Cursed Bunny(8)

Her daily routine devolved into keeping herself comfortable in bed and listening to music and watching videos that were said to be good for expecting mothers. She ate foods high in iron because her morning sickness had been replaced by anemia. Her sense of taste didn’t change however, nor did she suddenly crave foods she normally disliked. Her days were slow and peaceful, and all of her relatives who would usually never give her a second thought were suddenly very interested in her well-being and treated her like a fragile heirloom, always making sure to ask if there was anything she might want. Aside from the times she had to go to the obstetrician for examinations, her life had settled down and she felt content.

One day, as she read fairy tales for expecting mothers while listening to music for expecting mothers, her phone buzzed. It was a text message.

Call me immediately.

She had never seen the number before. Figuring it was a wrong number, she deleted the message.

Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed again. It was the same message. She deleted it.

Fifteen minutes later, her phone buzzed yet again. The same message. This time, there were exclamation marks.

Call me!! Immediately!!

Someone with an emergency must have the wrong number. She pressed dial.

“Hello?” answered an unfamiliar male voice.

“Hello? Did you send me a text just now?”

“Are you Kim Younglan?”

This surprised her. “Yes, I’m Kim Younglan. Who are you?”

She heard a rustling sound.

“Itseu my lady, oh, itseu my lobeu! Oh, datseu, I mean, dat she, she new she wuh! She seu-peak-seu yet she seseu no, I mean, nuh-ssing, wut obeu det? Huh eye diseu, dee, deesu-co-ssiseu, ahee will en-suh it, ah-im too boldeu, uh, teu, tiseu nat to me she seu-peakseu—”

(It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Here eye discourses; I will answer it, I am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks—)

“Um … hello?”

The man continued, his voice slightly louder, “Too obeu duh peh, peh-uh-resteu staseu in oll duh heh-beun, heh-bing sum bee-jeu-nee-seu, do, uh, en, entreeteu huh ah-iseu, to, to teu-inkle—”

(Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle …)

“Hold on!” she shouted. The man stopped his recitation. “What on Earth are you doing?”

“It’s from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Second act, second scene, in the Capulets’ garden.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s how I feel. I knew the moment I saw your picture in the paper. You are the woman of my destiny. Oh, yu, ah, my, ro-seu, my buhning ha-teu—”

“In the paper? What paper?”

“I could really sense your womanliness from the headline: ‘Looking for a Man to Be My Child’s Father.’ Such a cut above the usual pandering for a husband! Such femininity, such literary sensitivity. My darling Younglan, we are meant to be. Through our passion for literature, too-geh-duh dee-peu luhbeu endeu un-duh-seu-ten-ding—”

“Look, you have the wrong idea—”

“I may be so poor that I committed the faux pas of asking you to call me instead of calling you first, but I will pay you back for the phone call someday. Capitalism is nothing before the forces of love and passion! Oh, my lay-ee-dee, my lehdeu roseu—”

“I’m not an English major!”

She slammed down the phone and looked for a newspaper. On the very last page was her photograph accompanied by large letters: looking for a man to be my child’s father. Her name and age were next to the photo along with “Graduate student, literature” as her occupation. Her phone number, clearly printed, underneath that.

At the dinner table, she brandished the newspaper and berated her family. They glanced at each other and said it had been a last-ditch effort to get her child a father.

“We thought it might be easier if we were just honest about it up front …”

She was annoyed, but thinking back on the obstetrician’s warning, she couldn’t help but agree just a little. She suffered through many phone calls after that. But she did have a glimmer of hope before picking up every call.

When she refused to answer Romeo’s pleading texts, he began calling her. Every day, it was a new scene from a play of some male character wooing a woman, topped off with his begging her to meet him. There were prank calls from children, as well as serious calls from women offering to introduce her to their brothers, fathers, sons, even husbands. There were threats, too.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Kim Younglan?”

“Yes?”

“Remember me, bitch?”

“What?”

“We fucked. Don’t you remember? Your baby is my baby.”

“Uh, I think you’ve dialed the wrong—”

“Enough with this bullshit. Let’s talk. Bring ten million won to the MM Hotel coffee shop at noon tomorrow. Then I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Excuse me, what was the number you wanted to call?”

“Are you stupid or something? Is tomorrow too soon? All right, I’ll cut you a break. You have until this weekend to come to the MM Hotel coffee shop with the money. Or else I’m going to go around your neighborhood saying that we fucked and that your baby is mine. Understand? Everyone is going to know what a slut you are.”