THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR
2019; Wiley; Volume: 107; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/tyr.2019.0045
ISSN1467-9736
Autores Tópico(s)Cultural Industries and Urban Development
Resumo1 5 4 Y T H E W O M A N N E X T D O O R H A S E O N G - N A N Translated from the Korean by Janet Hong A new neighbor’s moved into number 507. I’d just taken out the spun laundry and was about to hang it on the clothesline. The washer is junk now. Whenever it goes from rinse to spin, it gives a terrible groan and shudders, as if it might explode any second. Over the years, it’s shifted about twenty centimeters from its original spot. Since it’s done nothing except wash, rinse, and spin for ten years, no wonder it’s in bad shape. I pat the top of the washer and mutter, ‘‘Yeongmi, I know you’re tired, but let’s get through it one last time.’’ The washer wrings out the water and barely sounds its end-of-cycle buzzer. Yeongmi is the name I’ve given the washer. It’s also my name, though it doesn’t get used a whole lot anymore. To a washing machine, the motor is the same as a heart. A repairman who once came to fix the washer said so. He’d said the motor’s life had reached its limit. It managed to finish its job today, but I don’t know how long I can keep it going this way. Once my husband caught me talking to the washer. Seeing nobody else on the balcony, he’d asked, ‘‘What are you doing?’’ So I’d played dumb and said, ‘‘What does it look like? I’m doing the 1 5 5 R laundry.’’ How can a banker who has to calculate sums down to the penny understand? If I’d told him the truth, he would have thought I was crazy. According to him, my head’s stuck in the clouds. That’s why I’m always floating around in space, never touching solid ground. If he knew I’d gone so far as to give the washing machine a name, he’d probably faint. ‘‘It’s finally happened – a malfunction in your software.’’ Eight years ago, I worked at a bank too. Back then I never thought I’d be talking to a washing machine one day. It’s not that I have anything against my husband. It’s good for a banker to act like a banker, isn’t it? The soy sauce stain on my son’s shirt didn’t come out. I forgot to soak it beforehand, that’s why. When I sort what can be hung from what has to be rewashed, only one of my husband’s dress shirts makes it to the clothesline. My husband says things that show how much he doesn’t understand: ‘‘The washing machine does the laundry and the rice cooker cooks the rice, so what do you do all day?’’ A mover’s ladder hoist is lifting furniture up to the fifth floor. There isn’t much. After all, you don’t need a whole lot to fill a 75-square-meter apartment. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not the type to snoop around. But is it a crime to look? It’s not like I’m spying on people with binoculars. All the furniture looks new. I can’t stand shabby old things with peeling paint. The person who used to live in 507 brought cockroaches with him when he first moved in, and soon even our home became infested. It’s natural for any woman who’s been married a decade to eye new appliances , especially when her own are old and scratched up. The furniture may be new, but it’s not for newlyweds, that’s for sure. One look at the bed says it all. The mattress is standing on its side, but you can easily tell it’s a single. This resident – obviously alone with these new things – who could it be? Most of the appliances are the latest models: a washer with a transparent lid, an immaculate gas range, never before lit. My gas range, which has to have its switch...
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