“Just look at him! Already dead asleep, are ya? Come on, wake up!”
Ch’otchae opened his eyes, but only when his friend kicked him in the backside.
“What the hell! Just leave me alone, will you? I’m trying to get some sleep.”
His friend was drunk and staggering, and now he scowled at Ch’otchae.
“What’s your problem anyway, man? Not paying for drinks anymore . . . How much you make today, anyway? Just buy me one drink, will ya? Hand over some money, man, mon-ey!”
His head swayed from side to side, and he finally collapsed to the ground. The sand caught in the folds of his clothes poured out onto the floor.
“Ha, ha . . . Oh, man! Those factory chicks sure are something . . . all those girls . . . they’re killing me! Hah, ha . . .
Oh, dong-dong, one autumn night
The moon, dong-dong, is shining bright
Of my love, dong-dong, my thoughts
Way up there, dung-dung, are caught
Fall is here, my boy, and the moon is shinin’. Now, don’t tell me you ain’t got no girl! Hah, ha . . . Or wait, you aren’t hitched yet, are ya?”
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Ch’otchae stared at him without a word in reply. His friend’s eyes were red and seemed to glimmer at the mention of the opposite sex. Ch’otchae imagined Sonbi for a moment but then felt something he wasn’t used to feeling. His heart was now racing, and he jumped to his feet despite himself. His friend stared at him as he got up to go.
“Hey, man. Why won’t you answer me?”
Instead of replying, Ch’otchae smiled and made his way out to the kitchen. The woman running the place had been busy working her way around the kitchen when she happened to notice Ch’otchae coming out.
“Mister, you owe me money today.”
Ch’otchae stopped. “How much altogether?”
“Well . . . fifty chon.” She turned up a face with flat features as she softly studied the expression on his. The tables just behind them were still surrounded by workers slurping away at their soup.
“Here, take thirty for now.”
“You’re coming back tomorrow?”
“We’ll see. I’ll get you your money, sooner or later.”
“Yes, well . . .”
The soup lady clearly wanted her remaining twenty chon now, but Ch’otchae ignored her and called out to his friend, who was also getting up to go.
“You’re drunk, man. Just lay down and sleep it off.”
“You mean you’re not going to buy me a drink?”
“Some other time, I promise. Today I’m flat broke.”
“Broke? Oh, come on.”
His friend kept clinging to him, but Ch’otchae finally managed to drive him off and make his way outside. Would men like him ever develop a class consciousness? Ch’otchae wondered. Before he’d met Sinch’ol, he himself had bought alchohol the very instant any money fell into his hands. When he wasn’t drunk, his mind always felt clouded and his feelings boxed-in, which he found unbearable. The others had hard lives, too, but they had women and children at home, and after a day’s work they had the comfort of hearing: “Daddy’s home!” or “Honey, go get some rice with that money.” But Ch’otchae had no one to share his feelings with, and when he got home all he could do was stare at the wall. It was no wonder he used to get angry with himself and rush to the tavern. But now that he had met Sinch’ol, Ch’otchae had given up both smoke and the bottle. He tried to avoid all the idle chatter, and was more likely to be found retreating into his own mind, even though his friends gave him a hard time. “Hey man,” they’d joke. “What’s the matter with you? Did some girl make you go dry?”
Ch’otchae walked slowly down the street, ever aware of his immediate surroundings. For fear that a spy might be following him, he paid careful attention to each alleyway as he made his way back to his landlord’s house.
Without a single light turned on to greet him, Ch’otchae’s room seemed rather lonely. And tonight, for some reason, he felt confined in this room and particularly bored, so he toyed with the idea of going out to see Sinch’ol. He figured that Sinch’ol probably wasn’t at home, though, so he simply sat down and leaned against the wall. He always went to bed without lighting a lamp. Because he had grown up in dark rooms as a child, he truly enjoyed sitting in the dark like this. And if for some reason he did have to turn on a light, he would grow restless, and his eyes would start to sting—he hated it.
Oh, Sonbi! Was that really her? Maybe she’s even seen the notes that I deliver there every day. But then again, can she even read? Not likely! They did say there’s a night school in the factory, though, didn’t they? Who knows, maybe she has learned the Korean alphabet . . . As these thoughts now raced through his mind, so too came another—he should learn how to read too. There had to be some place they’d teach him! Maybe he could even ask Sinch’ol. This thought made Ch’otchae break out into a smile. That a full-grown man going on thirty should repeat the letters of the alphabet in front of Sinch’ol seemed quite silly. And more than that, he didn’t have the need for it or the time to spare.
Ch’otchae slept soundly for some time, and then gently rose out of bed. He felt completely reenergized. As he opened the door and quietly made his way outside, the clock in the neighbor’s house struck two. Like clockwork, he always walked out of the gate at two a.m.
The usually lively streets of Inch’on had come to a complete standstill, and only the occasional light from a lantern flickered here and there in the darkness. He stood outside his gate for some time, carefully taking in his surroundings, when suddenly he felt a rush of emotion and was struck with an indescribable sense of excitement. He heard the faint sound of a foghorn from a steamship far off in the distance, softly echoing through the city streets. He set off without letting his guard down for even an instant. When he finally made it to Sinch’ol’s boarding house, Sinch’ol gave him a hearty welcome and invited him inside. Ch’otchae could tell that Sinch’ol had just gotten home after finishing his work. He could see the exhausted look in his narrowed eyes. Sinch’ol rubbed his eyes and took a good look at Ch’otchae. There was a flicker of anxiety in Ch’otchae’s darkened face, but there was also a certain dignity to it, something more courageous that glowed.
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Back when Sinch’ol had first met Ch’otchae, he had thought of him as nothing more than a simple, honest worker—or rather, Ch’otchae had been so unbelievably naïve that Sinch’ol had taken him for something of a fool. Yet in the course of only a few months, Ch’otchae seemed like a completely different person. When Sinch’ol sat face to face with him, as he was doing now, he even found himself feeling somewhat intimidated.
“You’ll have to be careful, my friend,” he said to Ch’otchae. It seems the police have begun a crack down by following the trail of our leaflets—so you’ve got to be extra cautious.”
Ch’otchae had been staring straight at Sinch’ol with wide-open eyes, but now he shifted his gaze to the ground. It seemed as though they both might be arrested before long. He hoped that only the uneducated people like him would be arrested, those unable to take on the more important roles. If by any chance important figures like Sinch’ol were captured, the future looked quite bleak for the laborers in Inch’on, who were only just on the point of coming into class consciousness. If Ch’otchae or the other laborers were arrested, they would most likely be able to put up with the beatings—no matter how bad they were. But could Sinch’ol and the others? With such soft, white flesh? This worried Ch’otchae more than anything.
Whenever Sinch’ol sat face to face with Ch’otchae, whenever he had an important mission for him to carry out, he always phrased it like this: “This is what we’ve got to do”—the we meaning we, the workers. Yet the way Ch’otchae saw things, Sinch’ol was the one person who seemed different from the others. Whenever Sinch’ol spoke to him, Ch’otchae almost always felt a rush of emotion that was hard to describe: He’s doing all this for our sake, working so ha
rd to help us open our eyes . . .
“They’ve decided reports should be made once a month from now on, so why don’t you come again on the fifteenth of next month? You’ve got to watch out, though, you understand? Stay on your guard around friends, and of course you know very well to stay away from anything like alcohol or women, so I won’t say anything more about that . . .”
Sinch’ol tried to read the expression on Ch’otchae’s face. He sat there unflinchingly. On the one hand he seemed like a well-behaved ox, the very picture of loyalty, and yet on the other hand, there was something else, something unwavering about him that ran much deeper. Sinch’ol could see it there in him.
“Well then! Time for you to go!”
Sinch’ol got up and Ch’otchae followed him outside. With a quick but firm gesture, Sinch’ol placed a sheaf of manifestos into his hands.
“Be careful now!”
Ch’otchae took the pamphlets and shoved them down his pants. Then he shook Sinch’ol’s hand firmly. He pulled down his hunting cap over his brow and headed out the main gate.
His nerves were on edge now because of what Sinch’ol had told him. His concentration was such that he’d become all eyes and ears. And by the time he finally arrived at the Taedong Spinning Mill his heart was racing. First, he made a loop around the compound. Someone might have come to spy on him, he feared, so he kept his eyes peeled for anything that looked suspicious. He could hear the clamor of the factory generators. Out of that black smokestack rising into the sky came a stream of smoke, turned white now in the light of the moon.
He made his way back into the alley. There wasn’t a trace of human life in sight—everything was completely still. This time he slowly emerged from the shadows and headed straight for the northeast corner of the factory compound, where he pressed himself up against the wall. He pulled the pamphlets out of his pants, quickly shoved them into the drainage pipe, and then turned around to go. Breathlessly, he dashed to the corner of the house opposite him, but his eyes were still fixed on the pipe. Again he saw that long line of factory girls in his mind and, then in the midst of them all, Sonbi. Oh, Sonbi! he cried silently, almost despite himself. Was that really you? Could you really be spinning thread in there now? Or maybe sleeping? It seemed like she was looking straight into my eyes . . . But had she even recognized me?
He hoped Sonbi was reading all those notes he’d been leaving in the factory. He wanted so much for her to be smart, not just pretty and gentle, like the old Sonbi used to be. If only she took that one step forward and became a strong, committed woman. That was the only way he’d ever be able to trust her and to walk with her side by side.
All human beings, after all, had to make a point of understanding what class they belonged to, and furthermore, it was those who struggled for the historical development of human society who were, in the truest sense, human beings—this is what Sinch’ol had told him.
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Having finished night class and returned to Room No. 3, Sonbi lay down on her bedding before she’d even taken off her clothes. Back when she was in Room No. 7 with Kannan, they used to snuggle under the covers as soon as night school was over, and talk late into the night. But now that Sonbi had been moved, she felt like a guest in someone else’s house, and she was never really comfortable—perhaps because she wasn’t very close to her new roommates. What was that idiot of a supervisor thinking anyway? That she was going to give him favors if he moved her in here? There was something fishy about the move, to be sure. Maybe Kannan was right, and he was just trying to keep a better eye on her. But maybe I’m right, thought Sonbi, and the fool has actually fallen for me.
Along with these thoughts, an image of Ch’otchae’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. It was on the way to Wolmido, on that cobblestone street on the wharf—they’d actually stared right into each other’s eyes. But had that really been Ch’otchae?
Having caught this glimpse of him so unexpectedly, Sonbi couldn’t help but think about Ch’otchae at night. She remembered the time when she’d climbed up the hill to collect wild herbs, and Ch’otchae had stolen some of her sourstem, and she had run back down the hill in tears. And then there was the time when her mother was sick—the day when at the crack of dawn he’d brought them sumac roots! She knew she’d failed to appreciate what he’d tried to do for her. What a precious gift those sumac roots seemed to her now, and how grateful she felt for them! Proof of Ch’otchae’s sincerity, his pure heart, had been right there in those freshly dug roots still moist with soil, and yet at the time she’d completely failed to see it. What had she done with those roots? Roots he had surely spent all night digging? Roots that no doubt symbolized his true feelings? What she should have been grateful for she had tossed into the back corner! The more she thought about it, the more angry, the more ashamed she felt about her behavior.
Oh, if only just once! Was it really impossible for her to meet him again? Sonbi rolled onto her side and let out a deep sigh. She felt the warmth of her breath coming back into her face. But this triggered yet a different memory: of Tokho breathing heavily whenever he grabbed her. She shuddered at the thought of it. She had lost something now, it seemed, something without which she’d never be able to meet Ch’otchae again. She felt absolutely helpless and horribly ashamed. The chastity she had guarded for twenty years had been stolen from her by that pumpkin-faced old Tokho, and the more she thought about it, the more enraged she became. She’d been so traumatized at the time that she hadn’t even had the wherewithal to get upset about it. But as she lay in bed and pondered it now, she knew that Tokho had ruined her life forever, and her face flushed with shame. She tried to paint a picture of Ch’otchae’s face in her mind. Judging from his expression the other day, he’d seemed quite surprised to see her, which must have meant that he had recognized her. Even though their eyes had met for only the briefest instant, Sonbi could tell that Ch’otchae hadn’t forgotten her. Somewhere, in some corner of his mind, he had kept a memory of her alive.
Perhaps his eyes had lit up the way they did because Sonbi herself had stared at him with such excitement. In any event, it seemed certain that Ch’otchae had recognized her. Sonbi had felt such a rush of emotions, first of sadness and then of joy, that her heart had simply trembled under their sway. She didn’t ever want to leave Ch’otchae’s sight. And yet people had backed up behind her, and were pressing her on. Like a flash of lightning their paths had crossed, and like a flash of lightning myriad memories had suddenly swept through her mind. She’d had no choice but to move on.
Ch’otchae’s body was so big and strong now, she could hardly recognize it, and with his features so rugged, it was only those sparkling eyes that she recognized for sure—eyes that had smiled at her so long ago, those of a boy chewing on a piece of stolen sourstem. In those eyes she could now see something troubled by the world, as well as something of their earlier innocence and vitality. But in the very pupils of his eyes she could also see a powerful, almost terrifying glow! And it was this, and this alone, she knew, that would free her from her hatred of Tokho.
Then she remembered something that Kannan was always telling her—that the world was full of enemies, people just like Tokho. If we want to stand up to them, we have to do it together. Somehow Sonbi felt suddenly empowered. Only by doing what Kannan had taught her could she ever imagine taking Ch’otchae’s hand into her own. That strong back of Ch’otchae’s that must have carried so many loads of dirt! Her own hands that were blistered from spinning so much thread! There was no other choice but to bring together all those backs and all those hands and to join together in a fight against all the Tokhos of the world. This was the only path Sonbi could now see before her.
“Ahem!” At the sound of someone coughing, Sonbi flinched.
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Sonbi listened with bated breath. When she heard the cough again, she realized that it had come from the supervisor in the night duty room. There was nothing but a single wall separating her and the super as they lay th
ere side by side—the very thought of this made her uncomfortable. Sonbi remembered what Kannan had told her about Yongnyo. Sure enough, the supervisor had moved Sonbi into this room hoping to make her into his next Yongnyo, but she would never let him get his way with her. And if he ever did come after her and try to make a plaything out of her like Yongnyo, she thought, well, I’d make a complete fool out of him and then just get out of here. Aren’t there other factories out there besides this one?
In spite of her determination to avoid Yongnyo’s fate, Sonbi’s mind was plagued by a sense of foreboding about her future, which was no little cause for distress. If only Kannan were still in the same room with her, she might have said something to comfort Sonbi at a time like this. She wanted to make contact with Kannan and to discuss a plan of action, so that they could take a stand against this supervisor who kept throwing himself onto the girls. For some time now she’d been wanting to talk with Kannan, but it hadn’t been easy to find the chance. They were both busy all day long, and had to work the night shift every other day, and if ever they had a single moment to spare, they’d have to use it to sew their clothes. If she didn’t take advantage of nights like these, months, even years, might pass by before she found even a minute to sit down face to face with Kannan.
And yet judging from the fact that the supervisor had just coughed, it seemed he hadn’t yet fallen asleep. At the sound of a door opening he’d most likely come chasing after her. Oh, to heck with it, I’ll talk to her some other time! she thought. Why should it have to be today?
Then she heard a door open. Sonbi quickly looked at her door. It wasn’t hers but rather, it seemed, the door to the supervisor’s night-duty room. There was a sound of soft footsteps coming from outside. Sonbi flinched in fear that her body was in imminent danger. She pulled the blanket over her head and held her breath. She could hear the sound of footsteps no longer. But in her mind the supervisor was standing right outside her door, trying to guess whether the girls inside were sleeping or not. Sonbi’s heart was racing a mile a minute for fear that he might any second now enter the room and force himself upon her. She was on the point of waking up her roommate, who was sleeping soundly beside her, oblivious to everything.
From Wonso Pond Page 30