He had said they would leave the day after tomorrow, but Byeong-uk's mother objected, so the departure was pushed back a week. Her words of protest went like this:
"After a whole year of missing each other, you finally meet, and now you want to leave before a month is even up? You must not miss me at all. At least stay long enough to eat all the melons and watermelons I planted in that cotton field just for you."
There was no arguing with that. So one day, Byeong-uk looked at Youngchae, tears welling in her eyes, and asked, "Well? What do you think of a mother's love?" The mention of it made Youngchae think of her own father, and she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
Every day after the noon meal, Byeong-uk and Youngchae would head to the cotton field on the sunny side of the hill, about three ma from the house. They'd pick melons and watermelons, sit side by side at the edge of the field, and talk about their dream-like futures while eating with relish. Sometimes Byeong-uk's sister-in-law would join them, and the three would sit together in a circle, chatting away, oblivious to the setting sun. The cotton field happened to be on a side road, so no one ever passed by—it was utterly peaceful. One day, the sister-in-law said,
"Father said melons and watermelons were bad for the cotton plants and forbade us to plant them. But Mother insisted, so she and I planted them ourselves."
Byeong-uk strolled along the furrows, inspecting the beautiful melons and watermelons hanging from the vines. She picked one that was covered in mottled spots and came back with it.
"Why is this one so blotchy? Why are some dark, some white, and some like this, all splotchy? No matter how many I look at, not a single one is exactly the same…"
"If they were all the same, where would the fun be? People are the same way," Youngchae said with a laugh.
"Indeed, nature is truly fascinating. From the same soil come all kinds of plants and trees and flowers, each a different shape and color…" She held the melon she'd just picked to her nose, sniffing it deeply. "This, too, is just transformed soil."
"They say humans were originally molded from clay, don't they?" the sister-in-law said.
"That's right. Everything comes from the earth… The land is truly the mother of all things. It gives birth to everything and holds them all… Rice, water, this melon—it's all milk, you know… A mother's milk." Byeong-uk stroked the melon as if it were something precious, then looked around at the surroundings. "Isn't it wonderful? The sky is so clear, the sunlight so warm, the mountains so green, the stream flowing like that, and all those plants growing so vigorously. And here we are, sitting right in the middle of it all. Oh, it's wonderful!" She danced a little and laughed.
Youngchae picked up a round stone, tossing it and catching it. "Maybe it's because I grew up in the countryside, but no matter what, I love it here among the grass and trees. When I'm in a city like Seoul or Pyongyang, I feel like I'm trapped in a box."
"That's exactly right. Out here in nature, your body and mind feel completely free and at ease. But in the city… ugh, the dust, the stench, and before long, even people's hearts start to stink." She wrinkled her nose as if she could smell it right then. "But here, isn't it so wide and clean?" She took a deep breath, inhaling noisily. The air was indeed clear. The fragrance of the grass drifted over them in warm waves from time to time, intoxicating.
They played and talked like this, happily, then each picked a watermelon and headed home. These were to be given to the parents and other family members at home.
Byeong-uk would cut open the watermelon, spoon honey into it, and take it to her grandmother, who lay on the heated floor. The grandmother, her cheeks sunken like a child's, would smile and eat it with pleasure. Byeong-uk watched her fondly, occasionally scooping out more of the flesh with a spoon. When it was almost finished, the grandmother would always look at Byeong-uk, smile, and say, "My, how you've grown. A girl that tall, why doesn't she want to get married?" Then she'd scoot her body a little closer and pat Byeong-uk on the back. "Once you leave, I suppose I'll never see you again," she'd sigh. Each time, Byeong-uk would raise her voice and say,
"Don't say that, Grandmother. You're going to live to be ninety, easy." The old woman, who could barely hear, would hum and say,
"Ninety!" And that was that. She was seventy-three now, so ninety meant seventeen more years. The look on her face seemed to say, Will I really live that long? But also, I hope I do.
Sometimes she'd ask her granddaughter to play the violin. Byeong-uk would oblige, and as she played, she'd say to Youngchae, who was sitting beside her, "You listen with your ears. Grandmother listens with her eyes." The two of them would laugh, and the grandmother, not knowing what was so funny, would laugh along with them. Then she'd stare blankly at Byeong-uk, who was tilting her head and drawing the bow, and within five minutes, she'd usually be dozing off. The two young women would look at each other, smile, and enjoy their own private amusement.
🙝 🙟
Her mother, thinking of her daughter who was about to travel far away, prepared all sorts of delicious things. She soaked rice to make rice cakes, she killed a chicken… and then she just sat there, staring blankly at her daughters as they ate with relish. Her father also bought a whole rack of beef ribs for his daughter, and Byeong-uk's brother, Byeongguk, went into town to buy cookies, tangerines, and cider. Meanwhile, Byeong-uk and Youngchae went to the cotton field and picked melons and watermelons. They served them with honey, or with sugar, or left them out overnight, or chilled them in the well. One time, Youngchae brought her father a slice of watermelon mixed with honey all by herself. He looked a bit surprised, took it, and scooped it up with a spoon. "Hmm, thank you," he said. Youngchae thought of her own dead father again.
Another time, Byeong-uk handed a watermelon to Byeongguk and said, half-jokingly, "This one is special. Youngchae made it just for you, Oppa." Youngchae, who was standing nearby, blushed.
Byeong-uk's sister-in-law was genuinely sad that her two sisters-in-law were leaving. She was also grieved that she had to say goodbye to Youngchae, whom she had grown fond of, in less than a month. She, too, wanted to fly off to Seoul or Tokyo with her sisters-in-law, but she knew it was impossible. So, while she couldn't help but feel a little envious, she also had the cultivation of mind to be content with her own lot in life. Her sisters-in-law were destined for such things, and she was destined for this—she quickly resigned herself to it, so she wasn't overly distressed.
And so, amidst this flurry of activity, the week that had seemed so long passed by like a dream. Today was the day of departure. As they tied up their bundles and changed their clothes, those who were sending them off didn't want to let them go, and those who were leaving didn't want to go. The grandmother lying on the warmest part of the floor. The father, puffing on his cigarette as if he knew nothing of what was happening. The mother, packing side dishes like red pepper paste and salted fish. The sister-in-law, silently helping her mother-in-law. Byeongguk, wearing his durumagi and bustling about, tying up the large and small bundles with his Panama hat still tilted back on his head. Byeong-uk, laughing cheerfully and bustling back and forth. And Youngchae, standing there vacantly as if watching it all from a distance… Every single one of them had an indescribable emptiness and sorrow lodged deep in their chests.
Byeong-uk and Youngchae performed their farewell bows in order: first to their grandmother, then to their father, and then to their mother. The grandmother again said, "I feel like I'll never see you again," and tears welled in her dim eyes. Byeongguk helped her out to the front gate. The father simply said, "Hmph," when he received their bows, with no other words. The mother said,
"Go and study hard, then come back. Come home for winter break, too. Youngchae, you come again next year," and smoothed out the fabric of Youngchae's jeogori.
After exchanging their goodbyes with the villagers—"Take care," "Stay well"—the party left the village entrance. It was just past one in the afternoon. The August sun beat down on them like a bonfire.
The group walked along, some ahead, some behind, talking with lingering affection. Sometimes they'd all gather together, sometimes they'd split into pairs a dozen paces apart, and sometimes one person would walk ahead, pick a blade of grass by the roadside, and look back. Often, the mother and Byeong-uk would walk together, the sister-in-law and Youngchae would walk together, and the father and Byeongguk would walk separately, mostly in silence. The young porter carrying the luggage would occasionally stop, propping up his jige with determination, and wait for the group behind him. But soon, his eagerness to get to the station and set down his load would get the better of him, and he'd run ahead. Empty horse-drawn carriages and rickshaws clattered past them, coming from the opposite direction or overtaking them. Their faces were flushed red from the heat, and beads of sweat dripped from their foreheads. The men fanned themselves, and the women wiped their sweat with handkerchiefs.
The conversation, which had once seemed endless, was nearly exhausted. Now they walked in silence along the hard-packed new road, facing the sun. From a field watchman's hut by the roadside, a melancholy song drifted out, then fell silent as they passed by. Heads—a shaved one, one in a traditional hat, one wrapped in a cloth, a big, young man's head—popped out of the hut's doorway. They whispered among themselves, and once the party was a few dozen paces past, a burst of "Ha ha!" laughter could be heard. The group just kept walking silently towards the station.
Youngchae looked at the foxtail millet fields on either side, the new ears just emerging, and thought about the past month. Though her body had been still, in her mind, there had been a truly great upheaval. An upheaval so profound she could say she had become a completely new person, different from before. She thought about how she had met Byeong-uk by chance on her way to die. How, after seven or eight years, she had rediscovered the joy of family in Byeong-uk's home. How she had realized that beyond the cramped, prison-like world she had suffered in, there was a world that was wide, free, and joyful. And how she had felt a burning love for Byeongguk. Finally, she thought about how she was now on her way to study abroad in Tokyo, Japan. The unexpected turn her fate had taken was so marvelous that she smiled to herself.
While she was lost in these thoughts, the party arrived at the station. They claimed one bench in the waiting room and used the remaining twenty minutes to say what little they hadn't yet said.
🙝 🙟
Byeong-uk and Youngchae boarded the train and looked out the window at their family who had come to see them off. Byeongguk, saying he had business to attend to in Sariwon, had boarded with them. But since he was to return that evening, he sat on the bench without looking outside. Their mother pressed her face to the window.
"Take care, won't you!" she said twice.
"And make sure to write! Twice a month, without fail!" she said three or four times. The sister-in-law stood close beside her mother-in-law, looking back and forth between Byeongguk and Youngchae. Her small, neat face, flushed from the heat, looked lovely. The cling-clang of the bell rang out, and the conductor's whistle sounded. The sister-in-law pressed firmly on Youngchae's hand, which was resting on the window sill, and said,
"Please write when you get there." There were tears in her eyes. Tears also welled in Youngchae's eyes as she looked back at her. The military police glanced at the scene from time to time. As the cries of the children selling boxed lunches faded, the train began to move with a blast of the horn. Their mother called out one more time,
"Take care!" and blinked once. Byeong-uk and Youngchae stuck their heads out the window and waved their handkerchiefs. Their mother waved hers, too, but the sister-in-law just stood and watched silently. Their father raised his arm once in a wave, then turned and left. With a clatter, the train rounded a bend, and the figures standing on the platform vanished from sight. The two girls waved their handkerchiefs a couple more times, then sat back down in their seats. For a long while, they sat in a daze, neither of them speaking. The train's speed increased, and a cool breeze blew in. Byeongguk sat sideways on the bench opposite them, looking at the two of them and fanning himself. Inside the carriage, there was an old Westerner who looked like a missionary, a fat government official with two gold stripes on his uniform, and two or three other people in working clothes. All of them turned their gaze here, as if finding it strange that the two second-class passengers were dressed in white. Byeongguk leaned forward to make sure his sister could hear him.
"It's thanks to you that I'm riding second class for the first time," he said with a laugh.
"If you're so envious, you should ride it more often," Byeong-uk laughed back.
"For people like us who don't accomplish anything, even third class is a waste. How could I ride second? I'd feel too guilty…"
"Then why did you buy second-class tickets for us? You should have just sent us in the baggage car!" Byeong-uk pretended to be angry. Youngchae found it so funny that she bowed her head. The brother and sister teased each other like children, and then Byeongguk said,
"Miss Youngchae, will you be returning next year as well?"
"Yes, well… I suppose I'll have to see."
"Why don't you come back with me? You don't want me to come back alone, do you? Siblings should stick together," Byeong-uk said, looking at Youngchae, then at Byeongguk.
Youngchae laughed. "Well, if you promise to bring me back, then I'll come."
Byeong-uk wriggled her body and looked at her brother with mock childishness. "Oppa! Let's both come back together next year!" she said, in a tone that was neither clearly a question nor a statement.
"Fine, come back with her then. Since she doesn't have a home of her own, please think of my house as yours…"
"Yes, thank you," Youngchae said, bowing her head.
While they were talking, the train had already come to a halt. "Sarii-won! Sarii-won!" came the station attendant's cry. Byeongguk took off his hat. "Well, then, take care," he said, and jumped off the train. After getting off, he came and stood by the window where the two were sitting. They looked down at him. A few people jumped off and a few jumped on in a flurry, and then the conductor's whistle blew again. The train began to move. Byeongguk held his hat high. The two girls waved their hands and bowed their heads. Byeongguk watched the two arms and heads growing smaller and smaller. The two girls watched Byeongguk, his waving hat growing smaller and smaller.
Youngchae's chest felt inexplicably tight. She felt as if her mind was going blank. Byeong-uk peeked at Youngchae's face and, trying to make her laugh, said,
"Hey, remember when you were crying because you got coal ash in your eyes?" and laughed herself. Youngchae laughed too.
"Did it hurt that much, getting that coal dust in your eye?" Byeong-uk asked.
"Who was crying because it hurt? I was crying because I was angry," Youngchae said, thinking back to that day, closing her eyes and then opening them again with a smile.
"Anyway, the way you looked when you were crying was so pretty… If I were a man, I would have fallen for you on the spot."
"Oh, stop it!" Youngchae said, slapping Byeong-uk's knee with her hand.
"Hey, let's stop in Seoul for a bit on the way."
"Oh, no, I'd rather not. What if someone sees us?"
"They must think you're dead by now in Seoul. That Mr. Lee Hyeong-sik or whatever his name is, too."
"Probably. I'm dead as far as they're concerned."
"Who? You? Why?"
"I was already dead then, wasn't I? When you washed my face."
"So you were resurrected."
"Yes, a resurrection. Truly, if it weren't for you, I would have died for sure. I'd already be all rotted away by now."
"So you've been clinging on, refusing to rot?"
"What else was I supposed to do?"
"Birds would have pecked all the meat off you by now."
"How could birds eat something so big?" She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed.
Byeong-uk asked, "Hey, what did you think of me when you first saw me?"
"I thought, 'Who is this Japanese woman who speaks Joseon so well and is so kind?'" she said.
("And then?")
"Then I thought, 'She's a very lively woman.'"
"And do you know what it was you ate that day?"
"I don't know. I didn't know how to eat it, so I just watched you quietly and copied you."
"I knew it. That was Western food, called a sandwich… It's pretty tasty, huh?"
"Yeah," Youngchae said, nodding her head. "Sandwich," she pronounced, carefully memorizing the word.
🙝 🙟
The train pulled into Namdaemun Station. It wasn't yet fully dark, but electric lights were flickering on all around. The sounds of the streetcars, the rickshaws, the combined "sound of the city," and the clatter of wooden clogs echoing across the wide platform—it all came together, sounding terribly noisy to the ears of someone who had been in the quiet countryside until just now. "The sound of the city!" And yet, that was the sound of civilization. The more clamorous that sound, the better off the country was. The sound of carriage wheels, the sound of steam engines and electric motors… All these sounds combined are what finally give birth to a brilliant civilization. Truly, modern civilization is a civilization of sound. Seoul was still lacking in sound. The sounds of civilization ought to be so loud at Jongno or Namdaemun that people can't hear each other's voices. But it was pitiful. The three hundred thousand people in white clothes living in Jangan did not understand the meaning of this sound. Nor were they connected to it. They had to learn to hear it, to learn to rejoice in hearing it, and, finally, to learn to produce this sound with their own hands. Among the people bustling about on that platform, how many truly understood the meaning of this bustle? Why were all those electric lights lit? Why were those telegraph and telephone machines clicking away day and night? Why were those hideous trains and streetcars running day and night?… How many people understood this?
Amidst this commotion, Youngchae sat quietly with her head bowed, afraid that someone might see her face. Byeong-uk, worried she might run into an old schoolmate, got off and paced around the platform. She didn't meet anyone, and just as she was about to re-enter the train, someone tapped her on the shoulder.