Extract: Mothersucker by Kim Bohyun, trans. by Archana Madhavan

Read an extract from Korean writer Kim Bohyun's forthcoming novel Mothersucker (Dead Ink Books), translated by Archana Madhavan — a chilling tale about a grieving mother whose need for revenge transforms the trajectory of her life, along with the detective on her trail. Switching between various female perspectives, the novel offers dynamic, cutting insights into power and bigotry.

Creaaak. 

Yu-jin used to sit in front of the window when she heard that sound coming from the mountain — or, as she would say literally, ‘from inside the mountain’. One such sleepless night at the window, listening to that sound, Yu-jin told Ga-in about the tree that grew on its side. 

‘A long time ago, when I was a little girl …’ 

Yu-jin learned that on the mountain near her home a tree that had been struck by lightning toppled over but continued to grow, lying on its side. 

‘How did you know it was still alive?’ Ga-in asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes. 

Yu-jin grabbed her own wrist and wiggled it. ‘I bent the branches.’ Most of the branches didn’t break but yielded gently before returning to their place. With its roots buried in the earth, the rest of the tree, including its crown, lay completely on the ground. Around it, the dirt was spongy and damp. 

Once she had bent all the branches to her satisfaction and made sure the tree wasn’t dead yet, Yu-jin climbed onto the trunk, spread out her arms, and started walking. It wasn’t easy to maintain her balance on top of the sloping tree, and she managed only a few steps before she plopped to the ground. Yu-jin played like this for a while, and when she had exhausted herself, she shucked off her damp shoes and socks, rested her head against the tree trunk, and stared up at the sky until her sweat dried. Enormous clusters of clouds floated by, magnificent and terrifying at the same time. 

While Yu-jin was romping around, the tree began to move. 

First, its dishevelled head rose from the ground. 

After that, its branches. 

Then its body. 

Little. 

By. 

Little. 

# 

Today marked the seventy-second day since Yu-jin had fallen like a tree struck by lightning and not got up. 

# 

Whenever Ga-in came across a tree growing on its side, she remembered Yu-jin’s tree. Had that really happened? Had she dreamed it? It might have just been nonsense spouted by an insomniac. Or had she known something was going to happen to her? Maybe she’d thought to leave a memorable story behind to stay alive through? 

Whatever it was, Ga-in had a bone to pick with her. 

#

Ga-in lifted the blanket from Yu-jin and rolled up her trousers. The scratch she’d left on Yu-jin’s calf last night was covered by a dark red scab. The doctors and nurses wouldn’t approve, but whenever feeling Yu-jin’s body temperature or checking if her heart was still beating failed to bring Ga-in peace of mind, she couldn’t help but leave a small wound on Yu-jin’s body. 

She couldn’t bear to throw out any of Yu-jin’s fingernail clippings or even the strands of hair left on her pillow, but instead gathered them all in a box. If it hurts, tell me it hurts. If you want me to stop, tell me you want me to stop. Get up and say it to my face. Ga-in glared stubbornly at Yu-jin, but Yu-jin’s face, lit up by the sunlight streaming in through the window, merely gleamed a pearly white. Ga-in adjusted the blinds, then sat beside Yu-jin. She lay down and pressed her cheek against Yu-jin’s breast; as she listened, she imagined someday telling her about a tree that grew on its side. 

‘It looked dead, but if you put your ear up against it and stayed quiet, you’d hear the sound of its sap flowing. Like a song. The tree trunk was thick and its stems stretched as hard as they could in every direction towards the sun. I played near that tree and didn’t even notice the time passing. I could tell the tree anything. I could lean against it, and if I fell asleep, I always had lovely dreams. And …’ 

Ga-in stopped for a moment and swallowed her tears. 

‘And I believed with all my heart that one day that tree would suddenly get up and hold me.’ 

Creaaak. 

She heard the response come from within Yu-jin’s bones. 

# 

Ga-in opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. Her body was soaked with sweat. Coming from somewhere, she heard the voice that had woken her: A ‘Don’t Ask Why’ assault on the subway committed by medical students …  found to be drunk … As first-time offenders … said they deeply regretted their actions … are to be put on probation … 

She heard the steady clip of a news anchor’s voice flooding the darkness, saying things that Ga-in couldn’t even begin to criticise. Everything was completely off base. Yes, that was Yu-jin’s story, but there was nothing in it about Yu-jin. Ga-in sighed deeply, turned off the radio, which she used as an alarm, and stood up. The floor was cold. She opened the door and went into the living room. Her head throbbed. Trying to ease the pain, Ga-in drank a glass of warm water as she pulled back the curtains and cracked open the window. 

A huge excavator was digging into the mountain across from the house. Acacia trees thick with snowy flower petals fell to the ground one by one. A sweet scent. For a moment, Ga-in felt dizzy. Last week’s rain had caused part of the mountain to collapse, devastating the neighbouring housing complex. The roots of the acacias were found to be penetrating the rock, the dense clusters of trees breaking apart the mountain. The plan was to dig up all the acacias and erect a cement wall. Signs stuck on the apartment bulletin board and in the elevators described it as ‘not pretty but for our safety’. 

When a stranger called Ga-in using Yu-jin’s phone – when they asked, cautiously and respectfully, what her relationship to Yu-jin was – Ga-in already knew. She knew everything. There were people who went about their lives every day, dreading something like this happening even as they braced themselves for the possibility of it. People who walked the streets, took public transportation, and used public facilities, trembling in fear, wishing they were just being paranoid. Yu-jin and Ga-in were those types of people. 

‘Hello? Ma’am? This is the police. May I know your relationship to the owner of this cell phone?’ 

When the voice on the phone pressed her, Ga-in asked in a quavering voice, unable to rein in the horrible images running through her head, ‘Is she dead? Is Yu-jin dead?’ 

After they beat up Yu-jin, the men – who had been caught on CCTV – shoved each other playfully and sniggered as they said something. 

‘What are they saying?’ Ga-in asked in a shaky voice as she reviewed the footage at the police station. She found out what they said later after watching a video of the altercation, which had been uploaded online: 

‘Hey. Is it male or female?’ 

A question they tossed in Yu-jin’s direction without any interest in hearing its answer. 

A question that wasn’t really a question. 

After they spat in her face, kicked her, verbally assaulted her with names too foul to repeat – after they lynched her – that was what they cared about. 

They grabbed her short uppercut like she was a criminal being punished, and dragged her around by the hair. They tore up her baggy suit trousers and, one by one, crushed the nails Yu-jin had got so beautifully done at the salon under their feet. 

# 

Ga-in filled up her thermos with coffee and packed her backpack with some cucumbers and a candy bar. After she started living with Yu-jin, they would go hiking in the mountains every Saturday. Yu-jin was the one who liked the mountains. It was always her job to chart their course, based on the weather or how they were feeling that day. They didn’t speak much on their way up and, after they had their snack at the summit, they didn’t speak much as they came back down and stopped for some beer or makgeolli at a nearby eatery. Ga-in would grumble that she didn’t find this fun at all; even so, every week, she packed her backpack alongside Yu-jin because she liked that the day after their mountain trek, Sunday, they slept in and lazed around while looking at the photos they had taken on the hike. 

After Yu-jin was hospitalised, Ga-in started hiking alone. Even though she followed only the routes she had taken with Yu-jin, she still lost her way often. So, thinking of Yu-jin, who had always led the way with so much energy, Ga-in climbed by herself; and on Sundays, she slept in, then got up and went to see Yu-jin, to tell her all about what she had seen on her hike and how afraid she had been when she lost her way. 

The next thing she knew, she would start sobbing. But no matter how much Ga-in cried, there was no one to ask her what was wrong, or scrutinise her face, or even make fun of her and laugh. Obviously. Because she was alone. Because Yu-jin was asleep. Every time she realised that fact, her mind numbed and tears poured from her eyes. 

Ga-in made her way uphill, panting. Trees growing wild with leaves scratched at her arms and legs. Today’s destination was Mount Yeonak. Yu-jin had told her that mountains with ak in their name were known to have rough terrain. After she started hiking alone, Ga-in stubbornly chose only those difficult peaks. She wanted to destroy something, blow up something, unleash all of her rage at something – and the only thing she had was her own body. 

Had she taken a wrong turn somewhere? At some point, she stopped seeing other hikers. Ga-in opened an app on her phone and double-checked the map. She had headed in the complete opposite direction to her destination. Where had she gone wrong? At which point did she need to reorient herself? As she examined the map, Ga-in plopped down on the ground. 

I got lost again today, Yu-jin, Ga-in thought. She imagined she could hear Yu-jin’s voice, saying in response, You just need to change your destination. Ga-in sat quietly for a moment, savouring those words. And when she got up again, she saw something. Lying on top of a huge boulder, far off in the distance, was a black shape. 

Hesitantly, Ga-in straightened up and headed towards the dark figure. She stared at it for some time but couldn’t figure out what it was. No – her instincts told her what it was but she didn’t think it was possible. 

Her eyes fell on a large man whose body lay in a twisted heap on top of the boulder. His gaze was fixed on something beyond her, and his cheeks bulged. Time slowed; the atmosphere grew damp and shadowed. Ga-in choked out a gasp. Her heart juddered against her ribs like a spooked animal’s. 

His build and facial features were different, but for some reason, for just a moment, the body lying there looked like the men who had assaulted Yu-jin. When Ga-in made her way up those dangerous peaks, she often lost herself in a daydream – of striking those men across the face, bringing them to their knees, tearing apart their limbs, and then setting them on fire. Standing before that boulder, it was like that daydream had taken on a shape and texture right before her eyes. In her imagination, she always started out demanding to know what Yu-jin had done to them, why they had to target her, but it ended with her in tears, begging them to stop. However, the scene in front of her was far more strange and daring than her imagination. 

A breeze blew in from the distance. 

Soot flew off the contorted corpse and landed on Ga-in’s damp cheeks. Only then did she let out a silent scream and back away. 

Mothersucker by Kim Bohyun, translated by Archana Madhavan, is published 22nd October, price £10.99 in paperback original.