57th Modern Korean Literature Translation Awards Fiction Grand Prize: How to Get Your Deposit Back

Written by Cho Ye-eun

Translated by Breanna Hundley

Excerpt from 'How to Get Your Deposit Back'

Security deposit: 30 million won

Monthly rent: 550,000 won

Maintenance fee: 150,000 won (not included in rent)

There were just under two months left until Seongah’s lease ended. She had given the landlord notice about two weeks before, which legally, was more than enough time to prepare for the vacancy. So there wasn’t anything in the way of getting her deposit back. At least, there shouldn’t have been. That’s for sure.

* * *

Seongah had received a call from her family in the countryside the day before. Her mom informed her that her little brother needed to be enrolled in cram school and asked her to send 5 million won as soon as her deposit was returned. That was how much she had borrowed from her mother, so she couldn’t really say no. Seongah just replied, “Okay,” before ending the call. The deposit budget for her next place was now down to 25 million won, which meant an increased chance of moving into an apartment with mold on the wallpaper or warped windows that had been illegally installed, or one infested with flies and cockroaches that had crawled up through the drain.

She wasn’t exactly satisfied with her current place, either.

Happy House, the low-rise, multi-unit residential building she lived in, sat right at the end of an alley that stretched into the center of the entertainment district, so loud singing and curses from drunks echoed down the alley night in and night out. Not only did her room never get fully dark even with the lights off—thanks to signs from the bars, nightclubs, and motels that didn’t close their doors until six in the morning—but bugs the size of her fist came into her room through the drain pipes. So little sunlight came in during the day that she felt like she was living in a hole, and shortly after she moved in, another villa was built not even three meters away. When Seongah opened her eyes every morning, the dim room looked no different than it did at night, so she started each day feeling uneasy.

When was the last time she had woken up to sunlight? Thankfully, she was too busy hunting for a new job and didn’t have time to be home during the day. No matter what, her next place was going to get good sunlight. It could be small, far from the subway station, have rotten brown wallpaper or no elevator. Anything would do as long as the sunlight was good. She might have had less money for the deposit, but sunlight was the one thing she couldn’t compromise on.

Seongah had to find a new place the next day. With class and interview prep in the afternoon, she was pressed for time. After confirming her schedule for the following day, she set her phone alarm and climbed in bed. She reached for her lamp, turned it off, and closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. It was a weekday, but the sounds of music and retching persisted on the other side of her window. The continuous noises gnawed at her frayed nerves. Please, just shut up, she thought to herself.

I wish you bastards would just get lost.

But she knew that wasn’t going to happen. The nonstop commotion would keep going all night, unrelenting and incessant, ruining her sleep. Seongah tossed and turned before eventually getting up to turn on the light. She raised the black-out curtains, looking past them, and saw five men and women gathered together, roaring with laughter. What was so funny? They stood in a circle, kicking something at their feet. Cigarettes hung from their mouths and even from afar they looked young. The words “112 Criminal Report” flitted through her mind, less out of respect for the law and more with the idea that if she called the police, the group would leave and take some of the noise with them.

Just as she reached toward her nightstand to pick up her cellphone, it suddenly vibrated. The vibrations cut through the chatter coming in from outside, unusually loud. Had it always been this shrill? Unexpectedly, the caller on the screen was her landlord. It didn’t make any sense that he was calling her so close to midnight. No matter how much noisier her room was at night than it was during the day...

She was two seconds from losing her mind, when she realized it had grown deathly quiet outside her window. Music, drunk people laughing, shouting, profanity, cars honking—all of it was gone. This level of calm felt so unrealistic that she couldn’t even be happy about it. Noise from not even a minute before just ... gone? In the blink of an eye like that? It was so out of place, like she had abruptly leapt from the middle of the entertainment district into another world.

Her mouth was dry as a bone. The cold, unfamiliar atmosphere caressed the nape of her neck. Seongah put down the now silent phone and moved in front of the curtains again. She wanted to know what had caused this silence. She pushed aside the heavy fabric and looked out through the crack.

Her eyes met theirs. Ten black pupils were staring directly at her where she stood on the other side of the window.

Not long before, the five of them had been smoking cigarettes, spitting, bursting into laughter, and cursing back and forth, but now they were looking right at Seongah, all at the exact same angle and with the same expression on their faces. Like they were waiting for something. The light from the neon signs surrounding them hit their glowing, white faces, making them oddly colorful.

Seongah took a small step back, still gripping the curtain. A short-haired woman standing at the head of the group appeared to be smiling at her, both corners of her mouth slowly turning upward. The smile looked innocent, like one of a child who had chosen their next toy. The woman turned and took off running. Right in the direction of the shared entryway to Seongah’s building. All at once, the group exploded into laughter and started talking again as they crowded into the entrance. The tips of her toes felt numb and her palms were clammy. Her building was piloti-style and the first floor was a parking lot that housed the building’s entrance, which meant the door wasn’t visible from her window. Fortunately, the door required a code, so only residents could go in and out. If there was no one leaving or entering, the group wouldn’t be able to set foot inside the building. Seongah pressed “112” on her phone, then climbed in bed and pulled the covers over herself. Why was this god-forsaken neighborhood always like this? As if there weren’t enough drunks, now there were kids she didn’t know disturbing her sleep.

She felt oddly anxious and couldn’t fall asleep. She had to get up early the next day ... That was the only way she could go see a new place. One with good sunlight and less mold growing on the wallpaper.