The man in the pool

He looks like he came out of a trash heap—like he hasn’t taken a bath in his entire life. And today, this middle-aged man is wandering around the park. Except during the bitter cold of winter, he’s always wearing shorts—or more like just boxer shorts. Two little dogs, tied together with a string as long as his arms, walk closely behind him, matching their steps.

He lives about ten blocks from our house. He used to have a crumbling home, and there was a woman—maybe his wife or girlfriend. One day, the house was torn down, and the woman left. Since then, he has lived inside an old, broken-down car on the lot where the house used to be.

Even that lot is now half its original size. He lost the rest to the city of New York because he couldn’t pay property taxes. One half is now an empty mess, surrounded by a wire fence, and he lives on the other side. The fence is covered with all kinds of hanging clothes and other items. There’s no bathroom or kitchen, so he placed a table and chairs out on the sidewalk, turning it into his living room and kitchen.

After my morning walk, I often see him spreading something on a round piece of bread, eating with great focus. On his table are fruits, bread, bottles of water, and various spice containers. These bottles are so dusty from passing cars that it’s hard to tell what they are. Pigeons are always flapping around the table, pecking at leftover food. After eating, he sits in a rocking chair, sunbathing, reading a book like a poor philosopher. I often wonder: Does he even bathe? And if so, where?

The YMCA swimming pool in Greenpoint, Brooklyn is about the size of a small neighborhood bathhouse in Seoul. One day, I was quietly enjoying a solo swim when—believe it or not—this man, wearing the same underwear he always wears on the street, stepped into the pool.

He couldn’t swim. He thrashed around, trying hard to do it—flailing his arms, kicking hard, crawling through the water. The tiny pool turned into a chaotic splash zone. A lifeguard, clearly fed up, said, “Calm down, man.” But the guy kept begging him to teach him how to swim, trying out different moves, going back and forth in the water, making a scene.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t want to be in the same water either. So I just stayed quietly in a corner of the pool, uneasy and unsure. That day, I took a bath with him.