Five years ago, a morning when an endless spring rain had fallen, Kim had arrived to see the ceiling of his classroom leaking and his students standing sullenly in a corner. Kim gave a passionate speech about their education, trying to lift their spirits. Just then, the skies cleared, and he decided they should immediately fix the roof. He rolled up his sleeves and gave each of them a job to do.
They dug up some clay, propped a ladder against the roof, and Kim and the older students climbed up to the top while the younger students relayed the clay to them.
His foot between the roof tiles, Kim took each bit of clay and moulded it in between the tiles, directing the students from his vantage point. His eyes were afire with enthusiasm, and the head on his hair, which never in his life learned to lie flat, stretched up in all directions, his mouth unceasing in barking his orders. There was only one teacher, but it felt like there were several, and the class was so productive they finished by three. The roof tiles were laid in place once more, and the students sang the school song as they ran about in the rain. What days they used to have.
Now, the moonlight is so strong that it almost seems to make a metallic sound as it rolls off the galvanized iron roof. He sighs, relieved, for it occurs to him that no matter what others may say, at least he has accomplished this much in his life.
May 1938
Break the Strings
The ship Yeong Deokhwan shuttling to Jinnampo Pier in Incheon leaves behind the lonely island of Girin as it sails, unspooling a long plume of black smoke. Extending like fingers through the tangles of clouds in the eastern sky, the red sunbeams roll back the ominous fog that screened off the faraway mountains, and the blue revealed above is enough to make the heaviest heart feel lighter. Like the heart of a slave freed from servitude …
The white and red sails touching the sky beyond the watery horizon seem lost and alone like a pine tree clinging to a windy cliff. The waves relentlessly crash against the rocks. Again … and again … like humanity’s very struggle for survival …
*
Hyoungchul, who was going home for the summer holidays, leaned against the railing as he looked towards the horizon. The ship passed Mahap Island and turned its bow towards Bultasan Mountain, which peeked behind Gumipo Pier. A moment ago the ship had been quiet with its every passenger seemingly still asleep. Now he saw one or two early risers coming out on deck, toothbrushes in their mouths.
A few members of the crew were still curled asleep on the deck, caps drawn over their weary faces. Hyoungchul felt the surge of an unfamiliar emotion as he walked the deck and came down the stairs to third class. Hyegyoung, whom he was travelling with, had suffered seasickness all through the night but seemed to have adapted a little as she sat with her head leaning against the trunk they had brought on board. Hyoungchul sat by her and tried to read, but he could not concentrate. His gaze kept moving towards Hyegyoung. The strands of black hair scattered over her red cheeks and the voluptuous line of her body flowing from behind her dainty ears and past her narrow waist had an absolutely powerful effect that made men tremble.
The sound of the foghorn, loud enough to shake heaven and earth and Hyoungchul’s very heart, gathered him from the dreamy maze he had been wandering in and reminded him of what he needed to do.
‘Ah! We’ve reached Gumipo Harbour. We should be getting off here.’ His shaky voice formed the words as he quickly stood up with Hyegyoung’s luggage in hand.
‘Really? Already?’ Hyegyoung deftly wound the errant strands of her hair with her little finger and tucked them in with the help of a mirror. Hyoungchul moved the luggage across the deck.
The beach at Gumipo is one of the most beautiful in the East, with five to six hundred American missionaries visiting it every summer. Hyoungchul’s family had built a house a little further up the mountain, in a town called Bongnae which had about two hundred new residences. They had a view of the endless Yellow Sea to the front and of the twisting Bultasan Mountain behind.
Hyoungchul and Hyegyoung got on a boat and left the ship behind. An American flag flew high above the town of Bongnae as they made their way across the rough waters.
I am a pitiful son of Korea, you a pitiful daughter of Korea … Filled with such thoughts, Hyoungchul gazed surreptitiously at Hyegyoung. His eyes welled up, blurring his sight.
*
One day, Hyoungchul stretched out on the beach after a swim and caught his breath. Whenever he came home for the holidays, he loved to breathe the fresh air coming in from across the water and feel the sunlight bouncing off the waves as he played in the sea. He could see the red roofs and grey walls of Western-style houses through the rich, green canopies of the well-tended trees, the perfect line of the horizon stretching to his right. A seagull flew by … and another … White sails disappeared behind an island. Hyoungchul felt as if his mind had left his body and become one with the universe. He himself knew not, in that moment, where he wandered in the cosmos …
‘Big Brother!’
He turned. Hyegyoung stood there holding hands with his younger sister Eunsook. Amused, Hyoungchul got up and walked towards them. Hyegyoung grinned as she coyly turned her waist. She manoeuvred her parasol to half-cover her body.
‘Big Brother! Look at this flower!’ Eunsook blinked her large eyes as she extended her small, pretty hand towards him. The sea breeze whipped through Eunsook’s hair and threw ripples into Hyegyoung’s skirt. Hyoungchul brought the flower up to his nose.
‘Good weather we’re having today,’ he said to Hyegyoung.
‘Yes! I was feeling a bit bored, so I brought Eunsook out to enjoy it.’ Hyegyoung, as if she felt guilty about something, suddenly blushed.
‘I’m glad you did. There isn’t too much wind today, and the waves aren’t too choppy. Let’s go boating!’
He bravely bolted for the beach, looking back to see if they followed …
Hyoungchul wore a bathing suit, and his face and arms were well-tanned. His chest was wide and solid enough to want to lean on. His occasional smile revealed white teeth between dark lips, the smile of a warrior, irrefutably masculine. Hyegyoung gave Eunsook a smile and slowly followed him – stepping on the very footsteps Hyoungchul had left in the sand – with her hand firmly holding the little girl’s.
Hyoungchul’s muscular arms, the roll of the boat on the waves … They sailed out into the sea, a hull loaded with love and happiness. When the boat bounced on an occasional wave, they looked at each other and shared a smile. This was the happiest they had ever felt, a youthful joy that could never come again. But we cannot forget that we can’t enjoy even this bit of pleasure, thought Hyoungchul. With this realization the bitterness and suffering of love cut through the surf and froth of its pleasures.
‘Look at that bird!’
Eunsook, ever young and innocent, pointed at a bird flying close to the water. Hyoungchul adored and envied her guilelessness. He and Hyegyoung had never mentioned love to each other out loud, but both had thought of it as they proceeded with their studies in Seoul. With each passing day, their thoughts had deepened, and their feelings towards each other had grown warmer. The red sun had already left behind its redness in the sky as it dipped below the western mountains, colouring the clouds light pink and turning the ocean red. Their love burned as strong as ever, as unaltered as the fading islands were in the dying light. They tied up their boat to a pier and walked the path carpeted with pine needles towards a millet field. The evening smoke coming from a lone hut on the mountain path wound through the trees and into the valley. They heard the unexpected, tragic sound of a farmer’s lament as he toiled in the fields.
Why were you born, why were you born
Why were you so frugally born
Dragging my hobo’s shoes
I shall follow my longed-for lover
It was a peaceful song, sung by someone who had sweat blood over their fields all day long. The farmer’s crops
crept up into the sky; it would be a good harvest this year.
But this crop that the farmer had devoted their life to would be stolen come autumn, and there would hardly be a spoonful of millet for the family. They were like cows at a ranch. Like sheep. Like pigs. They lived to be exploited by the richer class. They lived to provide fur, milk, and meat. How were they different from cows, sheep, and pigs that lived to provide their owners with their work, fur, milk, and meat?
Hyoungchul said as much to Hyegyoung. He ended his speech with, ‘And so, Miss Hyegyoung, I plan to quit college!’
‘But why? Don’t you think we need to learn more?’ A determined glint came into Hyegyoung’s pretty eyes, urging Hyoungchul to answer her question.
‘We do. But how many of our folk have graduated college? How many of them are as ignorant as babies? I’ve come to realize that I cannot lead them with theories made by a small elite with heroic aspirations.’ His voice got louder as he became more heated. ‘What use is Marx and what use is Lenin? Our struggles have long surpassed their theories. The masses are twisting their intestines with their bare hands to stave off hunger. Their struggle should be our struggle. I feel the need to fight alongside them, more and more with each passing day.’
The three reached Songcheon as they conversed. A lonesome church bell sounded through the encroaching darkness. Hyegyoung lowered her head and sent up a ritual prayer. The lights in the windows of the houses around them became more vivid with each moment.
They said their goodbyes and walked to their respective homes.
*
The summer holidays ended, and Hyoungchul and Hyegyoung went back to Seoul. The city was already cooling with the first hints of autumn; the chill of the evenings gave a clearer impression of the season. Hyoungchul struggled in his heart. After classes, he would wander towards the fields of Cheongnyangni. He stared at the wild chrysanthemums by his feet, picked a few to give them a closer look, then crushed and tossed them away as if in anger. Then, he would walk again.
He was not thinking of Hyegyoung so much as worrying about what do to with his life. We each receive a speck of life somewhere on the edge of the vastness of the universe. Was each speck not the same as any other, be the person poor or deformed? What was he doing learning the law? Even if he could pass the bar exam and become a high official, what was so honourable or joyful about that? If anything, it would be a shame. What if he were to become an advocate? Defend the rights of a brave, condemned activist. What power would his advocacy truly have? He could become a rich businessman. This was impossible, but even if it were not, what then? He would only feel guilty towards his poor brethren.
He had to be brave for the sake of society. He had to use his life for meaning and beauty. That was the only way to be human. But … wait a minute. Did he have the courage to live such a life? Or the necessary preparation for it? He was standing at a crossroads. Should he go right, or should he turn left? The setting sun urged him to make a decision.
Hyoungchul had no choice but to struggle with such thoughts. His head filled with ever more questions.
That night, he turned off his electric light to go to sleep. The soft moonlight found him as he lay his head on the pillow. For the past few nights he could not sleep because of his worries. They still tortured him every waking moment, so he was trying to sleep a bit earlier, to give his mind a rest. But all his nerves rebelled against peace. Sighing, he got up again. Shadows danced against his window in the autumn wind. Leaves fell. He took up his mandolin, usually a good friend in moments like these. His hands danced automatically up and down the strings. But not even this was enough to assuage the deep sadness in his heart. He pushed his mandolin into a corner and threw his blanket over his head. He tried counting … one, two, three, four, five … He eventually reached five thousand, but it did not help at all.
The next morning, his head felt heavy on his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot in the mirror, and his face was paper white. He pushed away his breakfast and was about to step out of the house when a phalanx of Japanese troops, bayonets at the ready, marched by his path. Soldiering: the work of a true man. How brave they seemed! It must be training day. They streamed past him. Even the Japanese beggar digging through the trashcan at the end of the street smiled at them as they went by. That was it! He, too, could affix a bayonet to the end of a rifle and be another soldier, marching … But that would only lead to being made fun of for his empty courage. How sad their lives were! Pedestrians glanced at Hyoungchul as they passed. Hyoungchul stood in the middle of the street, tilting his head this way and that, lost in thought. Then, as if coming to a conclusion, he nodded firmly and walked on. He almost seemed crazy.
Then one day, after school, he had come back to the boarding house to find an envelope on his desk. It was a letter from home. Glad for some news, he ripped the seal and began to read. He was in for a shock.
His family consisted of his parents, his sister Eunsook, and himself. They owned their own land and lived fairly well in their village. But his father had not expected his only son’s education to cost so much. Their debt had mounted, and the worsening economy had hit crop prices hard. His father was no longer able to shoulder the debt. Being a man of a somewhat rushed disposition, he was determined to leave their old village and move in with a relative in Yeonggotap in Manchuria. The letter was to order Hyoungchul home before they left.
His father had spared him the prospect of their ruin until now because he had not wanted to distract Hyoungchul in his studies. Hyoungchul read the letter again and again, but it was unmistakable that he was being asked home.
He stood for a long time gripping the letter until his eyes began to shine with a determination close to rage.
‘Good. I’m glad this happened. I can at last find my own way. I should’ve found it long ago … I was weak, and I hadn’t the courage to make my own way. Until now!’
His hands curled into fists as he shouted this into the air. He threw the letter down on the desk.
The wind rattling the windows tossed snow on the paper of the lattice. All that could be heard was the second hand of the clock …
*
The street lamps shining on the wide lawn before the Shinto shrine by Namsan Mountain somehow made the winter seem more desolate. The snowflakes blowing into the spread of light from the lamps were like mayflies racing against each other towards their doom. Hyoungchul and Hyegyoung dragged their long shadows over the snow as they slowly walked down the stairs towards Namdaemun. The colourful, crowded angles of the modern buildings that surround the mountain attested to Seoul’s position as a major metropolis. The massive white rock face of Bugaksan Mountain on the other side of the city showed its large form through the darkness. But around Bugaksan Mountain were only wide empty spaces, with occasional fires accentuating the melancholy emptiness.
Hyoungchul and Hyegyoung stopped in their tracks.
‘Miss Hyegyoung! Thank you for coming all this way for me despite the cold. You must return to your dormitory before it gets too late.’
Hyegyoung only replied, ‘No,’ before bowing her head.
Hyoungchul looked at her and sighed. ‘I cannot stay in our country any longer. But you must stay here and guard the future of our nation. Never let go of your duty. This is the final favour I ask of you.’
Hyoungchul stared into the cityscape and thought he saw the shape of the Korean peninsula wavering in the lights of Seoul. There was a brief silence, interrupted by the sound of taxis and trams.
Hyegyoung raised her head and said in a firm voice, ‘I shall go with you.’
Hyoungchul could not believe his ears. All he could feel was a swell in his heart. Hyegyoung’s tears made two tracks down her beautiful face. They kept flowing and flowing. He went towards her and gently, daringly, rested his hands on her shoulders.
‘I see you were a woman all this time! You’ve only ever treated me as a friend! B
ut I see … I see now …’
‘Yes! I am your eternal friend. And I also wish to be your wife.’
‘Is that so? I thought the fire of love burned only in my own heart!’ Hyoungchul added in a trembling voice, ‘But you must not marry someone of such misfortune.’
‘What kind of fortune can people like us possibly have? And I am not the kind of person who chases after happiness.’ Hyegyeong, having revealed her heart, did not hesitate in her answer.
‘But not everything can be overcome by sheer will alone. I do not have the wherewithal to take you with me, and you do not have the wherewithal to follow. You must continue to concentrate on your studies and become a good mother and a diligent worker. I will take your words just now as a consolation in the face of our goodbyes.’
Their words turned into white mist in the cold. They started walking again and passed Namdaemun, eventually reaching Seoul Station. The express train coming up from the south slid along the rails before screeching to a stop by their platform.
Hyoungchul slid open the window decorated with blossoms of frost and leaned outward. Hyegyoung stood on the platform. They stared at each other, unable to speak save for the occasional sigh … A lamentation, no doubt, of the fact that they would never see each other again.
With the sound of a whistle, the wheels began moving. Hyoungchul and Hyegyoung grasped each other’s hands before letting go.
The Underground Village Page 18