1
The moment K opened his eyes that morning, he reached for the 007 briefcase on the bedside table. He had bought it at a department store the day before, spending what felt like a fortune. For an adjunct lecturer living on meager pay, it was not an easy amount of money to part with. He had spent a substantial portion of his income on a new briefcase entirely because of J’s advice. J, who had earned her doctorate a year before K, was now an assistant professor at Y University. She had told him several times that his old bag did not make a neat impression and that he should buy a new one. Each time, he had said he could not throw away the worn bag he had carried since his university days. It was frayed here and there, its color faded, and clumsy-looking, but K felt most comfortable carrying it. This time, however, it was hard to ignore J’s advice.
K inspected the 007 briefcase carefully. He had examined even the stitching at the department store the day before, but he checked once more for scratches just in case. The sleek, trim briefcase was flawless. It really was a handsome thing, like something James Bond might have carried in a movie. It was no luxury brand, but K loved it. The handle, reinforced with cowhide, felt wonderfully soft in his hand. He gently pressed the button beside the handle. With a sharp click of the locks, the briefcase opened smoothly. He was pleased with the interior as well. There seemed to be plenty of room for his laptop, the materials for his two lectures, and a slim book. There were separate compartments for a charger, pens, and a notebook. More than anything, what had won K over was the fact that the new 007 briefcase was waterproof. His old bag had always made him nervous whenever it rained. Once, a sudden downpour had soaked some of his students’ assignments and lecture materials, causing him no end of trouble. Ever since then, he had kept a large plastic bag folded inside one corner of his bag. Whenever it rained, he would wrap his laptop and important papers in it first. Even he could not deny that it made him look rather shabby and cheap.
K got out of bed and, still in his pajamas, picked up the briefcase and tried walking with it. He carried it all the way into the living room. He shifted it from his right hand to his left. Even the smooth transfer of the briefcase from one hand to the other seemed to have a certain precision to it. He remembered the first small handbag he had been given as a child and how he had carried it around all day. He had taken that little bag with him while eating and even when going to the bathroom. It had been almost an extension of himself. K found himself slightly ridiculous, putting on this whole performance with his 007 briefcase first thing in the morning. He let out a hearty laugh and went into the bathroom.
After a simple breakfast, K went into the master bedroom to pack his briefcase. The small rental apartment where he lived had two rooms. He used the master bedroom as a study and the smaller room facing the corridor as his bedroom. Sleeping there was somewhat uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do about it. He would simply have to put up with it until his circumstances improved.
K had two classes that day. At A University he was to teach Introduction to Political Philosophy, and at Y University he would lead a discussion on the political thought of Marx and Lenin. A University was only a little over a ten-minute walk from his apartment, but Y University was much farther away and required more than an hour by bus and subway. He began arranging the materials he would put in the briefcase. Two textbooks, three reference books, his laptop, and a thick file that he decided to place at the very bottom. The file was packed with propaganda posters and photographs from the Russian Revolution, newspaper articles, and black-and-white photographs of demonstrations that he had collected over the years. There were crowds raising red flags, soldiers carrying rifles, Lenin standing at a podium, and old propaganda images bearing the hammer and sickle. They were all materials for his lectures, but seen without explanation, they might make someone mistake K for an antiquated revolutionary. K sometimes showed these materials to his students and told them that an era and its ideas had to be read separately. The fact that an idea was old did not mean there was no longer any need to study it.
Ready to leave for work, K drank coffee in the living room. He was careful not to stain the pale gray suit J had bought him the day before. As he set down his cup, he remembered J saying that now that she had secured a position, they should marry in the fall as they had promised. Several years earlier, they had agreed to marry as soon as one of them obtained a full-time faculty position. When K returned to Korea after studying abroad, he had believed he would soon find a place at a university. Every former professor and senior colleague he met had offered the same encouraging words. He had been confident himself. That was why he had been the one to bring up marriage in the first place. But it had not taken long for him to realize that his expectations were merely expectations. Even finding a single course to teach was difficult. There was no shortage of PhDs. No one was eager to offer him a position. Little by little, his energy drained away. His family was not particularly well off, and his own circumstances became steadily more precarious. At some point he began to wonder whether returning to Korea had been a mistake. Even his first teaching job, obtained with great difficulty, had come through J. She had handed over to K one of the courses that had originally been offered to her.
K took a deep breath. Then he picked up the 007 briefcase in his right hand, went to the entrance, and put on his shoes. Unlike his new suit and new briefcase, the shoes were badly worn. The heel of the left shoe in particular had worn down so much that even when he stood still, he felt as though his body tilted to the left. Since he had already started buying new things, K decided he might as well buy a new pair of shoes too. Perhaps his shabby appearance was the reason he had still not escaped the life of a traveling academic peddler.
2
The class at A University ended without incident. The student assigned to give a presentation said nothing especially remarkable, but K was pleased simply because the student had clearly read the assigned text carefully. K was grateful to the students who had chosen his course. If enrollment fell below a certain number, the class could be canceled. If that happened, there was no guarantee he would have a course to teach the following semester. He had no intention of currying favor with students just to be popular, but he did need to make sure they did not find the class unbearably difficult. Still, more than anything, K wanted to teach well. He believed that was the only reason he stood in front of a classroom.
Just as K was about to leave, one student stood up and called out loudly.
“Professor, the suit and briefcase look great, but the shoes don’t match. If you’ve got an important appointment today, you should buy yourself a new pair.”
The students burst out laughing. Several in the back even leaned forward to get a look at K’s shoes. K smiled at them awkwardly.
When K stepped outside the building, several students from his class were standing near the vending machines, chatting.
“Professor, are you really going on a blind date today?”
It was the student who had told him to buy new shoes.
“Stop worrying about things that have nothing to do with you and study for the exam.”
K gave a faint grin.
“Professor, about the midterm. Couldn’t you cut down the material a little? Everyone’s complaining that there’s too much to read.”
“Everyone, or you?”
“Lecturer, come on. Who reads Marx in the original language these days? And making us read Lenin too is a bit much, isn’t it? We’re already overwhelmed with job hunting.”
K looked at the student.
“You mean old books aren’t worth reading?”
“That’s not what I mean. But honestly, it’s not like this stuff helps us get jobs. The seniors say courses like this are just about getting a decent grade anyway. They say we’d be better off spending the time studying for certifications.”
“If universities taught only what helped people get jobs, what would we need universities for?”
The student fell silent for a moment, then shrugged.
“Isn’t that how everyone thinks these days?”
“You chose the course. Whether you take the exam or not, whether you study or not, that’s your affair. But I have no intention of reducing the material.”
He was a shrewd student. Until moments ago he had unfailingly called K “Professor,” but the instant things stopped going his way, the title had become “Lecturer.” That tiny change in address bothered K more than he wanted to admit. For a moment, he wondered whether to the student Marx, Lenin, and K himself had all become equally obsolete. He said nothing more. He had no desire to argue with a student over something so pointless.
After lunch, K took his coffee outside and sat on a bench. He smoked a cigarette and checked the time. He still had a little while before his class at Y University. The 007 briefcase beside the bench looked splendid. He stood up and looked at it from a couple of steps away. It really was a sleek, handsome thing. Just as he was about to sit down again, he saw the department chair approaching from some distance away. K hurriedly put out his cigarette and went over to greet him.
“So, do you have a moment?”
The chair barely acknowledged K’s greeting before asking the question.
“Me? I have a class at Y University this afternoon, so I was just about to leave. Is something wrong?”
“I see. How about this evening, then?”
“That’s fine. I don’t have any plans after my class at Y.”
“Good. Contact me at my office when you finish.”
“All right. But what is this about...?”
“It’s good news for you. We’ll talk about it properly over dinner. Professor Park and Professor Lee will be joining us.”
“I understand. I’ll contact you as soon as class is over.”
“I’ll choose the restaurant. And buy yourself a new pair of shoes. You stand in front of university students, for heaven’s sake. Look at them. Your briefcase and suit are perfectly neat. If a man wants to look properly put together, he has to pay attention to his shoes and his watch too.”
Having said this, the chair strode away before K even had a chance to bow again. K had a fair idea why he wanted to see him that evening. It was probably about the full-time faculty position the department planned to fill that semester. K had quietly allowed himself some hope, but he had not expected the chair to approach him first. Because he had not graduated from A University, he was at a disadvantage in several respects. But he was hardly in a position to be particular about alma maters. He had been thinking of visiting the chair himself before long. Instead, the chair had asked to see him first. And professors with considerable influence in the university would be there as well. K tried not to get his hopes up. He had learned more than once that the greater the expectation, the greater the disappointment.
A glance at the time told him he would be cutting it close getting to Y University. K hesitated over whether to take a taxi. A taxi would swallow a substantial part of what he earned from teaching that day. He could not do that. Carrying the 007 briefcase, he began walking quickly. But he kept noticing his shoes. They seemed to throw his entire appearance out of balance. Looking down at them as he walked, K suddenly realized that he dragged his left foot along the ground. He tried to make sure the shoe did not scrape when he stepped forward with his left foot. Each time he did, however, his whole body seemed to lose its balance. Once he nearly stumbled. He gave up the unnatural gait and simply let his left foot skim the ground as he walked. Almost immediately, walking felt comfortable again.
3
At first K thought the man was a pickpocket. The bus was not crowded, yet the man ignored plenty of open space and stood beside him. But even an idiot would hardly try to pick someone’s pocket alone on a bus this empty. The man wore jeans long out of fashion and an old denim jacket. His large eyes, which looked perpetually on the verge of tears, drooped heavily at the outer corners, and thick eyebrows lay almost in a straight line across his narrow forehead. His ears stuck oddly forward. His features seemed crowded together around his nose, forming a face that could hardly be called welcoming. He was not particularly tall and was rather thin. Altogether, there was something vaguely ill-assembled about him.
K had been on guard when the man first came near, but the man’s slight build reassured him somewhat; he thought he could overpower him if necessary. He did not relax completely. K waited for a seat to open up. As soon as one did, he intended to get away from the man and sit down. When a seat became free in the very back, K casually moved there. The man did not follow. K began to think he had suspected an innocent person. The world was dangerous enough these days, he told himself; it was not entirely his fault that such thoughts occurred to him. At the next stop, many passengers got off. Empty seats appeared here and there. A little later, however, the man came and sat beside K. There were plenty of seats where he could have sat alone, yet he had deliberately chosen the one beside him. K looked out the window and pretended not to notice. It was a languid afternoon. The sort of fine weather that made work seem pointless and made a person want to go somewhere, anywhere, just for a change of air. While remaining conscious of the man beside him, K also thought about his dinner with the department chair. His mind was tangled with thoughts of whether he might finally obtain a full-time position. Then the man spoke.
“Let’s split what’s in that briefcase fifty-fifty. Then I won’t report you.”
“What?”
K stared at him in surprise.
“I said I won’t report you if we split it. I know exactly what you’ve got in there.”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“You don’t need to know that. Are we splitting it, or are we going to the police station?”
K was utterly bewildered. The briefcase contained nothing but his teaching materials, laptop, and file. The very idea of splitting its contents made no sense.
“Look, there are only books and lecture materials in this briefcase. You’ve got the wrong idea, so stop bothering me.”
K’s voice was edged with irritation. But the man smirked as though he had expected exactly that response and reached for the briefcase.
“Then let’s have a look. Let’s see what’s inside.”
K hurriedly pushed the man's hand away.
“Who are you to tell me to open my briefcase? Are you out of your mind?”
“Come now.”
The man tried to look intimidating.
“Then come to the police station with me.”
People had begun to notice the argument, and one by one they turned to look. K felt deeply uncomfortable. He could not keep arguing with a madman, but he could not simply get off the bus either. He was already short on time for class.
“Listen, I teach at a university. Stop bothering me. You’ve obviously misunderstood something, so let’s end this here.”
“Then show me what’s in the briefcase. That solves everything, doesn’t it? You won’t show me because you’ve got something shady in there.”
“Are you insane?”
K suddenly raised his voice. The man was not intimidated in the slightest.
“I already know everything, so why are you acting like this? Let’s split it right down the middle. No point making a scene. Even half would set us up nicely.”
“You’re crazy. You’re completely out of your mind.”
K could stand no more and got to his feet. The man grabbed his sleeve. The corners of the man’s drooping eyes rose until they were almost level. It was probably as high as he could make them go. K shook off his hand and headed toward the door.
“Come now.”
The man stared at K as though K were the unreasonable one.
After getting off at the stop, K walked quickly without looking back. Fast enough that his shins began to ache. As he walked, he glanced down to see whether his left foot was still brushing the ground because his gait felt unnatural. Before he could check, he heard the man shouting angrily behind him.
“Stop him!”
K turned. The man was chasing him. K was more than a little alarmed. He had clearly checked that the man had not followed him off the bus, yet somehow there he was, running after him. K had no choice but to run if he did not want to be caught. Why he had to run from the man, he could not have said. At that moment, not being caught was his only goal.
An alley seemed better than the main road. Stop him! continued to lash at his ears. K spotted a narrow side street and darted into it. He kept running. Never before had he possessed such a clear objective. He had gone abroad to study without necessarily intending to earn a doctorate. He simply enjoyed reading old books and arguing with people who had long since died. Nor had he chosen Marx and Lenin because of any particular ideological conviction. He had simply wanted to know why people who believed they could explain the world completely had ended up making such a mess of it. One thing had led to another, and he had earned a doctorate. Now he taught at universities, but K was not certain that becoming a professor was truly his dream. His students regarded the ideas he taught as relics, and universities handed such courses off to adjunct lecturers semester by semester. K did not need some grand title. All he wanted was a stable position that would allow him to earn a living while continuing to read and think. Being a professor might simply be the most comfortable job he could hope for.
His phone rang. It was J. Gasping for breath, K told her he could not talk and would call later. Alarmed, J asked what had happened. K hurriedly said that someone was chasing him and that he would call her back, then ended the call and kept running.
His back was soaked with sweat. Beads of perspiration covered his forehead. How long had he been running? He could no longer hear the cry of Stop him! K was so badly out of breath that breathing itself had become difficult. Each time he swallowed, his dry throat burned and his chest felt tight. He leaned against a wall on trembling legs and tried to catch his breath. Then he noticed his own shadow, bent nearly double and panting. Looking at that miserable shadow, he slowly sank to the ground.
Perhaps all he had to do was open the briefcase and show the man what was inside. But he did not want to. His pride would not allow it, and more than that, there was no telling what absurd accusation the man might make after seeing the materials in the briefcase. The thought of opening a file filled with red flags, photographs of Lenin, and revolutionary propaganda in front of a man like that and having to explain it all was unbearable. It was all because of the 007 briefcase. When K carried his old bag, no one had ever given him a second glance. Today people had already looked at him several times because of his appearance, and now he was being chased by a man whose identity he did not even know. Still breathing heavily, K got to his feet and braced one hand against the wall. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Once his breathing had steadied, he began walking slowly. He contacted Y University to say that he would be a little late for class. When he emerged onto the main road again, he saw the entrance to a subway station in the distance.
4
The subway car was quiet. Sitting down, K regretted not taking a taxi. His reflection appeared in the window opposite him. Dressed up in a new suit and carrying a new briefcase, he looked pathetic. The fact that some bizarre stranger had forced him to run through the streets made him seem ridiculous even to himself. If he had known this was what all those years of hard study would lead to, perhaps he should simply have stayed abroad.
These days K found it difficult to face his father and elder brother, who had helped pay for his studies abroad despite their own limited means. What troubled him most, however, was J. Of course he loved her. But the persistent feeling that he was falling behind her only deepened his self-contempt. She had secured a position almost immediately after returning from abroad, while he felt as though he were still circling somewhere near the starting line. He was ashamed that even as he wanted her to succeed, he also felt a strange sense of competition with her. Perhaps, K thought, he was even jealous of her. Then he remembered that he needed to call J back. He was reaching for his phone when it rang first.
“What happened earlier? You had me worried.”
There was a faint tremor in J’s voice.
“It was nothing. Some strange man suddenly started chasing me, so I had to run.”
K felt ridiculous saying it aloud.
“What? Someone was chasing you?”
“I’ll explain later. Anyway, could we cancel our plans tonight? You know the chair at A University? He wants to see me this evening.”
“Then could you stop by my office after class? It’ll only take a minute, but I’d rather not say it over the phone.”
“All right. I’ll come by as soon as class is over.”
After ending the call, K looked out the window. The train was crossing the Han River. For a while he stared blankly at the water. The surface rippled gently in the breeze, and a lone bird, from wherever it had come, circled over the river. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder.
“Mister, I told you. Let’s split what’s in that briefcase.”
K nearly screamed. The man he had been certain he had escaped was sitting beside him. K instinctively realized that something had gone seriously wrong. He decided that avoiding the man was the only sensible course. He did not want to create a scene on the train and attract everyone’s attention. The train was entering the underground section again. The man seemed to be mocking him, as if to say there was no point in running. K wanted badly to slap him across the face, but he suppressed his rising anger and quietly moved into the next car. The man followed like a shadow. K moved into another car. The man followed again.
By the time K reached the last car, he had decided to get off at the next station. He would leave the station and take a taxi.
“Running away again? I’m not asking for all of it. Don’t be so stingy.”
Now the man sounded irritated, as though he were the one whose patience had run out.
K did not answer. He waited for the train to stop. He had no intention of running anymore. Once he got outside and caught a taxi, it would all be over.
“Listen, if you’re thinking of running again, you might as well give up now.”
There was an understated threat in the man’s voice.
K continued to ignore him, waiting only for the doors to open. An announcement came over the speakers saying the train would remain stopped briefly to maintain distance from the train ahead. K grew increasingly restless. He wanted to forget the class, forget everything, and simply go somewhere far away.
When the doors opened, K quietly stepped off and walked toward the exit. The man followed without a word. At the gate, K tapped his transit card against the reader. An error tone sounded and a warning appeared on the screen. He tried again, with the same result. K was confused. He distinctly remembered tapping in normally when he boarded. He checked the app on his phone, but the entry record was missing. It was utterly baffling. For a moment K suspected the man, but he had no desire to get into another argument with him. He approached a station attendant. He assumed that once he explained the situation, it would be resolved quickly.
“Excuse me, there seems to be something wrong with my transit card. I definitely tapped in when I entered, but there’s no record of it. I’m on my way to teach a class at Y University, and I’m running a little late.”
K spoke politely.
“Let me check.”
The attendant examined the card and the gate records as though it were nothing unusual.
Then the man cut in.
“Mister, this guy’s lying. He’s been trying to sneak through from the beginning.”
“What?”
The attendant looked puzzled.
“He’s fare-dodging.” Before K could defend himself, the man continued. “I’ve been watching him the whole time.”
The attendant called over a colleague and asked K to come into the station office for a moment while they checked. K insisted that he had tapped in normally. The attendant said it would only take a little more time to verify the records. K explained that he was already late for class and asked whether they could not simply deal with it there, but it made no difference. He glared at the man. He felt ready to explode. The man only kept grinning.
The man followed them all the way into the station office. In a loud voice he began ranting about people who refused to follow public transportation rules, about how someone without even the most basic civic consciousness could presume to teach other people. K could tolerate that much. But when the man said that someone who taught university students yet evaded his fare ought to be properly investigated, K could take no more.
“You crazy bastard. Do you want to get yourself killed today?”
K shouted at the top of his voice.
“Well, look at that. Going to hit me now? Go ahead. Hit me.”
The man came right back at him.
The station staff stepped between them, but K could not calm down.
“May I see some identification?”
“Why do you need my ID?”
“We just need to confirm who you are and check the trip record.”
K took his identification out of his wallet.
“Look. I teach at a university. Why would I evade a subway fare? The card simply didn’t register properly. And this man has been following me around since earlier, saying all kinds of insane things. He’s been trailing me like some kind of stalker. I’m losing my mind here. I’m supposed to be teaching at Y University right now. Please check it and let me go.”
“Would you like us to call the police?”
“What?”
“If this gentleman has been following and threatening you, it might be better to speak to the police.”
“Yes, call them,” the man cut in. “And here’s a secret I suppose I’ll have to reveal now. There’s something astonishing in this man’s briefcase. So call the police.”
“You crazy bastard.”
The curse escaped K before he knew it. The air inside the office suddenly turned cold.
“That won’t be necessary. What do I need to do about the card? I have a class to teach, so please just deal with this quickly.”
“See that?” the man shouted. “The second someone mentions the police, he backs down. That proves he’s hiding something. You can’t just let him go.”
K was already considerably late for class. All he wanted was to escape this revolting situation. At that moment, a uniformed police officer entered the station office.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s something strange in this man’s briefcase.”
The man spoke before K had a chance.
“This man has been following me around, telling me to split whatever is in my briefcase with him. My name is K. I teach at a university. My transit card record got messed up, and now he’s lying to the station staff and saying I evaded the fare. I’m already late for class. I need to go.”
“He’s lying through his teeth.”
“What’s in the briefcase?”
“Teaching materials, my laptop, things like that.”
“May I take a look?”
“No.”
“See? I told you he’s hiding something.”
The man smiled in triumph.
The police officer looked at K for a moment.
“If you open the briefcase, we can settle this immediately. If it contains nothing but teaching materials, as you say, that will be the end of it.”
“Why should I have to? What have I done wrong?”
“I’m not saying I’m going to force you to open it. If you don’t want to, we’ll have to follow a different procedure, but that may take longer.”
K realized that the situation was turning against him. He should not have lost his temper. It was too late to regret it now. His pride was badly wounded. The idea of having to open his briefcase in front of other people was humiliating. But it was the only way to get out of the situation quickly. K placed the briefcase on the desk. He entered the combination and pressed the button beside the handle. Click. The briefcase opened smoothly. K stepped back, and the officer began looking inside. He lifted out the laptop, the Korean-language textbooks, and the English reference books, then opened the thick file beneath them. The first page held a photograph of a crowd waving red flags. The next showed Lenin speaking from a podium. After that came posters bearing the hammer and sickle and photographs of soldiers carrying rifles.
The officer’s hand stopped for a moment.
“What’s this?”
K sighed without meaning to.
“Lecture materials.”
“For a class?”
“I teach Marx and Lenin. They’re for my political philosophy course.”
The officer turned several more pages. K could barely stand having the station staff and the man stare into his briefcase. Suddenly it seemed absurd that the things to which he had devoted his life could look suspicious unless accompanied by an explanation.
“Universities teach things like this?”
“Yes. For now.”
The words sounded strangely as if they were about K himself.
The officer closed the file.
“I understand. I’m sorry we troubled you unnecessarily.”
“Can I go now?”
K said nothing more. He had no desire to offer pathetic explanations. He wanted only to escape this absurd situation.
“Yes. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
The station attendant checked the card record once more and said that it appeared to have been a reader error and that no further action was necessary.
As K gathered his briefcase, he raised his head and stared hard at the man, his mouth clenched tight. Seeing the look on K’s face, the officer asked whether he wished to file a complaint against him. The man immediately started arguing again, insisting that K must have moved the goods somewhere else, that there had to be accomplices, and that they should investigate him at once. But no one was listening anymore. The officer shouted at the man to be quiet, then again asked K whether he wanted to file a complaint. K stared at the man for a long moment before speaking.
“Let him go about ten minutes after I leave. And maybe check whether there have been any missing-person reports while you’re at it.”
5
The classroom was empty. On one side of the electronic board were the words CLASS CANCELED. K could not hide his sense of futility. After everything it had taken to get there, it had all been for nothing. The students had apparently waited for a long time, contacted the teaching assistant, and the class had eventually been canceled. K went to the window and opened it slightly. He took a cigarette from his pocket, looked at it for a while, then put it back. There was nowhere inside the building where he could smoke anymore.
“So April really is the cruelest month,” K murmured. April in London had been cruel. The rain never stopped, and his whole body had always felt damp. He had needed to carry an umbrella everywhere. And yet his mind had been at ease. Seoul was the opposite. The April sky was as clear as could be, but his heart felt unbearably heavy.
Leaning against the lectern, K thought about his dinner with the department chair that evening. If he obtained a full-time position, many things might change. He would no longer have to worry at the end of every semester about whether he would have classes the next one. His name would no longer simply vanish from the university system one day. He would not have to keep asking other people for help whenever electronic resources were unavailable through his lecturer account. He could apply for research funding and perhaps continue teaching the courses he wanted to teach for more than a semester at a time. More than anything, perhaps he would no longer feel as though he were being hired all over again every semester.
Would being a regular member of the faculty make him feel a little more legitimate? Would he no longer have to explain who he was while opening his briefcase in front of a police officer? Would it stop bothering him when a student changed from “Professor” to “Lecturer”? Perhaps pride itself was a luxury for someone trapped in the life of an adjunct lecturer. K found it almost laughable that a man in such an unstable position should concern himself with pride at all. His dinner with the department chair that evening might become a major turning point in his life. If he became a full-time faculty member, he would no longer have to postpone marrying J, and his life would be more stable than it was now. And yet K did not feel at ease. The position he had wanted for so long now seemed close enough to touch, but he could no longer tell whether he truly wanted it.
K looked at the 007 briefcase on the lectern. It was sleek and handsome. That morning he had liked it so much, but now it somehow seemed wrong for him. The neat gray suit he was wearing felt cumbersome too, as though he had borrowed someone else’s clothes. The old shoes with their worn-down heels felt more comfortable than anything else. K picked up the 007 briefcase and walked out of the classroom. He thought that perhaps he and J should drive somewhere just outside the city that weekend and get some air. In the long, dim corridor, students whose classes had ended stood in groups of two and three, talking among themselves. K walked with his left foot lightly dragging across the floor. His lonely shadow slowly faded amid the students’ voices.