CH12 - Impact

The typewriter was heavier than I expected.

'Hardboiled Nine Thousand.'

A 15kg beast with a glossy black finish. Moreover, it came with a stack of typewriter paper beneath it.

I carefully moved them to my room to avoid straining my back, then I cleared my desk to place it on top.

I couldn't help but marvel.

"This is it."

Now it finally felt like a writer's room.

But why had Simon sent me this typewriter?

My question was answered by a note I found while organizing the paper.

[There was a spare typewriter at the newspaper, left behind by a respected senior journalist. Please use it without feeling burdened.]

'So that was it.'

I admired the sleek form of the typewriter.

According to my memory, the Hardboiled Nine Thousand was already about 10 years old at this time, an old model that every writer and journalist of the era coveted.

I had read about it in a magazine.

As I examined its sleek body, I noticed a signature on the left corner.

R. T. Chandler.

"What?"

Who among pulp fiction fans wouldn't recognize that name?

Raymond Thornton Chandler.

A novelist akin to the father of hardboiled, who created the legendary character 'Philip Marlowe.'

To find that signature here… was this Chandler's typewriter?… No way, Chandler died in 1959, so he could never have used this typewriter.

'That's absurd.'

Could it be a fake, manufactured to sell to some unknowing bourgeois?

Regardless, I loved its appearance and the solid feel of the keys when I tested them.

'Maybe I should give it a try.'

Having woken up early, I had plenty of time left, so I sat down, fitted a new ink ribbon that came with it, and prepared to use the typewriter.

A typewriter is an analogue device where pressing a key moves a typebar connected to it to imprint characters onto paper.

The intricately moulded long typebars, akin to the insides of a piano, had a strange allure that could captivate anyone just by looking.

I loaded the paper, aligned it, and then secured it horizontally before finally starting to type.

Tap, tap-tap-tap.

With every press of the key, the typebars arched in a semicircle, striking the paper to imprint the letters. Initially awkward, the pace of my typing quickened over time, forming patterns like a spider spinning webs to trap its prey.

As I finished a line, I heard a sound.

Ding!

I pushed the return lever, pulling the typewriter back to the left.

Drrrrr….! Click!

"Holy mother."

That's it.

The sound was as cool as loading a revolver.

Addicted to it, I began to write down sentences that came to mind, though they had no particular meaning.

The theme was simple.

What if this had really been Raymond Chandler's typewriter?

[WIN!]

***********

At the street newspaper stand, the bold title of Torrance New Media naturally caught the eyes of those waiting for the bus to work.

The headline boldly celebrating Reagan's victory made it irresistible for those who had voted Republican to pick up the newspaper.

Those who paid a quarter each for the newspaper began reading Torrance New Media, enjoying the crisp morning air.

The articles explored how Reagan had won and what his next steps might be. While the title was provocative, the articles were surprisingly neutral and left the readers satisfied.

Simon's decision to expand the printing facilities had paid off.

Newspaper vendors, stand owners, and shopkeepers were surprised by the high sales of Torrance New Media. By late night, when the newspaper collectors came to pick up the leftovers, Torrance New Media had as few leftovers as the Los Angeles Times.

"Why are there so few left today when so many of Torrance were printed?"

"Look at the title. 'WIN.' It's simple, isn't it? Everyone fell for it."

"Man, newspapers are a mystery, aren't they?"

Overhearing the conversation between the newspaper collector and the stand owner, a man approached them.

"Give me a paper."

Juan Vega.

A Mexican immigrant living in Los Angeles with his family, barely making ends meet as a night security guard at a factory.

He briefly hesitated between his usual read, the Los Angeles Times, and Torrance New Media, then picked up the latter.

He then caught the last bus to the factory.

At the glass factory located outside the city, Juan, having finished his night shift, sat in the narrow security booth. He started to make coffee and eat the Twinkies he brought. The excessively sweet, almost bitter snacks helped wake him up. After completing his patrol, he sat down with his slightly cooled coffee and began reading the newspaper.

Ronald Reagan's victory.

The Republicans have planted their flag in the White House. Despite the president's excessive obsession with Jimmy Carter's failings, the body of the article that detailed predictions of change and reactions from Carter's camp was surprisingly moderate, thanks to the journalists' efforts to maintain their integrity. However, Juan, a night guard at a glass factory, would not know this. Those who work at night must learn to endure the profound silence.

Juan's chosen distractions were reading and the radio. With the midnight radio turned on beside him, Juan leisurely read through the Torrance New Media, sipping coffee occasionally, and going on rounds when it was time.

After leisurely reading the newspaper for hours, around three in the morning, he reached the culture section page.

Just today, a new series had started.

'Mother.'

Without much thought, Juan began reading it and by the end, his eyes widened in surprise.

"It was a dog?"

The narrator of the novel was not a person, but a dog. Re-reading with this in mind, he noticed several hints that had been laid out before. Moreover, the odd behaviour of the woman who appeared with the dog in the first episode piqued his curiosity for the next.

Juan finished his shift in the early dawn, thinking it was quite an interesting novel. And on his way home.

Without realizing it, he stopped in front of the same newsstand.

"Give me a copy of Torrance New Media."

He paid a quarter and looked for the second episode of 'Mother.'

But today, a different novel is being serialized.

"Is it published every other day?"

He seemed to recall seeing something about that in the newspaper he had left at the security booth on November 6.

It's said that you don't notice your clothes getting wet in a drizzle. From that day on, Juan kept the novel 'Mother' in the corner of his mind.

After sleeping and waking up, late at night. He took the November 7th newspaper with him to work, resisted reading it on the way home, and then bought the November 8th newspaper on his way to work the next day to read episode 2 of 'Mother.'

Thus, Torrance New Media became a part of Juan's routine.

Episodes 3, 4, and then 5.

As he continued to read the novel, a slight problem arose in Juan's work.

Four o'clock in the morning, patrol time came.

Having just finished reading episode 5 of 'Mother' and about to get up as usual to grab his lantern and go outside, Juan felt a chilling sensation running down his spine. Startled, he instinctively looked behind him, and the dim scene outside the window overwhelmed him, freezing him in place.

"What's that?"

Juan was at a loss for words.

The glass factory where he had worked was no longer there. Instead, his imagination about 'Mother' painted the scene.

[

Suzy considered herself a powerless being.

She spent her childhood in a cramped cage. While other children were protected by their parents and learned to fly out in the world, Suzy, like a wing-clipped parrot, was confined to a room and had to pray.

Her mother knelt and prayed in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary engraved with 'Han-ja'.

"Seongmonim-! Maria-nim-! boodi uri-reul guwon-hasoseo!!"

Suzy did not fully understand the words her mother used, which might have been common in her mother's native country. She barely recognized the word 'Maria'.

"Nae ddal-i bam-e jip-bbak-eu-ro...!"

A string of alphabets, unreadable and incomprehensible.

Suzy's mother was unmistakably insane.

She hardly bathed and did not interact properly with others. Though she worked at a nearby laundry, she was not capable of proper communication.

After work, she would return home and continue to pray in front of the Virgin Mary statue, speaking in unintelligible words. She burned incense and draped the room with cloths of all sorts of bizarre colours, wailing.

Inside that environment, all Suzy could do was indulge in a bit of deviance during the hours everyone else was asleep.

Suzy mourned her dead puppy, Tommy, every day.

But at home, she could not freely express her feelings. It was the act her mother hated the most. Therefore, every night, while her mother was asleep, Suzy secretly went outside to the place where Tommy was buried and wept for a long time. Prayer and school, mourning repeated. Her mother's prayers became increasingly violent. She knelt and repeatedly struck her head on the floor until she bled.

"Suzy! You do it too! Hurry!"

And she forced Suzy to do the same.

Suzy similarly struck her head on the floor. In tears and pain, Suzy apologized to the dead Tommy. After the intense prayer ended, her mother said,

"The prayer is over now. Everything will be alright."

"Yes, mother."

"Suzy, do you know what prayer I said?"

"I don't know."

"I prayed to the Virgin Mary like this: 'Nae ddali bbakeuro nagaji malguireul.' Do you understand what this prayer means?"

"I'm sorry, I don't really know."

Suzy shook her head repeatedly.

In front of her, her mother smiled brightly and said,

"I asked that you not go out at night." ]

That was the content of episode 5.

'She knew everything about Suzy's actions.'

Episodes 2, 3, and 4 contained the incomprehensible words uttered by Suzy's mother. Thinking of Suzy, who had prayed beside her without understanding their meaning, sent chills down Juan's spine. However, work was work, so he composed himself and stepped out of the security booth, slowly beginning his patrol around the factory grounds.

Suddenly, his own reflection in the pitch-black windows felt eerily like Suzy. And at times, it seemed like he was observing from inside the house, just as her mother might have.

"Is this how it felt?"

Juan's steps quickened as a shiver ran through him again.

*************

"Just get past November 6th."

That's what the staff at Torrance New Media had thought, but they had been swamped with intense work for over a week since. They secretly said to themselves that the boss—the shithole—had promised a bonus if they just got through this period, but no one seriously believed him.

Following Reagan's election, the newspaper's subscription numbers and sales had exploded. Given that the subscription numbers for the opposing Los Angeles Times had dropped, it was clear that the built-up anti-left sentiment had caused a backlash.

Of course, the explosion in Torrance New Media's subscriber numbers wasn't solely due to this. The capabilities of its reasonably talented staff couldn't be ignored either. However, such logical reasons alone couldn't explain the substantial increase in subscribers. Everyone deeply pondered the reason, but their busy schedules prevented them from coming up with a solid answer, forcing them to focus solely on their tasks.

Everyone was grimy from not washing properly. When the boss entered the morning meeting, he immediately looked for Simon.

"Simon!"

"Yes, yes! Mr. President!"

"Expand the printing presses?! How did you spot that point? Truly impressive! Looking good today too!"

"Uh, thank you?!"

Feeling the fierce gaze of Hugo Irving, Simon smiled awkwardly and shrank a little.

As per the request of author Shin to try to please the boss, Simon was also tempted to do something extra, but knowing his place, he decided to observe the situation for a while.

Moreover, like other pages, the culture section was suffering from an incredibly intense workload, leaving no choice but to endure. The overall workload was the same as before, but now there was an added task, one that was completely unexpected.

"Simon~."

As soon as he returned to his seat, the same thing happened again. Sitting down, Simon took a call passed on by Miss Brown.

"Yes, Simon from Torrance New Media….?"

[Hello! I just wanted to say something, so I called!]

"Yes, I'm listening."

[It's about 'Mother'! Tell that damned author! Because of your novel, these days my wife can't sleep at all...!]

"Thank you. I will pass along your feedback."

Simon responded briefly and hung up the phone.

"Phew."

This was a situation he hadn't anticipated at all.

Miss Brown smiled wryly at Simon washing his face and approached him with a cigarette in hand.

"Another 'Mother-lover' today?"

"Yes. We never had such incidents before."

Who would have thought that fans would call the number listed on the novel's recruitment notice?

On November 6th, as scheduled, 'Mother' began and had a much bigger impact than expected. And what was more frightening was that the 'fan letters' hadn't even started arriving yet.