by H. S. Kim
The head monk smiled and said, “Do you remember the rain a few minutes ago?”
Mirae, puzzled, raised her head.
“It is gone now. If you go outside and look up at the sky, you wouldn’t know that it had just poured. What comes so suddenly often goes away in the same manner. Living in a temple is not difficult, but living away from the world is not easy. One must not make a quick decision, for the mind doesn’t always know what is best for one,” he said. He got up to leave the room.
Mirae was unhappy. He was so stubborn. She had meant what she said. It wasn’t one of her whims. Couldn’t he see her face? Everyone was whispering about her skin behind her back. How could she live on like that?
She pulled his robe and cried, “Please, Illustrious! I am torn inside. I am on the verge of going mad. I hate my life. I hate my mistress. I hate the way I look now!” She wanted to shake him to make him pity her and embrace her.
He stood there like a tree, planted deep, its roots gripping into the earth, strong and immovable. This wasn’t the first time that a woman had come to unburden herself to him. Surprisingly many women had opened up to him, with various agonizing problems, all overwhelming to them. Mistress Kim also had spoken her mind to him. He still remembered her clearly. She had come often, once a month, to meditate, to be away from her daily life. Her demeanor, unhesitating and precise, yet gentle and feminine, had struck him. When she sat in the meditation hall, his desire to go and catch a glimpse of her was intoxicating, but instead he fidgeted in the altar room and then took a long stroll to miss her departure. One day, he entered the meditation hall like a shadow, and she heard him come in. She didn’t turn around but spoke to him resolutely. She wanted to know if it was easy to live away from the world. He hesitated, his forehead perspiring with cold sweat, not knowing whether the question was directed to him or to herself. “I am glad you don’t answer me,” she said. “I will not trouble you again,” she added. And she had never come back. That was some years before. The last thing he had heard was that she had died while giving birth. He had burned incense and prayed for her afterlife for forty-nine days, as requested by Mr. O. But the thought of her didn’t leave him, even after the forty-ninth day. She would appear in his dreams. And he would say that it was not hard to live away from the world, now that she was no longer in it. He would wake up and lament his shortcomings.
The chilled air wafted in as the head monk opened the door. Mirae stood helplessly watching him leave. His feet slithered into his wet slippery shoes. She called out to him feebly, but he walked away vigorously, his wet feet squeaking. As soon as he arrived at the kitchen, he devoured a luscious and juicy persimmon. He stood in the dark kitchen and looked at the small rectangular window. The world outside was burning orange. Placing a few persimmon seeds into a vessel where the kitchen monk saved the seeds of fruits, he sighed regretfully. It wasn’t Mirae or Mistress Kim who disturbed him. It was his mind that was doing the disturbing. He left the kitchen and walked back to where he had left Mirae.
Only a missive in Mr. O’s handwriting awaited him. He sat on the stone steps and looked up at the sky with his eyes closed. The light penetrated his eyelids. He saw orange and black dots swarming in a vast ocean in his eyes, making him feel warm and buoyant. A pair of fluttering lips met his. He kept his eyes closed and his body still, lest everything fall apart like a puffball in the wind. But the lips didn’t linger. He opened his eyes and there was no one. All he saw were fat pumpkins haphazardly spread out in the vegetable garden, scrutinizing him with their invisible eyes.
He opened the letter from Mr. O, but it was actually from Mistress Yee, asking him to pray for blessings on her future baby and her health, and she also mentioned that she would come and see him soon.
18
Mirae came down the mountain hurriedly. Her legs wobbled by the time she reached the market place. She no longer thought about her visit at the temple or the head monk or how she begged him to allow her to live at the temple. Mistress Yee entered her mind. And Mirae realized she had no one she’d call a friend in the entire world.
A few shoppers and peddlers meandered. A blind man, dressed in rags, began to sing poignantly. A crowd of people gathered around him. Mirae joined them. She observed the daughter of the blind man, young and pretty and filthy.
From the opposite side of the crowd, a brawny man, probably a farm worker from his dark complexion, stared at Mirae intently. She blushed deeply, feeling dry in her throat. An old woman, drunk and cheerful, stepped out in the middle and danced to the tune of the blind man’s song. People clapped and cheered. The dark-skinned man on the opposite side was inching toward Mirae. In a moment he was not too far from her. The crowd momentarily applauded at the end of a song. The blind man took a bow, and his daughter picked up the coins from the cloth spread in front of her father. The crowd dispersed immediately, and the man lingered, his devouring gaze still fixed on Mirae. She suddenly turned around and walked toward the restaurant district. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. She found herself in an alley. From behind he grabbed her shoulder. For a while they stood, facing each other with ravenous stares. Then, he pulled the knot at her bosom to untie her upper garment. She slapped the back of his hand lightly. He pressed against the mud wall. Her breathing became heavy, and his became a groan. He touched her face, and she was wondering what he was thinking. He smirked, and all of a sudden, Mirae was sure he despised her for her scarred skin, and she felt ashamed of her appearance. She pushed him away angrily. Unprepared, he flew and landed on the ground, slightly scraping one of his fingers. He grinned, licked the blood on his finger, and shot her a glance. His neck was flushed.
“Don’t come near me,” Mirae warned him.
“That’s not what you want to say,” he said, quietly.
“Stay away from me or else,” Mirae squealed, extending her arm like a shield.
“Whoa,” he said, and snorted. “You led me to this alley, and you let me untie your knot, and now you say, don’t come near me? That’s not going to make you a lady, is it?”
He was filthy, Mirae realized, and he stank too. She was disgusted. Quickly retying the knot of her upper garment, she tried to walk away from him. But he grabbed her skirt and chortled.
“Let go!” Mirae shrieked.
He scowled and pulled at her skirt, which came off easily. She stood in her long white underskirt, baffled.
“You see, you planned this. I know all about girls like you,” he said, grinning broadly.
“Give that back to me!”
“I will. Only after we settle our business here,” he said, looking obviously pleased to see her at a loss and worked up.
“I am going to scream. Give that back right now!” she demanded.
“Go ahead and shout. The crowd will gather and wonder how in the world you and I ended up here. I will tell them you led me here and offered your skirt. We will be bound together and dragged to the court. You know what the sentence is for a maid who seduces a decent man? You will be flogged in public, if not worse. If that’s what you want, go ahead and scream. Scream away!” He approached slowly.
Retreating, Mirae tripped over a stone and fell on her buttocks. She looked up at him fiercely with the instinct of a murderer. She picked up the stone, which was really too small to kill anyone with, and she got up, holding it tightly in her palm with all her strength.
“By the way, whatever happened to your skin?” he asked derisively, coming closer, burping up the fermented smell of rice wine.
Swallowing her saliva, Mirae hurled the stone at him, which landed on his forehead, producing a sound like an acorn falling on hard ground.
He growled and covered his forehead with his hand. At seeing his palm smeared with blood he narrowed his eyes. His upper lip twitched. Then he spat. “This is a bad day for you and me,” he declared, grabbing her by the wrist.
>
Mirae shrilled and kicked him in his groin. One of her shoes slipped off and flew away. He grabbed between his legs, groaning. She ran as fast as she could. It was dusk and there was no one in the market place.
The earth was restless, Mirae could feel, as she heard the rustling of the tall grass by the field under the immense and darkening sky. She made her way down the steps that led to the creek and sat on the flat rock where women beat their laundry. She dipped her hands into the water and splashed it on her burning face. It had been a long day. She cleaned her neck and her shoulders and wet her hair to keep it down. A large lump was settling in her chest, and it wasn’t a very good feeling. Cursing the gods, she got up and walked up the steps. She realized how late it was. Mistress Yee might slap her, but then she was going to tell her that she had gotten lost, and the rain had come which had prevented her from descending the mountain promptly. She could make up some other stories, which would let Mistress Yee know that she had nearly lost her life carrying out Mistress Yee’s errand.
A figure drew near her when she got up to the grassy area. It was a man, tall, broad-shouldered, and walking stealthily.
“Who’s there?” she uttered, stopping, holding her breath.
It was Min, the dumb boy. Mirae sighed with relief and said, “You frightened me! Should have said something.” Then she remembered that he was mute. She laughed hysterically. It was just the dumb boy. There was nothing to fear.
Min stood there, staring at her, unmoved.
“Doesn’t she ever laugh at you like this? Nani, I mean. How are you?”
She observed his shoulders, and his log-like arms. Until then, she had never really noticed him, even though they had lived in the same household serving the same master. He spat and motioned with his hand that Mirae should hurry home.
“Did you come looking for me?” she asked, taking a confident step toward him. His whole body exuded a pungent odor of alcohol. Mirae frowned, holding her nose with one hand and fanning with the other in an exaggerated manner. She laughed ridiculously.
Min lowered his head, as if to examine his straw shoes. His large toe on the right side was peeking out. It wiggled in an attempt to go back inside. Abruptly, he turned around and walked toward the house where they both belonged.
Mirae sprinted after him, whispering something to herself, her white teeth glinting. When she caught up with him, she grabbed his shirt from behind and pulled him toward her. Unexpectedly, he fell backward and landed on the grass, and he didn’t move. Mirae tapped him on his side with her foot to see if he was conscious. He groaned. She collapsed next to him and lay down. He didn’t move. She sprang up suddenly and complained that the ground was cold. She sat on him like a horseback rider and boldly touched his chin. He felt hard. She giggled. She examined his face, feeling amused. Nani would kill her if she found out about this, she thought. She giggled again. Just because he couldn’t talk it didn’t mean that she needed to be silent. “Hey, dumbo,” she said, and then she didn’t know what else to say. How did one talk with a man who couldn’t talk? She tittered. Impulsively, she untied his shirt, laughing uncontrollably. She didn’t know what she was really trying to do. She fell on his chest, burying her head under his chin, still laughing. He shook her and grabbed her buttocks in his hands. Sitting on top of him, she rocked like a little boat in a tempest, docked between piers. Clutching at his shoulders, she looked up at the sky, where millions of gems sparkled. The sight was fantastically entrancing. All of a sudden the stars were falling and then the field in front of her shimmered in wet silvery sequins.
Min heaved and groaned like an animal in pain. Mirae looked down and saw his face as if for the first time. Then she laughed like a mad woman and he pushed her aside and got up. He walked away without looking back. Mirae grabbed her last shoe and threw it at him, but he had already walked too far. She watched her legs, as if they weren’t part of her own body. Ignoring the dripping blood on her thighs, she stood up, fixing her clothes roughly and straightening her hair. Then she realized she had cried; her cheeks were wet. She sat again on the grass and thought about what in the world she had just done. She was a little ashamed because it was Min the dumb boy she had shared this experience with. He wouldn’t be able to talk about it. It made her feel slightly better. She got up and walked home.
19
Everyone was caught by surprise when the first frost came, because it was still the middle of the fall. No one had yet started pickling.
Enough samples of kimchi from her past clientele would arrive for her, which would last until spring, Mrs. Wang knew, but she hadn’t stuffed her blanket with new cotton or pasted new wallpaper to keep the draft out. She would have to order a new quilted coat this year, for her old one was unraveling at the hem. And her shoes! She definitely needed better shoes for winter.
Mrs. Wang dreaded snow. She was beginning to fear slipping on the ice when she descended to deliver babies on short notice. She was thinking about posting an announcement that one should try to have a baby only in certain seasons. It was too much for her to go around on frozen hills and fields. She was getting old.
Sitting in front of her portable stove in the middle of the room, she was waiting for the sweet potatoes to be roasted. She kept stabbing into them impatiently with her chopstick.
Suddenly, she realized that someone was kneeling, as if being punished, before the room. It was Mirae. Her eyes darted about, and she jerked at the slightest noise from the dog or the chickens.
“Come inside! It’s chilly out there,” Mrs. Wang advised her.
She placed two small potatoes in a bowl. Mirae came in sheepishly. Peeling a steamy sweet potato, Mrs. Wang exercised the muscles around her mouth. “These are the best kind,” Mrs. Wang said to herself, smiling contentedly. She ate it with her eyes almost closed, appreciating the taste and the warmth and the comfort that it brought to her stomach. Then she asked Mirae if she would like one, stabbing a large one in the copper stove.
“I am not hungry, Mrs. Wang,” Mirae said despondently.
“Did your mistress send you here? Did she yell at you? If she was able to yell at you, she is not having a baby today. Trust me,” Mrs. Wang said reassuringly. “Have a sweet potato. It just melts in your mouth,” she said, taking another one out of the stove.
“It’s not that,” Mirae said, wiping her eyes.
“Oh, oh. Don’t you shed tears in my house. If you are worried about your mistress, you can go now and tell her that I said I would be coming for lunch,” Mrs. Wang said.
“She doesn’t even know I am here,” Mirae began. “I am ashamed, Mrs. Wang. I don’t know how to say this, but I need your help.” Mirae paused, sighing from the depths of her chest. “I am pregnant,” Mirae confessed, looking miserable.
Mrs. Wang peeled another sweet potato and didn’t hesitate to devour it, thinking, why are women so often surprised to find out that they are pregnant? Is it that hard to remember how you get pregnant?
Aloud, she said, “All the more reason to eat something.” Mrs. Wang pushed the plate with a large, hot sweet potato toward Mirae. She covered her mouth in an effort to stifle a cry.
There was nothing like steamy sweet potatoes on a chilly day, thought Mrs. Wang, taking another one, but her appetite had diminished with the two sweet potatoes in her stomach and her troubled visitor.
“What kind of help do you need from me?” Mrs. Wang asked, nonchalantly.
Finally, Mirae broke down and sobbed. She hated herself for being in a position where she had to beg for help. Above all, she abhorred the change in her body, even though only she could notice it so far.
Mrs. Wang got up and said that she was going to do the dishes. In the meantime, she hoped Mirae would decide what kind of help she needed.
Her chickens went crazy when she went out to the yard. They thought that food was forthcoming. Her dog jumped up a
nd down, slobbering messily. Mrs. Wang sat by the well and didn’t do the dishes. Instead, she washed herself up and cleaned her teeth with a spoonful of sea salt. She then fed her chickens and swept the yard and drank a huge bowl of water. She appreciated that Mirae hadn’t followed her out, crying and begging for help. She was a proud girl, all right, but then why in the world was she so stupid as to get herself pregnant? Mrs. Wang was still puzzled. Normally, those who got themselves pregnant and wailed about it afterward were missing something in the head or so dreadfully naive that Mrs. Wang didn’t even bother to react to them.
“Mrs. Wang, don’t you have some honey?” Mirae called from behind her. She was standing on the extended entrance of her room. “I am craving something sweet.”
“Not to spare. But I have rice malt you can dip your sweet potato in,” Mrs. Wang replied and went to the kitchen to fetch some. “What an insolent girl,” Mrs. Wang grumbled to herself.
She brought out the rice malt in a small bowl, and in a wink Mirae had eaten the sweet potato with the syrup.
“Thank you for your kindness.” Mirae rattled on, ignoring Mrs. Wang’s grin. “I have been repelled by any kind of food smell, but then suddenly I felt so ravenous. I guess it’s normal. I saw Mistress Yee act the same way in the early phase of her pregnancy.”
“So have you decided what kind of help you need from me?” Mrs. Wang asked insouciantly.
“Don’t press me. I know you have no sympathy for me. But I have no one to turn to. If Mistress Yee found out about my state, she would kick me out of the house, and I have no place to go. I need to be rid of this growth in my body,” Mirae articulated with composure.