From Wonso Pond

by Kang Kyong-ae

  Sonbi pushed away from him.

  “Oh, please, go back inside. My whole body aches . . . Just for tonight, please.”

  “Your whole body? Well, there’s no doubt about it then. You’ve got to be pregnant! You’ve lost your appetite, right? How would you like me to buy you some fruit?”

  “No, no. Now, please, just go back now. Please.”

  All Sonbi could think about was that Okchom’s mother could be right outside her room, listening to everything the two of them were saying.

  “All right, I’ll go. But you better take care of that boy of mine. I’ll get you some beef ribs tomorrow, and you be sure to eat a lot of them! Got it? You pretty little thing, you. You have my boy inside you, don’t you!”

  Tokho gave Sonbi another tight hug, and then went back outside. Sonbi sighed and tried her hardest to figure out how much money she was holding in her hand. Only then did she hear the main gate squeaking open and the plodding sound of Tokho stepping through the middle gate. On nights when Tokho visited Sonbi’s room, he always tiptoed away from her room back to the main gate. Then he made a point of clearing his throat as he closed the middle gate with a clatter. But now Sonbi clearly heard the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor as they made their way into the inner room, where Okchom’s mother slept. As she let out yet another sigh, Sonbi felt something close to jealousy. She listened as the door to the inner room opened and closed again, and only then did she remember the bill in her hand. She was dying to know how much it was worth, and felt around the base of the lamp for a match, which she finally managed to light. She couldn’t quite tell what the bill was in the light of the single match, but it looked like one of those ten-won bills she’d always seen in Okchom’s wallet. As she watched the glowing tip of the match gradually fade, she began thinking: If I add this to what mom gave when she died, that’ll be ten won plus five won. How much is that altogether? A hundred nyang plus fifty nyang makes . . . wouldn’t that be a hundred and fifty nyang? And nowadays they call that fifteen won, right? This was the first time in her life that Sonbi had even said the words fifteen won. Maybe I can make it to Seoul with this? she thought, clenching the bill even more tightly in her hand. But then, whether conscious of it or not, Sonbi bent her ear in the direction of the inner room. An unpleasant thought had crossed her mind, and she was feeling an emotion she didn’t quite understand.

  75

  It was evening, now well into summer. The sky had been overcast all day long, and Sonbi glanced up at it as she made her way out to the kitchen. It seemed certain that Okchom’s mother had found out about what was going on, for she and Tokho had fought throughout the night. The woman hadn’t eaten any breakfast, and for lunch someone had sent an errand boy from the township office with some noodles. She lay in bed like an invalid, her head wrapped in a towel. Sonbi hadn’t slept a wink all night either, and all she’d been able to do today was sit quietly in the kitchen, worrying about what might happen next and staring out the door at a sky as dark and overcast as her own state of mind. She washed out some rice and put it into the pot, ready to be boiled, but then she didn’t know what else to do with herself. She paced back and forth for a while and then went into the pantry to scoop up rice—until it dawned on her that she’d prepared some already. What’s gotten into me, she wondered, leaning up against the cupboard and trying to calm herself down.

  But her efforts were in vain. Okchom’s mother had found out! She must know, Sonbi thought. But then again, she couldn’t have found out! I wouldn’t still be here if she actually knew about it. She would have kicked me out of the house last night . . . Sonbi then heard something crack, and she looked down in alarm. The gourd scoop filled with rice, which she’d been holding in her hand, had fallen against the kitchen slop pot placed just below it. Now both the scoop and the pot had cracked. The rice had spilled out of the gourd into the water, and now everything was gushing out of the broken pot. Sonbi frantically tried to gather the rice from the floor. She could hear the sound of angry footsteps approaching.

  “That little bitch, what the hell has she screwed up this time!”

  Her hair a tangled mess, Okchom’s mother bolted through the breezeway and down into the kitchen. She then grabbed hold of Sonbi by the back of her hair.

  “Oh, you bitch! If you don’t like it here then just get the hell out—don’t you dare start breaking our dishes! I’ll rip you to pieces, you bitch . . . Now get out!”

  It was as though Okchom’s mother had been holding back until just this very moment. She started ripping out clumps of hair from Sonbi’s scalp. Sonbi had no intention of fighting back, and it was with nothing but sheer horror written on her face that she allowed the woman to slap her around at will. Okchom entered the kitchen, her eyes wide in alarm.

  “What’s going on here . . . ? Oh, my . . . just look at her . . . Ah, hah, ha.”

  Okchom let out a peal of laughter and pointed to Sonbi’s clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched by the spilled water and then soiled by the dirt floor. Having spent day after day in the same boring routine—eating, sleeping, and playing the piano—Okchom now watched this fight play out before her eyes with the excitement of someone desperate for anything new to happen. But it was also with a certain relish that she greeted this new development. Okchom had long suspected that Sinch’ol was more fond of Sonbi than he was of her, and her jealousy had led her to hate Sonbi. Now she felt the impulse to give Sonbi a good slap across the face. Okchom’s mother, however, was still whacking Sonbi around the kitchen floor, pushing her face down to the floor and then pulling it up again, while Sonbi put up no more resistance than a lamb. At first, Sonbi’s face had stung with each slap the woman delivered, but the longer she continued, the less conscious Sonbi was of the attack, and the less pain she felt with each blow. How she only wished she might die after this beating! For how could she bear all the humiliation and the pain? How else would she escape this terrifying family? And yet, now that she’d had a taste of their whip, she felt freed from some of the anguish in her breast.

  Okchom’s mother eventually ran out of steam. She stepped away from Sonbi and smoothed her hair back down into place.

  “Now, get out of here, you bitch! And to think I raised you like my very own daughter . . . If you’d ever used that head on your shoulders, you might have at least thought about that. But instead you have the gall to . . . Oh, I knew all along what you two were up to, though I held my tongue. You little slut!”

  “Oh, Mother. How embarrassing! You don’t suppose that Father could have done anything like that, do you? But then again, I bet she’s capable of anything. I caught her standing face to face with Sinch’ol one night. For all I know she and that idiot Sinch’ol have had some sort of affair. Oh, she looks like an innocent fool on the outside all right, but she’s really just a double-dealing little . . .”

  Not a moment had gone by when Okchom had been able to forget Sinch’ol, and she had grown to hate him even more because of this. She had allowed herself to play out every possible scenario in her mind, including one with Sonbi. Okchom jumped forward and slapped Sonbi across her face, though it was already red as blood. Sonbi was driven back ever further into the corner of the kitchen. Now she really felt like she wanted to die.

  Just then Tokho came in.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to say anything at first Father . . . but it looks as though Sinch’ol and that girl had some sort of relationship.”

  “What? With Sinch’ol?”

  Tokho stared at her with wide-eyed suspicion.

  76

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am positive. I distinctly remember seeing that girl and Sinch’ol late one night standing face to face with each other, chatting away about something in the moonlight. And just think about it. After we went back to Seoul, didn’t Sinch’ol keep trying to get us to send her to Seoul? I didn’t understand it back then, but it all makes perfect sense now. Something was going on
between the two of them, but I just never put all the pieces together.”

  Okchom spun back around to face Sonbi.

  “You and Sinch’ol had some sort of relationship, didn’t you? Admit it, you whore, or I’ll kill you!” threatened Okchom.

  Tokho also glared at Sonbi with terrifying eyes. He’d been convinced that she was pregnant with his child, and had fed her every sort of delicacy imaginable. At the very thought of this, Tokho was beside himself with rage. As Sonbi looked up at Tokho, she felt tears coming to her burning eyes. Of all people, Tokho, at least, should have made an effort to understand her pain at being so grossly mistreated. Tokho took several steps toward Sonbi.

  “Is it true you had a relationship with Sinch’ol? I went out of my way to take this girl in off the streets, and here I am, the innocent one, being made into the villain with all these false accusations . . . Now, look here, dear, if you don’t believe me, just ask this girl for yourself. Do you really think some slut trying to get to Seoul, who’s already hooked up with that boy Sinch’ol, is going to do what I tell her to do? Think about it. Being a little suspicious is one thing, but have some sense, will you? . . . Now, tell me, did you have something to eat today? Did you eat any of the noodles the delivery boy brought from the office?”

  Tokho felt awkward standing in front of Sonbi, so he took Okchom’s mother by the hand and led her back into the house.

  “Now, get the hell out of here. We don’t want you in this house any longer,” shouted Okchom, following her parents out of the kitchen.

  Sonbi now knew for certain that she’d have to leave. Listening to all these outright lies—even from Tokho, whom she’d actually come to trust—proved to her that he planned to send her packing. Well, so be it! she said under her breath, as she made her way back into her room. The fury inside her now raged with such intensity that her whole body trembled. But not a single tear did she shed any longer. She collapsed on top of her bundle of things and waited for night to come.

  And, oh, that night! With her bundle clutched to her side, she made her escape from Tokho’s household. The night was as black as ink in all four directions. It wasn’t raining, as she had feared it might earlier, but the wind was slowly gathering speed. Sonbi made her way up to the road that led into town. A gentle breeze blew warmly against her stinging face. Lightning flashed in the eastern sky, illuminating the mountains every so often. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance with each flash. Once, Sonbi would have been terrified by a night like this, but nothing could have frightened her now. She was so firm in her determination, she was ready to take on anything, even death.

  The sorghum and foxtail millet growing densely on both sides of the road swirled and swooshed at the whim of the wind. The sound of rustling leaves faded, then surged up again like a wave gathering strength on the ocean. And then, riding on those undulating waves, came the sound of a piano! Clink, clink, clunk! At first it sounded to Sonbi as though she were standing right next to the piano, but the next moment, the sounds were as faint as if she were hearing them in a dream. Whatever the case, the notes seemed to pierce into her very core. Fighting off the vision of Okchom sat at her piano, Sonbi placed her hands over her ears.

  But just then she heard the sound of whimpering, and felt something in front of her block her way. Sonbi jumped back in alarm. She then realized it was Blackie, the puppy she always used to feed, and she scooped him up into her arms. All the rage that was sweeping through her body transformed into a flood of tears. Blackie’s wagging tail thumped against her face and he started whimpering even louder. Then he started licking Sonbi’s face.

  “Oh, Blackie!”

  Sonbi buried her face into the puppy’s neck and dropped down onto the road. And right there, twinkling off in front of her, she saw the lights of the village. To her tear-drenched eyes they looked like pieces of thread from a skein of orange silk. How similar those lights were, she thought, to the lamp she had gazed upon at the moment of her mother’s death.

  “Oh, Mother!” she cried, turning toward the mountain where her mother had long been buried. What then flashed into her mind, however, was not her mother’s face, but that bundle of sumac roots, and then Ch’otchae’s big, round eyes. The thought of what she’d done just before her mother’s death now struck her with no less force than a bolt of lightining. The money that Tokho had given her she had carefully placed inside her bedding, but the sumac roots she’d received from Ch’otchae she had tossed into a back corner . . .

  “Oh, Blackie!” cried Sonbi again. “Do you want to come with me?”

  A bolt of lightning flashed through the sky.

  77

  “Hey, hey! Don’t you think you’ve slept long enough? Wake up already, sleepyhead!”

  Sinch’ol awoke with a start. His friends were already awake and washed up, it seemed, for their foreheads were shining. Kiho stared down at him.

  “ We don’t have a thing to cook for breakfast. Come on, you’re going to have to get up and figure something out.”

  “Oh, leave me alone, will you. I’m just going to sleep for a little bit longer.”

  “Come on, get up. It’s almost high noon out there. If we can’t have breakfast, we’re still going to have to find something for lunch or dinner . . . The longer the days get, the longer we’ve got to worry about going hungry! Hah, ha.”

  Sinch’ol sat upright. The sun shone brilliantly into the room.

  “How can anyone live with these damn things biting you all the time . . . Shit!”

  Sinch’ol tore off his undershirt and began picking off lice the size of grains of barley. Ilp’o sat beside the door with the discarded butt of a cigarette, one of the cigarettes he’d bought back when he had a bit of spare change. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. The smoke streaming out of his nostrils snaked its way up into the air. By the way Ilp’o kept looking at the side room, Sinch’ol guessed that the pretty girl who lived there was at home today.

  Ilp’o looked chubby, and had some real flesh on his bones. So whenever they ran out of food to eat or had no wood to light a fire, he never seemed very nervous about it. In the mornings, after waking up, he would always go over and sit by the door, just as he was doing now, all the while glancing at the side room. If he didn’t have any cigarettes to smoke, he’d pick his nose or clean out the dirt between his toes, and he’d constantly sniff at his dirty fingers. Sinch’ol pretended not to notice any of this, and kept himself from even glancing over in his direction. Kiho, on the other hand, could never hold his tongue when he caught Ilp’o cleaning his toes and sniffing his fingers.

  “Oh, Hell! Are you at it again? How can you be so disgusting! Does it really smell all that good?”

  Ilp’o always pretended not to hear to what Kiho was saying, and went on picking and sniffing uninterrupted. Wiping his fingers on his socks was yet another of his dirty little habits.

  Luckily today he had a cigarette to puff on, so he wasn’t picking anything.

  “You think you can find something for us today?”

  Kiho looked at Ilp’o. Ilp’o, as usual, ignored Kiho and concentrated on his cigarette. Unless he was bad-mouthing someone or had something to say about the pretty girl next door, Ilp’o never got worked up about anything. And when Kiho asked him to fetch rice or wood, or when Kiho was doubled over laughing at him for picking his nose, Ilp’o always pretended not to hear. Now, he just smiled contently and puffed away on his cigarette. Sinch’ol finished picking off the lice from his undershirt, and he put it back on. Then he tried to set his mind into gear: what might he still have to bring to the pawn shop?

  They had already pawned all his valuables, down to his very last book, so that now practically all that remained was the flesh on his bones. Sinch’ol considered going to Pamsongi again to ask for something. Pamsongi had recently found a job delivering newspapers and now had some spare cash on hand, which was why Sinch’ol was always bumming five or ten chon off him to buy rice or bread.

  Sinch’ol p
ut on his suit before going outside. It was the one set of decent clothes any of them owned. The three of them had decided they would share it, for whenever one of them went out.

  “Make sure you find something to bring back . . . And if it looks like you can’t manage it, just do whatever you have to, even if it means going back home. If you’re hungry enough, you’re just going to have to eat some of that pride of yours. Hah, ha. Am I right?”

  “That you are!” chimed in Ilp’o. Sinch’ol smiled as he went out the front gate. He pictured Ilp’o’s chubby face and those wide eyes of his, constantly ogling the girl in the room next door. He found Ilp’o’s arrogance quite detestable, but when he thought of how he picked at his feet and nose and sniffed his dirty fingers, he couldn’t help but laugh. Sinch’ol had come to think of Ilp’o as the perfect picture of a fallen intellectual. Sinch’ol himself could well have been considered a member of the intellectual class, but he had recently developed an intense disgust for these so-called intelli. And something about the way Ilp’o kept sniffing at his smelly feet seemed to reek of the intellectual class in general.

  With these thoughts on his mind Sinch’ol came upon a public swimming pool and a crowd of swimmers. Their red and blue caps, bobbing up and down, stood out against the surface of the water sparkling in the sunlight. Just last summer, Sinch’ol remembered, he and Okchom had run on the beach of the wide open Western Sea. Then a picture of Yongyon village drifted into his mind, followed by an image of Sonbi’s lovely figure.

  78

  In no time at all Sinch’ol began to feel the warmth of the sun on his back and to hear a grumbling sound coming from his stomach. He slowly started down the hill in Samch’ong-dong. If he couldn’t get anything out of Pamsongi, where else would he go? He’d already made the rounds so many times to bum money off his friends that it seemed shameless to ask them for anything more. It was still early in the day and he wasn’t yet very hungry. But a few more hours of this and the pangs in his stomach would be enough to make him throw himself at the feet of any one of his friends.