Hyung-sik had never experienced true love—not toward Seon-hyeong, nor toward Yeongchae. His love was still only skin-deep. He claimed to love Seon-hyeong as his own life, yet he knew nothing of her character. He didn't know whether she was a cool, rational person or a passionate, emotional one. He didn’t know her temperament, her likes and dislikes, her strengths and weaknesses. He didn’t know where they harmonized or where they clashed. He didn’t even know what direction her character and talents might develop. He simply loved blindly. His love was primitive—undeveloped, unevolved. It was the sort of love that binds children together because they’ve grown fond of each other and hate to be parted. It was the kind of love that arises among uncivilized peoples at the mere sight of a pretty face. The only difference was that among the uncivilized, such love immediately meant physical desire, whereas Hyung-sik’s love contained a large spiritual element. But he knew only the name of spiritual love, not its substance. He didn’t understand that true love springs from mutual spiritual understanding. His love was exactly the kind that the young men of Joseon—youth of a transitional era, moving from an old, unconscious age toward a new, self-aware one—so often possessed. If he ever realized that his love was of this sort, a great upheaval would inevitably sweep through his life.
Sitting quietly with his eyes closed, Hyung-sik saw the events of the past month as clearly as if under a microscope.
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Elder Kim and his wife still seemed unable to believe what he’d told them about his relationship with Yeongchae. After he’d explained it once, Elder Kim had laughed and said, “A man doing such a thing once or twice is nothing unusual.” Hyung-sik hadn’t bothered to elaborate further, but he felt a certain displeasure that his character wasn’t trusted. From then on, whenever he faced the Elder and his wife, he felt both resentment and shame. In Hyung-sik’s view, they acted as if he was unworthy to be Seon-hyeong’s match. At first they’d regarded him as extremely upright and full of promise. But upon hearing that he’d associated with a gisaeng and even followed her to Pyongyang, they seemed to suddenly consider him unreliable. He resented having his entire worth judged by that one incident. They would break off the engagement if they could, but having given their word, they couldn’t back out honorably. Even if Hyung-sik turned out to be untrustworthy, that was Seon-hyeong’s fate… That, in Hyung-sik’s eyes, was how Elder Kim was thinking.
Moreover, he knew that a high-collar youth who’d returned from the United States had set his heart on Seon-hyeong and was maneuvering by every means, and that some influential person in the church had stepped in to disparage Hyung-sik and break the engagement, while praising the youth’s wealth, excellent English, and American education to arrange a marriage with Seon-hyeong. Hyung-sik knew that at that time Elder Kim and his wife had been about sixty percent inclined toward that side. And he knew that after that incident Seon-hyeong’s attitude had grown colder, at times even anxious. Above all, the Elder’s wife—for some reason—had taken a dislike to Hyung-sik and actively advocated for her daughter to marry the young man from America. But the Elder, being a man of noble status and mindful of his position as an Elder, had ultimately opposed it.
For nearly ten days, Hyung-sik had been unwelcome in Elder Kim’s house. Unable to contain his anger, he’d avoided the house entirely for three or four days straight. He’d shut himself up at home, tormented by fury and shame. One day he’d resolved, “Today I’ll break off the engagement first,” and was putting on his clothes to leave when Seon-hyeong came to see him for the first time. She asked gently, “Are you feeling unwell?” Then Sunae followed, carrying a basket of fruit. They must have thought he was sick and come to visit. Seon-hyeong added happily, “The travel permit came yesterday.” Hyung-sik’s anger melted away. “No, ma’am. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
At that, Seon-hyeong and Sunae stared at him. Seon-hyeong knew of course about the trouble in her house. She knew her parents had developed ill feelings toward Hyung-sik. She herself didn’t feel very kindly toward him, either. But when she saw her parents’ hostility toward him, and Hyung-sik seemed to sense it and hadn’t stirred for days, she felt a kind of sympathy and warmth. So she’d brought Sunae to see him. At that moment, Hyung-sik seemed utterly lovable to Seon-hyeong. And Hyung-sik, seeing that light in her eyes, was happier than ever.
But this was sympathy of the sort that makes one want to dive in and rescue someone drowning. It’s effective for a moment but doesn’t last long. Married love can’t be sustained that way. The right kind of love says: If that person lives, I live. If that person is happy, I’m happy. That person and I are one body… Seon-hyeong’s love for Hyung-sik resembled sympathy for a drowning person. Hyung-sik didn’t fully realize it, but to some degree he guessed what was in her heart.
Nevertheless, for Hyung-sik, Seon-hyeong was indispensable. His entire future seemed to depend on her alone. Even if she told him, “I don’t want to see you—go away,” or spat in his face and kicked him, he would have to cling to her skirts. Even if going to Elder Kim’s house was unpleasant, even if facing Seon-hyeong was unpleasant, that was still better than losing the one he loved and sinking into despair and grief. It was better to cut off an arm or a leg than to have his whole body thrown into a pit of fire.
Thus Hyung-sik had passed those days in anguish. But two or three days before his departure, Elder Kim and his wife’s attitude toward him suddenly became extremely kind, and Seon-hyeong also grew more tender and close. Though Hyung-sik doubted the fickleness of human feelings, he was overjoyed—as if rising to heaven. On the night before their departure, Elder Kim called Hyung-sik and Seon-hyeong together, prayed fervently for the two of them, and then repeatedly addressed them as “you two” while giving all sorts of advice. At that, Hyung-sik felt a happiness he’d never known in his life. The phrase “you two” seemed to unite him and his beloved Seon-hyeong into one body. Even Seon-hyeong glanced at Hyung-sik and smiled faintly. The four of them prayed that this moment might last forever.
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From now on, Hyung-sik believed, only happiness lay ahead of him. Even when they’d departed from Namdaemun earlier, as friends lingered over their farewells, he felt nothing but joy. When he saw Huigyeong’s clique standing behind the other well-wishers, staring at him, his heart did ache. But the moment he saw Seon-hyeong beside him, all sadness vanished. From now on, he and Seon-hyeong would go to the far side of the earth—over twenty thousand li away—study happily for four or five years, and then return to Namdaemun arm in arm amid the cheers of the crowd. And at that time, everyone standing here today would welcome him with even more heartfelt celebration and respect. Thinking this, he suddenly felt homesick for Seoul, and Namdaemun seemed dear. Namdaemun seemed to exist only to see him off and welcome him back—a happy man. When the train guard’s whistle blew and the shouts of manse rang out, Hyung-sik’s emotions need hardly be described.
But Seon-hyeong was a woman. Even though she was a modern-style woman full of ambition and vanity, glad to be going to study in America, seeing her beloved parents, siblings, and friends recede gradually from the train window made the tears she’d been holding burst forth. She cried out loud and collapsed onto the seat. At first Hyung-sik gently patted her shoulder, saying, “Come, get up. Wipe your tears.” But then he hesitated, feeling that this was no longer the appropriate response, and slipped an arm under her chest to lift her. Her skin, touching his arm, was soft and warm. Seon-hyeong let him help her up and briefly gripped his hand. Then, drying her tears with a handkerchief, she smiled. “Oh, what a sight I must be. The Japanese must be laughing at us.” Her eyes and cheeks, flushed from crying, looked even lovelier. The Japanese surely did laugh.
Useon, sitting in the seat behind Hyung-sik, was smiling faintly as he listened to their exchange while reading a newspaper. He turned his head. “Hey, we’re in trouble.”
Hyung-sik had been focused entirely on Seon-hyeong, forgetting about Useon. Startled, he turned. “Huh? What?”
“Ha ha, no need to be so alarmed… But this morning it started raining across Gyeongsang and Jeolla provinces, and the Geumgang and Nakdong Rivers have risen over ten feet.”
“Where?” Hyung-sik took the newspaper Useon was holding. “Then the railway might be cut off?”
Seon-hyeong’s eyes went wide. Useon said, “Well, after all that dry weather…” and stuck his head out the window to look around. It was dusk, so he couldn’t see well, but the sky was covered with black clouds, and a chilly wind occasionally carried thick raindrops. Other passengers, having read the paper, were worrying aloud about damage to the tracks. But this didn’t seem very serious to Hyung-sik or Seon-hyeong. If the tracks were damaged, they’d just wait at an inn.
It was at this point that Byeong-uk came looking for Seon-hyeong. Then Seon-hyeong followed him away. Then she returned, and Hyung-sik asked what kind of person Byeong-uk’s companion was. Seon-hyeong answered, “His name is Park Youngchae. She seems very refined.” Finally, Useon went on a reconnaissance and reported back, “Yeah, she’s a real catch.”
Reviewing these past events, Hyung-sik finally said to Seon-hyeong, “I think I should go see Miss Park Youngchae.”
“Go ahead,” she replied, and to Hyung-sik the words seemed to carry some hidden meaning. Indeed, Seon-hyeong had been feeling upset. So that woman—was she the gisaeng called Gyewolhyang? She was supposed to be dead—was that a lie? She pretended to be so proper on the outside while harboring all sorts of wicked schemes inside. Had that good-hearted Byeong-uk fallen into her trap? Had she deliberately chosen this train after hearing that Hyung-sik and Seon-hyeong were leaving today? Or perhaps Hyung-sik still hadn’t forgotten Yeongchae and had secretly told her their departure date, hoping to see her one more time before going to America? These thoughts sparked jealousy in Seon-hyeong, and she turned her head sharply away. Hyung-sik stared at her displeased face for a long moment, then said as if in explanation, “Still, now that I know she’s on the same train, how can I pretend not to?” He sat back down and waited for her reply. Seon-hyeong sat silently for a while, then smiled. “Well, go ahead. Who’s stopping you?” The last part was better left unsaid. Hyung-sik bowed his head and sat motionless for a moment, then suddenly stood up. “Then I’ll go and come back.” He said to Useon, “I’m going to see Miss Yeongchae.”
“Yeah, go ahead. And tell her I send my regards,” Useon said, glancing at Seon-hyeong. He wondered how the relationship among these three would turn out.
Even after Hyung-sik returned from seeing Yeongchae, Useon’s mind was far from at ease. He was especially curious about what had made her change her mind about dying, and why she was going to Japan.
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Before, Useon had boasted about Yeongchae as a beauty. But after learning that she had kept her chastity for Hyung-sik all this time and had resolved to die for him over the Cheongnyangni incident, he came to love her as an ideal woman—combining beauty, talent, and virtue. If it weren’t for his friendship with Hyung-sik, he might have gone mad over her.
When he discovered that Gyewolhyang—the woman he was desperately in love with—was actually Park Youngchae, who had remained faithful to Hyung-sik, Useon’s heart felt torn apart. But valuing friendship and priding himself on his chivalry, Useon forcibly suppressed his feelings and resolved to do everything he could for Hyung-sik and Yeongchae. If Yeongchae became Hyung-sik’s wife, he would relate to her as his friend’s wife for the rest of his life—that alone, he thought, would be happiness enough. Then, when he saw that she had written that sorrowful suicide note and gone down to Pyongyang, Useon felt deep sadness and disappointment. Though he prided himself on not being swayed by women, from that day on he had never once forgotten Yeongchae. If you looked through his diary, you’d find that before going to sleep, he always composed a poem thinking of her.
And now, discovering that Yeongchae—whom he’d thought dead—was alive and on the same train, it was only natural that Useon’s heart was pounding. Moreover, seeing Hyung-sik with the beautiful Seon-hyeong, bound by a beautiful promise, heading off to pursue a beautiful education, made him even more envious. Useon thought of his own wife—past thirty, having borne more than three sons—wearing an apron and scrubbing baby diapers. She knew nothing. She only knew how to cook, sew, and bear children. In the ten-plus years of their marriage, he had never once sat down and had a warm conversation with her, let alone shared his thoughts. They only shared a bed when they slept together. It was as if his wife existed only for him—like a widower who, unable to endure his physical urges, goes to a widow’s house, he would enter his wife’s room.
In this way, sons and daughters were born, and they called each other husband and wife. Having lived together for ten years without knowing each other’s inner selves—and without even trying to—their relationship was truly strange. But Useon regarded it merely as inescapable fate, and had never tried to break free. To him, a wife was just a wife—you keep her at home to bear children and visit her now and then. Whatever pleasure you couldn’t get from her, you got from gisaeng. He believed that was the very reason the gisaeng system existed. He often argued with Hyung-sik about this. Hyung-sik insisted on strict monogamy, while Useon maintained that taking a concubine or visiting gisaeng was by no means a man’s fault. Indeed, from Useon’s perspective, he couldn’t imagine getting through life without concubines or gisaeng. While Useon’s polygamy and Hyung-sik’s monogamy stemmed partly from old Joseon morality and Western morality of the Jesus faith respectively, they also clearly came from their own circumstances. If Yeongchae were given to Useon and she loved him, he would stop going to gisaeng houses from that very day.
In his situation, Useon found Hyung-sik’s circumstances enviable and his own pitiful. He, too, wanted to travel by train with a beloved wife and go abroad to sightsee. Playing with gisaeng was fine, but something was always lacking. No matter how kindly a gisaeng treated him, no matter how much he liked her, there was always a small deficiency in some corner. And that deficiency was by no means small—it was enormous. First, there was no spiritual harmony or connection. Second—and this was the most powerful element of love—there was no assurance that she was “his.” Even if he paid a lot of money and bought out a gisaeng, she became “his” only in name; spiritual fusion couldn’t be achieved by force. Love based on appearance is shallow, and so it quickly cools. Spiritual love is deep, and so it lasts. But loving only appearance is animal love, and loving only spirit is ghostly love. Only when body and spirit are united does love become as vast as the universe, as deep as the ocean, as endlessly harmonious as a spring day. People don’t say it aloud, but this is what they seek day and night inside their hearts. Yet such love is like gold or jade—one in a thousand, perhaps one in ten or a hundred years, might find it. That’s why women envy Chunhyang and men envy Lee Do-ryeong. Having never tasted such love themselves, they find joy and tears in novels, plays, and poems. Since the dawn of time in Joseon, there has only been the love of Chunhyang and Lee Do-ryeong. Everyone wants to be Chunhyang or Lee Do-ryeong, but they never even come close. Joseon’s cruel marriage system has, over centuries, dried up and killed the seed of love that every person brings from heaven in their heart. Useon was one of its victims.