“Get out of here! Or are you too much of a coward? Now get going! Go!”
Awoken by the sound of the banging door, Yongch’ol came out of his room, crying. Sinch’ol’s father had never imagined that Sinch’ol would take things to such extreme, and actually leave. When the man saw Sinch’ol going out the door, bag in tow, as he’d been ordered, he suddenly felt dizzy, and his body started to tremble like the leaves of a poplar tree.
Sinch’ol heard Yongch’ol crying as he stepped out the front gate. The snow was falling heavier now than it had been earlier. In no time at all his clothes were white with snow. When he reached Paksok Heights, he heard someone’s footsteps behind him, and he quickly turned around, thinking perhaps they belonged to his stepmother. But it turned out to be some other middle-aged woman he didn’t know. Sinch’ol felt an unbearable loneliness, and thinking of his own dead mother, he was brought to the verge of tears.
Where should I go? he wondered, as he slowly walked alone. But no matter how long he considered it, he could think of nowhere. Mulling over various possibilities, he finally made his way to the Chongno district. Chongno, however, made him feel even more lonesome. There were people walking here and there, but no one seemed to be roaming the streets, as he was, without anywhere to go. They all hurried along, swinging their arms and legs to the loud sound of the jazz flowing from all the cafés.
When he made it to Pagoda Park, he stopped. “Maybe I should go over to his place,” he said to himself, recalling how he had met a friend several days earlier right here in Pagoda Park. Passing in front of the Choson Theater, he eventually found himself at the Anguk-dong intersection. And then, with a rush of feeling, he felt himself arriving at a rather grim conclusion. He’d never again step foot into his own house . . . He’d been hoping that his stepmother might be following somewhere behind him, but now that he’d made it as far as Anguk-dong, he had to abandon that hope altogether.
Even if his stepmother had followed after him and tried to bring him home, Sinch’ol probably wouldn’t have gone back with her; he’d already made up his mind to leave. Still, he’d kept thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was somewhere behind him.
He was passing by the front of Posong College when someone stretched out a hand at him and called out his name.
“Hey, look who’s here.”
Startled, Sinch’ol took a good look at the man and realized that it was the very person he’d just set out to look for.
“My friend! I was just on my way to see you.”
“See me?”
The man stared at Sinch’ol dubiously. His complexion was pale and his eyelids were particularly thin. He had a slender figure and was quite short. But with a solid chest and hair tossed back like the prickly spikes of a chestnut burr, anyone could see he was no one to mess around with. He sometimes seemed friendly and sometimes cold. He took a moment to give Sinch’ol the once-over.
“What’s that for? You’re carrying a suitcase around in the middle of the night?”
Sinch’ol hesitated before answering, “Pamsongi! I’ve left home for good!”
“Left for good?”
Pamsongi imagined he hadn’t quite caught what Sinch’ol was saying, and he looked searchingly at him.
“What? So I’m not allowed to leave home?” Sinch’ol replied, after a while.
“No, it’s just that . . . I’m not sure what you mean . . . You mean, you’re never going back?”
“No, I’m not . . .”
Sinch’ol smiled sadly. His friend stared back at him, wide-eyed.
“So, were you headed somewhere?” asked Sinch’ol a moment later.
“Me? I was just on my way to bum some food off somebody,” he laughed, brushing the snow from his shoulders.
“Well then, come along with me.”
68
After they each ate a bowl of udon, they bought some bread and went back to Pamsongi’s house.
“Hey, I’ve got bread. And a guest,” called out his friend, smiling, as he opened the door. Sitting there face to face, with an electric bulb of no more than six watts between them, the two men had taken their shirts off and were in the middle of hunting for lice. They threw their shirts back on and looked up wide-eyed at Sinch’ol. Then they picked up the bread Pamsongi tossed to them, broke off a few pieces, and started eating.
Sinch’ol caught a whiff of something rancid as he entered the room and took a seat on the floor. Do they ever turn the heat on in this place? he wondered, as he sat on what felt like a solid block of ice.
His friend introduced him.
“Our new friend’s name is Yu Sinch’ol.”
The two men chewing on their bread greeted him with quick smiles. There seemed to be something akin to disdain in the expressions on their faces.
“Well, it’s just been the three of us here, cooking for ourselves, but now I guess we have you to share our suffering,” Pamsongi chuckled.
His wild hair shook as he laughed. He looked at the two men hunched over in the cold, dressed in nothing but filthy underwear.
“Today we’re not going hungry, my boys. The unexpected has happened! Our new friend has come in search of me.” He laughed again.
“We’ve still got tomorrow’s breakfast to worry about,” said one of the men, with a round face. He was called Kiho. The other was Ilp’o.
“Tomorrow is tomorrow. Why worry about it now? They say a man can always get by when he has to.”
Pamsongi turned to look at Sinch’ol, who was almost in a daze as he looked back at all three of them: What had he gotten himself into, to agree to spend the night in a cave like this? There wasn’t a single mattress in the room, and it horrified him to think he’d have to sleep in a place that literally chilled him to the bone. He had a gut feeling that his bag and his coat, in fact everything but his own flesh and blood, was going to be pawned the next morning. He could feel his head spinning. And then it suddenly dawned on him that reality was far more terrifying than anything he’d imagined at home . . . or rather, imagined from the comfort of his own desk! The more he envisioned this reality drawing in upon him, the darker and darker his surroundings seemed.
Sinch’ol got through the night but without a wink of sleep. The next morning he dumped out all the money in his wallet and handed it over to Pamsongi, who went out to buy rice and firewood. While one of them picked clean the rice, another started the fire. This sped things along, and the rice was cooked before long.
“We’ve got a proper meal today, my boys!”
There was gray ash all over Pamsongi’s face and hair. Sinch’ol smiled at his friend. He saw how his new friends were perfectly content with their lives. Hell, I can put up with this! he suddenly thought, determined to stick it out as well.
After eating their meal, each of them tried to get someone else to do the dishes, and in the end they each picked up their own bowl and piled it in a corner of the kitchen.
“Hey, I guess she’s not going out today.”
Ilp’o winked at them and then looked over at the front door.
“Doesn’t she work the night shift now?” chimed in Kiho. “I don’t think she gets out till 1:00 today . . . Why don’t we go over and introduce ourselves later?”
Sinch’ol’s friend looked over to him and said in a whisper, “You know what they’re talking about? Over there, in the side room, there’s this beauty who works in a spinning mill . . . These guys can’t stop talking about getting a date with her.”
“Oh, yeah? And you don’t want a date with her? Truth is your body’s burning up for her at one hundred percent capacity.”
They shared a good laugh over this one.
But the next day, Sinch’ol’s friend suddenly decided that it wouldn’t be a good idea for them all to live together, so after talking things over, he decided he would be the one to move to a different location. He stopped by occasionally, but only if it was necessary that they see each other.
Sinch’ol gradually grew accustomed to living away fro
m home. He cooked his own meals and washed his own clothes. And as soon as he finished eating, he’d set himself to lice hunting, or busy himself darning his socks. Since Sinch’ol was so meticulous with everything he did, the others gave him the role of managing the household.
Ilp’o and Kiho had already spent time in prison, so all they did now was snicker amongst themselves on the sidelines, rather than take an active role in what was going on. They whiled away their time, day after day, making a laughing stock of other people. And whenever the topic of women came up, they became particularly excited.
“Hey, Sinch’ol! I was crossing the bridge out front last night, and all of a sudden, there I was face to face with that beauty . . . It was like . . .”
The beauty he spoke of was the factory girl who lived next door.
69
Okchom had stopped pounding away at the keys of her piano, and lost in her thoughts, stared at the moonlight streaming in through the window. She turned around and looked at Sonbi.
“Sonbi. Didn’t Sinch’ol say anything to you that night?”
Trimming the ends of the cucumbers she had picked that afternoon, Sonbi looked blankly at Okchom from the doorway, a cucumber still grasped in her hand. What in the world is she talking about? she wondered. Okchom quickly lost her temper.
“Sometimes you seem to have completely lost your mind. What’s wrong with you, anyway?”
Okchom had hardly given Sonbi the time to think about the question before she started cutting into her. “Did Sinch’ol say something to me that night?” Sonbi repeated under her breath. What could he have said to me? she wondered, unable to piece together what Okchom was talking about.
It wasn’t just what Okchom was saying to her—she’d felt like this for quite some time now. And she had no idea why. Glancing down at this bucket chock-full of cucumbers it seemed to her like her own head was chock-full as well—with all sorts of anxiety and stress and feelings that she found difficult to understand. Maybe she had in fact lost her mind, just like Okchom said. In any case, some part of her, something clear, something bright—she wasn’t quite sure what—was gone. She cut off the stem of the cucumber with her knife and let out a gentle sigh.
“So you still don’t remember anything?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Sonbi, lifting her head after some time.
“How can anyone be so stupid! I’m talking about the guest we had who came up from Seoul last summer . . .”
“Well, what about him?”
“Lord, how in the world did you turn into such an idiot? Just forget it and go back to making your damn pickles! Talking to you is like teaching scriptures to a cow!”
Okchom spun back around in her chair. She started playing the piano again and singing a sad song to accompany the music. Lost in her thoughts, Sonbi stared at Okchom and listened to her sing. It seemed like Okchom’s song was ridiculing her, sneering at everything about her. Glowing there in the moonlight, which streamed through the window like a rainbow, Okchom’s beautiful fingers seemed to be jumping lightly over the keys as though they were little white fish.
“Hey, Sonbi! Turn on a lamp in that room,” shouted Okchom’s mother, coming in from outside. Sonbi jumped to her feet in surprise. At the sound of the woman’s voice, Sonbi’s heart always began to race in fear of what words might come next. Would it be just another scolding? Or would it be something far worse, like, You dirty bitch! Get the hell out of my house! It was impossible for Sonbi to set her mind at ease.
“No, leave it alone . . . I like it like this, Mother. The moonlight is enough to see by . . . And besides, what do I need a light on for anyway? I just feel like I want to die . . .”
Okchom looked at her mother, who was peering into the room. Her mother was alarmed by what Okchom had said about wanting to die.
“Just what are you saying? How can anyone with the education you have say anything so foolish? I don’t ever want to hear you say that again!”
Okchom’s mother had plenty more to say to her daughter, but she left it with this, for her throat was tightening with sorrow.
“And what are you still trimming those cucumbers for? Take them out of here, light the lamp in the inner room and spread out the bedding. And then do the same thing in here! For crying out loud! You get slower by the day. I don’t know why we didn’t just keep Granny here . . .”
When Okchom had come back home after graduating that spring, Sonbi had again been kicked out of Okchom’s room and into Granny’s. That was why Tokho made Granny leave.
“Oh, Mom! I . . . well . . . I saw Granny over in Onjong . . . And she was crying and everything. I feel so bad for her . . .”
“I know, dear, but that stubborn father of yours was determined to get rid of her. I felt sorry for her too . . . And I tried my best to keep her here.”
Okchom’s mother glanced at Sonbi, who had just picked up her bucket of cucumbers and was heading into the kitchen. The flames of jealousy deep inside her had been kindled some time ago, but she felt them now as a hot tingling in her breast.
“That was all her fault, too, damn it,” thought Okchom’s mother.
What other possible reason could he have had for getting rid of Granny just as Sonbi was moving into Granny’s room? There’s just something fishy about the way he handled that, thought Okchom’s mother. She did her best not to reveal these thoughts to her daughter.
Okchom, meanwhile, had draped herself over the keyboard.
“It’s all so strange . . .” she said, her arms pulled tightly against her breasts. Okchom’s mother approached her excitedly.
“So you think it’s strange, too?”
70
Okchom stared at her mother in surprise.
“What could that old fox be up to? Something suspicious alright,” said her mother.
“Oh, good heavens, Mother, is that what you’re talking about? What could you possibly be suspicious of ?” Okchom laughed.
Okchom’s mother felt an incredible anger surge up inside her.
“And just what do you think is so funny!”
“What’s the matter, Mother? Why are you so angry?”
The woman was so embarrassed that she had to turn away from her daughter.
She could hear the sound of Sonbi striking matches in the inner room, which then lit up brilliantly. She went inside and glared at Sonbi, who was spreading out the bedding.
“Now, spread that evenly!” she shouted.
Sonbi’s heart was already racing uncontrollably. Her hands now started to tremble, and she was unable to look up at Okchom’s mother. After spreading out the bedding, she came straight into the breezeway, where Okchom was still sitting at the piano, her head slumped over the keys. Sonbi couldn’t tell if she was thinking about something or sleeping. The only thing she remembered was that Okchom had just told her she did not want the lamp lit in this room, so she sat down beside the doorway to see if she could figure out what Okchom wanted next. Want me to turn on a lamp? is what Sonbi wanted to ask her, but she was too afraid that Okchom would make fun of her again and say something she couldn’t understand, so she just sat there, staring blankly into the darkness.
“Maybe I should just go to Seoul tomorrow?”
With this, Okchom suddenly stood up from the bench, and as she backed away from the piano bench, she said, “Oh, turn on the damn light! What are you doing just sitting there? You idiot! Look, something just spilled all over the place!”
Okchom had knocked over her bowl of water. Sonbi quickly ran over and lit the lamp.
“If you had bothered to turn on the lamp instead of just sitting there like that, this never would have happened. Damn it, Sonbi, I’ve just about had it with you! Get this cleaned up, fast!”
Okchom quickly crossed to the inner room. Mother and daughter were now talking about something or other.
After wiping up the room with a rag, Sonbi picked up the empty brass bowl and brought it into Granny’s room. As she was walking into the room she realized,
Oh no, I meant to bring this bowl into the kitchen . . . But as she made an about-face and stepped out the door, she reconsidered. Oh, I’ll just bring it back tomorrow, she thought, dropping down onto the floor.
Without even turning on her light, Sonbi sat in her room, completely motionless. They had given her such a hard time all day long, and she was now so beside herself that she hardly had the energy to think. As she stared vacantly at the moonlight streaming in through the window, she gradually felt a stronger desire to follow that moonlight and leave this house forever. “What do I do?” she sighed.
She had stared out the window night after night and had made up her mind to run away on several occasions. When she was on the point of picking up her things to leave, however, it always came down to one thing: there was no place to go.
Sonbi found herself stroking the empty brass bowl. Maybe I should just find the courage to finally make a break for it? I’ll even take this brass bowl with me . . . she thought. Then that scowl on Okchom’s mother’s face flashed before her eyes. She shuddered and pushed the bowl away. Yet for some reason, she’d feel sorry to leave this bowl behind. It was in fact the only thing about this house that she’d miss. Sonbi saw before her eyes the whole array of dishes that filled the cupboard: brass bowls and porcelain bowls, soup bowls, platters and plates of all types. All the dishes she handled day after day with such care: dishes with flower patterns and animals carved in relief, dishes round and square, big and small! They were the only things in this household for which Sonbi had any affection.
She pulled the brass bowl over to her once again and held it closely against her chest. She looked out the window lost in thought. And right then and there, she decided to leave her room. She slowly rose to her feet and picked up her bundle of things. Then she stopped once again. . . . But where do I go? And what if I run into someone out there even scarier than Tokho? With these fears, Sonbi gently set down her bundle and gave up on the idea for the time being. But no matter how much she thought about it, she knew deep down inside that she wouldn’t be able to stay in this house for very much longer.
From Wonso Pond Page 21