"Who'll be old in five years?" Hyung-sik laughed, looking at the old woman.
"Here you are, in the prime of your lives, and you'll just sit staring at each other? Oh, come now, get married right away. Don't say 'five years,'" the old woman objected vehemently, as if it were of great concern to her. Hyung-sik conceded she was right. But then,
"The staring-at-each-other part is the best," he said, and turned to Useon.
"Anyway, I'll be leaving by the end of July. I intend to enroll for the fall semester in September."
"The end of July?" Useon was startled. "So soon?"
"If I miss September enrollment, I'll lose an entire year."
"And what do you plan to study?"
"I'll know better once I get there, but I intend to research education. Everything I've experienced so far has been education, and it seems to me that education is what Joseon needs most right now... So I want to throw myself into studying modern education and devote my life to it."
"By education, you mean...?"
"Primary and secondary education, naturally. I believe Joseon is at a moment when it's truly waiting for a Pestalozzi. To mold a new Joseon person—a wholly new one—what else is there but education? I suppose every era and every nation is the same, but in Joseon, which urgently needs to shed its old self and create a New Joseon, a new civilization, everyone must strive for education. You're in the literary field, so do whatever you can to promote an enthusiasm for education. The state of education right now is truly pitiful..."
"So you'll spend four years solely researching education?"
"Does four years seem long to you? Even ten years wouldn't be enough to study it thoroughly."
"I know that. But I'm asking if you'll study only education."
"No, I'll study other related subjects as well. I mean I'll make education the center and study outward from it. I plan to put particular effort into social systems and ethics." He looked at Useon as if to say, 'You probably don't understand this.' Useon truly did not understand. But in his rough estimation, he thought, 'It must be something like that.' Then he smiled.
"So, what about your wife... what would you call it, your sweetheart?"
Hyung-sik laughed, his face reddening slightly.
"How would I know?"
"Then who does... If the husband doesn't know..."
"She would know... In this day and age, even a husband can't curtail his wife's freedom."
"So, you're saying you wouldn't interfere, no matter what she chooses to learn?"
"Of course not. There's such a thing as 'self'... everyone has the right to do what they want. How could anyone use force to control another person's 'self'? It's fine to advise or inform someone, saying 'I think this would be good,' but to say 'Because I think this way, you must do it this way'—that's presumptuous."
Useon was, to be sure, surprised. But he found it plausible. And yet, it couldn't be truly so, he thought. Still, he had no desire to debate further. He simply nodded to himself, realizing that Hyung-sik's ideas were different from his own. Hyung-sik smiled faintly, looking at Useon's forehead and mouth. A glimmer of victorious pleasure showed in his eyes.
The old woman had no idea what the two of them were talking about. All she knew was that Hyung-sik was going somewhere. The three of them were people of entirely different worlds. Useon and Hyung-sik might perhaps belong to the same world, but the old woman could never share Hyung-sik's world. In a single room, at the same moment, three people belonging to three different worlds sat together. And they spoke only of things they could all understand. So they assumed they belonged to the same world. But then, when talk of other worlds accidentally arose, their eyes would suddenly go wide.
"Where is Mr. Lee going?" the old woman asked, as if astonished.
The two of them laughed.
"Yes, it would be around the end of next month," Hyung-sik said, remembering that she only knew the lunar calendar, then added, "I'll be going to the United States around the middle of next month."
"The United States? You mean that Western country?!"
"Yes, the West," Hyung-sik replied, and U Seon burst into laughter.
"It's where those people with big noses and sunken eyes live," he said.
Two of them laughed, while one was astonished.
"Oh, how far away is the West?"
"About thirty thousand li," said Hyung-sik.
"No, it's a hundred thousand li by sea," U Seon laughed.
But the old woman didn't know the difference between thirty thousand and a hundred thousand li. In fact, she didn't even know how far thirty thousand li was. So she simply gaped.
"It's about as far as walking back and forth through the neighborhood a dozen times. But instead, you ride a huge iron boat that goes kung-kung-kung-kung," said U Seon.
"You mean a steamship! How many months does it take?" She even forgot to draw on her pipe.
"About thirty-six months," U Seon said, turning his head and pursing his lips to stifle a laugh.
"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed.
"That's a lie. It takes about two weeks," Hyung-sik said.
The old woman gave U Seon a reproachful glance.
"Why go somewhere so far? And what about your wife... Oh my goodness!" She shuddered.
U Seon said, "His wife is going too. Mr. Lee is taking his wife to the West. Don't you want to go, old woman? Let's go see that Western land at the edge of the sky, riding that kung-kung-kung-kung iron boat."
The old woman ignored this nonsense entirely.
"When will you come back, then?"
"I don't know. Perhaps in four or five years. I'll come visit as soon as I return," Hyung-sik said, also laughing.
The old woman sighed. "Will I even be alive in four or five years?" Tears welled in her eyes.
The two men stopped laughing and gazed silently at the old woman.
Now, let us speak of Yeongchae. Did she truly part the green waves of the Daedong River and become a guest in the Dragon Palace? Among our dear readers, there may be those who wept, mourning her death. From time immemorial, in every story, it seems that a childless couple who long for a child will surely have a son, and if they have a son, he will surely become a nobleman, and if someone falls into the water, they will surely be saved. So perhaps some of you, guessing at the hackneyed tricks of a novelist, smiled to yourselves, imagining that Yeongchae was rescued by some noble person just as she was about to throw herself into the Daedong River, that she became a nun in some hermitage, and that she would eventually meet Hyung-sik again and they would pledge their happy union of a hundred years, living in wealth and bearing many sons.
Others may have thought it right that Yeongchae drowned, praising her decision to go to Pyongyang. Still others might regret her actions, believing she had no reason to die. In this way, I do not know how the fate I am about to write for Yeongchae will match or differ from your various expectations. But comparing your thoughts with mine seems a most interesting exercise.
The second-class carriage from Busan had let off most of its passengers at Namdaemun. In the compartment where Yeongchae was riding, only five or six people remained, both men and women. She had settled into a corner seat. As soon as the train departed, she poked her head out the window to let the cool air rush over her, as if not wanting to show her face to others. She stared out at the area beyond Namsan. But nothing in particular caught her attention. She simply didn't want to show her face to her fellow passengers, so she gazed vacantly at the mountains and fields flashing by. She didn't feel particularly sad or tormented. Her mind was hazy, as if half-awake from a deep sleep. It felt like a dream.
When the old woman and her two friends had bid her farewell, she had been sad. Her own circumstances had felt wretched. The thought that she was leaving the world she had lived in for over twenty years to go and die pressed heavily on her chest, as if crushing it. Then again, it felt like a relief to be done with this painful world that didn't suit her. So her mind had been like a boiling pot. But after an hour or two passed, her mind grew utterly calm. She felt as if she'd forgotten how she'd arrived at Namdaemun Station, how she'd gotten on the train. It felt like decades since she'd left Namdaemun. The faces of the old woman and her friends had grown faint, as if she'd seen them decades ago.
Through her eyes, Yeongchae saw green mountains bathed in summer sunlight, yellow waves of wheat and barley, and green waves of millet and barnyard grass. The wind, carrying the scent of grass, brushed past her face and blew in through her ramie jacket, cooling her sweaty skin. It all gave her a strange sort of pleasure. So, like a dreamer, she neither tried to see the unseen nor tried to avoid the seen. She simply saw what entered her eyes and heard what entered her ears. She didn't know where she was going, or why.
But occasionally, the thought struck her: I'm going to die. Then, as if waking from death, she blinked and shuddered. Thoughts of home, of Pyongyang, and of Hyung-sik would surge up. But they would emerge only briefly, then vanish quickly, and she would return to her dreamlike state.
Sometimes the scene at Cheongnyangni appeared before her eyes. She would think of those beastly men grabbing her wrist and dragging her, and she would suck on her lip. If she bit down a little, a salty taste of blood filled her mouth. As if savoring the taste, she would silently close her mouth for a long moment, then shake her head as if to forget everything, spit, and go back to staring at the mountains and fields, just as before. The wind whipped through her hair.
The train passed through the Gaeseong tunnel and raced into the mountainous region of Hwanghae Province. It would chug up a hill with a puff-puff, then glide down with a whoosh, then chug around a sloping mountain bend, then slide down as if on a road that seemed tens of jang deep. When it chugged up into a deep grassy valley, steam burst from the grass. When it glided down, a cool wind, as if it had been waiting, swept past. The strangely shaped boulders at the roadside seemed to sizzle under the glaring sun. The lonely trees standing here and there looked drowsy, not a single leaf stirring. Occasionally, the terrain would open flat, and she could see a cow lying by a stream, fast asleep. She saw a mother and child who, while weeding a millet field more than a span tall, looked up at the passing train. Yet Yeongchae sat as if dreaming, her chin resting on the window frame.
As the train let out a long whistle and rounded a mountain curve, coal smoke from the locomotive swept past in front of her face and lodged a cinder in her right eye. Yeongchae closed her eye and quickly pulled her head back inside. She tried to wipe it with the silk handkerchief she'd been holding. But the cinder wouldn't come out; only tears flowed. Her eye hurt terribly.
Wiping her eye with the handkerchief, Yeongchae scowled and thought, 'Ouch, it hurts.' At first the cinder seemed to be caught under her upper eyelid, but after rubbing for a while, she couldn't tell where it was—it just hurt. She tried to work the handkerchief under her eyelid to flush it out, but finally realizing it wasn't coming out, she grew angry. She put her hand on the window sill, rested her face on it, and wept. It was as if the sorrow that had been dozing within her suddenly awakened, and tears poured forth. Without even knowing why, she was simply overcome with sadness and cried, stifling her sobs. Her dreamlike state of mind suddenly felt as if it were shattering. Every past thought rose clearly in her mind, cloaked in sorrow. She forgot about the cinder in her eye and wept alone in her grief.
Tonight, I will die. I will throw myself into the Daedong River. Even these tears will vanish, and the warmth in my body will disappear. The mountains, fields, and people I saw today—I have seen them all for the last time. The thought that in just a few hours I will be dead pricked her entire body like a needle point. Regret rose in her: why was I born? What have I lived for?
Just then, someone gently shook her.
"Excuse me. Lift your head."
Startled, Yeongchae lifted her head and opened one eye with difficulty to look at the person. A young woman in a simple dress was holding a handkerchief.
"Turn this way. Did you get a cinder in your eye? I'll clean it out for you," she said, smiling gently, but when she saw the sadness on Yeongchae's face, she looked up and studied her for a moment. Yeongchae, seeming both grateful and embarrassed, turned as the woman instructed.
"It's nothing," she said, lowering her head.
"No, no. When a cinder gets in your eye, it's hard to get out," the woman said, wrapping the handkerchief around her fingertip. With one hand, she touched Yeongchae's eye.
"This one? This one?" She lifted Yeongchae's right upper eyelid, peered inside carefully, and gently wiped with the handkerchief. Her motions were extremely practiced and steady. Yeongchae sat still, letting her do it. She noticed the woman's warm breath, which, though smelling faintly of something, seemed fragrant as it touched her lips and nose. The woman moved closer, practically embracing her, and continued wiping, tilting her head this way and that as she worked the eye open.
"Oh, if no one were around, I'd just lick it out with my tongue," the woman said, sounding annoyed. "There! It's out. See? No wonder, it was this big." She showed Yeongchae the cinder on the handkerchief. But Yeongchae's eyes were watering and blurry, so she couldn't see it. The woman stood up from her seat, put her hand under Yeongchae's arm, and helped her rise.
"Come, let's go to the washroom and wash your face," she said, leading the way.
Though the train was swaying, the woman walked as steadily as if on level ground, pulling Yeongchae along to the washroom at the far end of the car. Halfway there, she took soap and a towel from a young boy in Western clothes who had been sitting with her. On the other side, a man in a Western suit who had been reading looked up, stared at the two of them, then returned to his book. Yeongchae, stumbling, followed the woman to the washroom. The woman filled the white porcelain basin with water from the marble counter, swirled it with her hand, rinsed it out once, then filled it again with clean water. She opened the soap dish, draped a large towel with red stripes over Yeongchae's shoulders and collar, and wrapped an arm around Yeongchae's waist, leaning her body against her own.
"Now, wash thoroughly with the soap," she said.
She gazed at Yeongchae's glossy hair, her flower-shaped hairpin, her white neck and back, wondering what kind of person she was. Occasionally she straightened the towel on Yeongchae's shoulders and pushed back the strands of hair that had fallen around her ears. Anyone watching would have thought she was an older sister helping a younger one. Indeed, the woman thought of Yeongchae as a younger sister. 'A gentle girl. She must be talented. Seems educated.' And thinking of how she'd cried from a cinder in her eye, she thought, 'So young. So lovable.'
Even in her sadness, Yeongchae felt grateful and happy for the woman's kindness, and she washed her face thoroughly. When she felt the woman's hand on her back, she thought of being held by Wol-hwa. And she thought the woman's face resembled Wol-hwa's in some way, though she couldn't say how. But then she thought: I am going to die.
Yeongchae finished washing and stood up. The woman handed her a towel. She dried her face and hands. The woman took the towel and gently wiped her neck and behind her ears. Yeongchae opened her eyes and looked directly at the woman. Her eyes were red. There was still water on her eyelashes, as if tears clung there. The woman looked at Yeongchae with the eyes of a mother looking at her daughter, smiled softly, then put her arm around Yeongchae's waist.
"Come, let's go. Let's go have lunch."
They returned to Yeongchae's seat as they had come. Only then did Yeongchae manage to say,
"Thank you."
The woman started to sit down, but then went back to her own seat to say something to the boy. She took a square paper box from her bag and came back, sitting on the seat opposite Yeongchae.
"Have some of this," she said, opening the lid.
Yeongchae didn't know what it was. There were two pieces of bread with holes in them, with a thin piece of meat in between. She felt awkward asking what it was, so she sat silently. The woman glanced at her and thought, 'So you don't know what this is.' Then she urged Yeongchae to eat.
"Where are you going?" she asked, picking up a piece for herself. "Come on, eat."
"To Pyongyang," Yeongchae said, also picking up one of the sandwiches and eating it as the woman had. At first, she hadn't known how to eat it.
"Is your home in Pyongyang?" the woman asked, picking up another.
Yeongchae didn't know how to answer. Did she have a home? If she said yes, it would be the old woman's house. She turned her head away.