by T'aejun Yi
“Oh, that’s good, that’s good! In other words, if we can’t read letters we’re more like kisaeng than flies!”
Ch’ŏngŭn’s father and Mansŏk’s grandfather were good at cracking jokes, but they too were among the illiterate ones who couldn’t read the letter ㄱ even if they saw a sickle. With their gift of the gab, these stubborn, illiterate men were tough cases that brought sweat to the brows of the young members of the Children’s Alliance and the still rather awkward speakers from the Federation of Democratic Youth, who were trying to encourage the study of hangul.
“Huh, you call me illiterate? What do you young pups know? I accept that my eyes can’t see as well as your feet, but you want me to sit down in front of you and open up a book? I’ve picked up enough to know that a king is a teacher is a father. That means that a teacher is still a teacher, even if it’s the old letters that he learned, and he should be looked up to as a father. What am I going to do learning all that ka, kya, kŏ, kyŏ nonsense and speaking to you like you’re a teacher, which is no different from a father, eh? Making old people like us mouth that nonsense, it’s too much …”
Ch’ŏngŭn’s father gave the young people a good scolding, using a lot of difficult words even though he couldn’t read a single letter. Mansŏk’s grandfather jokingly made an excuse, “Why don’t you leave us living corpses alone? What does it matter if we can read or not when we’ll be on the way to the public cemetery tomorrow or the next day …”
A second visit to the old people provoked their ire. At a third visit they spat and raised their fists.
Younger people generally didn’t grumble at a second visit. The young women quivered with joy, even while blushing at being called illiterate. It was not simply their true desire for the enlightenment promised by learning to read, but also the joy of the enormous change brought about by being able to wipe the water from their hands, put on dry clothes, and escape from a life in which they seemed to run round and round in circles like ants—even if that escape was just for a short while and if going to school meant only to the men’s quarters or a large inner room belonging to some family they knew.
But this ant-like repetitive life did not easily open its doors for these young women and girls. They were all busy and tied down by things that would not let them go. No small number of them had no one else to care for their babies, and the new brides among them were daughters-in-law, who had to walk long distances to fetch water from the well and returned home later than everyone else in the evening. After the evening meal, cotton ginning and spinning awaited them, or they would have to tie up straw into sheaves to store in the bags their husbands had woven. The members of the Children’s Alliance and the Federation of Democratic Youth knew that whatever kinds of strategies they employed, even if they were to encourage the women a thousand or ten thousand times, their efforts would come to nothing if they did not first create the conditions where the barriers to these women attending the hangul school were removed. And so, the twelve members of the Children’s Alliance and six members of the Federation of Democratic Youth in Twenty Walls determined to relieve the women from their ant-like life.
To houses far from the well, they delivered water; for houses that kept oxen, they helped to divvy up the hay; in some houses they did the washing up, at some they ginned cotton, while at others they kept an eye on the children and on the house itself, if it were left empty. The passion of the Children’s Alliance and Federation of Democratic Youth members not only moved those who couldn’t read, but also brought the village to the attention of the township, the county, the party, and those responsible for various social groups. Once representatives from all these places had visited and added their strong encouragement to the remaining villagers who couldn’t read, even Ch’ŏngŭn’s father and Mansŏk’s grandfather no longer felt able to kick up a fuss, and they tidied up their beards to put in an appearance at the hangul school. Of the seventy-nine villagers in Twenty Walls who couldn’t read, seventy-six came out to the school, and as a result the remaining three became a conspicuous problem.
“If we can get those three to come out, then our illiteracy eradication rate will be one hundred percent, regardless of age!”
This became the desire of not only the members of the Children’s Alliance and the Federation of Democratic Youth, but even Ch’ŏngŭn’s father, who only yesterday had stubbornly clung to the idea that a king is a teacher is a father, but who now was busily reproaching Yŏngdol’s grandmother.
“There’s an old saying that even saints must follow the times. In other words, if you leave the group and work on your own, you’ll get nothing done!”
The three who remained were: Noma’s grandfather, now completely deaf; old Mr. Sŏ, whose consumption had deteriorated to the point that he could not stop hacking for even a moment once winter had arrived; and, finally, Yŏngdol’s grandmother, the subject of the warning “Tiger Grandma’s coming,” which was enough to stop any child from crying, not just in Twenty Walls but in all the surrounding villages as well.
There was no doubt that Noma’s deaf grandfather couldn’t read, but as this was not a school for the blind and mute there was no reason to include him in the eradication count; as for Mr. Sŏ, there were plans to teach the old man separately in the summer when his stubborn cough would improve; and this left just Yŏngdol’s grandmother, otherwise known as Tiger Grandma. If Tiger Grandma would come to the hangul school, the village of Twenty Walls would attain a perfect completion rate for the literacy campaign, but if this one Tiger Grandma were to remain illiterate, the damage would be the equivalent of ten or twenty other women not being able to read. This was because Tiger Grandma exerted more strength than ten or twenty women in the stubborn attachment to darkness and backwardness in the village.
Tiger Grandma turns sixty-five this year. Although the deep traces of a harsh life are etched all over her forehead and cheeks like a cobweb, her hair’s still black, and her chin protrudes quite unusually so that it closes up over her mouth, from which only a couple of molars are missing. With high cheekbones and sunken eyes, when she’s angry her neck seems to stretch so tall it’s as if she’s looking out over everybody. Her nose is as sharp as a knife with such a soaring bridge that some mischievous children even call her “Cluck-cluck nose Grandma.” Her voice resounds like an enormous bell, she’s strong by nature, and to cap it all, she became a widow before she reached thirty. The father of her only son, Yŏngdol, had, unlike his mother, been a weakling, more like a crushed chick.
His widow had struggled on alone as a desperately poor tenant farmer, taking any job that came along whether it meant working inside or outside, staying clean or getting dirty. Her character had been strengthened by a fierce sense of resistance to all harassment and intrusions, whether from landlords, officials, or even troublemakers, to the point where she’d acquired the nickname “Empty Cart,” because her voice would start to rattle before she’d even listened to what was being said.
Whoever said a widow’s house has three measures of sesame while a widower’s house has three measures of lice might well have had Tiger Grandma in mind. Even young widowers with the strength of Xiang Yu will ignore a broken fence that could be fixed in a day and so allow dogs, pigs, and all sorts to trample in and out, let alone take care of chores such as washing, but this Tiger Grandma, who lived all by herself, was by far the most diligent person in the village when it came to repairing thatch or replacing fences. Her fields were better kept than anyone else’s, and her firewood measured up to that found in houses with designated woodcutters and large mountain properties.
But this Tiger Grandma wasn’t only passionate about her own home. She was always the first to turn out when the village well was cleaned, or there was snow to be removed from the lanes, or pig or cow muck to be cleaned up.
“Since when did anyone get by cuddling up next to a man and sleeping in until the sun hits their arse? To live means to get up early and move your arms and legs …”
N
o one complained when she showed up chattering at the crack of dawn in just about anyone’s yard, because they knew that Tiger Grandma would clear the village lanes of snow, and that the cow and pig dung she shoveled would fall onto their fields of garlic and potatoes. To top it all, Tiger Grandma knew all about the superstitions that the women so enjoyed. As a mother who had raised her sickly only son alone and in poverty, there had been more than a few times when she had been left frustrated. She could neither consult books nor go to the hospital, since she was unable to read and had no money. When facing difficulties or despair the best she could do was to gather together all the stones she could find and pray, and then steam some grain and pray to the gods once again. At each new harvest, she would select five measures of the finest hulled millet and grind it into a small basket, which she had woven herself from rice straw and kept on the shelf in her best room. She would then insert a piece of folded white paper into the basket. She called this her manguri, or “Place to forget her worries,” and would sit beneath it and pray if ever someone ill or unclean entered the house. Squatting down, she would rub her hands together and soon her head would start to shake of its own accord. This shaking of her head would begin whenever she rubbed her hands before the gods. If there was no improvement after praying to manguri, she would try praying in front of some water drawn from the well at dawn and placed in front of a heap of stones about half the height of a human being—she called this her Ursa Major Altar—and then later she would cook up some rice and greens and offer them to the crows and magpies in a corner of her yard and perform what was called a shaman’s “scolding.” If this produced no improvement, there was nothing else she could do. She would comfort herself with the thought that this must either be the result of a sin in a previous life, be the way of heaven, or simply just her fate.
If a woman in the village gives birth and cannot expel the afterbirth, it’s invariably Tiger Grandma who comes down from the upper village. She takes a look at the young woman of course, but then declares this to be a trick played by a resentful spirit who died in childbirth, and she tells the family to prepare some white rice and seaweed soup. She brings this out to the side of the street and sprinkles it around, calling out, “Resentful spirits who died so unfairly? Eat your full share and back off now.”
If a child catches malaria, the parents’ first thought is to visit Tiger Grandma, because quinine costs money. Tiger Grandma doesn’t hesitate one bit. She breaks off a branch from a peach tree that is reaching out toward the eastern sky, and then shakes her head and mumbles, all the while patting the sick child’s quivering back.
On the first day of the New Year, Tiger Grandma rises before everyone else, comes outside, and looks toward the eastern sky. If the clouds are red, her prophecy is, “Drought this year,” if white she says, “Floods this year,” and if black, “This year’s a bumper harvest.” She looks at the first full moon of the year and once again makes her prophecies: this year’s moon is white, so white-stemmed millet will grow well, or this year’s moon is red, so better plant red-stemmed millet instead.
For people who are sick or have sick family members the question of whether they will get better or not is secondary; they can’t help but be grateful to Tiger Grandma, who gives them something to do in their darkest hour. And for those with farming worries and no scientific knowledge to do anything more than look at the sky, they can’t help but be drawn to these simple prophecies. To the villagers of Twenty Walls, Tiger Grandma was certainly imposing, but she was also an old woman who knew many things and for whom they were thankful. They could not begin to imagine this stubborn old woman meekly holding a notebook and pencil in order to learn the “ka kya kŏ kyŏ” alphabet. For her part, Tiger Grandma believed no one had the courage to challenge her, even though they might drag Ch’ŏngŭn’s father and Mansŏk’s grandfather out to school.
“What’s that? Ibliterate? That means you can’t read? Huh, it’s a good job I’ve already lived through the first year of the rat once, because if I had to do it again there’d be nothing I hadn’t heard! What’s an old woman like me to do if I learn letters?”
“What do you mean? Hasn’t Yŏngdol been pestering you to go to hangul school in every letter he writes, at least this will shut him up …”
“He seems to have gone out of his mind since he stepped up to his responsibilities!”
Yŏngdol was her eldest grandchild, who had joined the People’s Army. Knowing his grandmother’s temperament all too well, he had deliberately not pressed her from the beginning.
None of the members of the Children’s Alliance or the Federation for Democratic Youth had the courage to go and plead with Tiger Grandma, and so they kept passing the responsibility around amongst each other until a few days after the hangul school had opened, when a young man named Sanggŭn finally went to see her. With his gentle eyes and amiable personality, he was recognized from previous experience for his great skills of persuasion.
Sanggŭn first took off his rubber shoes and replaced them with patched socks and tall straw sandals, which he’d made with his own hands. This was because Tiger Grandma prefers young men who do not smoke in front of their elders and who wear homemade shoes.
“Grandma, how have you been recently?”
Tiger Grandma was busy peeling berries from the cotton branches, which she’d pulled up by the roots and left on the sunny side of her privy roof.
“Come on in. Now that you’re married, your heels are no longer sticking out of your socks. Is that your wife’s needlework?”
“Yes. Which is better, her sewing skills or the shoes I made?”
“Your wife’s pretty good with her fingers for her age. It’s a shame to wear socks like that with them shoes you made!”
“Oh grandma! There’s no winning when I talk with you!”
Sanggŭn stepped onto the edge of her straw mat, where he sat down and began to peel berries next to her.
“Grandma.”
“What?”
“Have you had any letters from Yŏngdol lately?”
“I get them sometimes.”
“You’re talking about him as if he’s a stranger?”
“Well, it’s not the same, is it? He writes to his mum and dad, so why would he write to me?”
Right, thought Sanggŭn, and he didn’t let this opportunity pass.
“Ah, but that’s not fair is it, Grandma? If Yŏngdol writes a letter to you, I bet you want to reply to him, don’t you?”
“How can I reply when I can’t even read?”
“That’s what I mean. That’s why grandma should come and learn to write with the others.”
“You mean I should put myself through all that trouble just for that grandson of mine?”
“But why do you think learning to write is trouble?”
“Don’t say that to me. It’s not just that it’s trouble, it’s that people look down on you.”
“But who would look down on you for learning to write?”
“Ah, people look down on me just because I try to light my pipe from theirs, so you think they wouldn’t look down on me if I tried to get something from inside of them?”
“Well, I suppose you might be looked down on for not knowing how to read and write, but I’ve never heard of anyone being looked down upon for trying to learn! The boys from the Children’s Alliance will soon put a stop to that, so why don’t you come along this evening grandma?”
“And who’ll keep an eye on this house?”
“Do you think the Children’s Alliance members won’t look after it?”
“Uh, so they can eat up all the squash seeds I’ve got drying by the furnace?”
“Eat them? If any squash seeds disappear, then we’ll collect more for you ourselves.”
“So that’s it! I wondered what you were doing up here in this part of the village, you came here to try to drag me off to school, you rascal!”
“Even if that were the case, you shouldn’t be so surprised, should you? Just
imagine, if Yŏngdol hears you’re studying hangul, he’ll dance for joy!”
“You rascals are all the same, ain’t you? If I really wanted to learn, do you think I would wait around for someone to tell me? Ridiculous! I’ve never done anything because someone told me to! Do you think I’m going to change at this point in my life and do what someone tells me? You’re telling me to learn to read? You’ve spouted your nonsense, now be off with you!”
Tiger Grandma turned away from Sanggŭn in a sulk.
At moments like this, to keep pushing the point would be like beating on an unhitched cart. Sanggŭn looks around to see if there’s not something he could use to talk Tiger Grandma up. Just then, three or four hens come tottering out of the kitchen, chased by a cockerel.
“My, your hens are really plump!”
“Well, we’re not buried in snow yet, so there’s lots for them to eat, ain’t there? Who’s got thin chickens already?”
“Still, you take good care of your land and animals, grandma.”
“That’s true, even chicks from the same batch change depending on how you look after them. There’s nothing gets done without hard work!”
Tiger Grandma shook her head.
“Grandma, you’re our role model in the village when it comes to farming and looking after your house. If you were to become a role model in just one more way, the rumor might spread all the way to the center.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you were to send a handwritten letter to your grandson in the People’s Army? Now, wouldn’t that appear in the newspaper?”
“What, you’re crazy! What are you talking about, putting an old woman like me in the newspaper? Haven’t you said enough already?”
“I mean as praise. To praise you …”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, if the rumor comes out that you’re a widow, nothing good will come of it! You can be like this or that, but best is to know nothing. Learning to read just makes you busy, what else is it good for?”