door. He knocked twice, then stood waiting with a big smile on his face.
A twenty-something woman answered.
“I was trying to find a friend of mine, Dr. Kang Hwan,” said Ferguson in English.
“Hwan?”
“Yes. Do you know him? I’m from the States.”
Her face began to cloud.
“Problem with my English?” asked Ferguson.
“He… He’s dead.”
Ferguson feigned surprise. The woman, whose English was fairly good, said he had passed away a few months before.
“How did he die? When?” said Ferguson.
The woman shook her head.
“He was young.”
The woman started to close her door. “How did he die?” said Ferguson, putting his hand out to keep the door from closing.
By now, Sonjae had extracted himself from the couple who’d taken Hwan’s apartment and come over.
“Is there anything you can tell us about our friend?” he asked in Korean.
The young woman shook her head and pushed against the door. Ferguson let it close.
“Suicide is a great embarrassment in Korea,” said Sonjae.
“It’s not big in the U.S., either,” said Ferguson, going to the next door.
There was no answer; after four or five knocks, they moved to the last one on the floor.
Four knocks later, Ferguson and Sonjae were just about to give up when the door creaked open. A lady about the age of Sonjae’s aunt peeked through the crack and asked what they wanted.
“Hello,” said Sonjae. “We were looking for information about our friend, Kang Hwan, who used to live here.”
The old woman frowned at him, starting to close the door.
“It’s an important matter,” said Sonjae. “This man is from the United States. He wants to make sure that Dr. Kang Hwan’s memory is honored properly. Because of the circumstance of his death.”
“What about it?” said the old woman.
“It was… The circumstances were not the best.”
“Suspicious,” said the woman.
“Yes,” said Sonjae. “Could we talk about it?”
“I was going out.”
“It won’t take long,” said Sonjae.
“We’ll buy her some breakfast,” said Ferguson, who was following maybe a tenth of the conversation.
Sonjae translated the offer.
“Just come in,” said the woman instead.
Kang Hwan had kept to himself mostly, working late and rising early. His neighbor had spoken to him on average once a week, but most of these conversations were about simple things.
“He had great respect for his parents,” said the woman. They were both dead, but he brought them up in conversation often.
“Was he sick?”
The woman shrugged. His suicide had baffled her as well.
“Who claimed the body?” asked Sonjae.
“People from work.” She shook her head. “Terrible.”
One thing that seemed odd about it,” Sonjae told Ferguson as they descended in the elevator. “He really loved his parents.”
“That’s odd?”
“He was an only child, right?”
“Right.”
“Who will honor their memory if he dies? No one to make offerings—”
“You’re assuming he’s religious.”
“Maybe. But your ancestors…” Sonjae explained how there would be a shrine in the home where offerings were made to make sure the deceased passed to heaven.
“If he killed himself, there would be no one to perform those duties,” said Sonjae.
“Yeah, but he’s a scientist. He probably doesn’t believe in that,” said Ferguson.
“I don’t know. It’s a very powerful pull.”
“Not against depression.”
“You’re assuming he’s depressed. His neighbor was surprised. He was relatively young, in good health. He had no reason to commit suicide.”
“Maybe.” Ferguson could think of plenty of reasons. And as far as being in good health, someone who spoke to him once a week wouldn’t know.
Someone who spoke to him many times a week might not know either.
“The only circumstance I can think of that would make it all right,” said Sonjae, “would be if he wanted to avoid bringing shame to his ancestors, but there was no note.”
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“That seems odd.”
“Who would he leave it to?” said Sonjae.
“People at work.”
“Maybe he wasn’t that close to them. Besides, what’s he going to say?”
“Good-bye?”
The doors opened. Ferguson thought about who he would say goodbye to.
Maybe Sonjae was right. What would be the point?
“Breakfast?” Ferguson asked as they walked toward the car.
“Coffee, and lots of it.”
“Let’s see what we can find.”
Fortified by several cups of strong coffee, Ferguson and Sonjae drove to the train station and took a train to Seoul and then the airport. Once the ticket was squared away, they found a phone booth near the entrance to the departure gates.
“She’s a secretary,” said Ferguson, handing Sonjae the number of the woman whose card he had stolen.
“She’ll know I’m not a native Korean speaker.”
“Yeah, be straight with her. Tell her you’re an American colleague trying to figure out what happened to him. Then we can go from there.”
That wasn’t exactly being straight with her, Sonjae thought as he began punching the numbers written on the small card.
The line buzzed and clicked as he was put through. Sonjae’s brain was still have trouble translating the words.
“Who is this?” demanded an angry male voice.
Taken off guard, Sonjae gave the name he’d made up and repeated that he was looking for Bae Eun.
“Why are you calling Miss Bae?” said the man, not mollified in the least.
Sonjae wanted to say it was a personal matter, but the words wouldn’t come. He stuttered, then started to apologize, hoping the words would somehow work themselves into his mouth. “
