By Jo Kyung Ran Jo Kyung Ran is a winner of the Dongin Prize , Korea 's most prestigious literary award , and the author of the new novel Tongue . This story offers a vivid , arresting portrait of a family , the physical and psychic spaces it inhabits , and the vexing impermanence of memory . The Polaroid camera I have is a Polaroid Spectra . It uses film about 1 . 5 times larger than an ordinary Polaroid , and it 's more expensive . He bought it for my birthday a few years ago . I remember how happy I was when I unwrapped the present and saw it was the camera I had wanted so much . He took the first picture . I 'm looking down a little , my head slightly bowed . The lipstick smudge on my wine glass is still plainly visible . I must have asked him , Should I take one of you ? He shook his head . With one pack of film you can take ten pictures - there were nine left . He didn 't want me to , but I wish I had taken one of him to keep that day . Because we suddenly broke up shortly after that . And now I can 't love him , and I can 't hate him anymore . The camera - I brought it back home and got a shot of my family gathered around the table . I usually sleep lying straight , flat on my back . When my stomach bothers me , I roll over onto my left side and fall asleep facing the wall . But no matter what position I sleep in , one of my arms stretches out - like it 's a habit - and ends up dangling down from the bed . Suddenly , I feel the sensation of someone gently holding my hand . I wake with a start . The room is dark . The warmth lingers on my palm . I try flexing the fingers of the hand that dangles from the bed . I feel like somebody sneaked in - he 's lying on the floor or sitting at the foot of the bed , not even a tremor of movement . But I don 't even consider leaping out of bed or quickly snapping on the light . For some reason I don 't think it would be right . It wasn 't easy at first . The presence terrified me - so much that I had to sleep with the light on for a long time . But now I 'm quite accustomed to the presence . Slowly , I force out my breath . I mean , I 'm hoping it will figure out that I 'm awake . After a little while I switch on the light . There 's nobody there . Not a trace of anybody having been there . At first I wondered if it might be one of the spirits of this house . Or is it my dead grandmother , or my aunt , or my uncle ? But now I know . He 's been here . My father is from Yeosu . I 've been there only once since I became an adult . I don 't like it because that 's where my father was born . Too many bad things happen there . My father 's half - brothers and half - sisters drink way too much - they 're always fighting and crying . One of my uncles goes out onto the savage ocean for months at a time to catch the fish he sells at market . My father left his hometown when he was nine , after his mother died . She died on her birthday . For once , my grandfather , my seafaring uncles , and my aunts all gathered together in one place . My grandmother must have waited a long time for that day . She cooked a puffer fish soup and committed suicide by eating it all by herself . And not just any day - it had to be her birthday . I saw my grandmother in the one picture that 's left of her . Like my mother 's mother , who died young from breast cancer , she was dressed all in white , frowning . Both my grandmothers had thick black eyebrows . I decided I liked my father 's mother - because I think her death was dramatic . After she died , my father left home and came up to live in Seoul , and when he got married , he registered this place as his permanent address . But I know he loves Yeosu . I know that he privately dreams of going back there someday . I also know that whenever something about Yeosu comes up on TV shows like My Hometown at 6 , he looks at me . Ha ! Not a chance ! I jerk my head and look the other way . Aunt Yonsook is the youngest of my father 's siblings . She 's especially fond of my father 's children , that is to say , her nieces : my sisters and me . Every season , she would send us fish by courier - dried sole , croaker , and skate - and she called us all the time . She wanted to move up to Seoul , but after I was grown up , she never came even once . Every holiday or memorial service she 'd say , I should go , I should really go and see you all , and she would cry . She was the one who cried the most among my father 's siblings . That 's why I was afraid of her . When she got married , she was * Every Polaroid picture has a serial number printed on it . The first picture he took - the one of me on my birthday , sitting in a local café with my head bowed - has the number 0318 4149 printed on the back . If I had gotten a shot of his face after that , it would have the number 0318 4150 . But number 0318 4150 is the picture of my family . They had just returned home after their evenings out and were all gathered around the table with a small cake on it . All right , everyone , look this way ! I had just broken up with him when I clicked the shutter . I took up to the tenth picture in the pack , number 0318 4158 , a portrait of my friend on her birthday - and when my youngest sister 's boyfriend came over , I got a shot of the two of them posed in the living room . I shot a magnolia just beginning to spread its petals , and I shot my old sneakers . While I used up 4152 , 4155 , and up to 4157 - having already shot number 0318 4151 - winter passed , spring came , and summer went . I never got another chance to get a picture of his face . I was down to the last shot , number 0318 4158 . I slept holding my Polaroid . I woke up . I held my breath and - click - I pressed the shutter as if I were on an ambush . The film popped out like I had snatched it from the camera . I quickly turned on the light , pressed the film hard against my hot , sweaty palm to make it develop faster . Slowly , faint forms started to emerge . The joy of Polaroids is the short time you wait while they develop , being able to see your pictures right away , right there . It 's like the anxious waiting at the door , and each time it opens , you think it might be the person you 've been watching for . But I couldn 't feel that kind of excitement that night . Excitement ! I was scared , like someone was clutching the nape of my neck with both hands . I look quietly at the picture , at the colors and the shape so vivid in those 9 x 7 . 3 centimeters . It isn 't my dead grandmother , or Aunt Yonsook , or Uncle Dosong , and it isn 't some spirit of the house . There it is - a great big elep * I started living in this house eleven years ago . It 's multi - family housing now , but then it was a small single - story home with a narrow yard . My father bought that house . He tore it down and built one based on his own sketches . While the new house was under construction , our family of five all lived in a single room nearby . When they had to raise their voices to argue about something , my mother and father would go to a local inn . My father built one more room , a rooftop room where I 've lived until now , where I am writing this . This was supposed to be my youngest sister 's room . I used to write downstairs , squatting on the floor . I wanted to have a huge desk . When my youngest sister went away for a while , I called some of my other sister 's male friends and they helped me empty my room downstairs and move up here . That night I wrote my youngest sister a letter . Her reply : Well done , sis . The rooftop room had no space to put a desk , so I bought a shiny little table . Now the lacquer is peeling from the edges in spots and the legs wobble , but it 's still usable . Even if I get a bigger room , I don 't feel like changing my desk anymore . But I still do dream of a big desk with lots of drawers and compartments . People have to learn to be satisfied with less than enough , my mother always said . In my rooftop room I would read , write , and make phone calls in the middle of the night . Years passed in the blink of an eye . When I couldn 't write , or every time I had a bad fight with someone in the family , I felt like leaving this house . When I went downstairs at night to use the bathroom , I would accidentally step on the legs or stomachs of my family members sleeping in the dark on the floor of the living room . We 'd startle each other in the dark and scream , Who 's there ! ? Who are you ? I banged the wall of my room with both fists . It didn 't crumble . The house my father built was more solid than I thought . Sunday afternoon I went to the Seoul Grand Park in Gwachon . It was a few days after I saw the elephant . A very windy day , and the park was jam - packed with people . In the zoo , a chrysanthemum festival was opening . People were taking pictures in front of the multicolored chrysanthemums in full bloom , and in the cage next door the flock of long - legged flamingoes were flapping their wings . I went straight to the front of the elephant pen . An African elephant , with its long trunk swaying , slowly walking around inside the broad S - shaped enclosure . I couldn 't help feeling disappointed . The elephant was farther than I had expected . It was too far - it wasn 't worth taking a picture . I got closer : when it went left I ran that way , when it turned around I quickly ran back to the right . The elephant is really popular . Every gap in the long , curving fence was jammed with children and adults . I guessed the elephant in that pen was an old bull . Old males live alone . In the early morning and evening they forage for plants , and they rest in the shade of trees during the day . They sleep standing up - though there are times when they sleep lying on their side . The elephant that came to my room had lay down on that cramped floor and slept with its massive body curled up tight . Its trunk was coiled and pulled inside its body . As if I might try to steal it or something . I couldn 't tell whether it had big tusks , so there was no way to know whether it was a male or a female . This elephant , in the pen , had been walking back and forth on the same path ; once in a while it seemed lost in thought and paused with its thick legs bent , gazing out at us . Then , as if to say that it was nothing after all , it went clomping back again , retracing its steps . Each time the elephant flapped its ears , it sent a cold breeze through the front of my clothes . I took the Polaroid camera out of my shoulder bag . I put in a new pack of film . If there had been a Polaroid better than the Spectra , he probably would have bought it for me . But it wasn 't easy to find film for it . I ordered it specially from the owner at the photo shop . When I went to pick up the film , the owner told me that the Spectra wasn 't widely distributed , so it would always be hard to get film for it . He said if I took it back to the place of purchase , they would exchange it for a regular Polaroid . Like a refund . I ordered three packs of film at once . It was his last present to me . Suddenly , the elephant stopped walking and - with a thump - put its front feet up on the inner rail on our side of the pen . There was another pen two or three meters away ; the gap in between was dug out like a ditch , but it looked as if the elephant could jump right across . I was tense . I couldn 't be sure if the elephant would come flying up at me like a bird . I pressed the shutt * I felt dissatisfied by something . But I didn 't want to know too specifically . I kept going out , eager to get out of the house , though there was nowhere to go . One day he came with a bunch of different self - improvement flyers . He took me by the hand and we went around looking at rooms . By coincidence , all four places we saw were rooftop rooms . I ripped the flyers to shreds right in his face . We ate some hot soup and rice . We crossed the street via the pedestrian overpass and went into a newly built twenty - story officetel building . The custodian gave us the key . There was a big desk , a wardrobe , a bed , a shiny sink . I pulled him by the hand . I pointed outside the window where cars were whizzing by . This place isn 't going to work out . Maybe not . Yeah , it 'll be too noisy . That 's what I was thinking , too . We returned the key and came out of the officetel . We went to eat some fried chicken . It was less than half an hour after we had dinner . Even now my heart pounds when I hear my mother 's footsteps coming up the stairs to my rooftop room . That night , my mother came up to my room . She said we would have to leave our house . There was so much my parents had been keeping from us . She said our house was going to be foreclosed and put up for auction . My father 's older brother had borrowed money from him twice and then disappeared . I couldn 't blame my father . Everyone was just trying to get by . For the first time , I understood the expression , " One day we found ourselves out on the street . " My father quit smoking . Stayed in his room all day . Ate his meals by himself . His face became black and gaunt like my dead Uncle Dosong 's . My mother 's ears dripped blood . I only wished my little sisters could stay in school . I suppose it was no different from my parents keeping those dire things hidden from us three daughters . I stabbed a kitchen knife between the red bricks of the house . The house is very solid . We began the fight to keep it . I ran around - all over the place - to take care of things . It was important and someone had to do it . I 'm sorry I can 't do anything to help , he said . I 'm not as afraid of losing the house as I am of losing you , I blurted out to him , terrified . He cried . Don 't cry , I consoled him . I didn 't cry . My pent - up tears only burst when the elephant came to see me again . I buried my face in its big belly , and covering my mouth with my hand , I sobbed and sobbed . Once in a while he calls me . How are you ? His voice is sad and tender . I give a dismissive laugh . How are you doing ? He 's asking after me , but he 's also asking about the house . Then he asks another thing . Did the elephant come again ? There are times when he seems to be more interested in the elephant than in me . The day I went to the zoo , I took three pictures : The elephant with its front feet on the rail , the elephant suddenly raising its trunk into the sky , wriggling its buttocks as it walks , the elephant trudging toward the setting sun with its head bowed low . My lonely elephant . Sometimes I ask myself how I came to live in this house all this time . Surely , there must have been a chance for me to end up living somewhere other than here . Among those chance events was my turning twenty , and the incident that my family still remembers - my kidnapping . It 's strange , but I can 't seem to remember my twenties . Maybe it 's because I never told anyone about those days . Last fall , I went to give a guest lecture at S - University . As I was about to enter the lecture hall , someone blocked my way . She said my name . I stared a hole in her face , then said with a sigh , Ah , it 's Yonjong . She said she had seen a poster for the event on a campus bulletin board . I really wanted to know if it was you - someone I know . I was visibly uncomfortable . I took her business card and hurriedly said goodbye . She must have been studying computer graphics all that time . Looking at her card , I saw that she was now a senior researcher at the Electronic Visual Media Research Center at the university . I remember that even after I went into the lecture hall , I couldn 't speak for a while and just sat there . Yonjong was one of the people who knew me back then . I said I would get in touch , but I didn 't . A year went by . Finally , a little while ago , I sent her an e - mail : Yonjong , I wonder how everyone from back in those days remembers me . And where are they all now ? Do you still remember what I looked like back then ? I had just had dinner with the head editor of a website , and we were walking along a street in Shinsadong looking for a place to get some tea , when someone called me from behind . Hey , Fatty Jo ! I didn 't stop walking . I didn 't even look back . Why was it so hard to find a teahouse ? I walked faster , faster . My companion cautiously tooI was kidnapped when I was four by a middle - aged woman who couldn 't have children . She took me to a beauty parlor to alter my appearance . She must have asked them to give me a perm . She stepped out for a while . That was my chance . I bawled my eyes out . Even at four years old , I was able to remember Bongshin Church . The owner of the beauty parlor held my hand and took me there , and that 's how I got back home . The house I lived in then was demolished , but Bongshin Church is still there . I 've started to eat before my father , before he even lifts his spoon . When my sisters get out of work late , they call me first , though I 'm still asleep . My father is smoking again . In the morning my mother shines my shoes . In the room on the roof , the piles of books are steadily growing . There 's too much stuff in your room , my father worried . I didn 't care . I got myself a TV set , a printer . There wasn 't room to walk . I moved some of my books down to the living room . I bought some new bookshelves . I got rid of the living room sofa . There was another sofa by the refrigerator , and I put bookshelves there , too . Each time I put up a new bookshelf , I felt as if I were uprooting a grove of trees , but the feeling never lasted more than half a day . The things from the living room , and the wardrobe that the three of us sisters shared , got moved into the main bedroom . My father put up a column in the downstairs living room to support my room on the roof . But even then he paced back and forth every day , anxious that the ceiling would collapse from the weight , and meanwhile I wondered if my parents could stretch their legs and sleep in a room so crammed with their daughters ' stuff . On the same night he said , I 'm sorry I can 't do anything to help , he wrote me a long letter . It was about himself , full of helplessness and regret . At the end of the letter he added this : Things deeply felt cannot help but last . He wrote : People cannot always live and love in the same way ; nothing remains as it was at first . He wrote : We must change in order to remain the same . And he also wrote this : That is how love must grow . A letter . A very sad word , " letter . " After we split up , I never took that letter out to read it again . And there 's another letter I could never read again . Once in a while I think about it . And I think , So why did we split up ? In the end , for saving the house , I lost him . I look at the picture of my family - the one I took on my birthday when I got home after breaking up with him . They don 't know that the table is the elephant 's head , the sofa the elephant 's back ; they 're smiling , digging their sharp elbows into it . Look , I 'm telling you this is an elephant ! If I said that , they would all just laugh and say , She 's writing another story . The elephant is pretending to be asleep and his eyes are closed , but I know he 's not sleeping . I never forget to keep a butter - coconut biscuit or a banana , just in case . Because I don 't know when the elephant might come again . My father went down to Yeosu , showing off his three daughters like medals . It was 1996 , so I was twenty - six - it was the year I started college . That night there was a drinking party . Someone got drunk and burst into tears . I mingled with my relatives , and I drank a good amount myself . The next day , the entire extended family went together on a picnic . We rented a Bongo minibus and sped off a long way down the coast . We went on a boat ride there . Odong Island was visible in the distance . It was a hot midsummer day . No one can remember the name of that island now . Me neither - no matter how hard I think about it , I can 't remember where the island was that we went to that day . Yeosu is a place with so many nameless islands you couldn 't possibly count them all . But it occurs to me now that maybe the island wasn 't even in Yeosu . Aunt Yonsook organized and brought all the food . My uncles , cousins , and aunts stood in front of the grill and cooked the meat and blood clams . They ran into the ocean to swim and play with a ball . The cousins who took after their fathers were all slim and long - legged . They laughed merrily in the hot sun . The sound startled me . I dropped the parasol I was carrying , and for the first time in my life , I saw my father swimming . He was quick , confident , agile as a seal . The first time I saw him swim . I must have entirely forgotten that this was where my father was born . Uncle Dosong , just back from a stretch at sea , had a large bottle of soju dangling from his mouth . Uncle , please don 't drink too much - I told him what he didn 't want to hear , like I was talking to my father . I think it was around then that Uncle Dosong 's liver problems started . Leave him alone , said my father . Aunt Yonsook had brought the food , but she hardly had time to eat anything . She was too busy clearing away the meat grill , cooking the clams and seafood she 'd kept frozen solid for months in the freezer , boiling chickens . My other aunts washed the dishes under the command of her loud voice . They were sharing aEvery day we 're paying off the house , and every day we 're losing the house , but fortunately there hasn 't been any real change so far . In the morning , my father brings in the paper from the front steps , my mother shines the shoes , and we three sisters leave for work . When I 'm out of earshot , my father sadly complains that no one seems to notice the old cacti are blooming , and my mother gives us that look . She doesn 't come up to my room . When I get a phone call , she puts the receiver outside my door and goes back downstairs . How much longer can my mother climb up and down those stairs with the pain in her joints ? I go downstairs a lot , even when I 'm reading a book or writing . I wish one of us would hurry up and get married and leave this house . If a room were free , we could move the stuff from the main bedroom there and we could put the sofa back in the living room . But I 'm afraid I may be the last of the sisters , remaining in this house until the very end . My father still worries that the room on the roof will collapse - his heart pounds - and I worry that his daughters ' possessions and books have invaded his bedroom . I 'm not the happiest person in the world , but I 'm not the most miserable , either . When I 'm upset or my pride is injured , I sit at the table for an hour or two trimming anchovies . If we don 't have any , then I shell peanuts . Often I get dressed up and go to an Italian restaurant to eat pasta and drink wine . My mother still tells me that people have to learn to be satisfied with less than enough . Now I know what that means . Though I must admit it has a taken a long time . I 'm still living in this house . This is where my happiest and unhappiest moments are . My room on the roof is warm . It 's winter now . I can hear the spoons being laid out on the table downstairs . Let 's eat ! my mother shouts up to my room . All right ! I answer right away . And I thump thump thump down the stairs . Sometimes I wait for his call . He 's the only one who understands my elephant story . He listens . I can pick up the phone and ramble on for an hour about my elephant . I don 't take pictures anymore , but something still appears . Now and then the house moves - it squirms - and I think to myself , Ah , the elephant has come . 13 - 52 . Forty Stories 11 . Alaska 10 . The Cure 9 . The Great Frustration 8 . 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