“Yeah. Well, I think so.”
“You think so.”
“Who could ever be sure that they’re really happy?”
“Nice Zen koan, or whatever that was, but don’t dodge the question.”
“What do you want me to say?”
Arthur shrugged. “Just tell me the truth.”
“I love my job, even if I still sometimes feel like a fraud with only six novels. Apparently, lots of writers feel that way.”
“So you do see other writers.”
“There’s a writing club not far from here. I go one night a week. We chat, talk about writer’s block, and then end the evening in a bar. It’s funny—listening to myself describe it, it does sound kind of dull.”
“I won’t argue with that.” Arthur offered up a smile.
“So what about on your end? Is the company booming?”
“We’re talking about you, Paul.”
“I write. That’s all there is to say, really. I go to a few book fairs. Sometimes I do book signings in shops. Last year I went to Germany and Italy, where my books are doing okay. I work out at the gym twice a week, which I hate, but I really don’t have much of a choice, given what I eat. Apart from that, what else can I tell you? Ah, yes. I write. Which I’m pretty sure I already mentioned.”
“Sounds like a real barrel of laughs,” Arthur said.
“Well, I guess I’m happiest at night . . . being with my characters and all . . .”
“Are you seeing anybody?”
“Yes and no. She’s not here very often—hardly ever, I guess, but she’s on my mind constantly. You know what that’s like.”
“Who is she?”
“My Korean translator. Not too shabby, eh?” Paul said, trying a bit too hard to sound jovial. “Yep, I’m huge in Korea. It’s too hard to visit, though. I still haven’t recovered from the flight over here.”
“That was seven years ago,” Arthur exclaimed.
“Feels like yesterday. Eleven hours of turbulence. It was a nightmare.”
“Well, you will have to come back one day, you know.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve got my resident card now. Though I guess I could take a boat back . . .”
“And this translator?”
“Kyong is wonderful, even if I don’t really know her all that well. Long-distance relationships can be a bit tricky.”
“You . . . do seem kind of alone here, Paul.”
“Alone doesn’t have to mean lonely. Weren’t you the one who said that once?”he mumbled, before asserting, “Now enough about me! Show me some pictures of Joe. He must have gotten so big by now . . .”
A beautiful woman sat down at the table next to theirs. Paul didn’t even give her a second glance, which clearly worried Arthur, judging by his expression.
“Don’t give me that look,” Paul protested. “I’ve had more ‘action’ here than you could imagine. Plus, there’s Kyong. It’s different with her. I feel like I can be myself—no façades, no pretending. I don’t feel forced to be charming. She got to know me through my books, which is ironic, because I don’t really think she likes them much.”
“Well, no one’s forcing her to translate them.”
