Sunghwan closed the door and drew the curtains. He couldn’t stop his new boss from coming so late, but he also didn’t have to sit around and wait when he was being blown off. He didn’t have the time or patience. He had things to do. He texted Hyonsu: The code to the front door is 214365.
Sunghwan went into his room, which faced the arboretum behind the Annex. He tossed his cell on the desk and began changing. Things would be easier if he got there already in basic gear—wet suit, BC, weight belt. He was strapping a diving knife around his calf when his cell rang, startling him. It was his father. He often called around this time of night after a drink. Sunghwan could already hear his voice in his head: How long are you going to try to write a novel? At thirty-two years old, you’re nothing but a security guard. We didn’t all work ourselves to death to give you an education just to see you waste your life.
Sunghwan put his sneakers on and climbed out the window, ignoring his cell. He slung his backpack, which held his underwater camera and other gear, on his shoulder. He put his headlamp on and started off in the direction of the secluded, unlocked gate behind unit 101 that led to a shortcut to the lake.
As he walked toward the gate, a half-open window of unit 101 caught his eye. It was Seryong’s room, the girl he’d seen a few hours before, leaning against the bus stop and kicking at the curb. A mosquito coil was on the windowsill, smoke curling up. On the wall opposite was a portrait of the girl, her hair gathered on top of her head, her dark eyes staring straight ahead. She looked like a young ballerina in a Degas painting. Underneath the picture was a white desk on which glowed three votive candles: one green, two red. Next to them sat stuffed animals wearing party hats. A musical toy Ferris wheel with a lightbulb for a moon and a figure of a girl flying toward it rotated in front of the animal guests. That was the source of the tune that had been floating in the foggy evening air. Sunghwan hitched his backpack up and turned away, unsettled by the scene he had just seen. She must have thrown herself a birthday party before falling asleep. There was no way her dad would let her keep the candles burning through the night, and the window should have been closed. His white BMW was usually parked in front, but now Sunghwan couldn’t remember if he’d seen it. In his mind, yellow flames, flickering in the breeze, leaped from one stuffed animal to another, devouring them instantly.
Sunghwan blinked away the imagery and kept walking. It would not be smart to hang around. He should slip out of the gate toward the lake.
* * *
Sunghwan had taken the job on the security detail at Seryong Dam because of the perks: He was provided housing in the mountains near a lake. The pay wasn’t bad; it was less than working for the railway but more than he’d earned as a stable hand at a racehorse ranch. It was a one-year contract position, so he wouldn’t feel like a cog in a large organization.
The first time Sunghwan went up to the rest area observation deck, he felt he’d picked the perfect job. It was the first day of June, neither hot nor cold. It was hazy out, and only the rim of the sun was visible in the pearly sky. It was the perfect weather in which to view the lake below, which, he saw now, had been created by stopping up the river that snaked down from Paryong Mountain in the north to the South Sea. Two thin, straight peaks bookended each side of the lake: Seryong Peak, which was near the observation deck where he sat, and Soryong, which was across the way. At the foot of Seryong Peak was a thick alder forest and a shuttered barn. Below the entrance to that ranch was a path that led to the dam. The lake was shaped like a woman’s torso—the river looked like her long neck, and the dock was located near her chest, with an island, called Hansoldung, in the middle. The tributary below the floodgates split the fields in two as they flowed out to sea. Seryong Village hugged the banks of the tributary.
If he was lucky, he thought, he might discover a muse here, one who would facilitate his becoming a bestselling novelist and an answer to his father’s questions. But in the two months since he’d arrived, Sunghwan had managed to write only two sentences: Seryong was the most famous girl in the area. Wherever you went, you heard that name—Seryong Rest Area, Seryong Elementary School, Seryong Medical Clinic, Seryong Police Station, Seryong Arboretum. That was as far as he’d gotten. That his book would be about the girl in 101 was a stroke of inspiration, though he didn’t know yet what she would do or why she was in the story at all.
But Sunghwan soon grew bored. His job was monotonous and the weather was getting hot. The lake beckoned alluringly, but he wasn’t allowed to enter it; he couldn’t even dip a finger in. His diving gear stayed in his closet. Seryong Lake was a first-tier reservoir that sustained four cities and ten counties nearby. A barbed-wire fence surrounded it. Nobody was allowed to even climb Seryong Peak. Seryong Ranch, which used to raise goats, had been shuttered upon the dam’s completion. The barn had become a haven for wild animals; it was illegal to build or tear down any buildings in the protected zone. The road that wound around the lake was partially closed to traffic. The lake was, in essence, a huge, sheltered well.
Guards patrolled the lake day and night. There were only six men working security, and four of them lived in unit 103. Sunghwan shared 102 with the former head of security, an evangelical Christian who had pasted a sign that said Believers of Jesus Christ on their front door and devoted himself to proselytizing. Sunghwan was subjected to lectures day and night, and worse still, developed insomnia due to his writer’s block. He panicked when he lay down to sleep, but was consumed by a dense fog when he got up and turned on his laptop. It made him fearful of the night. On sleepless nights he began wandering through the arboretum. He sometimes bumped into fellow nocturnal beings, like the old groundskeeper, who sometimes got drunk and wandered around at two in the morning, and Ernie, the stray cat who hung out by Seryong’s bedroom window.
The first time Sunghwan encountered Ernie, the cat wasn’t scared; he stared at Sunghwan with an expression of feline boredom before he turned and disappeared through the gate. Sunghwan followed the cat down the shortcut until they arrived at the lakeshore road. He watched Ernie saunter leisurely through the fog. He followed until they reached the old barn, a decent distance from the road. One part of the floor had buckled; a large wooden box lined with a pink blanket was laid inside. Judging by the bowls full of water and food, it was clear someone came here often.
After that night, Sunghwan had continued expanding his range of movement beyond the barn. He snuck out of his bedroom window so his boss wouldn’t know and walked along the lakeshore road. But his wanderings didn’t seem to be helping him coax his capricious muse back. His anxiety intensified.
Sunghwan was still stuck when his boss shared the news that he was leaving for a new job at Chungju Lake. In the office, as Sunghwan discussed how to split up the work with Park, another of the guards, Park told Sunghwan about the annual ceremony to commemorate the original Seryong Village, which was held each year on August 27, the date the old village had been submerged. The festival took place in the afternoon along the lakeshore road near the island, Hansoldung.