But ever since she had tried to mummify it, the head no longer appeared. And as time went on, she no longer had nightmares about it. The woman quietly went about her life—cooking for her husband and child, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, shopping, and generally immersing herself in years comprised of unremarkable, peaceful days. Her husband moved up in his company, no faster or slower than others. The man wasn’t especially gentle or warm, but he did bring home a cake on her or their child’s birthday and placed candles on it. Her child, like everyone else, went to elementary school, then to middle school, and became a high school student. The child’s grades weren’t particularly good or bad. She was cute, but no beauty queen. She was a typical high school student who had trouble getting up in the morning, liked celebrities, and fretted over her pimples in the mirror.
“Come get breakfast or you’ll be late.”
“Mom, did you see my uniform necktie?”
“I hung it on the doorknob of your bedroom. Slow down, you’ll get an upset stomach.”
“OK. Oh, by the way, I saw a person’s head in the toilet yesterday.”
“Did you now. What happened?”
“I just flushed it down the toilet.”
“Good. More stew?”
“I’m good. But about that head, I think I’ve seen it before. Is there a way to get rid of it? It’s vile.”
“Forget about it. Just flush it down again. Are you done?”
“Yup. See you later.”
“You’ve packed your lunch?”
“I did. Bye, Mom.”
“Have a good day.”
The door closed.
Forget about it.
That’s nothing.
The woman began clearing the table.
Her child entered college. Meanwhile, she started noticing wrinkles and sagging skin, and rough patches in places that had once been smooth. She gave her child some lipstick and it suited the girl well, only the child wasn’t a girl anymore but a young lady. The woman rediscovered the contours of her younger face in the familiar-unfamiliar face of her daughter, feeling surprise, pride, love, and jealousy at the same time. When her child straight-permed her hair flat and dyed it purple, the woman stood before a mirror when no one was watching and fiddled with the curls of her “auntie perm,” a tight cap of poodle-like hair that had to be dyed black.
The woman spent more and more time alone in the house. Her husband had been promoted to the executive level and lived under a mountain of work and her child was also busy with her own life, so the family rarely saw each other during the day. From time to time, her husband came home a little earlier than usual and the two of them spent a quiet evening together, but they had never had a fiery romance to begin with or had much in terms of memories to fall back on. They had spent too much of their marriage in a state of emotional detachment to really start making an effort to be affectionate now. They usually ate dinner in silence, watched some television in silence, and her husband would go to bed first in silence.
The woman would then watch TV on her own. On days her child or husband came home late, or even after her whole family had long fallen asleep, she would watch TV until the national anthem came on. Partly because she had nothing else to do, but more so because she thought if she concentrated hard enough on the screen, she might decrease an odd-feeling little space that had appeared in her heart. The space felt empty sometimes, full at others, and bitter or aching at still other times. This strange little space, if she ever let her guard down, could suddenly blow up in size and consume her. So she kept watching TV, trying to empty her heart and mind as she gazed upon the meaningless progression of scenes on the screen. But the well of thought taps a deep spring, and no matter how much she tried to bail them out, her thoughts kept overflowing the brim …
Then one night, she went to the bathroom.
She had been watching TV, like always, and was alone in the house, like always. She did her business, closed the lid, and flushed. While washing her hands, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Sagging eyelids, wrinkles, rough and dry skin. White hair peeking out from the roots of her dye job. She was fiddling with her hair, thinking she’d need another hair appointment soon, when she saw, through the mirror, the lid of the toilet seat move.
Clack.
A wet hand rose from inside the toilet and pushed the lid open. Another wet hand emerged. The two hands gripped the edge of the toilet.
She watched as the back of a person’s head, thick with hair and slick with water, rose from the toilet bowl.