Sinch’ol went to Okchom’s side and stroked her disheveled hair. The sense of exhilaration he now felt practically forced him to do so. Okchom blushed to the tips of her ears, but she couldn’t bring herself to look Sinch’ol in the face.
“Alright now, Okchom, go back to bed, okay?”
Okchom grabbed the hand with which Sinch’ol was smoothing her hair and clenched her teeth around it. Her whole body was trembling now, and she started to lick his hand with the tip of her tongue. Sinch’ol blushed, and pulled away his hand.
“Okchom, go back inside.”
“No! I don’t want to!”
Again they heard the sound of someone coughing.
31
The next morning Okchom awoke with a start to find her father beside her, smoothing down her uncombed hair.
“Father?”
She instantly thought of the previous night and of Sinch’ol’s hands. She sensed that the air in her room was thick with a hope that she couldn’t quite explain.
“Why are you sleeping so late?”
“Oh, I stayed up too late last night.”
The thought of how Sinch’ol had held her tightly the previous night brought color to her cheeks. She wanted desperately to share with her father what had happened, but she was too embarrassed to speak of it.
“Daddy . . . would you buy me something?”
Tokho smiled.
“What now?”
“Well, how about a piano?”
“A piano? What’s that?”
He’d never heard the word before. Okchom laughed.
“Oh, Father! Haven’t you seen the pump organ they use to teach children to sing over at the school?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well, it looks like that.”
“So you want me to buy a Western-style organ? What the heck for?”
“To play, of course, Father . . .”
“Well, you can forget that! You’ve already got the chance to study. What do you need something like that for?”
“Oh, but Daddy, I simply must have one. Won’t you buy one for me, please . . . ?”
“Hmm . . . Well, how much are they?”
“Do you promise to buy one?”
“Just tell me how much.”
“Only if you promise to buy me one.”
Perhaps Tokho realized that he would eventually give in if Okchom started to plead.
“All right, I’ll get you one.”
“Well, I heard that a decent one costs at least a thousand.”
“A thousand won?”
Tokho’s eyes opened wide. He was speechless. Okchom grabbed her father’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Oh, Father, are you really that surprised? I’m going to get all your money anyway, won’t I? You aren’t going to leave it to anyone else, are you?”
She smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye.
“Well, no, I suppose not. But mind you, even if you’re going to inherit my money, what sense does it make for me to go out and buy this foolish thing if you’re not going to use it?”
“But no, Father, no, I will. If you go to Seoul, you’ll see that every family with a respectable home has one. You’ve just never been in one before.”
“What use will this thing have anyway? I’d be the first person to get one if it did something like mint silver or gold, but what’s the point of spending money on something that does absolutely nothing for you? Do you have any idea how much interest a thousand won will make in a year? Well, do you?”
“Oh, Daddy, if you don’t get me one, I’m sure I’ll fall ill, I want one so badly . . .”
“You’re something else, girl,” he chuckled. “You need one so badly that you’re going to be sick? Well, I’ll think about it.”
When Okchom saw that he didn’t outright refuse her request, she had a hunch that he’d give in. Tokho, however, had something else on his mind.
“Now, this boy Sinch’ol. Where did he say he goes to school?”
“Kyongsong Imperial University! He said he’s going to graduate next year.”
“Hmm. And you’d say his family is well off ?”
“Well, his father is a teacher, so I suppose they have a monthly income. I don’t know, they might even have some land in the country as well.”
Okchom blushed.
“Alright, Father, please go now. I’ve got to get up.”
“You see, I could tell he was the son of a gentlemen, brought up in a proper family. Hell, those manners of his are perfect.”
“Well, I guess so . . .”
Okchom painted a picture of Sinch’ol in her mind and felt a twinge of embarrassment thinking about the next time she would see him. This made her heart race even faster. Looking satisfied with himself, Tokho smiled and left her room. Okchom rose and dressed. She picked up her nightgown and held it tightly against her. The thought that Sinch’ol had held that nightgown in his arms last night sent a tingle down her spine. She folded her bedding and put it away. She opened her door just a crack and saw that the door to the side room where Sinch’ol slept was wide open, though she couldn’t see Sinch’ol. It looked as if he had gone out for another walk. He had a habit of going out before the crack of dawn. Okchom quietly crossed to his room. It had been cleanly swept and the books on his desk had been carefully arranged. There was a pair of Sinch’ol’s dirty socks rolled in a ball under the desk. As Okchom stood there staring at them, reflecting on the events of the previous night, she wondered, Does Sinch’ol really love me?
32
As she sat and pondered this question, she recalled the scene she had witnessed: Sonbi and Sinch’ol standing face to face with a bowl of water between them. A wave of jealous feelings now swept uncontrollably through Okchom. Could Sinch’ol be in love with Sonbi? But what could he love about her? No, no, I must have this wrong, she thought. How could a person like Sinch’ol fall for somebody’s servant? And especially for a hick like that who’s never been to school and doesn’t know anything. She might be pretty, but what else is there? Once Okchom had thought things through in this way, she felt somewhat reassured. Yet something still lingered in her mind, a cause for unease and discomfort. She made up her mind to ask Sonbi what had happened the night before, and hurried to the kitchen.
Sonbi was shuttling around the room clearing up the dishes.
“Hey, you, Sonbi! Come out here for a minute.”
Sonbi followed Okchom to the backyard. The loofa vines climbing the marsh reed fence had just set forth their first yellow blossoms of the season. Sonbi glanced at them delightedly, then went over to Okchom.
“Why did you leave your room last night?” Okchom asked.
Sonbi didn’t at first seem to understand.
“Me, when?”
“Don’t try to hide anything from me, Sonbi. Weren’t you up last night getting water for the guest from Seoul?”
Only then did Sonbi understand what she meant.
“Oh, yes! I was on my way to the outhouse last night when I saw the guest from Seoul come out of it. He asked me for a bowl of cold water, so I went and got one for him. Why do you want to know?”
“Hmm . . .” Okchom nodded her head as she looked at Sonbi. “Go back to work then,” she said, turning back to go inside.
Sonbi returned the kitchen, wondering what was going on. Maybe the guest from Seoul had said something to Okchom? Maybe there’d been a fly in the water bowl, or maybe a pine needle had fallen into it and he’d complained. Sonbi was so worked up she could hardly enjoy her breakfast.
After clearing her breakfast tray, Sonbi picked up the laundry Granny had earlier boiled in lye. As she stood there hanging it out to dry on the marsh reed fence, she looked toward the inner room. Okchom was working on her embroidery, and for some reason there she was, calling Sonbi over with a wave of her hand. Sonbi was worried Okchom might ask her more questions, and her heart started pounding. She kept looking into the house to see if the guest from Seoul was inside, but she didn’t s
ee the man who always seemed to be with Okchom. He must have left this morning, she concluded, and after hanging out the rest of the laundry, she went into the room.
“Sonbi, come and learn how to embroider.”
The truth was that whenever Sonbi saw Okchom work on her embroidery she wished she could try for herself sometime.
“Well, I’ve never done it before.”
“All you have to do is this.”
It was a picture of what seemed to be a pair of white cranes resting beneath a pine tree. Sonbi watched Okchom carefully.
“Did you learn this at school, too?”
“Of course I did. Not only this design, but all sorts of other ones as well.”
Sonbi stared at the colorful silk threads in Okchom’s embroidery. Oh, if only I could sew like that, too, she thought, even just once. Gradually, she saw the crane’s wings taking form.
“Isn’t this picture nice? Our teacher came up with the motif all by herself. Don’t you find it so . . . aesthetic?”
Whatever Okchom was saying, Sonbi hardly understood a word of it. It seemed like Okchom was bragging about how wonderful her picture was. At least that’s what Sonbi thought.
“Embroidery isn’t very hard, you know. Everyone selects one’s favorite animal or landscape and then sketches it onto a piece of paper. Then all one has to do is simply stitch it up like this with thread . . . and there you have it: embroidery.”
Okchom rattled on answering unasked questions, for she knew that Sonbi envied her ability to embroider, and even more, she wanted to make sure that Sinch’ol, who was talking with her mother in the side room, was well aware that she was sewing. Though it was only an instinct, she had the feeling that Sinch’ol would be pleased to know she was hard at work.
Sonbi listened attentively to Okchom’s words, going over in her mind what Okchom had just said: embroidery was simply a matter of sketching something one liked and then stitching it up with thread . . .
“So, Sonbi, what sort of design would you like to embroider? If you tell me, I’ll sketch it up for you. And give you some thread, too.”
So excited was Sonbi by Okchom’s kindness that her heart was racing. Oh, how I want some of that pretty thread! she thought, almost dizzy from her own delight. She put her head down to think about it. Mount Pult’a? Wonso Pond? Several images came to mind, before she found the right one. She lifted her head, ready to say it, but the words weren’t coming out. Staring at Sonbi’s cheeks, Okchom thought of what had happened the night before.
“Quick! Out with it.”
“Well, I’m not really sure . . .”
“Oh, come on. I said I’d give you some thread if you told me.”
“ Well . . . a chicken laying her eggs is what . . .”
“Oh, how embarrassing! Really, Sonbi, how could you!”
Okchom cried these words out loud, while Sonbi’s face went bright red.
33
In no time at all, the hot month of August had passed.
Okchom and Sinch’ol had just finished their preparations for their trip to Seoul. They would be leaving the next morning.
Okchom’s mother looked at Sonbi, who was working beside them, folding clothes and placing them into a wicker trunk.
“Sonbi, see that ‘picnic pasket’ or whatever it’s called. Well, go fill it up with eggs.”
Sonbi felt a lump in her throat. If it hadn’t been for Okchom, she’d have collected close to 100 eggs by now, but ever since Okchom had come home, not a single day had passed when Okchom didn’t eat all the eggs the chickens laid. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Okchom had gone and collected them with her own hands, but she’d developed the habit of asking Sonbi to get them for her. Whenever Sonbi was asked to get the eggs, a sense of loss she couldn’t quite explain weighed heavily on her heart.
Sonbi slowly rose and went into the pantry. She took down her egg basket from atop the jar. Before Okchom had come home, she used to treat this basket as something so very important and precious to her, but today she didn’t even want to set her eyes on it. Those cute little eggs she’d so painstakingly collected—all she wanted to do with them now was smash them one by one onto the floor. She could feel her nostrils flaring with this sudden impulse. She’s been eating up the eggs every day now, thought Sonbi as she passed through the threshold of the pantry. You’d think that’d be enough for her. But, no! Now she wants all the rest of them as well. The nerve of her! But just then—just as she stepped up into the breezeway—Sonbi stumbled. Two eggs rolled out of the basket and cracked.
“ Watch out for those eggs!” cried Okchom. She ran up to Sonbi and snatched the basket away from her.
“Just what do you think you’re doing! Carrying something like this around without paying any attention. You might be good at housework, but you are a perfect fool when it comes to this sort of thing. Simply unbelievable!”
Okchom made sure she shouted loud enough for Sinch’ol to hear. She was thrilled to be able to find fault with Sonbi within his earshot. Okchom’s mother came in shortly thereafter carrying some clothes. She stood face to face with her daughter and Sonbi.
“And just what am I supposed to do with you? You came an inch away from breaking them all. A girl your age should be walking slowly, not racing around however she pleases . . .”
Mercilessly attacked by both mother and daughter, Sonbi felt the color rush into her face. She realized that all the sorrow she had tried hard to keep inside was about to pour out of her. She stood still, trying to keep back the flood of tears, when Okchom’s mother started berating her again.
“There’s not a single thing I can get done around here without having to worry about whether you’ll do it properly. The minute I look the other way, there you are neglecting your work again. Tell me what a girl close to twenty years of age is doing behaving like that. Now, get back into that kitchen, find something to do with yourself, and tell Granny to get the hell in here!”
The woman’s scream was so shrill that it sent vibrations through the entire breezeway. Sonbi went back into the kitchen. Granny stood in front of her, wide-eyed.
“What happened, dear? What’s the matter?”
Sonbi held onto a shelf in the cabinet and started to sob. She was mortified to have been insulted by the woman and her daughter, and even more upset that every single egg she’d collected that spring had now been taken from her.
As the tears streamed down her cheeks, all she could think about were the eggs—dozens and dozens of those, lovely, oval-shaped eggs.
“Granny, get in here!”
As soon as Okchom’s mother yelled for her, Granny ran, wiping away the traces of tears from her face. Granny had the habit of crying whenever Sonbi cried.
“That girl broke the eggs,” said Okchom’s mother as Granny came into the room.
“No!” Granny was shocked. She remembered how Sonbi had always carried her eggs around so lovingly.
“How many did she break?”
“How many? Well . . .” the woman mumbled, unwilling to admit that Sonbi had actually only broken a few. “If it hadn’t been for Okchom, they’d all be broken. Okchom had the sense to take them right away from her. I’ll tell you, it’s a good thing my daughter knows something about running a household.”
It was shameless how she heaped this praise on Okchom. Granny sat there with her head hung, sorting out Okchom’s clothes. Well, I guess you’re always going to think your own children are perfect, she concluded. Okchom came back into the room.
“Mom, I don’t want these things!” she said, as she looked at the long, cotton drawers her mother had put in the trunk. “Who’d ever wear anything so rough against the skin?”
“Well, what are you going to wear then?”
“I’ll buy my own underwear. These . . . these I’ll just give to Granny.”
Okchom flung the underpants over at Granny, who jumped back in surprise.
34
Okchom’s mother snatched back the underpants and put
them inside the wardrobe.
“If you won’t wear them, I will.”
Coming across a pair of cotton underwear had been such a stroke of good fortune for Granny that the lines in her face had begun to twitch uncontrollably. But such was her disappointment at losing them now that her heart felt pierced by the stinginess displayed by Okchom’s mother. The overpowering smell of the moth balls helped to stifle her breathing. She turned her head to the side and sneezed a couple of times; her eyes began to tear.
“Mom, Sinch’ol is going to pack the eggs in the picnic basket. He wants me to get him some straw or something to put underneath them.”
“Oh, heavens! I am so relieved. He must have noticed how frantic we’ve been. What a thoughtful young man! Don’t you agree, Granny? Heaven knows that girls aren’t usually so careful, but you certainly don’t expect such consideration from a man. Now, Okchom, you’d better follow his example!”
Okchom was so happy that she hardly knew what to do with herself.
“Granny, get me some cotton out of the closet.”
Whatever does this girl want with cotton all of a sudden? wondered Granny, as she opened the door to the closet and took out a bundle of cotton. She started picking through it.
“What kind did. . . ?”
“No, no, not that! We’re going all the way to Seoul. How is that old stuff supposed to look? Give me the new cotton underneath that.”
Only now did Granny understand that the cotton was to be used for cushioning the eggs. She took out some of the fluffy new cotton from the bottom of the bundle and handed it to Okchom. Whatever it was that drove her to such urgency, Okchom practically ripped the cotton out of Granny’s hands and stormed out of the room, her feet pounding against the wooden floor. As Granny watched her rush off, she thought of the cotton balls she had harvested last autumn.
They said it was only a half-acre plot, but the cotton field down in front of the village sure seemed much bigger. Granny, Sonbi and Yu Sobang had spent day after day there picking cotton until the sun went down. They were all so enchanted by the beautiful fluffy balls that they never got bored of the picking. One ball of cotton after the next, Sonbi and Granny went on picking until their skirts were simply bulging! But oh, how they had pricked their fingers and stubbed their toes on those plants in order to pick the cotton! And how they had endured such agonizing pain in their necks in order to balance it all on their heads! Here these people were too stingy to give her anything better than worn-out old padding for her winter jacket, and yet those eggs bound for Seoul were to be cushioned with fluffy, new cotton. By the time Granny’s train of thought had meandered this far, her eyes were red and swollen, and she sneezed once again.
From Wonso Pond Page 11