Chapter 8: What His Mother Said

Three days later, Tae-hwan put on a black suit and told Seon-ho they were going to a funeral that was not a funeral.

"It's the family memorial for Strike Team Seven," he said, knotting a black tie in the mirror.

"The Association holds it every year, a few weeks before the date. I go. I stand at the back."

"Then I'll stand at the back with you."

"You don't have to."

"I'm your healer," said Seon-ho. "Healers stand where their patients stand."

Tae-hwan looked at him in the mirror for a moment.

His left hand was in its glove.

His right hand, bare, rested on the edge of the sink.

The new skin on the palm had gone from pink to the color of a healthy palm.

"Thank you," he said.

It was easier to hear the second time.

The memorial hall was a gray room on the third floor of the Association building in Jongno.

Rows of folding chairs faced a table with five framed photographs.

About thirty people sat in the chairs, in black, quiet.

There were parents and siblings.

There was an old man leaning on a cane, and a girl in a school uniform holding a paper crane.

When Tae-hwan came in, the room noticed him.

Heads turned, then turned away.

A man in the second row stood up and left.

Tae-hwan went to the last row and sat down with his hands on his knees.

Seon-ho sat next to him, so close their arms touched.

Inspector Go was standing by the door with his clipboard against his chest.

He caught Seon-ho's eye, and gave the smallest nod.

The ceremony was short.

A priest read names.

A woman in a gray suit read the Association's statement, which said "sacrifice" three times and "recovery" never.

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