Hyung-sik thought of Yeongchae without even realizing the old woman had come to stand outside his door. He thought of the scene he had witnessed at Cheongnyangsa. Kim Hyeonsu lunging up from the youth's room. Blood trickling from Yeongchae's lips. Her clothes slipping down, revealing a span of white waist. And U Seon saying, "It was already too late."
Had Yeongchae truly been defiled by Kim Hyeonsu? What did U Seon mean, peering through the window and saying those words? Did it mean her body had been ruined before he arrived? Or had U Seon only seen her on the verge of violation? Hyung-sik wished he had looked through the window himself before kicking down the door. He did not want to interpret Useon's words as meaning Yeongchae had already been soiled. Perhaps—just perhaps—she had been saved by heaven's help at the very moment of danger, rescued by him and U Seon.
Yes. Yes, that must be it.
He sighed as if to reassure himself.
But what about the bound hands and feet? What about the torn skirt and undergarments, the exposed legs? And Yeongchae covering her face with both hands, biting her lips until they bled? Why had she said nothing to him? Nothing at all.
Ah—was Useon's "It was already too late" the truth after all?
Yes. Yes. Her body had been defiled. Yeongchae's body had been defiled by Kim Hyeonsu.
Hyung-sik clenched both fists and punched the air twice. He lit a cigarette but did not smoke it properly—only sucked at it furiously. The smoke, damp and thick, had nowhere to spread in the still, airless room. It curled around his flushed head in lazy waves. He hurled the half-burned cigarette into the yard and swatted at the smoke coiling about his temples. It scattered in all directions, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, as if lost. A fly that had been dozing on the ceiling buzzed in alarm, then fell silent again. Hyung-sik lowered his head and sat motionless, as if painted there.
Had Yeongchae even been a virgin until now? Could a woman remain a virgin for seven or eight years as a gisaeng? Could she work as a gisaeng without selling her body? Once or twice, perhaps—but ten times? Twenty times? When men came at her with lust and money, could a girl like Yeongchae have held onto her virtue? Even if she came from good blood, even if she had been taught the inner rules and the biographies of virtuous women as a child—could that withstand dozens, hundreds of powerful temptations over seven or eight years?
Hyung-sik thought of the heroines in the novels he had read, the women he had heard about in newspapers and stories. In old Chinese novels and Korean tales, there were indeed women who preserved their chastity like steadfast bamboo. But those were in novels. Could such things happen in reality? In old stories, there were women who became gisaeng but never let a blood-mark stain their arms. But could such a person exist in real life? Could a woman of eighteen or nineteen refuse every man who came calling?
Even if Yeongchae's chastity were so extraordinary that she could resist all temptations—would there have been no one like Kim Hyeonsu in all that time? Such men were not unique to Seoul, nor was there only one of them. Could she have avoided experiencing what happened at Cheongnyangsa many times over?
Yes. There was simply no way Yeongchae could still be a virgin.
Hyung-sik sprang up and paced the room.
He sat down again and lit another cigarette. He thought of his own past. In all his twenty-four years, he had never once been with a woman. By that measure, he was an extremely pure young man. But was it truly because his will was firm and his heart clean that he had preserved such chastity?
He shook his head.
When he was in Tokyo, a woman had propositioned him through his landlady. He had refused without hesitation. There had been two more offers afterward. He refused those too. But was his heart truly so clean? Was the power of his conscience truly so strong? After refusing firmly—"What are you saying? Impossible!"—his heart had actually regretted it. "I'm a fool. Why did I refuse?" He had resolved that if she asked again, he would pretend he could no longer resist.
It was not his heart that refused. It was his lips.
When the old woman smiled and said, "What do you say?" he had been too ashamed to say yes, so he said no. But if she had taken his "no" for a "yes" and brought the woman to his room one evening, would he have resented her for being presumptuous?
He shook his head.
One evening afterward, the woman slept in the landlady's room. When Hyung-sik spread his bedding that night, the old woman gave him a meaningful glance. But he steeled himself and said, "No." Then he smiled knowingly, hoping she would take his refusal as its opposite. The old woman smiled too. He lay down, waiting for the woman to come to him, his ears straining. He even went to the outhouse several times, clearing his throat loudly for no reason.
The next morning, Hyung-sik resented that the landlady had been too honest.
Thinking this, he shook his head and said once more:
"There's simply no way she could still be a virgin."
🙝 🙟
Hyung-sik heard the old woman tapping out her pipe in the room across the courtyard. He lit another cigarette and thought.
What should he do, then? What should he do about Yeongchae?
Should he make her his wife, for the sake of his benefactor's daughter? Would that be proper, according to his principles?
Before his eyes appeared the image of Yeongchae sitting in this very room the previous evening. Her face, brimming with tears when she said, "My father starved to death in prison..." — she had been lovely indeed. He had been entranced by her then. He had imagined their wedding at the chapel, imagined the beautiful, robust sons and daughters that would be born between them.
Now Hyung-sik looked at the spot where Yeongchae had sat the night before. He recalled the scene and what he had imagined. For a long moment, he was lost in reverie.
"But—"
He opened his eyes wide.
"But Yeongchae is no virgin. Even if she was a virgin until yesterday, she is no longer one tonight."
He replayed the scene at Cheongnyangsa. Last night, he had hoped that Yeongchae might have been taken in by some noble family, that she might have graduated properly from a girls' school like Seon-hyeong or Sunae, preserved as a pure virgin. Even if she had become a gisaeng, he had hoped she had kept her chastity for him.
But now—Yeongchae was no longer a virgin.
Hyung-sik lowered his head. He remained that way for a long time.
From across the courtyard came the sound of the old woman tapping her pipe again. Hyung-sik raised his head and looked around the room.
At that moment, the memory of sitting with Seon-hyeong and Sunae at Elder Kim's house came to him. The fragrance from her hair. Her nearly translucent white fingers resting on the desk. The jade-green ramie skirt, slightly wrinkled and soiled. The wide jade-green ribbon. The sweat-dampened summer jacket through which her soft, fine skin glowed faintly—all of this stimulated his tired nerves with an indescribable fragrance and pleasure. The memory arose with perfect clarity: the joy that had melted his entire body, the feeling that everything in the world and the universe shone with happiness and sang with delight.
Hyung-sik thought of Seon-hyeong as a maiden like a celestial being. She had never had the slightest unclean thought or impure action. She was pure, utterly pure—like snow, like white jade, like crystal.
Thinking this, he smiled faintly. Then he closed his eyes.
Before him, Seon-hyeong and Yeongchae appeared side by side. At first, both wore snow-white clothes. Each held a flower branch in one hand, and extended the other toward him as if to take his hand. They smiled sweetly, tilting their heads coquettishly. "Hyung-sik, take my hand, won't you?"
He hesitated, holding both his own hands in the air, uncertain which to take.
Then Yeongchae's form began to change. Her snow-white clothes dissolved. She wore a blood-stained, torn silk skirt whose name he did not know, and through the tear, her bloodied leg was visible. Tears streamed down her face. Blood flowed from her lips. The flower branch in her hand vanished, replaced by fistfuls of dirty earth.
Hyung-sik shook his head and opened his eyes. But Seon-hyeong—still dressed in pure white, still smiling sweetly—stood before him, extending her hand. "Hyung-sik, take my hand, won't you?" She tilted her head.
Just as he reached, entranced, for Seon-hyeong's hand, Yeongchae's face twisted with terrifying, demonic fury. She bit down on her lips with a grinding sound and spat blood at him.
Hyung-sik started violently and shook himself awake.
He stood up again and paced the room. To dispel his troubled thoughts, he hummed a school song the students sang and stepped out into the yard. The shower from earlier had left no trace. The sky was fresh and clear; the water-soaked stars twinkled drowsily. The glow to the south was the electric lights of Jingogae.
Hyung-sik gazed up at the sky. A cool breeze, as if descending from those twinkling stars, now and then brushed past his hot face like a human breath. The boiling in his chest seemed to cool somewhat.
How long had those stars been twinkling like that? And why did they twinkle at all? Who placed this star here and that star there, arranging them in this pattern? If one flew straight up into the dark, empty space visible between the stars—where would one go?
Hyung-sik remembered studying astronomy under a consumptive teacher in Tokyo. That teacher, coughing up bloody clots into his spittoon, had always said, "I do not urge you to become astronomers. But I earnestly urge you to become people who look up at the sky every night."
Hyung-sik himself had said that when worldly anxieties troubled the mind, looking up at the boundless sky and countless stars made all cares melt away like spring snow. But until now, his heart had never been tormented enough that he had no choice but to look at the sky.
Now, however, he understood his astronomy teacher's words deeply, with profound clarity.
As if overcome with joy, he murmured:
"For a being who occupies but a single point in infinite time and a single point in infinite space—however great a matter may seem, how great can it truly be? However painful, how painful can it truly be?"
He looked up at the sky once more, then bowed his head and offered a prayer.
🙝 🙟
Hyung-sik did not fall asleep until past three in the morning. He slept until nine. His body and mind were utterly exhausted; even half-awake, he dreamed troubled dreams of all kinds.
The old woman had already set out breakfast and peeked into his room four or five times. Seeing that he had fallen asleep without even spreading his bedding, still wearing his overcoat, she wondered what had happened. But knowing he had slept late the previous night, she did not wake him. She fretted instead over the soybean paste stew she had made, which was growing cold.
Just then, Shin Woo-seon came in wearing his carpenter's-plane shavings hat pushed back, adjusting his belt. Seeing the old woman, he asked cheerfully and politely:
"How are you? Is Mr. Lee in?"
The old woman knew Shin Woo-seon well. She had once remarked to Hyung-sik that he was "a refreshing man." She smiled and came out to meet him.
"He came home late last night and sat up until dawn thinking about something. He's still sleeping. And look—breakfast is all getting cold." She thought of her stew.
The old woman's soybean paste stew was not particularly good. But she was confident she made the best doenjang-jjigae in the world, and she boasted about it to Hyung-sik. Hyung-sik often picked maggots out of it. But not wanting to hurt the old woman's pride and sincerity, he always said, "It's really good." He had never, however, said "It's really delicious." Still, she was satisfied with "really good."
Once, when Shin Woo-seon had dinner with Hyung-sik, the old woman's famously good stew was served. A large maggot had caught Shin Woo-seon's eye, and he had mocked the stew mercilessly. Hyung-sik, flustered, had tried to cover his friend's mouth, but Shin Woo-seon deliberately smirked and raised his voice, attacking the old woman's poor cooking skills. She sat on the veranda of the opposite room, smoking her pipe resentfully, and said, "It's because I'm old," implying that she had cooked better in her youth.
From then on, the old woman no longer praised Shin Woo-seon as "a refreshing man." But she still treated him kindly when she saw him. Probably because she feared he would attack her stew again. Hyung-sik had told Shin Woo-seon about this.
"Any maggots in the stew these days?" Shin Woo-seon asked as he entered Hyung-sik's room, then called out loudly:
"Hey, get up! Get up! What kind of sleeping is this?"
Hyung-sik had dimly heard the conversation between Shin Woo-seon and the old woman without fully waking, but at the loud voice, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking at the round alarm clock on the desk.
"What are you looking at the clock for? It's ten. Ten o'clock! Come on, wash up and get dressed. Then eat breakfast."
It was actually nine-thirty. When Hyung-sik heard "get dressed," he finally remembered the previous night. He thought of Yeongchae. He saw Shin Woo-seon's expression and realized something had happened. He guessed it had to do with Yeongchae. Then he remembered what he had been unable to sleep thinking about alone the night before.
"Why? Did something happen?"
"Just wash up and eat breakfast! I'm worrying about the things you should be worrying about." Shin Woo-seon went to the desk, pulled out an English book, and began flipping through it—about the level of Choice Readings, Book Three, sounding out words letter by letter.
Hyung-sik did not know what had happened, but from Shin Woo-seon's expression and manner of speaking, he gathered it was something about Yeongchae. He took his toothbrush and towel and went out. Shin Woo-seon watched him leave to wash and thought, "So you're worried too."
Shin Woo-seon assumed that Hyung-sik, given his character, would naturally want to marry Yeongchae. But even if he married her, the memory of what happened at Cheongnyangsa would always stay in his mind, tormenting him. Whether Hyung-sik suffered or not was in Shin Woo-seon's hands. After all, only three people knew whether Yeongchae was still a virgin: Kim Hyeonsu, Bae Myeong-sik, and Shin Woo-seon himself.
Shin Woo-seon would use this secret to torment Hyung-sik for a long time. If not that, then how else could he vent his resentment at being passed over by Yeongchae without a word? But this did not come from malice. It was merely a game for Shin Woo-seon, who saw life as nothing but fun.
But Hyung-sik was not the type to treat the world as a joke. He saw life as something profoundly serious. Shin Woo-seon could laugh his way through the world cheerfully and let it go at that. Hyung-sik, however, had to dig some meaning out of life, had to make some contribution to the world as far as his strength allowed. To him, every small phenomenon in life, every trivial event in the world, was a subject for solemn study. He could never just laugh it off like Shin Woo-seon.
Shin Woo-seon called Hyung-sik "still not free of worldly attachments." Hyung-sik called Shin Woo-seon "a man neither harmful nor helpful to the world."
But this did not mean Shin Woo-seon was entirely indifferent to advancing civilization and human happiness. He did try to do useful things for the world, as much as he could. He simply did not have the fervor Hyung-sik had—the passion to dedicate his entire life to the world. To borrow Hyung-sik's words, Shin Woo-seon was "a man educated in the Chinese way, centered on the individual," while Hyung-sik himself was "a man educated in the Greek way, centered on society." Put another way, Shin Woo-seon had a classical Chinese education; Hyung-sik had an English and German education.
Hyung-sik brushed his teeth quickly, washed his face, and came back in. He looked in the mirror and parted his hair. Shin Woo-seon, for no particular reason, hated this hair-parting. Whenever he saw Hyung-sik, he told him to cut his hair short, and sometimes concluded from some premise or other that "a man who parts his hair is a man without drive."
"What's going on? Huh? What's happened?" Hyung-sik asked eagerly, picking out the maggots from the stew as he ate. Shin Woo-seon did not answer. He just grinned, pacing the room, waiting for Hyung-sik to finish his meal in a hurry.
The old woman cleared the table and watched the two men leave together, studying their faces carefully. She set the table down on the veranda and straightened her back.