“He killed my daughter. Three years ago. He said she fell. She didn’t fall. I buried her behind the pig shed. Tell the truth. For once in your life.”
Bok-nam was no longer the bright-eyed girl who’d shown her how to crack sea urchins with a rock. Now, at 38, she looked 60. Her face was a landscape of bruises—yellow, purple, fresh. She lived with her husband, Jong-sik, and his three unmarried brothers in a compound of grey concrete. They treated her like a pack animal. She hauled seaweed, gutted fish, carried water up the cliff stairs while the men drank soju and played go-stop . bedevilled 2016
Bok-nam laughed, a dry, broken sound. “The police boat comes once a month. The officer drinks with Jong-sik. He calls me ‘crazy Bok-nam.’ Please. You have a satellite phone. For your work.” “He killed my daughter