From Wonso Pond

by Kang Kyong-ae

  A policeman had dropped by the house that afternoon, and Yi Sobang had become even more afraid for Ch’otchae’s welfare. He was worried that Ch’otchae might be arrested—maybe even tonight.

  “You know . . . I’m just a cripple, Ch’otchae, so I can’t go anywhere. But if I had a set of strong legs like yours, do you really think that I’d stay cooped up here in the middle of nowhere?”

  When Ch’otchae thought about it, Yi Sobang seemed to make sense.

  “So you’re sure that these . . . these things exist? These . . . factories?”

  “Well, how am I supposed to know for sure? But that’s what my friends from Seoul and Pyongyang say! They worked in factories when they were young, then quit when they got older and came back home to beg for a living.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself !”

  The prospect of working for money at a factory seemed like the dawn of a new day to Ch’otchae, a ray of sunshine brightening the dark future he’d always pictured for himself. He didn’t want to stay in that village for a moment longer. He jumped right to his feet.

  “All right, Yi Sobang, I guess I’m off to Pyongyang, or maybe Seoul.” Yi Sobang had only mentioned the factories because he’d been afraid the police might surprise Ch’otchae and take him into custody. But now that Ch’otchae was saying he was ready to take off, Yi Sobang felt the world spinning around him.

  “What? You can’t go off just like that.”

  “Sure I can! The only reason I’m still here is that I never knew any better,” answered Ch’otchae, heading straight out the door. “You take care, Yi Sobang. I promise to come back with lots of money . . . Just don’t tell mom anything, okay?”

  Yi Sobang followed after him, walking with the aid of the new stick Ch’otchae had made for him.

  “You know, Ch’otchae, now that I think about it, I’m not so sure now if those things called factories actually exist. Why don’t you just wait and ask around in town first? You can’t just head out like this . . .”

  But Ch’otchae was running off without a word in reply. Yi Sobang somehow found the strength to chase after him. Once Ch’otchae was gone, he might never see the boy again! He just wanted hold his hand one last time, so he scrambled as best he could out the village gate. But Ch’otchae had long since vanished from his sight. Out from behind the hill in the distance, the crescent of a moon slipped into the sky.

  53

  On the morning of December 25th, giant flakes of snow silently filled the skies over Yongyon village, burying all its houses, both high and humble, with snowflakes the shape of peony flowers.

  Before long the bell started to sound: cling-clang, cling-clang. Its peal pierced through the white snow, drifting far, far off into the distance.

  “Heavens, the bell is already ringing.”

  Changing into her soft and silky Sunday best, Okchom’s mother glanced down at Sonbi, who was helping her into the clothes, with a look that told the girl to work faster. After helping her into her skirt, Sonbi picked up her blouse. Okchom’s mother quickly took off the blouse she’d been wearing, revealing the half moon of her plump shoulders.

  “Oh, how wonderful you are, my daughter! You’ve warmed them up for me.”

  The clothes had been laid out on the hottest corner of the heated floor, so her back was now toasty warm. The door opened, and Tokho came inside.

  “Aren’t you ready yet?”

  Tokho took a seat in the warm corner of the room and lit up a cigarette.

  “I think maybe I’ll skip work today.”

  “Well, yes, what’s wrong with not going to the office on such a happy occasion?”

  Okchom’s mother looked at Tokho, beaming with joy. Ever since they’d gotten rid of Kannan, the two hardly fought at all now.

  “I’ll have to make an offering today,” she said. “Could you give me some money?”

  “Another offering? What for?”

  “Today’s collection is for the destitute . . . You know, for all the beggars. We’re making an offering in order to rescue the poor creatures. Give me something, okay? Generous donors get their names posted up on the wall. You don’t even have to be a believer to make an offering, either. Some people who come just to watch make offerings, too, when they feel like it. You should go over to the church yourself and offer five won . . .”

  “What money do I have?” snapped Tokho.

  “Well, you could do it for my sake. They all call me ‘Mrs. Mayor, Mrs. Mayor,’ you know.”

  “And you know perfectly well that I’m not made of money.”

  “Oh, just be a dear and give me something today, wouldn’t you? Two won from me and five won from you? That’s seven won altogether.” She could already envision her name written up there on the wall of the chapel, alongside her husband’s.

  Tokho tossed his cigarette butt into the ashtray.

  “Things aren’t exactly easy right now. We keep spending and spending, but we hardly bring in a thing . . .”

  As he mumbled something else under his breath, Tokho fished out his wallet from inside the pocket of his waistcoat. Okchom’s mother held out her hand with insistence.

  “Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

  He handed her a ten-won note. The nerves around her mouth started to twitch, which they had a habit of doing whenever she was pleased.

  “Okay, let’s go Granny,” the woman called out, stuffing the bill into her pocket. Granny came into the room.

  “Oh, heavens, you’re not going to wear that, are you? How humiliating!” cried Okchom’s mother, her eyes fixed on Granny’s dirty jacket.

  Granny was at a loss for words.

  “Go on now. Put something different on! What is that thing, anyway? Surely you’ve got a cotton one.”

  Sonbi jumped to her feet, went off to Granny’s room, and brought back her cotton jacket. Granny hadn’t wanted to wear out this new one, which she’d made that fall. After changing into the new clothes Sonbi brought her, Granny picked up the cushion that Okchom’s mother would sit on, as well as the woman’s Bible bag and the pouch into which she would place her shoes. Okchom’s mother looked at Tokho.

  “Tell me you’ll stop by this evening?”

  She stood there staring at him, as though she wasn’t going to leave until he replied. Tokho smiled.

  “We’ll see how things go . . . Oh, hell, you know the last thing I want to do it go to church and watch all those people praying . . . What is that all about anyway, everyone closing their eyes . . .” He chuckled.

  Hardly surprised by her husband’s remarks, Okchom’s mother spun and left the room. Oh, if only I could go too, thought Sonbi as she gathered up the clothes Okchom’s mother had taken off and carefully folded them.

  “So have you thought about what I said to you the other day?” asked Tokho, watching her from the side.

  Sonbi looked at Tokho in surprise, and then hung her head in silence. It had been so long since Tokho had brought up the subject she’d assumed that he’d simply been drunk when he first mentioned it.

  Sonbi breathed not a word in reply.

  54

  “Now, Sonbi, I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for some time, but I’ve been so busy at the office that it completely slipped my mind. Hah, ha. You can’t very well start in the middle of winter, though, can you? So let’s make it this spring. How about it?”

  His words were incredibly tender. Sonbi was so overcome with emotion that she blushed all the way to the ears.

  “Nowadays, a girl can’t marry into a decent family if she doesn’t know how to read. And you know, I think of you a member of the family, Sonbi, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t help make your dreams come true . . . Especially someone like me without a son of his own. Hah, ha . . .”

  Whenever Tokho opened his mouth, he always ended by saying that he had no heir—though it was more an unconscious addition than an intentional one.

  “Well, what do you have to say about it?”
>
  Tokho slid to Sonbi’s side and stroked her hair. Sonbi bent back a little in her seat.

  “Don’t you want to go off to study?”

  He craned his neck to peer into her eyes. But this was too much for Sonbi, and she gently rose to her feet.

  “Why won’t you answer me? Heh, heh . . . You’re like a daughter to me, Sonbi . . . Why shy away from me? Sit back down! And answer me, will you?”

  Sonbi had risen to her feet in confusion. She didn’t want to sit back down again, but at the same time, she didn’t dare just leave. She stood there at a loss as to what she should do.

  Tokho looked at his watch, then jumped to his feet.

  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to ask you about it some other time . . . But you have to give me a straight answer, Sonbi . . . There’s no reason for you to be so reserved—we’re all family here . . . I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

  Tokho patted Sonbi’s warm cheek lightly with his hand. Sonbi flinched and took a step backward.

  “Hah, ha . . . I guess you’re old enough now not to want to mix company,” said Tokho. He opened the door and went outside.

  When she finally heard his footsteps tread through the middle gate, she sighed in relief and rubbed her face with both her hands. She could still feel the spot where Tokho’s hand had touched her cheek. Does he really mean to send me to school? she wondered, collapsing onto the floor. And what in the world would she say if he asked her again? How about, ‘I’m going to Seoul!’ No, no, that won’t do! ‘Please let me go to school!’ That’s more like it . . . ‘Oh, Father, please let me go to school.’ Now, that’s what she should say! And as these words rolled off her tongue, Sonbi truly believed she’d soon be going off to study in Seoul. It had been almost as long as she could remember since she’d actually said the word ‘Father,’ and while there was still something strange about it, she really did feel as though she’d met her father once again after a long separation. These emotions pulsing through her made her heart pound all the more.

  Why didn’t Father talk about this when Okchom’s mother was around? she asked herself. Then it struck her that she should probably be saying ‘Mother’ and not ‘Okchom’s mother.’ And yet, Okchom’s mother was the one person she couldn’t, with all her heart, address in that way. Whenever she said the word ‘Mother’ she remembered her own mother, and she always fell into a state of indescribable sadness.

  Sonbi decided that Tokho hadn’t mentioned this subject in front of Okchom’s mother because he knew full well that she would have certainly opposed the idea, and she now felt grateful to Tokho for not doing so. Yet she knew that in the end it couldn’t all happen behind the woman’s back. He’d probably tell her after he’d already sent Sonbi to Seoul, or else the day before she was about to leave, or so Sonbi imagined. She could just picture the expression of utter shock on the woman’s face, and those angry eyebrows slanting in disapproval. But, it won’t matter anyway. Father’s been planning to send me off to school this whole time, she reminded herself, shifting her gaze toward the door.

  It now dawned on Sonbi that she’d survived for so long in this household only thanks to the protection that Tokho had been kind enough to give her. And there was no question about it—she’d have to let Tokho take care of her in the future as well . . . Or rather, she firmly believed that he would always be there for her in the future. And this was the reason why whenever Sonbi stayed up late at night worrying about one thing or another, she could always put her mind at rest and fall to sleep with the comforting thought that the master of the household would do whatever was in her best interests.

  From the time she’d been a small child, her mother had always referred to Tokho as Master of the household, and she, too, had come to refer to him as ‘Master.’ And yet this morning for the very first time, she had decided to call him ‘Father’! She had made up her mind, and from now on, ‘Father’ was how she would address him.

  “Oh, Father, please send me to school!” Sonbi repeated these words once again. She was so overwhelmed with emotion that her eyes glistened with tears.

  The middle gate creaked open.

  55

  Sonbi quickly wiped away her tears and looked out the glass window. Yu Sobang was coming in with the pair of straw shoes he had made for her. She opened the door and went outside.

  With a broad smile on his face, Yu Sobang made his way to the breezeway.

  “Here, try them on!”

  Sonbi took the shoes from him, the hint of her delight betrayed only in the arch of her eyebrows.

  Yu Sobang had asked her to measure her foot yesterday, and she had done so using a piece of string.

  “Come, try them on. If they don’t fit, I’ll make another pair for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that . . .”

  Sonbi glanced at Yu Sobang, but she made no move to try on the shoes.

  “Come on, kid. I said try them on . . .”

  For his own peace of mind, Yu Sobang wanted to see for himself that the shoes he’d worked so hard to make actually fit her. Sonbi finally agreed to try on the shoes and bent down to put them on, but the instant she looked at her feet, her face went red.

  “I’ll try them on later,” she said, dashing back into the house. Inside, she bent to look at her socks again. What is that, blood? Where did that come from? Oh, this is so embarrassing . . . And so strange! At the tip of her sock was a round red spot—she touched it and examined it carefully. It was nothing but a drop of dried liquid from some kimchi. Only now was she able to breathe easily again. But what if Yu Sobang had thought it was blood? she wondered, peering through the pane of glass. With the same broad smile on his face, Yu Sobang was watching Blackie scamper this way and that through the snow. Perhaps the dog understood Yu Sobang’s smile, or perhaps he was just excited by the falling snow, for he plowed his nose through the snow and dug his paws into it, jumping this way and that, and rolling about.

  At each stunt, Yu Sobang urged him on under his breath.

  “That’s it! Hah, ha,” he laughed. “Go, go!”

  As far as Yu Sobang was concerned, that dog was his one and only friend. Sonbi felt the same way. The dog was attached to Yu Sobang, Sonbi, and Granny. Perhaps because they were the ones who fed him.

  After watching the dog for a while, Yu Sobang peered through the glass window.

  “So they fit?”

  “Yes.” Sonbi looked at the shoes placed beside her before answering.

  Yu Sobang seemed satisfied with her answer, and headed back outside toward the middle gate. Blackie, still coated white with snow, followed him. Sonbi’s gaze shifted down to her straw shoes. She tried them on, and they fit perfectly. “Oh, how beautifully he wove them!” She stared at her feet. Yu Sobang had woven these shoes especially for her, and she was terribly grateful to him for them. And when she imagined who might weave shoes like these for her in the future, the first person who came to mind was Ch’otchae. But didn’t they say he ran off somewhere? He did something bad and ran off, didn’t he? What in the world was wrong with him? But with a mother like that, how could anyone turn out okay? Despite her misgivings, Sonbi felt sorry about his leaving. If only she’d been able to see him one last time before he’d left—it was this lingering sense of loss that stayed with her for some time as she gazed down at those newly woven shoes. But, I’m going off to school, so none of this even matters . . .

  That evening, Tokho’s whole household went to the chapel. The children were supposed to put on a special show, so everyone—even Yu Sobang and Tokho—had gone to see it.

  As Sonbi sat in that enormous room all alone, winnowing the rest of the cotton she had started that afternoon, her mind wandered in many directions. From out of the cotton gin flowed white clouds of round, plump cotton. They passed through the gin, one after the other, just like the myriad of thoughts that seemed to flow through her mind.

  Only hours earlier Sonbi had looked forward to going to the chapel that night, too.
But after her unexpected conversation with Tokho, she was more than content to just sit there, entertaining thoughts of her studies in Seoul. So when Okchom’s mother told Granny to watch the house and asked Sonbi to come along to the chapel, she had declined and let Granny go instead.

  Each time Sonbi thought of studying at a school, the first thing that came to her mind was learning how to embroider. This was the only kind of studying she’d ever seen with her own eyes. She assumed that students had to dress up in fancy western clothes and use powder and face cream and lipstick—just like Okchom did. And she imagined that being a student meant walking around with boys as if it were nothing, eating lunch with them and studying alongside them without ever getting embarrassed. It was with this mixture of embarrassment and distress on the one hand, and pure joy on the other, that these thoughts churned through Sonbi’s mind to the rhythm of the cotton gin. But then the door slowly slid open.

  56

  A cold wind swept inside and Sonbi shivered. She jumped to her feet in surprise.

  “Who’s that?” she cried in the confusion of the moment. But when she turned around, it was of all people Tokho. She was ashamed to have been so alarmed, and her face went red.

  “Did I scare you?”

  Tokho brushed off the snow that had fallen on him and took a seat in the warm corner of the room. Then he started stroking his beard.

  “There wasn’t a thing worth seeing. So many damn peasants there, it was more like torture than entertainment.”

  Tokho had taken the liberty of striking up a conversation with Sonbi, but Sonbi picked up the cotton gin and stood up to go.

  “What’s the matter? Why are you getting up?”

  “I’m just going to gin the cotton in the side room.”

  “Oh, just do it here . . . Come on, girl, don’t go now. I’ve got something to talk to you about.”