Free Tongue by Kyung-Ran Jo

made the portions a little smaller and helped her to eat slowly, and continued to tell her what she shouldn’t eat, what she should avoid, what she must eat. Like most intelligent and creative people, she knew what she wanted and how to focus her whole being on what she wanted. She wasn’t avoiding food, she was using food to get over her fear of eating. It was unspoken, but that was what we both wanted for her.
    A person’s appetite is as precious as salt was in the seventeenth century. Trying to go around the salt officials who confiscated and regulated it, women would hide chunks of it in their cleavage and corsets, between their thighs and buttocks. When the officials squeezed those parts of their bodies, the women would burst out crying in pain. The more you try to take it away, the more people try to hide it. What I could do for Mun-ju was not to hurry, but to wait and watch over her patiently as if I were waiting for the last course of the meal to arrive at the table—this was something anyone could do for a friend. If Mun-ju thought this was special, it was special for me, too. I cooked, she ate. I cooked a little, she gradually ate less.
    It took about two years for Mun-ju to transform her physiqueinto a pleasantly plump one. Now, even if there’s food in front of her, Mun-ju doesn’t attack it quickly like a starving person, but has become a woman who knows how to eat a meal leisurely—but with gusto. When she goes on dates, she doesn’t go out again with the men who rush into their food as soon as the first course is placed in front of them, and she even makes me laugh, mimicking them. She was able to get rid of a lot, but Mun-ju hasn’t been able to rid herself of the fear that she might become fat again—not just yet.
    I don’t shrink from the fear of gaining weight. For me, the pleasure I get from eating trumps that fear. The taste bud is like a diamond, getting shinier and sparklier the more you polish it. The person with a good appetite is one who wants to live; in the same way, the sense of taste is the first to go when a person loses the will to live. Some people feel alive when they play music, and others feel invigorated when they write or when they shop. These days I’m energized when I eat. I’m ready to eat anywhere, at any time. And there’s something in particular I want to eat—an all-consuming desire. When you can’t have something, the desire for it becomes more powerful and intense.
    I’m staring at the biggest and deepest hole in his face. His tongue moves around, supple, like the tongue of a fish, like a bird’s tongue wrapped in soft cartilage, moving carefully, with concentration, like it does when it’s eating the tastiest thing— The. Person. I. Love. Now. Is. Se-yeon , the dark hole says. Like the bumpy, scaly tongue of a four-legged animal, it’s stiff, rough, reddish black. I stare at his red tongue, I want to suck on it one last time. Like a truffle, a tongue renders a woman and a man in a gentler state and is easy to chew on, light and soft. I take a step toward it. You told me with that mouth that you loved me . I’m close enough to swallow it whole. Hold me just one last time , I beg. Don’t , he says, and pushes me away forcefully. I’m hot, like boiling oil.Like a starving person, I crave his tongue. My throat is already lengthening and opening wide, like that of an always-accommodating goose. He pushes my puckered lips away with his hand and backs up. I’m going to wait for you , I warn him gently. He licks his lips with his dry tongue, his tongue that looks parched as if all the juices have drained out of it, and says, That’s never going to happen . At one point it was a familiar and beautiful tongue, filled with admiration and praise for my body as it understood and explored me. I grab and swallow the whole thing down. His tongue resists in my mouth, like a flopping fresh fish. I grip my mouth closed to stop it from escaping. My teeth grab it swiftly and