Lady of Dreams

by W. R. Gingell

  Hyun-jun’s eyes grew to an almost impossible size, his gaze as rigid and glazed as a stuffed owl’s. “Stop! Don’t touch me! Stay over on that side of the room!”

  “Ye, Seonbae,” sighed Ae-jung, her head dropping. “Perhaps I’d better go. The ahjumma will also prepare dinner if you prefer to eat in your room, and there’s a small coffee shop next door, if you care for coffee. Sohn Sajangnim has instructed me to bring you tea or coffee each morning when I, um, come to type for you.”

  I was watching Ae-jung’s wincing face as she spoke, and it wasn’t until the silence grew heavy that I turned my attention on Hyun-jun. He looked offended—no, appalled—his dark eyes fixed on Ae-jung’s troubled face.

  “You, type for me? Aniyo. I type for myself.”

  “But Sohn Sajangnim—”

  “That’s none of my concern,” said Hyun-jun coldly.

  “I’m very sorry,” said Ae-jung, miserable but resolute, “but Sohn Sajangnim has instructed me to present myself here every morning. I will return at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Seonbae.”

  She bowed sadly to Hyun-jun and took her leave while that gentleman was still staring after her in a combination of shock and outrage. I followed her on a whim, and heard Hyun-jun say in a strangled voice as she left the apartment, “Nine o’clock? I’d rather die!”

  Ae-jung either didn’t hear him or pretended not to, hurrying down the stairs with her head ducked. I wafted along behind her, my interest tepid, but my interest in returning to my cold, silent room even more so. Ae-jung was moaning to herself again, a tiny, keening wail of babbling words: “Why was it him? How could it be him? And it wasn’t all my fault, after all!”

  When she was safely out of the boardinghouse she crouched against the courtyard wall, burying her head in her arms. She stayed like that for a few moments before emerging with a frustrated growl.

  “Aish! I’m going to be fired! Why did it have to be him? When his books are so good! Aigoo, I was so excited to meet him! I’m going to die of embarrassment.” She gave vent to another low wail of despair and ran her fingers through her hair with the abandon of anguish.

  Fortunately, just as I was beginning to think that she planned to spend the night below Hyun-jun’s balcony in a kind of demonstration of self-flagellation, Ae-jung gave one last soft wail of regret and climbed sadly to her feet. She took to the street again, her steps lagging and heavy, and walked a few streets until she could board one of the city’s Contraption trolley carts. Much to my surprise, the trolley cart took her higher and higher through the city until she was in the richest area, looking down on the lights and noise. At first I thought she was simply taking in the nicer parts of the city as an exercise in cheering up before she went home, but I found myself dwelling on her bowing faux pas and the clumsiness with which she had served tea, and was unsurprised to see her spring lightly from the trolley car somewhere high on the hill. Ae-jung wasn’t clumsy and ignorant because she was new to her position—any young Eppan girl growing up with limited means would have been very well aware of exactly how much respect she needed to show in her bowing as well as her serving. No, she was a very well-born young woman who was used to being waited upon and having respect shown to her.

  Sure enough, she entered one of the palatial residences on the hill by the front door, which was opened to her by a small, bent butler, who did so with a furtive look around. Ah, so he was in on the secret, was he? What was a well-born agassi from the Hilltop district doing hiring herself out as a publisher’s assistant?

  I pulled away from the Dream at length, thoughtfully. Did Father know? I very much doubted it. This was turning out to be a very interesting Dream.

  When I woke the next morning, I was back in the Dream immediately. Since I had roughly the same opinion of the dawn hours Hyun-jun seemed to have of nine o’clock, I wasn’t exactly pleased with the turn of events. I rang for Carlin to bring me breakfast, and tried to push the Dream away, but long before he arrived I had been irresistibly swept back into Dreams, my sight consumed by Ae-jung’s Hilltop house. The door was opening as I recognised it (I always seem to have particularly good timing in my Dreams), and Ae-jung was just slipping out.

  Her butler, his venerable old brows knit in worry, said, “Ae-jung-ssi, won’t you reconsider? You can’t keep up the pretence forever! Eomeonim was so distressed to hear that you didn’t go to the party last night, and I had nothing to tell her.”

  “Last night!” sighed Ae-jung. “I really couldn’t help that. And you know I can’t stop now, Ahjussi! Not while Eomma is still with us. She grew up in this house, and I won’t let it be sold if I can earn enough to keep her in it. The move would be enough to kill her. Please keep the secret just a bit longer. The doctor said she doesn’t have much time left now, and what else can I do?”

  “You could get married.”

  Ae-jung stiffened so briefly that I almost missed it. “Trick one of the families into marrying a penniless girl? I couldn’t live with myself. It’s no good talking about it, Ahjussi. While Eomma is alive, I’ll keep working to pay for the food and staff. It’ll be soon enough to sell the house and find a smaller one when she’s gone.”

  “You know—” The butler stopped short, then looked away and said in a rush, “You know you don’t have to pay me, Ae-jung-ssi. Not right now. You can pay me later, when things are better. I have no wife or child to support. What do I need the money for?”

  Ae-jung made a sound that could have been a small laugh or a small sob, and said, “Oh, Ahjussi! You’re so good to me! I wouldn’t stop paying you by so much as a single penny!"

  “No, Ae-jung-ssi,” he said, taking her hands. “It is you who have been good to me. Go along to work then. I will look after our eomeonim.”

  Ae-jung didn’t take the trolley car that morning. Instead she walked briskly through the streets, her tiny booted feet twinkling past each other at a great rate.

  Lucky! I thought. Not only did Ae-jung have perfect little feet, they were graceful in motion. I gave a soft laugh and dismissed my envy, because there was something else happening; a small, sideways tug to the Dream. Was I getting another Dream at the same time? No, this was a tug in the Dream. I drew back to give myself a little perspective, and through the rooftops, along a connecting street, I saw the languid stride of Yong-hwa. His cane swung idly in one hand, tapping the street with its silver ferrule every third or fourth step. At that pace he was very likely to meet up with Ae-jung, who, although moving more swiftly than he, had farther to go before she reached the connecting of the streets.

  Well, now. How would she explain her being in the Hilltop district?

  They met at the corner just as I had calculated they would, Yong-hwa swift to recognise and wonder, Ae-jung all surprise and dismay. They bowed, Ae-jung quick and stiff, Yong-hwa elegantly affable.

  “Good morning, Seonbae,” Ae-jung said, recovering herself quickly.

  “I’m beginning to think so,” agreed Ma Yong-hwa. “Are you on your way to work, Agassi?”

  Ae-jung shook her head hurriedly. “Aniyo, aniyo. There was a—a—delivery to be made in the Hilltop district.”

  Yong-hwa’s voice was the epitome of polite surprise. “So early! Who is up to receive deliveries at this time of day?”

  “Well, Seonbae,” said Ae-jung, who seemed to have seen and resented the slight glint of amused challenge in his eyes, “you are!”

  And then, to my surprise and the evident surprise of Yong-hwa, she bowed quite firmly and hurried away. He stared after her, blinking, and suddenly smiled. He was obviously in a playful mood today, and I didn’t think he had expected to be challenged. I left him to his amusement and followed Ae-jung once more.

  I wasn’t surprised to find my Dream accompanying Ae-jung all the way to the offices. This deep in a Dream, I couldn’t see my clock or even hear its chimes, but I was quite sure that I had been woken ridiculously early. Why was she up and about so early when she didn’t have to report to the reluctant Hyun-jun until nine
o’clock?

  She was a dedicated little thing: she started up the Contraption coffee machine and arranged both coffee cups and teacups on several large trays, ready to be used. It was a job beneath Ae-jung’s apparent rank, and I wondered if she was really that dedicated to her job, or if she was deliberately making herself as indispensable as possible. I watched her for a little longer, wondering, because I hadn’t thought of her as the conniving type. Was she the sort to try to entrap my father? I huffed a small laugh and wished her luck if so. Jessamy’s mother was dead now, and mine hadn’t been seen for years, so the playing field was open. It might be interesting to see how Father responded to a match-seeking young lady.

  I wasn’t quite convinced, however, and since Ae-jung did nothing more malevolent than thoroughly set up the coffee-and-tea stand and leave a paper or two on the desk in Jessamy’s tiny office, I pulled myself enough out of the Dream to find that my footman and man of all work, Carlin, was talking to me. He often did talk to me, and didn’t seem to expect me to speak in return, which was just as well, since I usually didn’t know what he had said. He was one of the few people who always saw me, no matter how far from the present Reality I was drifting.

  When I was far enough out of the Dream to hear, he was saying, “—and it’s a fine day outside, after all. It’s been a while since you took a turn by the seaside.”

  “It has, hasn’t it?” I said, the words pushing unobtrusively through Carlin’s bobbing flotilla of chatter.

  He stopped at once, grinning. “Hallo, miss! Shall I prepare the Contraption chair?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, and added, “and some bread.” It had also been some time since I fed the seagulls.

  It’s always such a bother, getting changed. Whether in Scandia or Eppa, even an invalid is expected to be fully dressed at all times, and though the standard of dress is different in each country, it is an unarguable expectation. I keep to the simplest of clothes; it’s so much trouble to get the maids to notice me that I usually dress myself, slowly and laboriously, and I prefer as little trouble as possible. What with the fuss of getting dressed and the fueling of the coal-run Contraption chair, it was nearly nine o’clock by the time Carlin and I chuffed back into the house. I was settled on my chaise longue in the sitting room downstairs by way of a change from my own room. There were gleaming picture windows down here, with a view that was by turns beautiful and interesting as a series of people passed on the street outside. Sadly, this panoply with its background of blue waves was wasted on me. As soon as my chaise longue was brought down from my room and I was settled on it, I gave in to the Dream again. It had been pushing at my consciousness ever since I left the house, and now that something was really happening again, it was more insistent.

  I drifted away from Carlin as he arranged my pillows and talked to my unheeding body, and caught a quick glimpse of Jessamy in his office. He was just entering, his hair ruffled at the front as if he had been pulling at it. What was he worried about? Jessamy always clutched at his fringe when something was wrong. His eyes fell on his desk, and I had a moment of comprehension just as they lit up. So that’s what Ae-jung had been doing earlier! Jessamy had lost some important papers, and she had found them for him and put them on his desk.

  I murmured a soft “Hmm” and distantly heard Carlin’s voice reply. I ignored him. Was Ae-jung angling for my father after all? If so, it was undoubtedly a sound plan to get on Jessamy’s good side: he didn’t seem to like Ae-jung much, and Father paid at least some attention to what Jessamy did and didn’t like. She hadn’t left a note, though, and what was the use of helping out Jessamy if he didn’t know who had helped him? Or would Jessamy be expected to know?

  I let the Dream slip on past Jessamy and followed it back to Ae-jung without too much trouble. That was new. If there was a Dream of Jessamy, it was usually very difficult to follow a different one. There was still so much I didn’t understand about my Dreams, but one thing of which I was very sure was that they always concerned Jessamy, myself, or those who actively interested me. Ae-jung was obviously connected with Jessamy—since I didn’t count my father in the number of people who interested me—but what was the connection with Hyun-jun? Even Yong-hwa, with his friendly rapport with Jessamy, was more understandable than Hyun-jun. Still, I had noticed that the connections were sometimes tenuous, and sometimes related to future friendships rather than present ones. I wondered, with a faint smile, if Ae-jung was so very present because she was Jessamy’s future stepmother, or if there would be another, closer connection to him. It would be amusing to see Jessamy in love, and Ae-jung had certainly affected him, even if that effect was a negative one.

  Ae-jung was just entering Hyun-jun’s boardinghouse when I caught up with her. She bowed to the ahjumma at the counter, who bowed back in a familiar kind of way; Father must keep important guests there quite often.

  It took her five minutes, stopping and starting, walking back and forth, to finally knock at Hyun-jun’s door. That didn’t surprise me; with my lack of sensibility I’m not very susceptible to scowling looks and unpleasant people, but Hyun-jun’s wild eyes are something to be respected, even by me.

  An instant after she knocked, the door was wrenched open inward. Ae-jung jumped, her eyes wide and flying up to meet Hyun-jun’s scowling ones.

  “You’re late,” he said curtly.

  “Ye,” Ae-jung murmured, bowing. “Sorry. Good morning, Hyun-jun-ssi.”

  Hyun-jun strode back into the room. “Sit over there. Don’t touch the typewriter. Don’t touch the papers. As a matter of fact, don’t touch anything.”

  “Ah, ye,” said Ae-jung, this time even more uncertainly. “What will I be doing, then?”

  “Sitting there without touching anything,” said Hyun-jun. “I told you, I don’t need anyone to type for me.”

  “But—”

  “What were your instructions?”

  Ae-jung sighed faintly. “To report at nine o’clock and make myself useful by typing and such.”

  “This is what is useful to me,” said Hyun-jun, with a grand air. Was he pretending that the conversation yesterday had never happened? Why? Was it to salve his pride, or was he just as dependent on my father as my father was on him? He could have tried to get rid of Ae-jung, after all. Hyun-jun, perhaps, was not as well off as his clothes would make a person think. “Don’t make any noise. I prefer to think aloud and I don’t want you distracting me.”

  “Ye, Hyun-jun-ssi.”

  I did the mental equivalent of rolling my eyes ceiling-ward and tried to drop away from the Dream a little. It would be nice to have breakfast.

  Unfortunately, the Dream was still happening when I finished eating, and despite my best attempts to read a book, I floated wearily back to it. Hyun-jun’s voice, murmuring at first softly and then louder and louder, sounded in my ears. I gave a small hiss of laughter between my teeth. He really was working aloud! Ae-jung was listening intently, her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes wide; she obviously didn’t find Hyun-jun at all laughable. And he was definitely preening, despite his outrage toward Ae-jung. The set of his shoulders and the angle of his chin told me that he was very well aware of the admiration in her eyes, and even if he resented Ae-jung for his humiliation on their first meeting, he was man enough to court her admiration. So long as she sat still without moving or speaking, he would accept her interest as his due; and, buoyed by that flattering attention, he would throw up his chin and pose at the window for as long as he chose.

  It would behoove Ae-jung to be very, very still, in fact. And yet, as I watched, I saw her make a faint, convulsive movement just as Hyun-jun reached a pause in his narrative.

  Hyun-jun stiffened and ceased to speak immediately. “Did I or did I not tell you to be entirely silent?”

  “Ye,” said Ae-jung, ducking her head. “Only . . . only, Hyun-jun-ssi—that was wrong.”

  Hyun-jun’s eyes widened in outraged disbelief. “Excuse me?”

  “The seating arrang
ement,” she said. “It’s wrong. The point you’re trying to make rests solely on the seating arrangement, doesn’t it? Seonbae, no hostess would arrange the seating like that.”

  “The seating—The point—What do you know about the point I’m trying to make?”

  “Oh, well, it’s just that . . . ” Ae-jung’s voice faltered away under the fierce heat of Hyun-jun’s eyes.

  I saw satisfaction flash across his face, then the smallest trace of uncertainty. “And what’s wrong with the seating?”

  “I’m sure Seonbae knows what he’s doing,” she said hurriedly. “Please excuse me, I spoke without thinking.”

  A muscle in Hyun-jun’s jaw jumped. He said through his teeth, “Tell me exactly what you meant.”

  Ae-jung, giving herself up for lost, said recklessly, “Your hostess knows all of the guests, but she still put your antagonist and protagonist opposite each other to eat. Unless she was hoping for unpleasantness, she wouldn’t have done that.”

  “You—” Hyun-jun stopped, biting his lip. “There’s a reason!”

  Ae-jung bowed. “Of course, Seonbae. I apologise.”

  Ae-jung returned to the offices with a discouraged tread. How many days did my father expect her to meet with Hyun-jun, only to be snubbed and annoyed and treated like a nuisance? If I knew my father at all, he would expect her to go there for as long as it took to get Hyun-jun’s manuscript. Another short laugh escaped me, but insofar as I was capable of feeling sorry for anyone other than Jessamy, I did feel sorry for Ae-jung. She obviously held Hyun-jun in high esteem; she must be a particularly compulsive reader of his books. How long would that esteem survive the treatment it was receiving?

  She was trudging up the stairs when Jessamy met her. In one hand he clutched the paper she’d put on his desk earlier, and his mouth was sullen.