After eleven, Youngchae returned home. Hyung-sik walked her to her gate, then went back to his own lodging. All the way from Cheongnyangni to Dabanggol, neither of them spoke a word. They didn't even look at each other. They simply couldn't bear to speak, couldn't bear to meet each other's eyes. Neither joy nor sorrow registered in their minds. They didn't think about what would happen next. Their minds were full of thoughts, yet at the same time, strangely empty. In short, they came home in a daze.
Youngchae staggered into her room. The moment she crossed the threshold, she collapsed and wailed. The old woman was asleep in the other room, but the crying jolted her awake. She ran out without even bothering to put on her skirt and hurried to Youngchae's door. Seeing her there, crumpled on the floor and sobbing, she asked, "Why are you so late? Why are you crying?" Then she noticed Youngchae's torn clothes. She nodded slowly and smiled faintly. So Youngchae has taken a man today, she thought. She remembered how she herself, at fifteen or sixteen, had guarded her chastity just as fiercely, devoted to no one in particular. (She recalled how Min Gamsa's son had forcibly broken that chastity.) She remembered crying when Min Gamsa's son pushed his way in and she tried to shove him away with her arms, only to be scolded—"You bitch! You insolent wench!"—and wept. But after that, she remembered, she had come to enjoy men. And she realized that meeting new men was more pleasurable than staying with the same one. By the time I was nineteen, I must have been with at least a hundred men, she thought, and pitied Youngchae for only now, for the first time, taking a man. Youngchae had always held her head high, despising the old woman for her promiscuity. Now, the old woman thought, Youngchae wouldn't be able to talk to her so high and mighty anymore. She smiled again.
Why did she let her skirt get torn? What was there to fight about? the old woman thought, looking at Youngchae's heaving back as she sobbed. She recalled how that ugly Kim Hyeonsu had been shoved away by Youngchae, how the even uglier Bae Myeong-sik had grabbed hold of Youngchae's flailing arms, and how Youngchae had ground her teeth in fury. The old woman laughed again. Silly girl! Every woman goes through it. She inwardly mocked Youngchae for being so naive. The baron's son! On such a good catch! She both pitied and resented Youngchae for not recognizing a "good catch" because of her immaturity. If only I were young again, she thought enviously. Now, who'd even look at me? She was furious at being old. I'd be happy with that ugly old codger, and she turns down the baron's young son... She felt a surge of hatred for Youngchae. And then she thought about the past four or five years: If Youngchae had entertained guests at night, even a hundred a year at five won each, that would be five hundred guests and twenty-five hundred won. But I was weak and let her indulge in that foolish stubbornness. She wanted to kick Youngchae. She resented all the food and clothes she'd wasted on her. But now she's started taking customers. She regretted selling Youngchae to Kim Hyeonsu for a mere thousand won. If she'd kept her for two or three more years, she could have recouped her losses. Yes, that's the best plan. She smiled again. Even if she sold her as Kim Hyeonsu's concubine, she'd demand two thousand won this time. Kim Hyeonsu would pay that and more—even ten thousand won. Yes, that was good. If she kept Youngchae too long, she might get sick, and then there'd be medicine costs, or even a funeral. Better to sell her for a lump sum of two thousand won. Kim Hyeonsu was coming in the morning, before breakfast. She'd make the deal then. She smiled one more time.
The old woman watched Youngchae, who was crying harder now. She frowned. A fearful thought crept in. She remembered what had happened once in Pyongyang, when Kim Yun-su's son had tried to force himself on Youngchae. Youngchae had pulled a knife from her bosom and tried to stab her own throat. After that, Kim Yun-su's son had called her "a vicious wench!" and never came back. The old woman quickly scanned Youngchae's room, then looked at her hands. Was there a knife? The words "knife," "opium," "well," "Han River" flashed through her mind. A chill ran down her spine. She looked at Youngchae. Youngchae had grabbed her own hair in both hands. Her back heaved. The old woman's eyes went wide. In her imagination, Youngchae suddenly leaped up, drew a gleaming knife, and charged at her. "You bitch! You thieving bitch!" She saw the knife plunge into her chest and twist, heard the crack of her ribs breaking. Then she saw Youngchae pull out the knife and stab herself in the neck. Bright red blood spurted all over her face and arms. The old woman shuddered again and let out a long sigh.
Quietly, she stepped inside Youngchae's room. Youngchae didn't notice. She was muttering to herself, her teeth grinding. "Wolhwa! Sister Wolhwa!" The old woman flinched and stepped back out. I should comfort her, she thought. Poor Youngchae. I should hold her tight. She's like a daughter I've raised for eight years. She smiled slightly.
"Wolhyang! Ay, Wolhyang!" she called as she entered the room.
"Wolhyang! Ay, Wolhyang!" No answer. The old woman crouched beside Youngchae and shook her back.
"Ay, Wolhyang! Why are you crying?" Youngchae lifted her head and looked at the old woman. The bare, fat legs and the bloated body were disgustingly repulsive. And those sly, scheming eyes—especially offensive. That old woman grew fat sucking my blood. All the hardships I've suffered for seven years are because of her. The chastity I kept for nineteen years, defiled like this—it's her doing. I want to bite her to pieces, chew her up. She tricked me into going to Cheongnyangni today. She knew this would happen, and she sent me there. Youngchae glared at her in resentment. The old woman saw the bloodshot eyes and forced down her fear, making her voice even gentler.
"What happened? There's blood on your mouth. Did you split your lip?"
Youngchae thought, This is all because of you. She said, "I bit myself! Bit it off, to eat! Everyone's been eating my flesh, so I bit myself to eat it too!" As she spoke, she wanted to bite off the old woman's thick lips.
The old woman picked up a towel nearby and put her arm around Youngchae's neck. "It must hurt. Let me wash that blood off." For a moment, genuine pity for Youngchae stirred in her heart. Youngchae saw tears welling in the old woman's eyes and thought, So there is a little human feeling left after all. She didn't resist as the old woman dabbed the blood from her mouth with the towel. She was surprised to see tears in those eyes. In seven years of living together, she had never once seen the old woman cry. Once, the old woman had cried for three days from a gum abscess, but never out of pity for anyone, or for herself. Youngchae looked at the old woman's tears and imagined they would taste bitter and cold.
Youngchae didn't even feel the pain of her bit lip. The old woman carefully wiped the blood with a soft silk towel, afraid of hurting her. More blood kept welling up. The deep marks from her front teeth oozed bright red droplets again and again. The silk towel was soon stained with patches of blood. The old woman sighed, Hwi, and looked at the bloodied towel in the lamplight. Youngchae also looked at the towel. That's my blood. The blood I received from my parents. She thought of her torn skirt, of what happened earlier at Cheongnyangni.
Ugh! This blood is dirty now. She snatched the bloodied towel from the old woman's hands and tore it to shreds with her teeth. "This blood is dirty! Dirty blood!" She shook all over.
The scene from earlier at Cheongnyangni came back more vividly than ever. Kim Hyeonsu's animal eyes. Bae Myeong-sik standing beside him, covering Youngchae's mouth with a sweaty handkerchief. When Bae Myeong-sik grabbed her arms, the maddened Kim Hyeonsu seized her ears with both hands and pressed his liquor-stinking, foul mouth against hers. "Tie this woman's legs apart," Kim Hyeonsu said, grabbing her ankles while Bae Myeong-sik winked and bound her wrists with a cord. And then, "You bitch! You whore! Still?" Kim Hyeonsu laughed raucously. It was all so vivid. Youngchae beat her chest with her fists and kicked her legs out.
"Give me a knife! Give me a knife! I'll cut off these lips. Give me a knife!" she cried.
The old woman hugged her. "Ay, ay, Wolhyang! Come to your senses! Come to your senses!" Tears that had gathered earlier fell onto Youngchae's hair.
"Ay, Wolhyang! Bear it, just bear it." Youngchae's body trembled like someone freezing. She bit her lower lip hard again. Warm drops of blood fell onto the back of the old woman's hand resting on Youngchae's chest. The old woman quickly looked at Youngchae's face over her shoulder. Blood gushed from her lip like a spring. Her front teeth were stained red, and bloody froth bubbled between them, dripping down. Her disheveled hair covered her eyes and cheeks, and in the shadow, her face was like a corpse. The old woman pulled her arm from Youngchae's chest and wrapped it around her neck, rubbing her own cheek against Youngchae's. Youngchae's cheek was hot as a coal. The old woman sobbed.
"Wolhyang, I was wrong. I was wrong. Wolhyang, bear it. I'm the one who should die." She cried loudly, bawling. She thought, I didn't know Wolhyang was such a strong-willed girl. I'm wrong to make poor Wolhyang bleed like this. Ah, lovely Wolhyang! My daughter Wolhyang! In her heart, she clasped her hands and bowed. She cried even louder, pressing her cheek to Youngchae's and chewing on Youngchae's fragrant hair. Bright red blood dripped onto the torn, crumpled front of Youngchae's skirt. The pieces of bloodstained silk towel that Youngchae had bitten lay scattered at her feet, glinting in the electric light. The gayageum, leaning askew against the wall in its patterned case, hummed softly once or twice for no reason. From the other room, the old man who had been waiting for the old woman came to Youngchae's door, his belt unbuckled.
"Hmph, what's all the crying about?" he said.
Hyung-sik returned home. The old woman, surprised he was so late, called out from her bed, "Why are you so late?" But Hyung-sik didn't answer. He went into his room, turned on the light, and sat down at his desk still wearing his hat and overcoat. The old woman locked the front gate and quietly came to Hyung-sik's door to look at his face. He sat with his eyes closed. The old woman wondered if something was troubling him lately. Hyung-sik had been living in this house for three years. So she considered him like her own child, like a younger brother. He was no longer just a paying guest; he was family. When she prepared his meal tray in the kitchen, she didn't think of him as a customer who paid for his meals. She put in the same care and thought she had given to preparing her husband's meals decades ago. The old woman had no friends, no relatives. Hyung-sik was her only friend in this world. And Hyung-sik also loved and respected her. He treated her with the utmost courtesy, yet with the warmth and intimacy of a mother. When he noticed she was worried, he would take his tobacco pouch and go to her room, or invite her to his and cheer her up with amusing stories. Then she would always say, "That's how it is, isn't it? That's how the world is," and laugh away her worries. She would buy him fruit and rice cakes. Not only would her own troubles dissolve when she heard his voice, but Hyung-sik also felt a strange joy after comforting her. Sometimes, when he pretended to be upset or angry, the old woman would bring her tobacco pouch to his room and earnestly console him. Her words of comfort were mostly similar to the ones he used to console her. She had no other friends and couldn't read, so Hyung-sik was her only source of knowledge. Most of what she knew now came from his consoling phrases. His words were her philosophy and religion. But she didn't think they came from him; she believed they were her own wisdom. It wasn't ingratitude—she simply didn't realize it. So when she tried to comfort him, Hyung-sik could guess the gist of what she was going to say from the first syllable, and he often smiled to himself. But once every ten or twenty times, she would have a unique thought. Though dull-witted, she possessed a certain reasoning ability. She could often come up with new propositions from the material she'd heard from him.
Even though Hyung-sik knew the words were originally his, they tasted fresh when they came from her mouth. Even the same phrase, "That's how the world is, isn't it?" had a different meaning and flavor when said by her compared to when he said it. So Hyung-sik found great comfort in hearing his own words parroted back. But when she recited his words as if they were truths she had discovered herself, he couldn't help smiling. Regardless, they cared for each other deeply. They also pitied each other. In her youth, the old woman had been a servant at a nobleman's house. She had become pregnant by the master of the house, and for a time she was in high favor. The master's love was so devoted that her fellow servants looked up to her, and she boasted about it. But unsatisfied with the old master, she secretly had an affair with a young, handsome guest who frequented the house. The master discovered it. The guest vanished, and the master branded her with a hot iron, leaving a mark on her chin. Her four or five months of glory vanished like a dream in one day. So she had seen firsthand the power of a titled official. In her mind, any man who didn't hold a government post was pitiful. For three years, she had urged Hyung-sik to get a government position. But he would smile and say, "Who would give a post to someone like me?" She knew he was talented and good-natured. She believed he deserved to hold office. Whenever she saw the well-dressed, sword-wearing men who came to visit him, she wondered resentfully, Why doesn't our Hyung-sik get a government job? And after those visitors left, she would invariably ask, "Why don't you get an official post, master?" Each time, he would smile and say, "Who would give me one?" After a year of his refusal, she stopped asking. She consoled herself by watching his friends who did hold office call him "Mr. Lee." At least those people have posts, even if Hyung-sik doesn't, she thought. So lately, she called him "Teacher" rather than "Master." But the thought, If only he had an official post, was still deeply rooted in her heart.
The old woman stood outside his door for a while, watching him. She was about to say something, but thought, He's probably thinking about something, and quietly went back to her room. But she couldn't sleep. She kept lighting her pipe and poking her head out to look across at his room. Even when she woke up later and looked again, his light was still on.