“I’ll cancel going to the United States… That’s the right thing to do… Yes, I’ll do that.” He released Useon’s hand and started to step into the compartment. Useon grabbed Hyung-sik’s arm and pulled him back.
“Have you lost your mind? Come here.”
Hyung-sik stood there blankly.
“Your mind’s in chaos right now. What do you mean, cancel going to America?”
“But she’s willing to throw away her life for me. How can I ignore that? I’ll tell Seon-hyeong about this and break off the engagement… That’s the right thing to do.”
“So you’re saying you’ll marry Yeongchae?”
“Yes, that’s right! That’s what’s right!”
“Does Yeongchae want to marry you?”
“She never said that.”
“What if Yeongchae doesn’t want to marry you?”
Hyung-sik thought for a long moment.
“Then I’ll never marry. I’ll go to a temple and become a monk.”
Useon finally burst out laughing.
“You’re completely worked up now. You’re really still a child. You don’t know anything about the world. Don’t even dream of such thoughts—just go to America, quickly.”
“And abandon her?”
“It’s not abandonment. Things have already turned out this way. What good will those thoughts do now? Besides, Yeongchae is going to study in Tokyo too. So both of you just study well, and in the future treat each other like siblings. Forget all this nonsense…” He slapped Hyung-sik on the back. A train conductor with a red armband passed by and gave them a sidelong glance.
Hyung-sik returned to his seat, leaned back, and closed his eyes quietly. Seon-hyeong sat still as a statue, either dozing or lost in thought.
A new question rose in Hyung-sik’s heart.
Who did he really love? Seon-hyeong? Or Yeongchae? When he was with Yeongchae, he felt he loved Yeongchae; when he was with Seon-hyeong, he felt he loved Seon-hyeong. Until the moment they boarded the train at Namdaemun, he had felt entirely devoted to Seon-hyeong in body and soul. But now, seeing Yeongchae again, she seemed to take priority, as if she were the object of his love. Then, looking at Seon-hyeong sitting in front of him, the thought struck him: This is my wife, my beloved wife. Did he love both Seon-hyeong and Yeongchae? If so, could he love two people at once? Judging by what people said and what he himself had always believed, true love could never be directed at more than one person at a time. Yet what was the state of his heart now? Somehow, by any standard, he had to choose between the Yangin—Seon-hyeong and Yeongchae.
After long thought, Hyung-sik reached a conclusion.
His love for Seon-hyeong was by no means a deep-rooted love. He knew nothing about Seon-hyeong except that she had a pretty face, a gentle manner, was top of her class at school, and came from a wealthy, noble family. Even now, engaged to her, he did not know her character. And of course, she did not know his either. Could true love exist without mutual understanding? Did his soul truly yearn for Seon-hyeong, and did her soul truly yearn for him? When they met, did their souls merge, did their hearts unite?
In a word, was there a love between him and Seon-hyeong that neither sword nor fire could sever?
Thinking this, Hyung-sik could not help but feel disappointed. Even if he had sought all these things from Seon-hyeong, she had never shown him her soul nor given him her heart. Perhaps she had no soul or heart to give. Maybe she was merely following him helplessly, pressed by her parents’ command and the morality of the world. Of course, she had once answered “Yes” with her own mouth. But was that answer truly conscious?
Then what difference was there between his love for Seon-hyeong and the love that men commonly felt when captivated by the beauty of a pretty gisaeng? Could he call his love a wholehearted love that had received the baptism of civilization?
🙝 🙟
Hyung-sik had never loved Seon-hyeong as a game, nor out of carnal desire. He harbored great dissatisfaction toward his countrymen’s attitude of treating love as a joke or a pastime. He considered loving another person merely to satisfy one’s own temporary passions a great sin. He believed love was one of the most serious and sacred of all human mental faculties. Therefore, his love for Seon-hyeong was, to himself, a profoundly meaningful and holy thing, and to his people, a great spiritual revolution. His attitude toward love was religiously sincere and devout. Even if he did not think of love as the whole of life, he believed that one’s attitude toward love could determine one’s attitude toward life. But now, on reflection, his love for Seon-hyeong was far too childish. Too weak in foundation, too poor in substance.
Hyung-sik realized this only this evening. And the realization made him sad. He tasted the disappointment of a man who discovers that a lifelong endeavor has been in vain overnight. Along with that, he realized how incredibly immature his own spiritual development still was. He understood that it was not yet time for him to grasp life, and therefore not yet time to discuss love. So he understood how presumptuous it had been for him to teach students about civilization and life. He was still a child. Finding himself in a society with no adults, he had pretended to be an adult himself—and now realizing this, he felt ashamed.
Hyung-sik’s thoughts continued.
He had thought he knew clearly the path Joseon should take. He thought he had firmly grasped the ideal for the Korean people and, accordingly, the ideal for an educator. But this, too, was nothing but a child’s fancy. He did not yet know Joseon’s past, nor its present. To know Joseon’s past, he first needed to cultivate a proper perspective on history and study Joseon’s history in detail. To know Joseon’s present, he needed to understand modern civilization, survey the world’s major trends, develop the perspective to comprehend society and civilization, and then meticulously study all of Joseon’s current conditions. To know the direction Joseon should go, he must first understand its past and present fully. Yes. Everything he had thought and asserted until now was nothing but a child’s prattle.
Moreover, he did not know life. What knowledge of life did he have? He did not even know himself. Even if he could not understand the fundamental essence of things, he at least needed a philosophy of life to guide him in the world. He needed some standard by which to call right what is right and good what is good. But did he have that? Was he truly a self-aware person?
Thinking this, Hyung-sik felt his own foolishness and ignorance vividly before his eyes. He opened his eyes and looked at Seon-hyeong. She was still sitting quietly. He thought again.
He had considered Seon-hyeong an immature, unconscious child. But now, both she and he were equally children. Brother and sister who had lost the inherited traditions of their ancestors and, amid the chaos of foreign ideas, did not yet know how to choose what might suit them, wandering helplessly—brother and sister without a standard for life or an ideal for their nation, abandoned without a guide in the world. That seemed to be the image of himself and Seon-hyeong.
Hyung-sik opened his eyes again and looked at Seon-hyeong. She seemed to have fallen asleep; her mouth was slightly open, and her chest rose and fell gently. Uncontrollably, Hyung-sik pressed his lips to her hand, which lay limp on her knee. In his mind, she was less his wife and more like an orphaned sister, whose hand he held as they searched for a path together.
Yes. That was why they were going to study. Because both he and she were children, they were going far away to a civilized country to learn. He thought of Yeongchae and Byeong-uk in the other car. Poor girls, he murmured.
Thinking this, all three girls became equally lovable and dear. His imagination spread its wings further: he thought of Lee Hee-kyung’s clique, of all the students at Gyeongseong School, and of the countless children and young men and women on the streets of Seoul whose faces and names he did not know. They all seemed to be crying out and searching for their future path, just like him. They all felt as dear as his own older brothers, younger brothers, and sisters. In his heart, Hyung-sik spread his arms wide and embraced those young siblings.
In his mind, once he, Seon-hyeong, Byeong-uk, Yeongchae, and dozens or hundreds of others who were eager to learn—though he didn’t know who they were—returned to Joseon, Joseon would instantly become a new Joseon in a day or two. Forgetting his earlier sorrow, he smiled faintly to himself and fell asleep.
🙝 🙟
But Seon-hyeong’s heart was not so peaceful. While Hyung-sik had gone to find Yeongchae, her mind grew more and more disturbed. Hearing that Yeongchae was on the train, and seeing how distressed Hyung-sik looked—no matter how she thought about it, it seemed that Yeongchae was even more beloved in his heart than she was. Even if, as Hyung-sik said, he had believed Yeongchae was dead when he got engaged to her, the memory of Yeongchae was buried deep in his heart, leaving no room for her. It seemed that he had loved her only because Yeongchae was gone, and now that Yeongchae was alive, his affection for her had rekindled. She felt as if she had been a temporary stand-in for Yeongchae. The more she thought about it, the more unpleasant it became.
“Right. He loved me only because Yeongchae wasn’t there,” Seon-hyeong muttered, frowning. “Then I was just a plaything for Lee Hyeong-sik.” She shook herself for a moment. “Right. He probably proposed to me because he wanted to go study in America.” She jumped to her feet. “Ah! I’m no better than a concubine!” She clenched her fist. She regretted believing Hyung-sik was an honest man. It infuriated her that when he asked, “Do you love me?” she hadn’t simply turned away and said, “No, I don’t love you at all.” It infuriated her that she had meekly let him hold her hand. Everything infuriated her. She plopped back down. “Ah, I’m following a man like that to America,” she thought, and her nose twitched as if she were about to burst into tears.
She imagined Hyung-sik comparing her to Yeongchae in his mind. Yeongchae was truly pretty. And she looked clever and affectionate. Seon-hyeong knew from looking in the mirror and from others’ compliments that she herself was pretty and had a gentle manner. She knew especially that her clear eyes were praised by many. So Seon-hyeong had a habit of carefully examining the faces of women around her own age and comparing them to her own. Earlier, when she saw Yeongchae, she had immediately compared her face to her own. At that time, Seon-hyeong found Yeongchae quite pretty. She thought, “She seems like someone I’d like to be close to.” But then she learned that Yeongchae was a gisaeng from Dabanggol. The thought that Hyung-sik might compare her face to that of a filthy gisaeng was utterly infuriating. Even if Yeongchae’s face was pretty, it was a gisaeng’s face. Even if her own face was less beautiful, it was the face of a nobleman’s daughter. How dare she be compared?
Given Hyung-sik’s weak nature, he probably found Yeongchae, who flirted and schemed, prettier than her, a dignified schoolgirl. “What is Yeongchae anyway? Isn’t she just a gisaeng from Dabanggol?” she said to herself.
When she had heard that Hyung-sik had been sweet on a gisaeng named Gyewolhyang and had followed her all the way to Pyongyang, she had begun to suspect him. Later, when he shamelessly asked, “Do you love me?” and then held her hand, she had thought, “It must be a habit from visiting gisaeng houses.” Now Seon-hyeong found Hyung-sik even more disgusting. In this moment of rising hostility, it seemed to Seon-hyeong that Hyung-sik embodied everything filthy and wicked.
“Ah, what am I going to do!” Seon-hyeong shook her head as if enraged. She conjured up a phantom Hyung-sik in his empty seat in front of her. “Hah, he deceived me,” she thought, rolling her eyes at it a few times. Then a flame of anger erupted inside her again, and she shook herself.
Seon-hyeong had never hated anyone before. Blessed with a good fate, she had no one to hate. Everyone who approached her cherished and praised her. She had hated a teacher a few times at school, but she had never had occasion to hate someone so much that she would scrunch up her face and say, “Oh, I hate him!” Hyung-sik was the first person to earn her hatred.
His face appeared before her. How brazen and cheap it looked! Seon-hyeong blinked a few times to avoid seeing it, and roughly scratched her sweat-damp hair with her hand.
What was Hyung-sik doing now? What amusing stories was he sharing with Yeongchae? She pictured Yeongchae smiling brightly. That pale, round face looked bewitching. “What’s so pretty about it? That face isn’t pretty!” she thought, stamping her foot once. And she could see that bewitching Yeongchae tilting her head and luring Hyung-sik. Then Hyung-sik would open his wide, flat mouth and let out an obnoxious, snickering laugh.
“Ugh, disgusting!” Seon-hyeong pressed both hands to her forehead. “Why isn’t he back yet?” She shifted in her seat. “What do they have to talk about so much!” Unable to bear it any longer, she stood up and sat back down. She wanted to vent her anger at Hyung-sik when he returned. She wanted to spit and run away, shouting, “Go ahead and play among yourselves, you filthy people!” “Ah, my fate!” she thought, shaking recklessly. Then she collapsed and sobbed, “What am I going to do!”
Seon-hyeong was also a girl. This was how she learned jealousy and tears.
🙝 🙟
It seemed like two or three hours had passed since Hyung-sik went to see Yeongchae. He was taking an awfully long time. The longer he stayed, the more agitated Seon-hyeong became.
Until now, Seon-hyeong had not particularly wanted to be loved by Hyung-sik. She had thought that since Hyung-sik loved her so much, she should love him with all her might. She had been taught that a wife must love her husband, and her parents had told her to become Lee Hyeong-sik’s wife, so she felt she must love him. But she had not felt the kind of love he demanded—the kind that wanted to hold hands, embrace, and kiss. So she had never considered how she would feel if another woman embraced Hyung-sik.
Thus, Seon-hyeong did not really know what she was feeling now. She knew the words jealousy and envy. But she believed that jealousy and envy were great sins, not something befitting a refined young lady like herself, who believed in Jesus and had received a good education.
The Creator teaches every person everything they must learn as a human. But not through books or words, like in school—always through experience. Perhaps it is because the Creator does not know how to speak, only how to act. Seon-hyeong’s life lessons were now about to enter a more advanced stage. She was beginning to learn love, learn jealousy, learn anger, hatred, and sorrow. Humans learn these things until the day they die, so Seon-hyeong still had a long way to go before graduation. In this respect, Yeongchae and Hyung-sik were far ahead of her. And Byeong-uk had learned a great deal about life through literature and art—things people had created in imitation of the Creator, or by stealing his thoughts.
The more of these lessons a person learns, the more they grow up. The lovely, innocent attitude of a child fades away, and one becomes what is called an adult—cunning, strong, stubborn, purposeful, good at lying, but also capable of speaking the truth with force. The content of the mind becomes richer and more complex. In a word, one becomes a human being.
As mentioned before, Seon-hyeong was still an innocent child, as if she had just fallen from heaven. Only today did she first taste what it means to be a person. In the flames of love and the waves of jealousy, she tasted life—bitter and sweet. As the old saying goes, even a princess must go through this at least once. Once you become a human, you must receive this baptism. It might seem that there would be no greater happiness than to pass through without it, but then it would be better not to have been born human. Whether sweet or bitter, it is an inescapable fate.