The Age of Doubt E-Book

Kyongni Pak

• Herausgeber: Honford Star
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 402

Beschreibung

The Age of Doubt collects some of Pak Kyongni's most famous works, including her 1955 debut and other stories featuring characters that would appear in her 21-volume epic, Toji. Many of Pak's stories reflect her own turbulent experiences during the period following the Korean war and the various South Korean dictatorships throughout the twentieth century.

Leseprobe

The Age of Doubt

PAK KYONG-NI

TRANSLATED BY

Sophie BowmanAnton HurSlin JungYou Jeong KimPaige Aniyah MorrisMattho ManderslootEmily Yae Wonand Dasom Yang

This translation first published by Honford Star 2022

Honford Star Ltd.Profolk, Bank ChambersMarket PlaceStockport SK1 1ARhonfordstar.com

Stories copyright © Pak KyongniCommentary copyright © 2022 Kang Ji HeeTranslation copyright © 2022 Sophie Bowman, Anton Hur, Slin Jung,You Jeong Kim, Paige Aniyah Morris, Mattho Mandersloot,Emily Yae Won, and Dasom YangAll rights reservedThe moral rights of the translators and editors have been asserted.

ISBN (paperback): 978-1-7398225-2-1ISBN (ebook): 978-1-7398225-3-8A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Edited by You Jeong KimCover illustration and design by SanhoTypeset by Honford Star

This book is published with the support of theLiterature Translation Institute of Korea (LTI Korea).

Contents

Calculations

Black is Black, White is White

The Age of Darkness

The Age of Doubt

Retreat

The Era of Fantasy

The Sickness No Medicine Can Fix

Commentary

Calculations

Hwe-in wore a simple outfit. She flung a black scarf around her neck, opened her desk drawer, and took out a sealed envelope and several hundred-hwan bills. Tucking them into the pocket of her overcoat, she went out through the front gate and walked until she came to the police box, its lights glowing red as rabbits’ eyes. Stooping down, she checked the time—5:40. Figuring it would take about ten minutes to reach Dongdaemun, she trudged ahead.

She was on her way to Seoul Station. Yesterday she’d made plans to meet Jeong-ah there at seven, before the other woman was set to leave for Busan on an eight o’clock train. Jeongah had come up from Daegu a few days earlier. She’d probably had plenty of other business to attend to, but the main goal of her visit had been to feel out Hwe-in’s intentions. Namely, to get a better sense of Hwe-in’s feelings toward Gyeong-gu, Hwein’s ex-fiancé. Still, Jeong-ah was a dear friend Hwe-in had been genuinely happy to see.

So dear, in fact, that she would have seen her off even in the dead of night, instead of in these cold, early hours of the dawn.

Dongdaemun came into view. The sloped rooftop drew closer, looking like something out of an ink painting. Wedged into the stone wall was a streetcar box office as tiny as a crab shell. Hwe-in wondered if someone would be inside selling tickets in the bitter cold at this hour. She went up close to check, but the window was shut tight. A streetcar bound for Yeongcheon went by. Trembling, she waited for the next one.

The streetlamps cast a faint glow on the asphalt, and the stars were dim and watery in the sky where the dawn and the morning seemed to be intertwined. Two boys crossed the streetcar tracks from the other side of the road and approached the spot where Hwe-in stood. They stopped and stood beside her, looking ready to board the streetcar too. The light from the streetlamps shone down on them at an angle. One boy had plump, dark lips, and a face riddled with acne, and though he was quite hefty, the way his teeth kept chattering made him seem silly, like a little kid. He looked sort of like a street rat in his shabby leather jacket. There he stood, yammering away in a North Korean accent. The other boy looked world-weary, like a student putting himself through school, a cloth-wrapped bundle in one of his arms and a bag in the other. His face was pale and hard-pressed, absent of even a glimmer of the youthful spark befitting someone his age. Yet there was a gentleness about him that he seemed to have in common with others who had suffered a great deal in life.

“What’re we gonna do if we can’t get a ticket?” he drawled, looking worried.

The sound of his accent filled Hwe-in’s ears, familiar. She found herself leaning closer to hear more of it. The rich, distinctive scent of her hometown flooded her lungs. The boys must have been students at a nearby school, headed home now that they were on break.

“Hey, don’t sweat it.”

“But if he ain’t there, we’ll be screwed, won’t we?”

“Ah right, it’s Sunday. He might not be on the clock today … but it doesn’t matter, since it’s close to my house.”

From this, Hwe-in guessed the talkative boy was going to buy a train ticket for the other boy at the station and then see him off. But for some reason, the chatty one struck her as unreliable. Seeing the country boy feebly gripping that bundle under his arm, Hwe-in felt a twinge of worry that he wouldn’t be able to get the ticket in time and was going to miss the train.

The streetcar appeared then, rattling to a stop in front of them. It was bound for Itaewon. The boys got on board, and Hwe-in followed after.

“I wasn’t able to buy a ticket,” she said to the conductor. “I hope you’ll accept cash.” She held out two ten-hwan bills. Right as the conductor reached out to take the money, someone approached them with quick, urgent strides.

“I’ve got a ticket right here.”

The country boy hurriedly placed the orange ticket in the conductor’s hand. The conductor looked a bit confused as he rang the bell, studying the boy’s face and seeming awed by his generosity.

“Thank you. Here you go.” Hwe-in thrust the money at the boy like she couldn’t bear to have it in her hands. The thorniness in her voice surprised even her, and she realized she was probably being rude. Obviously, the boy wouldn’t accept the money, and even offering it to him must have made her look mean, the sort of person who would heartlessly turn down an act of kindness. But seeing as they had never met before, Hwe-in had no choice but to adopt the cold formality she would in any business transaction. No matter how harsh her words sounded even to her ears, she couldn’t let that sway her.

“No need for all that. It’s fine,” the country boy replied in a prim Seoul accent, his face blushing red. Resigned, Hwe-in took a seat, leaving a good amount of space between herself and the boys.

The streetcar started up again, twisting like a big snake. The air was so cold it felt like it would soon freeze and coil up inside their car, spacious and empty but for the three of them. Outside the rattling windows, the darkness fluttered like a blackout curtain. When she looked into the glass, Hwe-in found her own face reflected back. She quickly looked away. Even the boys were silent now. Hwe-in knew she should say something, perhaps try showing more gratitude; she felt deeply troubled about just pocketing the money and taking a seat. She couldn’t very well thank the boy again, yet when she tried instead to feign obliviousness, staring blankly out the window, all her worry rolled itself up into that little streetcar ticket that was spinning around and around before her eyes. Despite herself, she found her gaze returning to the reflection in the glass. She took in her own sad eyes. Turned her head a bit to the side. All right, she thought. Let me buy his ticket. It should be no problem if I ask Sung for help.

Right—it wouldn’t be too hard to get a train ticket if she asked a favor of Sung, who was affiliated with the company where she worked. Hadn’t she asked for a similar favor on Jeong-ah’s behalf just the day before? Stowing this timely idea away in her mind, Hwe-in lowered her gaze and studied the tops of her shoes. She contemplated how she might casually bring up her intentions to the boys. It was bound to be awkward. Where were the polished and composed words when she needed them? She tutted, annoyed and embarrassed with herself. Did I ever ask you to buy me a ticket? She felt restless. All at once, she remembered being in almost the exact same situation a few days earlier.

She had been waiting for someone at a coffee shop called Black Cat. It was around six in the evening, and the café was teeming with people—almost no empty seats in sight. Hwe-in didn’t normally frequent places like this, and the moment she stepped inside, she was overwhelmed. Like a lone girl surrounded by a pack of wily boys, she was at a total loss for what to do. She made a reasonable effort to remain calm, but her cheeks burned red. Seeing only one empty seat in the entire café, Hwe-in grudgingly sat across from a man she didn’t know. She thought about just leaving and waiting outside, but there were two entrances, plus it would be a hassle to make her way back out to the street now. Besides, she could feel the tearoom waitress’s sharp glare burning holes in the back of her head. With no other bright ideas coming to mind, she sat there, suffocatingly close to a stranger. As smothered as she felt in that coffee shop, the atmosphere as heavy as lead, the thing she was most worried about was where to let her gaze fall. She couldn’t simply stare at the table or the wall, and she definitely couldn’t look at the man across from her. So she studied the entrance to the left, which seemed like a natural spot to watch as she willed the person she was waiting on to hurry and show up. Whenever someone came in, though, Hwe-in’s eyes darted around like a startled rabbit’s, which served to embarrass her all the more. She felt renewed anxiety about where to look, eyes hopping to a vase, a landscape painting, the wall. Nervous, she brought her hand to the kerchief around her shoulders, absently running her fingers over it. Just then, a boy selling newspapers came by. Hwe-in was quick to speak up.

“I’ll take one,” she said.

The boy passed her by, not seeming to have heard. The saliva in her mouth dried up, and even that one request she could manage seemed to have come out as a whisper. She felt embarrassed in front of the man across the table. She sat quietly until the paper boy came around again. This time, Hwe-in called out, “Newspaper, please!”

“Which paper would you like?”

“The Seoul Shinmun.”

“Which one?”

“The Seoul Shinmun, I said.”

She reached into her pocket, took out a hundred-hwan bill, and placed it on the table. At that moment, the man across from her deftly snatched up a copy of the Dong-a Ilbo and rummaged around in his pockets. His hand came out clutching three tenhwan bills. He reached into his back pocket again and found one ten-hwan bill wedged between thousand-hwan bills. He fished it out and gave it to the newspaper boy too. The boy, thinking Hwe-in and this man were together, left without taking her hundred-hwan bill.

Hwe-in had no idea why this stranger, someone she had never met prior to this moment, had paid the cost of her newspaper. She couldn’t even eke out a simple thank you, her throat was so dry. Hoping to carry on like nothing had happened, she fixed her eyes squarely on the newspaper in front of her. But she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Instead, she found herself resisting this stranger’s goodwill, wondering why people bestowed such arbitrary kindnesses on others. Because of one newspaper, her plan to distance herself from this man and maintain her own peace of mind had gone right down the drain. Her mood grew more and more sour. Just then, she spotted the person she’d been waiting for, gesturing from the entrance. Without a word, she stood up, leaving the money and newspaper behind.

*

“Where exactly are you headed?” Hwe-in managed to ask, forcing the question out across the distance between her and the boys. “Busan?”

Pulling on their rough-hewn army gloves, they answered almost in unison, “No, Yeosu. On the Honam Line.”

Hwe-in faltered for a moment.

“If you haven’t bought the ticket yet, I can arrange the purchase of one for you.”

“That would be great. Can you really do that?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll try.”

Feeling only slightly reassured, Hwe-in turned to look out the window and furtively unfolded her hands to slip one inside her pocket. Her fingertips brushed against the crisp envelope. There was ten thousand hwan inside. When Hwe-in had gotten word from Jeong-ah that her mother had fallen ill, she’d taken out a loan at a fifteen percent interest rate with no real plan for how she would pay it back. She borrowed the money with the desperation of a poor father on Christmas Eve, when he’d be willing to steal anything for his family. She had shut her eyes to the reality of both her mother’s illness and the dangerous amount of debt she had accrued, opting instead for denial. Even Hwe-in, who had begun to view all suffering with some degree of pessimism as of late, couldn’t bring herself to see her mother’s suffering in the same way. That her mother had been in agony, that she had grown old from all her worrying about Hwe-in— these were sobering fears much too hard for Hwe-in to bear. The mental preparations she had done to greet any misfortune she encountered with cynicism were rendered moot when it came to her mom. She’d sought escape from all that suffering. She was trying all the time to purge the thought of her mother from her mind. Even now, as she half-listened in on the two boys’ conversation, her thoughts were drifting elsewhere. If thoughts of her mother had been weighing down her mind, the distraction the boys offered was helping her to readjust the scales.

With Jeong-ah leaving this morning, all that old business with Gyeong-gu would be settled once and for all. While the issue was already a year old and nothing to cry over now in Hwe-in’s mind, this marked the first and last time she would give Gyeong-gu a hard answer. It was an open secret that Gyeong-gu had spoken about his upcoming marriage to Hwe-in with something like regret in front of her acquaintances—despite the fact that their engagement was the outcome of a romantic relationship they had both willingly entered. It had already been a year since Hwe-in fled her hometown without a word, hoping to escape the complicated tangle of rumors that had surrounded her there. Gyeong-gu tried to sway her with letters or else by asking her mother to bring her around, but not once did Hwein cave or break her silence. Stubborn and unyielding, Hwe-in couldn’t bring herself to forgive what Gyeong-gu had said, but because she had never put a neat end to their relationship, she’d committed herself to this stubborn stretch of silence without knowing what it would become. Was that why she had so clearly spurned Jeong-ah’s suggestions the night before—to resolve the issue and be done with it? Even now, she couldn’t say with certainty whether the situation with Gyeong-gu was indeed resolved or not. All she knew was that she felt surer than ever that any semblance of emotional reconciliation between them was impossible.

The streetcar arrived at Seoul Station. Hwe-in and the boys entered the waiting area. Hwe-in looked all around in search of Jeong-ah. She didn’t seem to be there yet.

Hwe-in turned to the boys. “Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she said, scurrying off.

Sung greeted her when she arrived at his office. She had already paid for Jeong-ah’s ticket just the day before, so he didn’t seem too surprised to see her again.

“Sung, do you think you could buy a ticket to Yeosu?” she asked in a rush.

“Sure, I could.”

“Buy one for me, then, please. A relative of mine suddenly needs to go there,” she lied. With that, she hurried back to the waiting area. The boy with the Northern accent had disappeared somewhere, leaving the country boy standing alone by the wall, staring at an advertisement like he had nothing else to do.

“I got the ticket,” Hwe-in said. “Come with me.”

“I’m really sorry you went to all the trouble.”

Without another word, he followed Hwe-in down to the office.

*

Once the boy handed Sung the money, he told Hwe-in he would pass the time in the waiting area and left her sitting alone in the office, warm with steam. Hwe-in felt herself growing languid as her body, frozen from the cold, began to thaw. A feeling as warm as a spring day flowed through her heart. A softness, giddy and light, like sheep’s wool. But soon enough, it was gone. Such moments of comfort never lasted long for her. Her mother’s illness, her decisive split from Gyeong-gu, the agonies that came with living—they lurked deep inside her heart like a nest of thorns. She stared blankly at her own hands resting on the desk. Her neat, clean fingernails. The office clock read seven o’clock sharp. The inside of the room was glaringly bright, light reflecting off all the white walls, so intense that Hwe-in could see a faint jade edge to its glow. There was a bare wall with not even a single landscape painting on it, and a green armband inscribed with white letters hung in one corner like a lone leaf drooping from a stem, along with a tattered black uniform that reminded Hwe-in of a heap of coal glittering next to the railroad tracks in the midday summer sun. An impossibly doleful whistle came riding in on the dawn. Hwe-in put her head down on the cool desk. She tried to hold back tears. It felt like there was a rusted statue tumbling around in the dark space behind her eyes. The tumbling sound echoed off the walls and rang throughout the room, that ringing resounding over and over again, an infinite void opening up inside her head. Then she sat up and shook her head, grimacing as if in pain. Another whistle sounded in the distance. She kept thinking about the night before, the last conversation she’d had with Jeong-ah. She buried her face in her hands, as if covering her eyes to avoid seeing her own sad self. Tears pooled on the tip of her nose. Like a statue of a goddess looming over some Western harbor, forever alone and looking out at the distant sea, the statue of herself Hwe-in had erected in her own unending loneliness vanished into her tears.

Jeong-ah said Hwe-in’s treatment of Gyeong-gu had been harsher than winter frost. Hearing that, Hwe-in stared her friend down, eyes flashing with an unusual intensity.

“I see. So you want to argue over the hard facts alone. You think I’m being harsh? Fine. To tell you the truth, I haven’t once thought about whether I was handling this situation with Gyeong-gu the right or wrong way. The whole time, all I felt was like giving up on everything.”

“Hwe-in, you’re being far too immature. Say what you will, but you don’t come across someone like Gyeong-gu every day. I’m a realist to the end, you know—don’t tell me you’re really going to be like this over a few little words? When you think about how worried he must be—”

Hwe-in cut her off, every word of her reply laced with bitter derision. “I know, I know. Everything you’re saying, I’ve heard a million times. You were the one who told me before it would be ridiculous not to forgive him for those few little words if I genuinely loved him, right? Because he’d never once betrayed me aside from that one time? Well, that may be true, but let me turn your words back on you a bit. Let’s suppose there’s a two-timing husband. Let’s say that even though he has several girlfriends, he insists to his wife that he loves her most of all. And at the same time, let’s say there’s a good-hearted man who carries himself well but caves under the pressure around him and declares his love for his woman only after he’s hurt her, in a selfish attempt to defend himself. Would the quantity of the wrongs in these two cases really outweigh the quality? If you put all the blame for our breakup on me, saying the harm done might be big in scale but not in number, you have to admit you’re being a downright mathematical woman, no better than a meter or gauge. Relationships aren’t something that can be built or resolved using that sort of metric. It would be wonderful if the human mind were so methodical.”

Jeong-ah’s face had gone red. “I’m begging you,” she said. “Let go of that impractical idealism of yours. All you’ve done, day in and day out, is turn a blind eye to what’s flawed and ugly in life—it’s such a coward move. You’re always fixating on the mental things alone, but do you really think that’s the way the world works? We tread dirt everywhere we go. I’d rather try to accept that for as long as I’m alive. Why must you be so choosy? I know you’d say I’m being materialistic, but I’m thinking about the reality. Just what’s the point of trying to dig at these invisible things? Emotion will always be the victim of reality. Always.”

“Then what’ll you do after you’ve killed off all your emotions and become the even bigger victim of reality yourself?” Hwe-in fought to control her sharp glare, the flash in her eyes. She continued. “You go on and on about emotion this and emotion that, like you think feelings are a problem, but I believe I would have handled those feelings properly if they hadn’t been a joke. If you take sufficient responsibility for the outcome, there’s nothing to regret. I know when a knot is impossible to unravel, and I don’t want a marriage where I hurt the other person or that person hurts me. All your talk about rationality does nothing but pressure and coerce both me and him. And that’s not even rationality, it’s just one of many ways of being practical. Just earlier, you brought up idealism—you said tolerating even the rotten parts of life is one of the ways we’ve learned how to look on the bright side of it, right? If everyone were like you, the basis of our society would be lies and selfishness. Things like romance would naturally become obsolete. If marriage consisted of nothing more than a few terms and conditions, all you’d need for one would be a contract, no? And if reality is nothing more than that, then I’m not even an idealist. I’m nothing, just someone who’s managed to survive. Someone with no passion—no, more like no aptitude for acquiring wealth and power. If everything that went into dating Gyeong-gu were to vanish, all that would remain would be our parting.”

Jeong-ah sat there in silence. She was a simple, easygoing person, as buoyant as the ocean in May. She had sympathy for Gyeong-gu, but she’d thought of Hwe-in’s happiness above all else. Though she’d gone so far as to put forth a view she didn’t even believe to try changing Hwe-in’s mind, Jeong-ah was— counter to everything she’d said—a natural emotionalist who wielded both tears and laughter in abundance. By comparison, Hwe-in might have been as cold as unheated stone floors. Inside her placid, expressionless silence burned the fearsome flame of her emotions—a flame no one could approach by even an inch, one she skillfully managed to keep from surging like a raging sea, a cold smile always on her lips. But that night more than any other, she wanted to tell Jeong-ah every little thing that came to her mind. Hwe-in rambled on like a child because she knew that Jeong-ah, who was so kind despite her simplemindedness, was leaving tomorrow and Hwe-in would be left to her all-consuming loneliness again.

“What happened back then tormented me. Really … When those strange rumors were going around, Jeong-ah, I kept my mouth shut. Even before you came up here, I hadn’t opened up about any of this to anyone. Of course I had a lot to say. All these words surged to the top of my throat. But I maintained this painful silence, as if I’d swallowed a thorn. I didn’t trust myself at all back then, and it seemed too risky. Like if I made one wrong move, I would fall into this pit lurking right beneath my feet. I thought anything I said at that time would come out as a bunch of nonsense and drivel, that I would burst into tears if I had to face the people who’d resented me, now delighting in my defeat.”

A bitter smile appeared on Hwe-in’s face. As she cupped her hands to catch the heat of the embers smoldering in the brazier, they trembled from the sharp pain of that memory. Her voice rose steadily as she went on.

“Things don’t seem so shaky anymore. Even if you chide me now for seriously misconstruing what was said, who would trust him again? Even if it was a lie or he didn’t mean it, is there any redeeming him? If it were all a lie, that would make him one sad magician. Isn’t that the most tragic farce you can imagine—a job where your lies are rewarded with an audience and applause? Then again, if what he said was true, that would make Gyeong-gu an unspeakably awful and ignorant person. Could he really be so dense? He said nothing to me when I should have been the first to know, and it remains a complete mystery how that letter of his—where he went so far as to claim his affections were pure and even sacred—reached me almost at the same time he publicly denied his feelings toward me, causing such ripples around us. Maybe it was his extremely delicate nature, but I’m not sure if he really did it to soften the blow against me, the unlucky woman that I was … That letter … it was what you’d call a beautiful lie, wasn’t it? But he shouldn’t have told my adversaries how he felt first. In the end, he went about it in a way that was decidedly not delicate or admirable at all, and if he still has those messy feelings now and is going around blathering on about our past together or our sacred love and whatnot, I ought to slap him!”

Hwe-in had been talking in a whisper at first, but at some point, she’d gotten swept up in her own wild emotion. Her face was red, her mouth pressed shut, tight enough that it must have hurt. Jeong-ah felt an inexplicable weight pressing down hard on her chest. She imagined she’d gotten a fierce lashing from a whip. A long silence sat between them like a grave.

As if beating away that silence with both hands, Jeong-ah said, “Of course, I understand how you feel. But is Gyeong-gu really such a bad person?” It had seemed like a rhetorical question, but then she answered herself with a strong denial. “No, he’s not— do you really think of him that way? Even if things aren’t like they used to be, you have to see that the poor man is miserable.”

“I despise Gyeong-gu’s penchant for frailty and pretense. I have no desire to shed even one tear for his cheap feelings and lies.”

Hwe-in had cooled down now, her voice low and calm, but firm. Her back was to the window, outside of which the winter night drifted wanly by. For some reason, Jeong-ah felt the sudden urge to hug her, wrap her arms around Hwe-in’s slender waist and hold her tight like an older sister would. Her forehead was pale and beautiful as if carved from ivory, which was rare for a woman. Jeong-ah wanted to sweep up the bangs that fell over that forehead. Overcome with this sense of fondness, Gyeong-gu’s haggard appearance and dark eyes seemed like distant clouds, no longer the tragedy Jeong-ah had thought they were. Instead, all she could see was how sad, pitiful, and utterly defeated the woman before her looked—like an unwavering empress, stubborn in her refusal.

The fire in Hwe-in’s haughtily upturned eyes dwindled until they resembled those of a tamed beast, her own forlorn sadness pooling in the bottomless lakes of her irises. She sneaked a glance at Jeong-ah and chuckled. It was the sort of laugh that might set off a surge of round, fat tears.

“It would be best if Mr. Lee married someone else,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her remark might have signaled either a complete return to objectivity or a camouflaging of the sadness that had burst out of her—but as she stared out into the open air, it seemed the traces of that sadness had not completely vanished from her face.

*

Thump thump thump—the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs filled the still office. Hwe-in raised her head. She allowed her expression to return to the same one she always wore. A look of utter calm. Sung came in, ruffling his hair. Hwe-in accepted the train tickets from him without a word, a sweet smile on her face. It would have been the norm to thank him, but such platitudes didn’t come easily to her, so that sweet smile had become her standard form of greeting.

Hwe-in hurried up the stairs, almost running. Her heart fluttered, imagining Jeong-ah standing around waiting for her. She’d almost reached the top of the staircase when she stopped like she’d been struck by a thought. She realized Sung hadn’t given her the seventy hwan of change after he’d bought the train ticket for the boy. Hwe-in wasn’t ignorant of the social customs around pocketing the difference, but she felt bothered by it all the same. She slid a hand into the pocket of her overcoat, feeling like she had no choice but to pay him back herself.

“Ah!”

She let out a yelp. It was almost a scream. The money was gone. That envelope of money. Incredulous, she searched her other pocket as well. Nothing. All that was left was the twenty hwan she was supposed to spend on her streetcar ticket. Dumb-founded, Hwe-in stood holding up the twenty-hwan bill and staring blankly at it, not registering anything in front of her. Without thinking, she touched her pocket again. Even the eight hundred hwan she had planned to give Jeong-ah to buy herself a snack on the train had vanished. Hwe-in stood there for a long time, her mind empty. The green traffic light seemed as faraway as a dream. She started to walk, one foot dragging itself in front of the other. She pushed the heavy door to the waiting area open with her body and stepped inside. Her black scarf had come undone and now swung sloppily against the small of her back. Hwe-in looked around lifelessly, trying to find Jeong-ah. She still didn’t see Jeong-ah’s green coat. She saw, vaguely, her little country friend running up to greet her, that white cloth bundle swinging from his grip. Without a word, she held out the wrinkled twenty-hwan bill and the train ticket to Yeosu. She knew she should have given him the seventy hwan of change, but she just stood there, utterly blank, like she had forgotten that thought entirely. The boy took the ticket, studying Hwe-in with a quizzical look on his face. She kept her hand out, wordlessly urging him to hurry up and take the money too. But the boy made no effort to do so. Instead, he seemed to falter, his mind on something else. The northerner from earlier was approaching them now, his hat gone and his thick hair flopping up and down.

“Hey, you got your ticket? It was so easy to get one today! Mr. Kim bought it just like that, no problem! We were up and running around at dawn for nothing.” He cut his eyes at Hwe-in. As if to say they shouldn’t have stooped so low as to ask this woman for a favor. He seemed hostile toward her, like he thought she’d had the nerve to steal the chance he’d been up and waiting since dawn for. When she heard what he’d said, the two boys’ faces wavered into sharp focus as if she was coming back into consciousness after having been asleep. Hwe-in pawed hard at her chest, like she was trying to dig up some hurt that was buried there.

She wanted to drop to the ground right there on the spot. She had been in such a hurry to find and buy the ticket, like it was some incredibly precious thing, when the whole time it could have been done so easily. And in all her hurrying, she’d lost the money she’d been carrying in her pocket at some point without noticing … As if that weren’t enough, she stood in front of these boys now looking like a swindler who’d pocketed the country boy’s change.

The Honam line train was departing before the one on the Gyeongbu line, and they had already started checking tickets. The country boy looked like he had something more he wanted to say, but he merely gave a polite bow to Hwe-in before heading over to the ticket check area with his northerner friend. The northerner leaned over and said something to the country boy, who murmured a reply.

“Haha! This idiot got ripped off!” shouted the chatty one. “By a black market ticket dealer! Ha!”

Hwe-in heard him, loud and clear. She wanted to shut her eyes to everything then, to cry and bleat like a newborn calf. The chandelier that hung from the dome of the ceiling glittered weakly at the outer edges of her vision. She spun around to leave. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto her scarf.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She buried her pale face in the scarf, as if to hide the anger she couldn’t unleash. She clutched the train ticket hard in her hand. In the meantime, she had forgotten all about Jeong-ah, who still hadn’t shown up. In the hubbub of the pre-departure crowd and the surge of people shoving this way and that, Hwe-in began to drag herself forward, wading through the rush. She came out of the waiting area. A chilly gust of wind struck her cheeks.

There in the station plaza was Jeong-ah, getting out of a car with her trunk suitcase and slamming the door shut behind her. Right away, she spotted Hwe-in coming toward her, grinned, and clapped her hands. But Hwe-in didn’t see. She kept going, hauling one foot in front of the other, trudging forward with no destination or goal—as though she didn’t even realize she was walking.

Translated by Paige Aniyah MorrisFirst published August 1955

Black is Black, White is White

Principal Jang presses a hand against his collar and turns his head from side to side, as though the red tie around his oily, porcine neck has a stranglehold on his throat. The tie is too red, too vibrant for his age. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed, and though he is dressed like a younger man, he is well over fifty. He pulls out a hefty pocket watch. It is precisely half past three. The dishes on the table have long gone cold, but Hwang Geum-soon shows no sign of returning.

It has been some time since his last liaison with her—the woman who was once his pupil and is now wife to an official. She is also the loving mother of a student at the girls’ middle school over which he presides. One could describe their many illicit encounters as the final bursts of passion in his old age, but this is only the latest dalliance in his extensive record of undetected incidents.

His eyes enjoyed their long-awaited tryst, savoring the lush rose that was Hwang Geum-soon, but the moment their food had been served, she had gone pale and rose from her seat. She had lost the 300,000-hwan check Jang gave her as a loan, she said. She would have to look for it at the import boutique she visited on the way, and if it was not there, then to the bank. As he could not very well go with her, Jang is left sitting alone, backside occasionally peeling from the seat of his chair before flattening down again.

Once more, he pulls out his pocket watch.

It is forty-five minutes past three. When he catches himself wondering why five minutes feels like an eternity, he is stung by self-pity and deprecation. As though to distract himself from his state of anxious boredom, he puts the watch back in his pocket and inserts a cigarette into his mouth.

Three hundred thousand hwan is no large sum for a man like Jang. It is nothing to cause serious concern, especially since it has already been given to Geum-soon and served its purpose. What irritates him is that someone might find the check and publish a found ad in the papers, which would also list the name of the man who wrote the check. Most unpleasant indeed. Puffing cloud after cloud of smoke, he assures himself this is nothing to be worried about. Even if something as trivial as this turns out to be the thread that unravels him, Hyeon is a loyal man who will make quick work of any trouble.

Jang spits a mouthful of phlegm into the ashtray. He is angry at himself for being so easily cowed.

Jang has nibbled away at the school funds for quite some time, but he has recently taken an unusually voracious bite. He now suffers from a bout of nervousness. Though his corpulent form evokes the galling audacity of a master merchant, decades at the instructor’s podium have made him fearful and prone to caution above all. The position he built up over the years is everything to him. But the hypocrisy, greed, and greasy pleasures of life that threaten it are by now woven into the fiber of his being. It is no longer a question of whether he will, but how much further he will go. That is the reason he requires a schemer at his side, the bookkeeper Hyeon.

Jang remembers Hyeon’s request and the matter of the new hire at the school, which is already all but confirmed. He is glad for his own foresight, setting the appointment for Monday, that is, the day after tomorrow. Hyeon is unusually clever, diligent, and dutiful, which makes him the perfect man to willingly take the fall. Jang must show generosity and bolster his loyalty, so that the younger man will be always ready and willing to do as he is asked. Convincing himself that Hyeon is a man after his own heart, Jang gives an emboldened clearing of the throat and shakes ash off his cigarette.

Someone sobs. A woman’s voice leaks out of the next room over. Relieved, but seized by unexplainable curiosity, Jang presses his portly body close to the wall.

It takes the woman no insignificant effort to stifle the sob. Jang would not have heard her if he was talking with Geum-soon over food. The excruciating cries go on for some time before the woman, now finally calm, speaks in a low voice.

“What are we supposed to do? What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” responds a deep male voice, dripping with irritation and annoyance.

“Day after day after day … Oh, I just want to die.”

There is a muffled thud, then silence.

The woman sobs again. “I’m terrified the family will find out. Every time I come home, the front doors look like the gates of hell. Please, I can’t take this anymore. Just tell me something—tell me to live, die, anything.”

“I can’t help it, I’m in no position to marry you. Not much for it except going to a hospital … I’ll see if I can get you the money.”

The sobs grow a little louder, the woman’s awareness of her surroundings—a room in a Chinese restaurant—seemingly overshadowed by worry. The man sounds taken aback, and he attempts to console her.

Jang clutches his noose-tight tie and shakes his head left and right. Once more he pulls out his pocket watch. Five past four. Geum-soon must have lost the check and headed for the bank, he thinks. Scruffily dropping his cigarette into the ashtray, he gets up, puts on his coat, and slides open the door of the room.

The next door over also slides open. He comes face-to-face with a long-faced man about thirty years of age. Both startled, they turn away. Though strangers, they are alike in action. The man gets down to put on his shoes, lowering the brim of his fedora. The woman slips ahead of him quick as a chipmunk.

They are on the street now.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jang studies the couple walking several steps ahead. He is impressed by the woman’s slender frame. Her raglan-sleeved coat hangs across curved, swaying shoulders. Jang slowly deflates. Not only because Geum-soon has lost the check, but because he is reminded of her husband’s impending return from his business trip—and the terrible interrogation he will conduct concerning her pregnancy. It is a habit of Jang’s in his boredom or frustration to press down on his tie and turn his head from side to side as he licks his lips.

He must end this soon, but Hwang Geum-soon is still so young and so lovely.

Hye-sook presses her shins together until her bones hurt. She pulls the fallen blanket back up around her shoulders and urges her fingers back to frenetic knitting.

If only the sky was clear, she could at least enjoy the bright sun while sitting on the maru ledge just outside the door, but for some reason the weather is dreary and the wind raps angrily on the tinplate roof.

The day after her daughter, Gyeong-yi, finished school for the term, Hye-sook’s mother took her to her own sister’s home. It has been four or five days since classes opened again, but there is still no news. It is heartbreaking for Hye-sook that they have still not sent word after setting out to beg for alms. Her mother probably hasn’t secured any money, most likely, but found lodging there with little Gyeong-yi to at least live on scraps for the winter. Probably helping with the sewing, Hye-sook thinks, or even looking after the kitchen with her sister’s daughter-in-law in the hopes of arousing some pity … She feels a sting in her eye.

It has been five years now since her husband was horrifically killed in an explosion and their home set was alight during the Korean War. The grueling march from one place of refuge to another and finally to Busan ended when the armistice was signed. Two summers ago, she found some meagre work in the reclaimed city of Seoul. Hye-sook somehow secured a small plywood room under a tin roof for herself, her daughter Gyeong-yi, and her mother. They lived from hand to mouth in sorrow each day.

Even that life of uncertainty was taken away two months ago when Hye-sook lost her job. But poverty has not defiled her character. When disgusted or displeased, she is the sort who spits on the ground and walks away without a second thought. That does not help her coffers, but she would rather quit her job than tolerate injustice. Her dogged pot-bellied superiors disgusted her, and being treated as an object of licentious advances outraged her.

But that does not mean Hye-sook, a woman with a young daughter and elderly mother to support and years of suffering after her husband’s death, is some naïve, sheltered flower. When she handed in her resignation, her plans were already coming to fruition in her mind. Even as her family struggled, she invested a portion of her tiny paycheck into a monthly gye fund. She was up next for the pot. Two hundred thousand hwan was not a fortune, but a large sum for her nonetheless. With it she could start a small corner store to sustain the family; Hye-sook could entrust the day-to-day business to her mother and check on it occasionally, and she for her part could find work in education, which better suited her character. But the plan was quickly ruined. Life is never so predictable as math formulas, especially in these uncertain times. The gye fund manager snatched the pot and handed Hye-sook only fifty thousand hwan, putting off the payment day after day until Hye-sook’s fifty thousand hwan was all spent. Now unemployed, she has no better choice.

Winter comes with footsteps of frost and takes its place sternly on the unheated ondol floors and in her destitute pockets.

A gust of wind. Grains of sand clatter against the tin roof. Bundles of radish greens she hung up against the walls to dry flutter with each flurry.

Hye-sook lightly scratches her head with a knitting needle. She threads it again. She continues until she must put her knitting down on her lap and bring her hands together to blow warmth onto them. Thawing out her frozen fingertips, she looks to the wall calendar—and rises with a start to tidy up the room. Then she rushes outside and returns with what few pieces of firewood are left in the backyard, taking them to the kitchen.

It is Sunday.

Hye-sook is due to receive visitors. Yeong-min for certain, but perhaps also Mr. Hyeon. Yeong-min is a former colleague from work, but Hye-sook considers her a sister. She drops by every Sunday without fail. And Mr. Hyeon is a friend of her late husband. He does bookkeeping work for a girls’ middle school, she has heard. He would visit once in a while with a tray of eggs—and last time, Hye-sook resorted to asking him to help her find work.

Hye-sook starts a fire in the hearth against the outside wall of the house and stares blankly into the flames. She chokes at the thought of Gyeong-yi, and of her mother—reduced to looking after the kitchen with her sister’s daughter-in-law. She remembers Gyeong-yi, always quavering like a small, helpless chick. Most likely clinging to her grandmother’s skirt instead of playing with the other children, Hye-sook surmises. If Hye-sook’s aunt lashes out at her pathetic state, Hye-sook’s mother might gently push the girl away, and tears would run from the girl’s big eyes, Hye-sook tells herself. All the while, she hears her mother wailing, What are we to do? The heavy thumping of the elderly woman’s hand against her already-bruised old chest is the sound of despair. It resounds in her ears constantly, months after her mother’s departure. She is tumbling down a cliffside into a pitch-black abyss. Hye-sook looks up from her frightening vision and focuses once more on the sound of the wind. She is in a sorry state, to cling so desperately to the mere offer of a job introduction from Mr. Hyeon.

Hye-sook picks up pieces of firewood and snaps them in her hands. She does not remember when her tears gave way to grumbling. She is the most pitiful of all, she thinks. She catches herself groping for the barest hint of possibility in Mr. Hyeon’s tone and expression as he responded, I’m not sure, I will look into the matter. It may be that her request—difficult as it is—keeps him from coming this Sunday with a tray of eggs to check up on the family. Having figured out her final contingency plan for employment, she throws the last of the firewood into the hearth. She rises and shakes off her skirt, as though doing the same for her train of thought.