Why had he been born into this world? What had he done with his life, what joy had he ever known? Yet the old woman still lived on. When she fell ill, she took medicine; when winter came, she put on padded clothes. She seemed in no hurry to die. Perhaps she was waiting for some new pleasure to arrive tomorrow or next year. But every night passed, every morning came, and she rose from her bedding, cooked rice, and did laundry.
Once, Hyung-sik had watched her pat her back while washing clothes, then light a cigarette. "You live for the pleasure of smoking," he'd said. The old woman had smiled faintly. Hyung-sik hadn't understood that smile—whether it meant "That's right" or "No." No one understood it. Not even the old woman herself. Yet to any observer, her reason for living was smoking. In that cigarette smoke lay all her happiness and all her enterprise. She spent nearly half of every twenty-four hours watching it rise. Sitting motionless, without blinking, staring blankly at the harsh smoke—that was the center of her life. To take away her pipe would be no different from taking away her life. That pipe, forever standing in the warmest corner of the room, its stem stained with tobacco juice and wrapped in three places with cloth, was her very life. If smoke ever stopped coming from her mouth, it would mean the blood had stopped flowing through her veins. Whether she thought of it that way, no one could say, but from the outside, one could think of it no other way. She seemed to have no purpose in life besides smoking.
When Hyung-sik had rushed in, his mind in a fog, he couldn't tell what she'd been thinking. Probably nothing—just watching the smoke curl upward. If any thought had crossed her mind, it would have been a memory of her youth, seen as if through a faint mist. A memory of wielding influence in some grand household. Of being held in the arms of a young, handsome retainer. Or of letting a plump baby's hand grasp her soft, full breast. Or of watching her grown son die from a stroke while dancing. Or of wearing beautiful clothes and eating delicious food, somewhere, sometime. Several times a day, such memories must have drifted up through the smoke. Whatever memory had surfaced now, the old woman saw Hyung-sik and quickly slipped on her sweat-dampened jacket, which she'd taken off nearby.
"Why have you come so early?" she asked.
Hyung-sik flung his overcoat and hat into the room. "Hah, everyone's already gone to school."
"What, aren't you going to school anymore?"
"I'm going to quit teaching." He dropped himself onto the wooden veranda with a thud. "Give me a bowl of cold water. There's a fire in my belly—I can't stand it."
The old woman went to the kitchen, ladled cold water into a porcelain bowl, and handed it to him. He drank it down in one gulp.
"Ah, that's good. Cold water is the best." He smacked his lips like a man who'd just had a drink, then licked the moisture from his lips clean with his tongue.
The old woman stared at him curiously, then went to her room and brought back a tobacco case and her pipe. She sat down beside him. Hyung-sik thought, She's going to comfort me again, and despite his distress, he smiled to himself. But he found the prospect of her consolation even more painful, so he changed the subject first.
"Did Secretary Shin come by yesterday?"
"No."
"You haven't liked him lately. There was a time you were quite fond of him."
"Who says I don't like him? It's just that he talks too carelessly." He chuckled.
"The bean paste stew has maggots in it," Hyung-sik said, and laughed openly.
The old woman, as if determined not to miss her chance, pressed on. "But why are you quitting school? Did you have a fight with that Bae Hak-gam or whatever his name is?"
"It's not a fight. I've been teaching too long. Time to try something else."
"Something else? What? Ah, now you should take a government post. Being around someone like that Hak-gam wears you down—how wonderful it would be to hold an official position! That boy from across the street just got appointed as some secretary..."
"I'd rather be a monk than a government official. Go deep into the mountains, find a little hermitage... yes, wear a coarse hemp robe and chant 'Namu Amitabul, Namu Amitabul'—that would be best." He laughed and looked at her.
Her eyes widened. "Oh dear! Why would you become a monk? There's nothing you can't do!"
"If I don't become a monk, what else is there?" He fell silent for a long moment.
—
Hyung-sik had said it without thinking—"I'd rather be a monk." But after saying it, he felt that becoming a monk truly was the best option. It seemed there was no other path left. The spirit he'd once had—to strive for Joseon's enlightenment, to pursue his own honor—seemed to have vanished all at once. A sadness and despair filled him, like a man who had lost his wife, his children, and all his property. Yeongchae's death, her family's ruin, the insult he'd suffered from a fourth-year student that very day—everything seemed to join forces, dragging his spirit down into a deep, dark pit beneath the earth. His entire life up to now felt meaningless and tasteless, like an unpleasant dream from which he'd suddenly woken. Teaching with chalk in hand for four or five years at school, studying books late into the night memorizing foreign words, teaching Seon-hyeong and Sunae, meeting Yeongchae, what he'd done at Cheongnyangni, his trip to Pyongyang—all of it seemed like shameful, trivial affairs. Even the old woman, whom he'd regarded fondly until now, looked like a dirty, smelly object. Everything felt shameful, unpleasant, and infuriating. "What have I been living for?" he thought. What was the value of his life so far? What was its meaning? He felt like throwing it all away, disappearing into some remote place with no people. He couldn't bear to stay in this Seoul, in this old woman's house, even for an hour. So he said to her,
"Being a monk is best. What pleasure is there in this world?"
"Someone like you, teacher—why would you have no pleasure? You're young, you have talent... Why would the world be joyless?"
"Was your youth full of pleasure, Auntie?"
The old woman smiled. "Ah, in my youth, every day was pure happiness. I laughed and cried too, but crying when you're young is a greater pleasure than laughing when you're old..."
Hyung-sik thought, The old woman speaks well, and looked at her face. Just the memory of her youth seemed to brighten her features.
"I don't understand what pleasure you live for, Mr. Lee. You don't take a good government post, you don't marry a pretty girl... haha, whenever I say this, you frown. But I'm right, aren't I? In the flower of your youth, why sit alone in your room all day? No wonder you find the world joyless and talk of becoming a monk. When I was young... why say it all? When you're old, you become foolish."
She said nearly the same thing every month. Hyung-sik had always just smiled and listened. But today her words seemed to carry new meaning and force. He recalled the pleasure he'd felt when he was with Seon-hyeong and Yeongchae. He remembered reading foreign books that praised the joys of love. Was romantic love truly the greatest happiness in life? At least the old woman spoke as if it were the only happy thing in her life. He wondered if his lifelong loneliness, his inability to find warmth in the world, came from never having tasted love. So he asked, smiling,
"Then could I ever experience that pleasure, too?" As soon as he said it, he felt foolish for asking such a clumsy question.
"Ah, of course you could! Someone like you—the beauties of Jangan would each vie for your attention. You have a good face, a gentle heart... Of course, times are degenerate now, but in the old days, a man like you would pass the highest civil exam and have all those beauties hung on his arm, unable to cut them off."
"Hah, so you're saying it's useless now. Since there's no more civil exam."
"Just not as good as the old days. Even now, there must be hundreds of top-tier gisaeng in Jangan..." She suddenly lowered her voice. "By the way," she said, tilting her head as if recalling something forgotten, "that girl Yeongchae? What happened to her? Did you see her after that?"
Hyung-sik's heart jolted at the question. The cigarette he was holding dropped to the ground. He was that startled.
"She drowned."
"Drowned? When?"
"Probably two days ago."
"Oh my! How? Why would she drown? Dear me!"
Hyung-sik silently wrapped his arms around his neck and bowed his head. The scenes of the past three or four days flashed before his eyes. The old woman's eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, what happened?"
"The same as me. She found no pleasure in the world."
"Oh my, how terrible! In the flower of youth, why would she die? Even dying of old age is sad enough, but drowning..." She sat silently for a while, then wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Mr. Lee, it's your fault she died!"
"Why do you say that?"
"Because after waiting for you so longingly for over ten years and finally finding you, you treated her so coldly."
The word "coldly" startled Hyung-sik. "Coldly? How was I cold?"
"Weren't you? You didn't even hold her hand warmly..."
"How could I hold her hand?"
"Why couldn't you? From what I saw, Myeongchae..."
"Not Myeongchae—Yeongchae."
"Yes, right. From what I saw, Miss Yeongchae had given you her heart. How could you be so cold? And when she said she was leaving, you didn't stop her or follow her..." She reproached him.
—
The old woman's words shocked Hyung-sik even more. Had he truly been cold to Yeongchae? Shouldn't he have taken her hand then and said he too had been longing for her all this time? And when she stood to leave, shouldn't he have held her back and asked about her intentions for the future? Shouldn't he have said right there, "I'll take you in," and gone with her to her mother to discuss it? If he had, she wouldn't have gone to Cheongnyangni the next day, and she wouldn't have met that fate. And on the way back from Cheongnyangni to Dabanggol, shouldn't he have said he would take her in? Shouldn't he have brought her to another inn or to his own house instead of letting her go to Dabanggol? Then she wouldn't have thought of going to Pyongyang, and she wouldn't have drowned. Yes, the old woman was right. He had killed Yeongchae. She had come to his house hoping to hear him say, "I've been waiting for you too. At last we've met." And then, "From now on, you are my wife." But what had he been thinking then? He'd wished she hadn't become a gisaeng, that she had been taken into some respectable family and attended a girls' school. And deep inside, he'd resented that she had appeared when Seon-hyeong was already there—he'd even wished Yeongchae had become a gisaeng or someone's concubine. Ah, what was this "respectable family"? What was a gisaeng?
And why hadn't he gone to find her early the next morning? For the sake of school? For his reputation as an educator?
Yes, he had killed Yeongchae. He had even followed her to Pyongyang but hadn't looked for her body before coming back. He'd returned from outside Chilseongmun with a light heart. On the train all night, he hadn't even thought of her. Her death felt like a weight lifted.
Hyung-sik shook his head. "You're right. I killed Yeongchae. I killed her! The woman who lived for me—I killed her with my own hands!" He panted as if in great pain.
The old woman felt apologetic. "It was her fate."
"No. I killed her."
Just then, Useon came in wearing a hat made of wood shavings. Without greeting, he said, "So you're here. Did you find her?"
Hyung-sik didn't look at him. "I killed her. Yeongchae—I killed her."
"What, she's dead? But wasn't that telegram from before?"
"I killed her! And then I came back without even finding her body. Hah, because I was worried about the students."
"You were probably more eager to see Elder Kim's daughter," Useon said, not missing a chance to jab even in this situation. "So what exactly happened?"
"Dead!" Hyung-sik stood up abruptly. "Do you have any money? If so, lend me about five won." He realized now he had no source of income. The school might still give him his June salary, but he couldn't go collect it, and from July onward he'd have nothing.
"Money for what?"
"I need to go find Yeongchae's body. Even if I have to carry it on my back, I must give her a proper burial." He paced the yard, unable to bear the anguish. Sweat soaked his jacket.
Useon stood leaning on his cane, watching him. "It's already floated away by now. Out into the Yellow Sea, bobbing along."
"Why do you say that? They say a drowned body doesn't surface for three days," the old woman said, looking at Useon.
"Then I'll follow it wherever it floats. I'll follow it all the way." Hyung-sik closed his eyes and stood still for a moment, then as if resolved, raised his head and came to Useon, extending his hand. "Just give me the five won."
"You're leaving right now?"
"I'll go to the station and take the next train."
Useon reluctantly pulled out a five-won banknote and handed it over. Hearing that Yeongchae was dead, he too felt a pang of sorrow. It was as if something precious had been lost.
Hyung-sik pocketed the money, went into his room, put on his overcoat, grabbed a book, and stepped out to put on his shoes. Just then, a gentleman in a Panama hat came looking for him. Hyung-sik frowned but reluctantly went to the door. The visitor was a pastor who attended the same church as Elder Kim. He had a young face with no beard, but thick wrinkles lined both cheeks—a middle-aged man who seemed honest. Useon and the old woman went to sit on the veranda of her room and watched the two men.
Hyung-sik set down his book and invited the pastor in.
"Were you on your way out?"
"Yes, I was going for a walk. How can you stand this heat..."
"I haven't seen you in a while. And I also have something to discuss."
"With me?" Hyung-sik looked at the pastor. The pastor smiled knowingly.
"You're not too busy, are you?"
"No, go ahead."
"Hahaha, this is something that will make you happy, Mr. Lee." He laughed again and looked around Hyung-sik's room. The old woman and Useon glanced at each other and whispered. Today, the old woman didn't seem to dislike Useon as much.
The pastor fanned himself for a while, then looked intently at Hyung-sik. "Well, as I was saying..." He began hesitantly, as if finding it difficult to speak. Hyung-sik, though he didn't know the matter, found the pastor's manner suspicious. He thought, Just finish quickly so I can run to the station.
—
"Well, it's like this," the pastor began. The old woman and Useon pretended not to listen but strained their ears.
"Elder Kim said..."
"Yes," Hyung-sik prompted.
"Elder Kim said he plans to send Seon-hyeong to the United States this autumn."
"Yes."
"But before she goes to the United States, she should be engaged. And even if she goes, it's hard to send a daughter alone—so he thought it would be good to have her engaged and send the groom along with her to the United States." He paused and smiled at Hyung-sik again. Hyung-sik turned his head away, embarrassed.
"Yes, well..." He didn't know how else to respond.
The pastor continued, "So Elder Kim said, if you agree, Mr. Lee... he'd like you to go study in the United States too. In any case, Elder Kim and his wife seem to hold you in very high regard. So they asked me to find out your intention. So..."
"My intention?"
"Yes, your intention."
"What intention do you mean?"
Useon turned to the old woman and grinned. (She smiled too.) The pastor saw Hyung-sik's wide eyes and said with a hint of mockery,
"I think you understand well enough."
"..."
"Then let me say it again. They want you to become engaged to Seon-hyeong. Of course, there are other suitors, but Elder Kim's wife seems to have set her heart on you."