“You little rat bastard. You—don’t ever come to our shop again!”

“…….”

“Got it?”

“…….”

“I said, got it?”

“…….”

“Ah, seriously!”

After snapping that, she turned and went back into the shop. A moment later, she came out again and hurled a loaf of bread—about the size of a child’s fist—hard at Eunho’s feet. It was spite, and it was pity.

Eunho snatched up the pitiful bread and shoved it inside her tattered coat, then bolted off like a rat.

Deep in the filthy alley, squeezing her body into a narrow gap only rats would use, Eunho finally pulled the bread out and ate it as if it had always belonged to her. Spite or pity—if it filled her belly, she had no qualms.

She licked every last smear of red-bean paste from her fingers, then tossed the empty wrapper anywhere. The neighborhood was a dump anyway; one more piece of trash wouldn’t show.

Ah—Mom must be hungry too. There’s nothing to eat at home. I shouldn’t have eaten it. I should’ve brought it back to her.

The regret came late. The bread was already in her stomach. And even if her mother weighed on her mind, going back to [Night Pass Super] to steal again felt shameless.

Nothing I can do.

Shrugging, Eunho dragged her worn slippers and headed for the Guhyeongjip, climbing the alley with the thought that Hwajin—now with some easy money—would probably buy something to stock the cupboard.

But what greeted Eunho when she got home was Hwajin’s shrill moans.

“Aang, oppa! I said, ahn, the shop’s closed today!”

“Hoo… Gotta earn money, Hwa-jin. Huh? A whore like you picking weekdays over weekends?”

A woman’s syrupy nasal whine, a man’s rough breathing, and between them the ongoing thud, thud—like wet laundry being slapped. Eunho knew exactly what that sound was.

So she stopped. When that sound was happening, she couldn’t go into the room. It was a rule Eun-ho had followed for a long time.

Don’t interrupt when Mom’s working.

She only worried that Hwajin was working on an empty stomach.

She knew Hwajin wouldn’t take her to the hospital with the fifty thousand won she’d gotten from Myeongok. No matter how much it hurt, Eunho wouldn’t be treated anyway.

A child who existed but didn’t. That was Eunho. Hwajin had given birth to her, but never registered her birth. Because of that, even at nine, Eunho had never set foot in a school, nor any educational facility at all.

[“Whoever your dad was, but he must’ve been smart.”]

[“Why?”]

[“You taught yourself Hangul and the alphabet without anyone teaching you. And that’s not all—you chat in English like it’s nothing. I stayed in front of that U.S. base for over a year and couldn’t understand a word those bastards said. You must take after your dad in the head.”]

[“……Mom, will you teach me English too?”]

[“Forget it. What would I even use that for? What does this say? Read it again. Let me see how smart you are.”]

The U.S. soldiers who came through the district took a liking to Eunho, the only child around. Sometimes they gave her snacks; sometimes they asked her to run errands and told her to keep the change. Talking with them so often, Eunho picked up English naturally.

That was her point of pride. Being fluent in English without ever having learned it properly. But that, too, was from before. After moving to Night Pass, she had no reason to use English—or hear it.

So when she was alone, Eunho would mutter in English to herself. She didn’t want to lose the one thing she was proud of. She had to do at least that. In a neighborhood like this—no friends to play with, no books—there was nothing to do and no chance to learn anything.

Sitting on the chair behind the counter, Eunho covered both ears. She mumbled whatever came to mind in English—until Hwajin’s urgent voice burst out again.

“Ahng, ah, oppa! Oppa, I’m dying!”

“Fuck, yeah. Die for me today.”

“Ah—ahh!”

“You like it? Like it so much you’re dying?”

“Haah—yeah, good—so good……!”

From the voice, it sounded like the bulky guy who’d been coming around a lot lately. Eunho had seen him in the middle of the neon-lit street, puffing on cigarettes and laughing. The one with a sharp-fanged dog face tattooed on the inside of his right wrist.

Eyes slit and vicious-looking. Hwajin called him “that dog-tattoo bastard with a filthy temper and a heavy hand.”

Eunho flipped open the very last page of the ledger by the counter and picked up a pencil. Beneath entries like Toothpick, Premature Bastard, Three-Minute Pig, she wrote Dog-Tattoo Bastard. All of them were men who’d come to Hwajin this month.

Most paid twenty thousand won. A few paid forty. Hwajin said it was the difference between “the ones who shot once” and “the ones who shot twice.” Eunho didn’t know what that meant and left it at that.

Once that Dog-Tattoo Bastard finished and left, the total would hit exactly five hundred thousand won. For only ten days into December, that was pretty good.

If it kept up like this, as Hwajin said, they could close the shop for Christmas—sleep all day plastered to the warm floor.

Eunho planned to sprawl out next to her. Hide her dirty hands and feet under a warm blanket.

Thinking that made her feel a little better. Eunho stood up and filled the kettle on the briquette stove to the brim. She was getting the wash water ready for Hwajin.

“Fuuuck—why’s a hole that’s popped out a kid this tight? Hey, you crazy bitch. Are you sure you had a kid? That rat bastard—did you really give birth to him?”

“Ah—yeah, yeah! There—there, more! Oppa—quick, quick!”

Rat bastard. How many times had she heard that just today?

Eunho picked up the small hand mirror by the counter. Her brown hair, shaved close to the scalp, looked like a chestnut burr. She blinked her big, double-lidded eyes, wrinkled her small nose, then pushed her reddish lips up to her nose and buzzed—brr, brr—until even that bored her.

This nose and these lips—even she could tell—were Hwajin’s, exactly. The differences were……

Hwajin was tall; Eunho was small. She didn’t know much about kids her age—she’d never seen them—but she’d heard Myeongok scold Hwajin, saying Eunho looked more like five or six than nine and needed to be fed properly.

And unlike Hwajin’s pale skin, Eunho was dark. She rarely washed and tore through filthy alleys, grime streaking her skin—pure rat. After the men left, Hwajin always washed herself, bathing once a day in warm water; her skin stayed milky white. Eunho looked nothing like that.

“……If I washed, I’d be pale too.”

Pouting, she suddenly felt a dull ache and slipped a hand inside her old jumper.

“Ah…… it’s doing this again.”

For days now, something had been there beneath her flat chest. When she felt around, just under the tiny nipple, she could feel a small, flat, round thing like a button—and sometimes it ached dully.

Touching it hurts; leaving it alone hurts too. Eunho pressed her palm gently over her T-shirt. She’d seen Hwajin warm her belly with a hot, wet towel when she had cramps. Mimicking that, Eunho rubbed her hand there, but it didn’t seem to help.

She didn’t tell Hwajin. Telling her wouldn’t get her to a hospital, and at best, she’d get a bandage. When cuts bled freely and were left alone, there was no reason to mention a pain you couldn’t even see—one that came and went.

“Fuck—so tight. Hwajin, you’re the best. Yeah? My cock’s just melting.”

“Ah—ahh!”

“And those tits are killer. Our Hwajin—wanna have another kid? That rat bastard’s sibling—I’ll make you one.”

“Ah—yeah! Come inside! Come inside—quick!”

“Fuck—damn…… you’re really getting me hard.”

As filthy words poured out with the man’s harsh breathing, Eunho—who’d been forcing herself to act normal—finally covered her ears.

She didn’t want to hear it. She really didn’t. She wanted to tear her ears off. But she knew Hwajin would call for her the moment the man left, so she had to stay put.

Even if she went outside, it would just be the front of the shop. Small as it was, someone had to mind it.

“……Better to stay here than freeze outside. Outside or here, it all sounds the same anyway.”

Muttering, Eunho sniffled. It felt like it should be ending by now, but today the wet, slapping sounds dragged on—endlessly, maddeningly.