The Old Garden

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  “Are you . . . making ends meet?”

  “I manage somehow. Have you ever seen me worry? You need to go somewhere and rest for a few months, figure things out. What are your plans?”

  “I don’t know . . . I guess I should look for a job.”

  “Kun didn’t say anything to you?”

  “About what.”

  “His wife died.”

  “How? Was she ill?”

  Bong Han, watching his own words, turned his head toward the window and looked out toward the street.

  “Hit by a car.”

  “What . . . ?”

  “She was crazy, she jumped in front of it.”

  We stopped talking. He took the bowl of beef broth, bent his head down, and slowly sipped from it while blowing. I took a few spoonfuls in silence. Grasping the edge of the bowl, Bong Han’s fingers looked like a bird’s feet. Thin black lines of dirt were visible underneath his fingernails.

  “I’m exhausted. This city wears everyone out.”

  “There should be new things to do, different from what we used to do. No more commemorations.”

  “Hyun Woo, do you have a line you follow?”

  “A line?” But I did not laugh. Was there hope somewhere? If something like that still existed, that would be the line I would follow. I changed the subject.

  “First of all, you have to get your life back. You’re anonymous now. You’re no one. You’re no longer on the most wanted list, all of that is over. Everyone lies . . .”

  I realized he could no longer get along with others now that he had returned home. Lunch was done. I wanted to part ways with him.

  “Well, I better get going. I need to go somewhere.”

  “Where to?”

  “Somewhere . . . if you see Kun, tell him I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I may come back on my way back to Seoul.”

  Bong Han seemed like he had more things to say, but I waved to him and walked toward the traffic. He shouted to me as I climbed into a taxi, “Take care.”

  The day I met Yoon Hee I was staying in a small inn, a traditional building with a gabled roof among the storefronts in Saha village. When you opened the sliding rice paper door, there was a small porch, and a few steps further, a ravine. It was pretty steep, and the waterfall was quite loud. The first night lying down on my futon, my ears were ringing but I got used to it quickly. It had already been five months since I’d fled. The advantages of Seoul were that it was my original zone of activity and I had many friends there. It was easy for me to find places to hide, but for the same reason it was more dangerous.

  Bong Han had just switched his hiding place for the second time. He was at the top of the wanted list, and it was the most dangerous period for him. We were to meet in Miari in a billiard hall with two exits, one leading onto the main street, one into a back alley. It was around three or four in the afternoon, when there were plenty of people coming and going. I got the only empty table and pretended to play by myself, while I continuously watched the two exits. I did not see him come in, but Kwon Hyung was sitting there on a long bench under the scoreboard right behind the billiard table. He smoothly took a cue and hit a red ball as if it was now his turn.

  “Bong Han is not coming. I dissuaded him. His pictures are everywhere.”

  “He should not meet with anyone from his hometown.”

  “Of course not. We’re discussing the situation. He’ll have to leave.”

  “Where will he go?”

  “Wherever, he can’t stay here.”

  We concentrated on our billiard game. I won both games. Perhaps because I was nervous, I played better than usual. As we climbed down the stairs from the billiard hall, Kwon Hyung gave a signal.

  “Wanna stop at the restroom?”

  I followed him into the restroom silently, we stood next to each other, looking into a mirror, and peed. He handed me a piece of paper.

  “Read it over and memorize it. Don’t forget to destroy it later.”

  I walked out of the alleyway first. He may have taken another way out; I did not see him. I was able to guess where Bong Han was hiding. Right before the whole thing blew up, around the tail end of martial law, three of us had searched for previously unknown places. After checking out the last one, we walked into a fortune-teller’s place at a corner of a market. The owner was a female shaman. The three of us were totally embarrassed, but we obediently sat around the little table covered with raw rice. I think it was Kwon Hyung, who sometimes reminded me of an ascetic monk, who insisted that we have our fortunes told. The shaman kept mumbling and sucking on her teeth, as if she had been interrupted during her meal. She looked at me first. Out of the blue, she imitated a little child with a high-pitched voice. I forgot most of what she said, but I still vividly remember a few words.

  “Mister, you’ll be okay. You’ll wander around in a faraway place, and then you’ll be sick for a while. You’ll stay put and suffer through it, then you’ll be okay.”

  Next was Bong Han’s turn.

  “Mister, you were in prison, weren’t you? And that’s when your father passed away. Your father is still wandering around, he can’t go to the netherworld. I can see blood right in front of you, sir, blood like a river. If you want to be released from your crimes, you must make a clean suit for your father and burn it in front of his grave.”

  It was March or April of 1980. I could never forget her word, blood like a river. I read the piece of paper from Bong Han.

  One day, their crimes will be divulged, but it’ll take some time. We have to stay alive in order to be witnesses. Do not hurry, be circumspect. I have sent words regarding your safety. I hope you find peace.

  I tossed and turned for a while listening to the sounds from the ravine. With the first full moon of the year beaming down, the rice paper door was iridescent, and the shadow of bamboo trees draped elegantly on the back window facing the yard. I heard the wind chime hanging from the roof. For an instant, I tried to picture Miss Han Yoon Hee, my new protector. Because I’d only seen her briefly, I could not remember what she looked like. I do not remember how I spent the next day. I went up to the temple, I wandered in the forest . . . ah, now I remember. Right by the first entrance to the temple where pine trees were abundant, I sat on a rock to cool down. Underneath the rock where it was shaded, snow had frozen into ice, which was in turn slowly melting from the bottom, forming an endless little stream of pure droplets. I could hear a man and a woman talking to each other gently from down the hill. I guessed they were having a picnic. They were young. The man began singing in a high clear tenor. I return to the hill where I used to play, the old poet lied when he said that nature does not change. The grand pine tree that once stood here is now gone, cut down. I cannot forget their mindless singing. Just like an old movie. The girl laughed, the sound of water tumbling down a valley. They soon began singing in harmony. Walking along the pasture in the evening, with my darling coming home, walking along the pasture in the evening . . . I sat on the pine hill until late in the afternoon, until the wind became too cold. The singing youths had left the hill a long time before. I was already in my thirties, and maybe I envied their youthful energy.

  Walking past an unfamiliar village in the rain, you can sometimes see a family in a lighted room, sharing dinner and conversation. You move from under the eaves and keep on walking, just glancing at them once. You can sometimes hear a mother call to her children who have gone too far to play. Or observe, from afar, a farmer and his wife sitting on a porch looking out onto their courtyard. The wife is shelling beans, the husband has just taken off his muddy boots. The farmer absentmindedly glances at the stranger, only half of his body visible over the low mud wall. The dog loses interest and stops barking. A night train passes over a bridge, the sleeper cars dimly lit. A black silhouette passes from one train car to the next by the train’s outer steps. After dropping a cigarette butt between the fluid wheels, you check if there’s someone in the next car. Walking into a vacant motel in a smal
l village, there is a wanted poster right next to the door. All the programs on the black-and-white television are over for the day, its washed-out screen snowing with little specks of black and white light, and the woman at the reception desk is sleeping, leaning against the wall. The vinyl-covered floor has black holes here and there, and on top of a seat is an unbearably red fleece blanket. The fluorescent light bulb is making a zzzzz sound. In the guest register book, you write clearly the identification number that friends obtained for you. At night, you are too tired to wash your dirty socks, but you know it is important to appear clean and proper, so you wash your windbreaker and hang it up by the window. When you go on the road again in the morning, the wheels of the everyday world are obliviously turning as usual, nothing changed.

  I went to see Han Yoon Hee, trusting the address Bong Han had gotten through numerous layers of contacts. I was going to quietly disappear if I detected any hesitation from her. She came to the inn around sunset. Yoon Hee was wearing a turtleneck sweater, a down parka, and a pair of casual pants. She did not look like someone going to work. In fact, carrying a little backpack, she looked more like a traveler than me. When Yoon Hee arrived, I had briefly fallen asleep in my room at the very back of the inn warmed by the wood furnace. Still, even in sleep, I felt the gentle movement and opened my eyes. The footsteps stopped on the porch, followed by a muffled cough. The sliding door cracked open silently. I stayed lying down, I just lifted my elbow from my forehead to turn my head and looked through the crack.

  “Did I wake you?”

  She opened the door a bit more but did not come inside. She sat down on the tiny porch and talked to me from there. I lazily stretched and got up.

  “Get your stuff,” was all she said and closed the door. I put on my jacket and socks and packed my bag. She was waiting for me standing outside the main gate of the inn.

  “You didn’t eat dinner yet?”

  “No, I had a late lunch.”

  “Good. I’m very hungry.”

  Four or five hikers with huge backpacks passed us by. We went down toward the village, where stores and restaurants lined the street. There was a bus stop. The tourist bus stood still, while the local bus let out blue smoke, waiting for its scheduled departure. Three taxicabs, their drivers gone, were lined up.

  “We’ll go somewhere,” Yoon Hee said. “We’ll take the car from over there. After we eat, that is.”

  There was no one in the restaurant.

  “What did you do all day?”

  “Went to the temple, took a nap, things like that. Are you coming from work?”

  “I went home and changed. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I have no class to teach. I don’t have to go back to school until Monday.”

  “At school, what do you teach?”

  She grinned a little, a bit bashful. From the first moment I met her, I liked Yoon Hee’s mouth when she gently smiled.

  “Art, painting.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “What is?”

  Then Yoon Hee took out a cigarette box from her parka pocket, put a cigarette to her mouth, and lit it.

  “You can never trust an artist’s talent. That’s something I found out accidentally among the ruins of other numerous trials. You realize that at once at a school out here in the countryside. There’re always a couple of students who have amazing potential.”

  “Who would believe in a self-deprecating artist?”

  “Oh no, I’m not one yet. I’m thinking maybe I should try. There was this one girl, a real genius, and she dropped out of school last semester and went to the city. Something about working at a beauty salon. She never had a brush or anything for the class, so I bought her some. Her grades were awful. Her parents are farmers, she has three older sisters, and they all left to work at a factory or be a maid.”

  When Yoon Hee concentrated on talking, she pointed her index finger like a gun and swung it.

  “Of course, her talent would be ruined if she went to art school.”

  “Are you from around here?” I asked her. I had been wondering. It was very important for me to know where my protector was from. If someone who knew her well saw me with her, there would be questions.

  “Unfortunately I’m from Seoul, born and raised. Now, aren’t I allowed to ask some questions, too?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “That name is really . . . are you really Kim . . . Jun Woo?”

  “What’s wrong with my name?”

  “That’s the name of the guy who disappeared into the Hwarang cigarette smoke, like the one in that song?”3

  I almost burst into laughter. Instead I asked, “How do you know Mr. Yoon?”

  “I don’t know him that well. I can’t tell you how or where, but I met him once, just once. You should know this: I’m not an activist.”

  “You should know—you may get into trouble later if you help someone in hiding.”

  Yoon Hee replied with her usual gentle smile. Her teeth peeked through her lips for a second and then disappeared again.

  “I saw the tape from Kwangju. The NHK version. The local priest lent it to me.”

  Her expression had changed. There were shadows under her eyes, and she opened her mouth a little and shook her head as if she was weary.

  “I can’t forgive them. And I could finally understand my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “No . . . he drank his life away.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was a casualty of history. Let’s change the subject. Why are you avoiding answering my question?”

  “Which was . . .”

  “If you are trusting me with your safety, you should tell me about yourself. Your real name, and since you don’t look like a student, what your job was, what did you do, meaning why did you go into hiding? Isn’t it natural for me to be a little curious?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I felt a bit apologetic as I answered.

  “My name is Oh Hyun Woo. I’m thirty-two years old. Until a couple of years ago I had a teaching post in a middle school in a small village, like you, Miss Han. I got involved in the student movement while I was at university. I went to prison briefly, then I was forced into military service and served at the DMZ zone. And the rest I’ll tell you later.”

  “My goodness, too much information for such a short time!”

  We left the restaurant. We climbed into the backseat of a taxicab, the driver’s seat still empty.

  “Is it okay to do this?” I asked. Uneasy, I looked around. Yoon Hee smiled.

  “He’ll be here soon. And you’re single, of course?”

  “Until now.”

  The taxi driver, wearing only the top of his uniform, was walking slowly toward us. Yoon Hee added quickly, “From now on, I’ll do all the talking.”

  The driver checked out his passengers and climbed into his seat. Yoon Hee told him the destination, and I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. The taxi traveled on an unpaved road, clouds of dust trailing behind, and crossed a hill. Our destination was the next village. It took about twenty minutes. We arrived at a tiny depot that looked like any other depot in any other town and got out. Yoon Hee left the taxi stand and walked down the main street, again just like in any other town.

  “I think it’ll be better to take a bus from here. We could have continued in the taxi, though. With a direct bus, it takes about forty minutes to my school.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “Just follow me. I’m taking you to paradise.”

  There was a movie theater, its door tightly shut and looking more like a dilapidated warehouse. Maybe it opened only in the evening. We waited for a bus at a stop in front of the movie theater. Yoon Hee opened her mouth.

  “I found it while I was roaming the countryside to draw. I have a studio there.”

  “Then why don’t you move in, too? You said the school is not too far.”

  “I’m going to.”

  The bus approached sl
owly. It was not a market day, and there were not many people in the bus. A few students here, a few women there, each occupying a seat. As soon as we sat down, the bus left. A driver’s assistant tottered over to collect our fare.

  “Where to?”

  “Two for Kalmae.”

  From the main road the bus took a narrow pass between mountains. On one side was a deep valley, where melted snow from the mountaintop formed a stream and flowed down, bubbling up here and there. Up on the rolling hills, farmhouses and neatly trimmed fruit trees stood in rows. This village was so affluent because it had the most orchards in the province. On both sides of the valley were narrow rice paddies in steps, and around the stream were eulalias that had flowered last fall but were still holding on to their white tufts, gently dancing in the wind. Yoon Hee and I got out of the bus above the valley, in front of a cement bridge, before the bus clattered away into the distance.

  We crossed the bridge and, after the bend in the mountain, what had been hidden by the valley was finally exposed. Directly in front of us, a round hill sat like a person with both arms and legs wide open. Scattered on the southern end of its foot were a handful of houses. No one from the other side of the valley would have guessed that there was a hamlet like this across the bridge and down the narrow path. A small stream slowly glided down from the valley, and on its bank there was even a water mill with a thatched roof. Behind the orchards was a dark green bamboo forest. We were at the threshold of spring, the wind was warm and murmuring, and it carried the fragrance of earth. A couple of magpies cheerfully chirped while flying up and down a persimmon tree with only a few, dried-out fruits left. Yoon Hee took a deep breath, as if she was tasting the wind, and she whispered:

  “This is Kalmae.”

  4

  Now, I am going back to Kalmae.

  Eighteen years ago on the night a typhoon arrived, I left for Seoul. Yoon Hee followed me to the bridge, holding onto an umbrella. Her peasant skirt with printed flowers was wet, her pointy rubber shoes kept coming off. The headlights of the last bus appeared out of the darkness. What looked like the eyes of a beast got bigger and bigger, reflected in the pouring rain. I turned around once before climbing up into the bus. Yoon Hee was going to say something but instead raised one arm halfway and meekly waved her hand. As soon as I got in, the bus departed. I tumbled and hurried toward the back window. For an instant I saw a trace of her body holding the umbrella, but it quickly disappeared into darkness.