What He Thought He Saw
I was speechless. In my entire life, no one had ever ordered me to do something like this, and the sheer absurdity of it left me flustered. And from a household employee, no less.
When I made no move to grab hold of the ladder, the man already standing on the first rung tilted his head at an angle.
"Isn't there something you want to hear?"
"There is."
"But I don't feel like talking for free. I need to get something out of it."
"……"
"Just hold it steady and stay quiet. Easy enough, right?"
And with that, he took the shears and climbed up in a few long strides. Just as he'd said, the ground was uneven, and every time he moved, the ladder swayed unsteadily. It seemed to be holding mostly by his weight alone.
I wasn't the Manager, and I doubted my grip would do much good—but on second thought, it wasn't a difficult task either. I took hold of one side of the ladder with both hands. The man, straddling the top, looked down at me and clicked his tongue.
"You're completely useless."
"……"
"If I fall and die, does this count as a work injury?"
It wasn't high enough to kill him if he fell, so I ignored that.
He planted his feet wide on either side of the rungs, shears in hand. Every time he shifted, the ladder rocked, and I tightened my grip. Not so much to help him as a pure reflex—it was shaking, so I held on.
"I heard you've been shut up in your room ever since your mom died."
Snip. He cut away a protruding pine branch as he tossed the words out. He was also the first person to bring up my mother to my face like that. Most people whispered behind my back or talked around it.
Not that it made the facts disappear, so I didn't particularly care. My mother was dead. I had shut myself in my room. That much was true. I gave a rough nod and cut to the point.
"What do you know about my tastes?"
"What, like depression and that sort of thing?"
"You said you'd tell me once I came out."
"So that's why your hobbies are so grim."
A severed branch dropped right beside me. I glanced briefly at the sharp pine needles before lifting my head—and a hand in a work glove reached down and set a leaf on my forehead. At the prickling sensation, I shook my head free, and he gave a short laugh before going back to his shears. I had no idea why he kept putting things on people's heads.
"Just say it already."
"There are three things I know, for starters."
Three? I was surprised there were that many—until the words that followed drained the interest right out of me.
"Number one: voyeurism. You already know that one, right?"
"……"
"It's a little annoying, but you're at that age where girls get interested in guys, so I'll let it slide."
He said it as if he were doing me a favor.
"Spy all you want. It's the least I can open up for a princess. I'm not that petty."
I'd only watched because a former thug doing garden work was a novelty—calling it voyeurism was a stretch—but from a man who didn't know the circumstances, it was a reasonable enough assumption. It wasn't important, so I let it go.
"Fine. Next."
"Number two: a thing for old men."
"…What?"
"But this one doesn't quite add up. If that's your type, why are you peeping at me? As you can see, I'm still nice and firm."
"What are you talking about?"
"What do you mean, what am I talking about."
He slapped his own thigh with one hand, as if showing off the hard, springy muscle. That wasn't what I wanted to know.
"What do you mean, a thing for old men?"
"Number three: car sex."
"……"
"Well, that one has its own secret thrill. Cramped space, never knowing if someone's watching from outside. I can sort of understand that one."
I had no idea what nonsense he was spouting. Old men and car sex? I looked up at him blankly, and he dangled the shears with a short laugh.
"Nice poker face. But I've already seen it with my own eyes."
"Seen what?"
"What do you think. You getting it on with some old guy in a car."
"……"
Silence settled for a moment.
A mild breeze stirred the branches, and both the man's hair and mine moved with it.
"We're not the kind of people who trade jokes like this, are we?"
I pushed my tangled hair back and snapped at him. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"I'm not joking."
"If I'd known you were going to talk garbage, I wouldn't have bothered coming all the way out here."
I let go of the ladder and stepped back.
"Don't pull this kind of crap again. No—don't talk to me at all. Just don't."
I glared at him in disgust and was turning away when it happened. A creaking, twisting sound made me look back just as the ladder tipped sideways. I squeezed my eyes shut on pure instinct, and then came the loud, chaotic noise of a fall.
"Seontae!"
When I opened my eyes a beat later, the man was lying on the lawn with the ladder, and the Manager was rushing over. Thankfully the ladder hadn't been all that high, but the sudden drop must have hurt, because the man was curled in on himself.
"Seontae, are you all right?"
The Manager hurried over, crouched beside him, and checked him over. The man grimaced, clutching his arm, shot me a brief glance, then smiled at the Manager.
"I'm fine. Just lost focus for a second."
"You should have been more careful. Let me see. You've scraped your forearm. I'll go get some ointment."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Ji-yul, you're not hurt anywhere?"
He asked me as well, since I was standing right there, and I shook my head. Only after sitting the man upright did the Manager head for the storage shed on the far side.
The man, still on the ground, brushed the grass from his clothes and swung his arms around as if checking that the bones were intact.
"You could at least ask if I'm okay."
The rebuke landed on me as I stood there motionless. I wasn't happy about being toyed with, but since I'd let go of the ladder and he seemed to have lost his balance because of it, I felt obliged to crouch down opposite him. A quick look suggested that aside from the scraped forearm, he wasn't seriously hurt. Being a former thug apparently came with a sturdy constitution.
"You look fine."
He rolled his eyes up at me without moving his head. A subtle irritation clung to his expression—whether from falling because of me or from his usual hostility, I couldn't tell—but a moment later he huffed a laugh and let it go.
"You don't have any friends, do you?"
"……"
"That's why you latched onto some old guy."
"Are you still going on with that joke?"
"I told you it's not a joke."
He clicked his tongue and motioned me closer. I had no desire to move, so I stayed rooted where I was—and he scooted forward on his backside until he was right in front of me. Having rolled around on the lawn, the smell of grass on him was strongest now.
"When was it. You know, the first day we actually talked. Over there."
He pointed toward the stone statue. I glanced back for a second and immediately pinned down the date. The day I'd run into him on my way out to have lunch with Do Ha-jin.
"You know the mountain they're developing in the neighborhood behind us?"
"Yeah."
"I saw it there that evening."
"Saw what?"
"Your car."
"My car?"
"Yeah. The white sedan."
The license plate number he recited next was definitely my car's.
That day, Driver Kim had dropped me off in the city and gone back. I'd been dragged into shopping by Do Ha-jin's insistence, had dinner with him as well, and then ridden home in his car. By then, my car should have been either in the garage or in Driver Kim's parking space. So why had it been on that mountain?
And come to think of it—how did this man even know my car? The only time I'd left the house by car since he'd started working here was that day, and a man who'd been in the garden the whole time shouldn't have had any reason to see it. Yet he even knew the plate number. That was strange.
"How do you even know my car?"
"……"
He was silent for a beat, finishing brushing off his clothes before he answered.
"I went to the garage to grab something and saw it."
That made enough sense that I nodded.
"Anyway, what about the mountain?"
I looked at him, waiting for him to continue. He stared back with an odd expression. I was wondering why when I spotted the Manager approaching over his shoulder. The man glanced that way too and opened his mouth.
"Your car was rocking like crazy out there."
"What?"
"You and the driver. You two weren't screwing, were you?"
"……"
He watched me go blank for a moment, then scooted back again as the Manager drew near.
"Good thing it wasn't anything serious. Hold out your arm."
I stared blankly as the man rolled his sleeve up to his shoulder and let the Manager treat him.
Looking not the least bit in pain, he put on a bit of a show twice, and only after a bandage was stuck on did he glance my way. Those dark eyes, sweeping over me slowly, held something distinctly impure.
"What's wrong, Ji-yul? Did you get hurt too?"
While the Manager wasn't looking, the man pointed at him with a sly glint in his eye. I let out a hollow laugh, utterly floored, and stood up.
"Manager, I… I was in the middle of a conversation with him. Could you give us a moment?"
"Hm? Oh… sure."
He looked puzzled, as if wondering what I could possibly have to discuss with this man, but the Manager withdrew without a fuss. I watched him head toward the flower beds, and the man stood as well, roughly dusting off his backside.
"What, the Manager doesn't meet the criteria? Too old?"
"……"
"Must be a forties thing. The driver looked about that age—"
"I think you've got the wrong idea."
I cut him off firmly.
"That day, I only took my car on the way out."
"……"
"I spent the whole day with an older guy I know, and I rode home in his car."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Innocent enough that I could check with that oppa of yours? Not that I'm actually going to."
"I don't care."
"Well, that took the fun out of it."
He'd been spouting nonsense with such conviction, only to believe me so easily that I looked at him strangely. He snorted a laugh and set the fallen ladder upright.
"Honestly, I never saw the woman."
"……"
"That old guy was alone, panting over someone underneath him, so I just put two and two together. Since you'd left in that car."
So he'd been testing me. I still couldn't believe it. Driver Kim had been driving me since I was fourteen—a diligent, quiet man. He wasn't the type to have sex in his employer's car.
"You're lying."
"Why would I lie about that. What would I get out of it."
"……"
A chauffeur I'd known for years versus a former thug of a gardener I'd exchanged a handful of words with. Of the two, the former was by far more trustworthy.
I pressed my lips together and stared at him. The man, picking up the scattered shears, seemed to read my thoughts and slightly furrowed one brow.
"You don't believe me?"
"Forget it. Just do your work."
I shot back flatly—and he pulled a phone from his pants pocket and waved it in the air.
"I took something, just in case it might come in handy. Want to see?"
"…You're serious?"
He shrugged, rolled the phone around in his palm a couple of times, then motioned me closer. The way he carried himself so confidently suggested he really did have something.