Dearest K, I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but for serializing a novel in the newspaper D, I’ve been paid two hundred won in manuscript money. This is the largest sum I’ve ever had in my life. The sudden headiness that came from it made me imagine all sorts of things.
Dearest K, I’m sure you’ve already realized this about me … I grew up in an insolvent household, and things did not get better as an adult. My brother-in-law helped me obtain what mouse’s portion of learning that I do have. As a child, I never got to own a new dress with colours dyed into it. Instead of rice, I only had boiled millet to eat. I never had proper school supplies when I was going to school. At the beginning of the school year, I would cry and cry because I could not afford any textbooks. I could only manage to get a hold of some old ones, and oh how my lack of paper or pen made my small heart tremble!
Dearest K, I still remember it all very well. I was in the first grade. We were taking final exams the next day, but I had nothing to write with. In my desperation, I stole some implements from the classmate sitting next to me, and can you imagine the scolding I received from my teacher? And the taunts from my classmates: ‘Dirty thief! Dirty thief!’ My teacher, with his terrifying stare, detained me in class instead of letting me go out for recess. I had to keep my arms raised and stand silently by the window. Outside, my classmates were busy making a snowman in the playground, their hands clapping with joy. Even as I stood there in punishment, the sight of the snowman’s mouth and eyes were so funny that I would go back and forth between giggles and tears.
Dearest K, the innocent child that I used to be was foolhardy enough to think of taking someone else’s things, but once I reached middle school I could not bring myself to do so, no matter how desperate I felt. With the money coming from my brother-in-law, I could just barely cover food and my monthly tuition. Sometimes there wasn’t enough for my tuition either, and I could not look my teachers in the eye or ask questions about things I didn’t understand in class. Naturally, I became listless and stupid. It followed that I couldn’t make a single friend. I was so lonely that I came to depend on God, and every night I would go into the dormitory chapel and cry as I prayed. The suffering, however, did not disappear, and it only grew by the day and month.
Meanwhile, my classmates had parasols, new skirts and jackets, knitted scarves and cardigans, and watches. It all seems so silly now, but I envied them so much that tears would come to my eyes. Whenever I saw a classmate knitting a scarf with soft, fluffy yarn, I would wrap the thread between my fingers and my vision would cloud with tears. What that feeling of yarn was like to a schoolgirl! Whenever my husband would ask, ‘How is it you can’t even knit a cardigan?’ and glare at me, I would think back to my schoolgirl days and feel the same jolt to my belly that I felt back then as I touched my classmate’s yarn.
Dearest K, let me tell you about one summer long ago. My classmates were busy shopping in preparation for their return home. In my day there were no synthetic fibres, and everyone prepared ramie skirts and jackets that were as light as dragonfly wings, and they each bought a white or black parasol. I was beside myself and didn’t know what to do. More than anything else, I ached for a parasol. Nowadays, even the salt seller’s wife has a parasol, but back then you couldn’t call yourself a schoolgirl if you didn’t have one of those things. It was as if the parasol were a wordless, exclusive symbol for female students. The silly girl that I was, I simply couldn’t face returning home without a parasol. I ended up crying over it all the time. My roommate must have caught on and wanted to mock me; she managed to procure for me an old, broken parasol from somewhere. I was overjoyed. But I couldn’t find it in my heart to jump up and take it. As I sat there in my awkwardness, my roommate cackled and left the room. As soon as she left, I grabbed the parasol and opened it, but it was broken and ripped in every way. An inexplicable rage and sadness seemed to rise up and seize my throat. But I could not throw that parasol away!
Dearest K, I seem to have wandered too far off the path. That ought to have been enough to give you an idea of what my past was like … I’ve rustled up these old memories, which I hate dwelling on, because I wanted to talk about my present. But you see, even before I received the manuscript money that I mentioned before, I would lie awake for a long time at night thinking about what I would do with the money. It embarrasses me to think about it now, but I thought, First of all, because it’s winter I’ll get a fur coat, a scarf, and shoes … The gap between my teeth is too wide, so I’ll get a thin gold filling, I’ll get a thin gold ring, maybe a watch … No, my husband will have something to say about that. But it’s money I made on my own, what objection could he possibly make? If I don’t get anything now, I’ll never get to own a gold watch. Just grit your teeth and do it. And get your husband a new suit; his old one is falling apart. My husband wouldn’t approve, but I decided I was going to put my foot down. Then the day came when I held my manuscript money in my hand.
Dearest K, my husband and I were so happy we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Gazing into the lamplight that seemed especially bright that night, I asked him, ‘What should we do with the money?’ just to hear what he’d say. My husband sat silent for a moment and spoke as if to himself: ‘Funny how for people like us, having money is more agitating than not having it … Well, as long as we have it, we should spend it. The most urgent thing would be to get Comrade Eungho a doctor …’
These unexpected words darkened my sight. I was silent. The face of my husband, who was looking at me, suddenly seemed that of a dog and his eyes that of a bull.
‘And then Hongsik’s wife. It’s up to us to take care of them this winter. What else can we give?’
I did not want to hear what he had to say. I turned my head and stared at the wall. Of course I pitied his Comrade Eungho and his friend Hongsik’s wife, and before this money had come to us I had wanted to help them as much as we were able to, but once the two hundred won was in my hand, those thoughts disappeared without a trace. I couldn’t help feeling that way.
My husband, who had noticed my expression, glared at me for a while and said in a rough voice, ‘So how would you rather spend the money?’
This question forced out my suppressed tears. I found my stubborn husband more frustrating and pathetic than I had ever known him. More than anything else, he had never given me so much as a simple wedding ring when we married, or ever bought me a pair of shoes. Of course, this was because he had no money, and it wasn’t as if I didn’t understand that. But this money was not money he had earned. Wouldn’t the rightful thing for him to offer, then, have been to use this money, obtained by my own effort, to buy the wedding ring that I had so longed for, or buy me a pair of shoes?
But this dunce of a man could not have had such thoughts in mind. This more than anything else was what made me resentful. The shoes I’m wearing now are from a trip to Seoul a few years ago when I went to be treated for tympanitis; my husband’s friend Kim Kyungho kept pressing me to take them, an old pair his wife used to wear. Think of how bad my shoes must’ve been for him to insist so. I cannot tell you how ashamed I was. Anyone would’ve felt the same way, and who would want to wear shoes that someone else had worn? But when I looked down at my old shoes, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse him. I examined the proffered shoes carefully and found no holes. I did begin to want them a little then, but I was worried about what my husband would say. I sent him a letter the next day. A few days later he wrote a reply, giving me permission. I wore those shoes, but whenever I looked at them I could never quite erase my first feelings of shame.
That night, the night I held my money in my hand, the shame I felt back then welled up again in my throat. I couldn’t help sobbing. I began crying with my mouth open, like a child.
My husband bolted upright and slapped my cheek so hard I could hear a ringing in my ear.
Tearfully, I screamed at him with all my might. ‘How could you … how could you hi
t me!’
I jumped back at him. My husband flashed his tiger-like eyes and struck a blow to my head, knocking down the lamp with a loud crash. The smell of kerosene flooded the room.
‘Kill me, why don’t you just kill me!’ I shouted at him as loud as I could. I felt like I was ready to be done with him.
Fuming, my husband said, ‘Even a hundred deaths is too good for you! You think I don’t know how you feel? I see that making a little money on your own has made you forget your own husband. You disgraceful wench, get out! Take all that money and go back to your mother’s house tomorrow, I can’t live with a disgraceful wench like you. So, you just want to be another one of those “modern girl” tarted-up whores? Oh yes, you high-and-mighty literary types, that’s what you all end up becoming! Hah! I don’t fancy myself as fit to be the husband of such a high-and-mighty literary eminence. I suppose you want to fry and broil your hair like those hussies, slap some flour on your face, put on a gold watch and a diamond ring and a fur coat, and stand on some stage sighing, “Ah, the proletariat”? Get the hell out!’
He grabbed my hand and pulled me after him. He pushed me out the door.
Dearest K, I cannot tell you how cold the northern country’s wind is. It’s been four years since I came here, but I have never experienced winds as biting as I felt that night. The whole world seemed to be made of ice. Just looking at the moon made my eyes cold, and although I could see the moon clearly in the sky, powdery snow blew in the harsh, whistling wind. The snow was so prickly against my flesh it was as if a sharp knife was piercing my skin. I stood with my arms wrapped tightly around me.
My mind was fit to burst with all the thoughts running through it. What was I to do? I reached into my swirling mind and took up one thought at a time. The first thought I grasped was that I couldn’t live with that man anymore. You couldn’t pay me enough to live with him! But then what was to become of me? Should I go back home? Home … I imagined the faces of the people and their taunting: That wench came back, of course she would, who could stand to live with such a hussy? I imagined the sorrow on the face of my mother. I cringed. Go to Seoul and get a job at a newspaper or a magazine? Seeing how women journalists tended to degenerate into flirts, I realized I would only fall into similar disrepute. Then where to go, what to do? Go to Tokyo and further my studies? Using what money? Considering my situation, the only study I would be engaged in would be how to be a fallen woman. When I came to this conclusion, I felt as if I were turned away by the world, that no matter where I went, no one would take me in. I felt that aside from the fuming tiger sitting in that room, no one in the world would hold my hand.
Dearest K, is this love? But what else could it be? I started to shed hot tears again. At the same time, the tiger-man’s words came back to me. I thought of poor Hongsik’s wife and how young and vulnerable she was, and of Eungho’s face that was no more than skin and bone at this point. The mother and son who had trembled as they sent him off to prison! Moaning Eungho, who came out of prison with heart disease! The two hundred won in my hand … Only this could save them. My own body was still healthy. And what else could all the things I wanted be but vanity?
I suddenly realized I had been dreaming a dangerous dream.
Dearest K, what’s the use of a gold watch or a gold ring or a fur coat for someone like me? If I could use the money to save the life of a comrade, how right it would be if I did so. And if he is my husband’s comrade, does that not make him my comrade, too? I ran back to the door.
‘Husband, I was wrong!’
The door swung open. I rushed inside and hugged him. ‘Husband, I was wrong. I won’t be, ever again …’ Loud sobs came forth from my throat. But please know that these sobs were very different from the sobs before.
Dearest K, my husband sighed and caressed my head.
‘It’s not that I don’t know how you feel. But while you only have a single skirt and a single jacket, you are not naked. You are clothed. You haven’t the slightest care in the world. But look at Comrade Eungho, or Hongsik’s wife. As long as we have money in our hands, we cannot let our comrades die of sickness or starvation! We cannot let this money turn our heads. Even I felt different from the man I was before that money appeared.’
My husband fell silent. Apparently, he had also been thinking while I was gone, and I realized that his earlier anger had been his attempt to control his own upsetting thoughts and guilt. It made me more determined than ever as I felt a hot fire take hold in my heart.
‘Husband, let’s buy a set of cheap clothes for both of us and a sack of rice and some wood, and give our comrades the rest! We’ll soon make more money on our own.’
My husband swept me into his embrace and said, ‘Good thinking!’
Dearest K, I’ve gone on and on at the risk of boring you. I know that with graduation approaching, you’re dreaming all kinds of dreams. Even those dreams, of course, have their time and place in our lives, and I do not chide you for having them. But someday, you have to step out of those dreams and see reality for what it is.
Look at the suffering of the people outside of the city! Are there not tens of thousands of them turning away from their beloved homelands and running away here to Manchuria? And who will clothe them and feed them once they are here? They come in the hope of finding something better than what they left behind. But one woman becomes a kitchen slave, while another is kidnapped to become the concubine of a rich man, each crying an endless lament as they wander these wide flatlands. But it isn’t just the people of the three provinces who suffer so. Wasn’t it not long ago that the people of Ulleung Island had to make landfall en masse at Wonsan? Did you know that the poor of Korea – no, that the great masses of the poor of the whole world live in the borderlands between life and starvation?
Dearest K, here in Jiandao, the subjugating force has swept in, and the people tremble with fear at the sound of guns and swords. The farmers cannot farm or go to the mountains to get wood, so they migrate to the relatively safe zones of cities such as Longjing or Gukja, but what would they do for food when they get there? A dog’s life is more valuable than a human’s in a place like this.
Dearest K, you may despair because you cannot move on with your education or create a sweet home for yourself. But close your eyes for a moment and think of how meaningless such despair is. Even if by chance you managed to achieve what you wanted and more, it would only be a moment, and you would return to be where the rest of us are. What will you do when that happens? Take your own life?
Dearest K, you’ve gained an impressive amount of knowledge from sitting at a desk, more than enough! Now is the time to obtain real knowledge through action. You must work to increase your societal value. If you neglect this societal value for the sake of concentrating on increasing your exchange value, you will become another failure. I am not saying you are a product or a thing, quite the opposite. But these are the two ways that we as human beings create our character in this world.
Which will you choose?
February 1935
Salt
Peasants
Word came that the Chinese landowner Fang Tong had come to the village.
The woman’s husband took his good overcoat down from its peg and went out the door. The woman could not help being agitated at the sight of her husband disappearing into the distance. Was it really Fang Tong this time? Or the vigilantes again, luring her husband out with a lie? She wanted to cry. Her husband put up with their terrorizing day after day without a word of complaint. It broke her heart. And there he went again, into who knew what sort of danger! She sighed. There was nothing to be done for poor people like them; the only way out of their suffering was death. What could they do except die? She found herself scratching at the wall in agitation. She looked down at her fingernails, cracked and ugly. It was so easy to be killed, yet so difficult to die. Such was life.
Years ago, they had b
een forcibly driven from their homeland without much more than a basket of goods to their name, and it had felt as if they faced a voyage over a vast ocean towards certain death. At least they managed to rent a patch of farming land from a Chinese landowner, but Chinese soldiers constantly threatened their lives, and the woman and her husband only survived from day to day. Every morning when they set out for the fields, they looked towards the sky and prayed they would be safe.
The soldiers, unable to survive on their pay, went around extorting the peasant farmers. This had gone from happening rarely to being a common occurrence, often in broad daylight. The peasants realized they needed to prepare bribes of money and rice if they wanted to live and had them ready even if it meant going hungry. Then the communists came, which scared the landowners and soldiers off into the city, forcing the soldiers to limit their forays into lands unoccupied by the communists. But when the communists were driven out, the militia arrived.
The woman continued to stare at her fingernails and thought about the many times she had almost died at the hands of Chinese soldiers. That she was alive today was a miracle. She looked up. Her husband was already out of sight; she gazed at a fluttering banner above a distant wall and wondered whether he had reached the next village yet. The anxiety that she had forgotten for a moment filled her heart once more. Her husband had told her he had already paid the vigilantes, so it may be true that Fang Tong had come. It was planting season; it made sense for him to visit. But if he were here, her son Bongshik, who was away, would miss Fang Tong, and Bongshik would not be able to bring back his share of the crops. She kept staring at the faraway wall. Her husband and some other peasants had built it over a period of a whole year. It looked like the fortress walls of their old home.
The Underground Village Page 2