The Old Garden

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  20

  It has been more than three weeks since I was released from prison, and I have spent four nights and five days in Kalmae. At first I was unable to fall asleep, staying up until the early hours of the morning to read Yoon Hee’s notes and old sketchbooks and letters. In them was a life outside, the one I had missed. The heightened emotions of the first few days began to deaden little by little. What I felt, the bursts of rolling and kicking in the pit of my stomach, was never as specific as sadness or injustice, but more like a sensation on my skin, a feeling like dryness slowly moistening. It was like waking up from a nap at the end of a summer day when the sun is setting. Everything around me, the people, the mountain and the field, looked so vivid and clear and new that they appeared unfamiliar. I could see myself only as if through a mirror, and my eyes remained a pair of lenses viewing just this side while the world moved along on the other side, blind to me. I felt like smoke, a hovering spirit looking down at its body left behind like shed skin, watching family, friends and neighbors, unable to communicate with them and regarding them, detached. My fingers trembled and my stomach felt uneasy, like after taking too much cold medicine. I was afraid to stay in one place too long, and I kept distancing myself, separating my body and my spirit and studying every little movement I made, even breathing or picking up an object. This state of anxiety has continued for the past few days.

  But now, in Kalmae, as I’ve met with the remains of Yoon Hee, I have found a partner. I can exist concretely here through her. What was locked up in solitary confinement was not Oh Hyun Woo, but Number 1444, just an awareness that in order to survive the worst of a situation you need to hold on to the convictions and actions of your past and preserve your human dignity. Now, I am returning to the world outside through my partner. According to the calendar I left prison just a little while ago, but it feels so far away, like something that happened many years ago. Eighteen years has become but a moment, like a scene in a disjointed movie. It is like trying to remember the dreams of my adolescence. I am an ancient Chinese man with magic eyelashes witnessing my various desires with foreknowledge of their transience and futility.

  Just like any other day, I ate breakfast and left the little garden to walk down the narrow path toward the main house. Among the dry grass of the past winter were new green sprouts. I had thought about a few things the night before. I thought I should get a job when I went back to Seoul, even though it might be too late. I should meet Eun Gyul, even if she was now Jung Hee’s daughter. I wanted to know more about her.

  “Come in, come in. Did you have breakfast?”

  The Soonchun lady was sitting on the porch. I was not wearing sweatpants, but a sports coat and a pair of slacks like I did the day I arrived here, so she asked again, “What, are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes, I need to run some errands in town.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect! We need to get a few things from there.”

  “Why don’t you write them down for me?”

  “Of course, of course, just wait one minute.”

  She came back with a piece of paper and a pen, and after a long time I finally managed to ask.

  “By the way . . . you have the phone number for Jung Hee, don’t you?”

  “Hmmm? Beg your pardon?”

  “The sister of Miss Han.”

  “Ah, yes . . . that’s right, her name is Han Jung Hee. It’s somewhere in here, I’ll go look.”

  It took a while before she came back with a thick notebook. She pointed to one spot in the back of the notebook, where several numbers were written down.

  “This is her home phone number, and underneath that is the number of her office. She always called a few days before she came down here.”

  “Do you have something I can write with?”

  “Here’s a pen, and you can take a piece of paper from that notebook.”

  I wrote the number down and tore off a little piece of paper.

  “Come inside. You can call her now,” she said.

  “No, I’ll call her later. Just give me the list of things you want me to get for you from town.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. My son went all the way to Kwangju to buy supplies, so he’s not coming back until this evening.”

  It took her at least ten minutes to come up with a complete list, as she took frequent pauses to think hard.

  “But how are you gonna get into town? There’s no taxi here.”

  “I’ll walk to the bridge and take the bus from there. I can get a cab on the way back, since I’ll have to bring things back.”

  “Have a safe trip, then. And tell her to come visit us with the kids soon. We miss Eun Gyul, too, I want to see her! Maybe it’s because I attended her birth, but I’ve grown quite attached to her.”

  I left the house and walked between orchards down the road. Today the tea salon seemed quiet. I had noticed that it got a little busy during the weekends but was mostly empty the rest of the week. It was before noon, but the Korean barbecue restaurant was already playing loud music. There were only three or four restaurants, but they made Kalmae looked like a big town with their ridiculously flashy signs.

  I had wanted to go into the Soonchun lady’s house and make the phone call right then, but I decided to wait because I hadn’t decided how to start the conversation yet. Moreover, I did not want others to listen to that conversation. Imagining her voice over the phone, my heart began racing. Eun Gyul was almost eighteen years old, the same number of years as my imprisonment. If I had heard of her birthdays, her going to school and making friends while in prison, would it have been easier for me to endure?

  Looking at the other inmates I met there, I knew that there were positives and negatives to having a family outside, as with everything in life. You get to see the pictures of your children once in a while, and children grow up like bamboo. I do not know how it is for the family, but I think it would be another form of deprivation for the prisoner. A child whose father is taken away may consider himself tragic, but for me he is a picture of the father’s past happiness. Looking at the photo of the child, I imagine the father taking that picture, or hiding somewhere out of frame, even if it was taken after his imprisonment. Through the picture of the child, the father is arrested in the happier past. But then, that child grows up, and appears as a teenager in another picture. We see already in his face that life is bitter. It may be just a shadow at the beginning, but soon he becomes a young man, and we can clearly see imprints of worldly anguish on his forehead. In many cases, a longtimer’s face seems purer than those of his family going through the vicissitudes of life.

  I saw many inmates suffering because of the absence of their family. I heard many of them crying in the middle of the night, no matter how hard they tried to stifle the sound. In the morning the prisoner might appear perfectly fine, but I would see him ceaselessly pacing around the courtyard during the exercise hour, pausing once in a while to look up and stare at the empty blue sky. If I had known that Eun Gyul existed in this world, I would have suffered agony once in a while, but I also would have felt unbelievably lucky. You cannot fear the moments when your heart is turbulent. Isn’t life supposed to be like that anyway?

  The neighboring town seemed even bigger than when I had seen it a few days before. There were tall apartment buildings everywhere, and downtown was full of automobiles. There were many cafés standing right next to each other or across from one another in small alleyways. I tried to imagine what the interiors would be like from their signs, hoping to find a quiet and accommodating place. One was called the Paradise Café. The old-fashioned name and the ancient Japanese-style double-story building made me think that maybe this one had been here for a long time. Then I realized it was the café Yoon Hee and I had gone into once to take a break from our shopping excursion. I took a steep staircase to the second floor. The creaking wooden steps were now carpeted, and I could not tell if the old steps were still there underneath. As I pushed the door open and walked in, I knew it was t
he same place. By the entrance I saw a makeshift barrier made out of a sheet of plywood that obstructed my view of the interior, but there was the familiar door to the restrooms. The round window just next to the restroom was also still there. Before, there had been a little console table and a pot with a bonsai tree on top of it. I remembered thinking then that the old Chinese juniper tree seemed too elegant to be placed right next to the restroom. And from the small window near the washstand, I could see the courtyard of a small, old-fashioned house with a gabled roof. I stood there by the entrance for a while, looking around, but no one came out to greet me. Was it still open? I took a seat in the center and lit a cigarette. On the inner wall of the kitchen was a set of sliding doors, and I guessed there was a room for the staff behind it. I cleared my throat to let them know that someone was here, and a woman appeared.

  “Oh, I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

  She was a plump lady in her forties, with a warm countenance that made her look like someone who should be working at a casual restaurant making bowl after bowl of rice and broth, not selling coffees and teas.

  “I would like to order something to drink.”

  She did not even come out of the kitchen, just stood there.

  “What would you like?”

  “Well . . .”

  I wondered if I should order something more expensive if I was going to ask her to use her phone. And I remembered that older men always ordered tea with medicinal herbs. I should treat the hostess, too.

  “How about a cup of the medicinal herbal tea? And you should have one, too.”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.” Then she burst out laughing. “What is happening today? I guess you’re quite old-fashioned.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re so generous to offer me a cup of tea.”

  “No one buys you a cup of tea these days?”

  She laughed again.

  “No one really comes here anymore, they order for delivery. For teas and coffees and girls . . .”14

  It was my habit to keep my mouth shut when I really could not understand what was being said, so I remained silent. The medicinal herbal tea was almost a meal, the thick liquid mixed with egg yolk and dates and peanuts and sesame seeds. The woman answered the phone.

  “Sorry, where? They already left for the co-op. Just wait a few more minutes, okay?”

  The phone rang again.

  “The Hajung village? Inner valley or the outer valley? Right, toward the inner valley . . . and on the field. Then our girl will pass by on a motorcycle, so you should call out to her to stop.”

  She diligently wrote the order down with the phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. Two young woman entered the café, followed by a young man wearing a motorcycle helmet. The older woman spoke to the younger ones.

  “An urgent phone call from the co-op people asking when you’re coming.”

  One of the girls, wearing a miniskirt that barely covered her bottom, a pair of long boots up to her knees, and long fake eyelashes, answered with no sense of urgency, “That’s not us. We’re just coming back from the real estate agency.”

  As she spoke, she stole a few glances in my direction, studying me. Soon she lost interest and took a seat by the high bar stool in front of the kitchen, her legs crossed. The other young woman remained by the entrance, looking in the mirror and playing with her hair. She wore a pair of leggings that clung tight to her legs and a baggy shirt over a tighter one that showed deep cleavage. The older woman ignored her.

  “Young man, do you know the Hajung village?”

  “Where the mill used to be?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. There are people working on the field toward the inner valley. Seven cups of coffee.”

  She handed over a tray with a thermos and mugs wrapped in cloth.

  “I think we really need a car,” he grumbled.

  “Listen, girls, one of you go with him. Take the backseat of the motorcycle.”

  “The road over there is not paved, it’s gonna rattle a lot.”

  The older woman turned to the one sitting by the kitchen, “Hurry up and go, you’ll be back in no time.”

  “No, I’m wearing a mini! I can’t ride the motorcycle.”

  “Then you go,” she said to the other one. “She should go to the Go club.”15

  “Well, I’m also going to wear a miniskirt tomorrow! This is such bullshit.”

  They carried on bickering and grumbling as they left again, each girl carrying a tray wrapped in a pink cloth. Before I asked her to use the phone, I wanted to start a conversation.

  “Your business is doing well.”

  “We manage to break even somehow.”

  “Bet you are making a lot of money.”

  “It’s the owner who’s making all the money. Me and the girls, we just get paid monthly. No, that’s not correct. I get no tips, so I am worse off than them. The owner has three places like this, but all he does is collect money at the end of the day.”

  “There are so many cafés around here.”

  “A development boom! They’re building apartments and factories . . .”

  “Would you mind if I use your phone please?”

  “Long distance?”

  “Yes, I want to call someone in Seoul.”

  She agreed more easily than I expected her to.

  “I’ll give you some coins and we can add those to your bill.”

  She opened the cash register and took out a handful of change.

  “It’s one row of hundreds, so a thousand won. If you don’t use them all, just give the rest back to me. See the public phone over there?”

  I took the coins from her, walked over to the phone, and stood in front of it. I had used one a few times near my sister’s house, but it was still unfamiliar. I breathed in and out a few times and looked at the piece of paper with the phone number, then began to dial. The coin dropped, and I heard a voice, “Doctor’s office.”

  I was worried that I would get disconnected.

  “Dr. . . . Dr. Han Jung Hee . . . please,” I mumbled, adding a few more coins into the slot.

  “May I ask who’s calling, please?”

  All of a sudden, I did not know what to say. I hesitated for a while.

  “Hello? May I ask who’s calling, please?”

  I knew if I remained silent too long, the phone would be disconnected.

  “This . . . This is Oh calling.”

  “One moment, please.”

  The voice disappeared and instead I heard music. It seemed to take a long time, as if they were having a sinister discussion behind the music. Then there was a different woman’s voice, a little similar to Yoon Hee’s.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Dr. Han Jung Hee?”

  “Yes, this is she . . .”

  The voice paused. I paused, too. She continued after she took a deep breath, loud enough for me to hear from the other side of the phone.

  “You said Mr. Oh . . . are you Mr. Oh Hyun Woo?”

  “Yes . . .”

  I was at a loss for words again.

  “I have never met you,” she said calmly. “But I did read in the newspaper that you were released. My sister has passed away. Three years ago . . . cancer.”

  “I know.”

  “Ah, then you received the letters. I sent them to your sister’s school around that time.”

  “I read them after I got out.”

  “That was about two weeks ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, about that.”

  “And where are you staying now?”

  “I’m in Kalmae.”

  She was silent. I had a feeling that she was covering up the receiver with her hand. Anxious, this time I called after her, “Hello? Hello?”

  “Yes, so you’re in Kalmae. I didn’t go there for a while after my sister was gone, but finally Eun Gyul and I spent some time there last winter.”

  “Eun Gyul?”

  Finally, we had reached the point I really wanted us to g
et to, and to talk about.

  “I guess you know it all by now. She’s seventeen, in twelfth grade.”

  “I see. I would like to stop by when I’m back in Seoul in a few days,” I added as casually as possible.

  “Sure. However . . . our daughter is preparing for her college entrance exams these days, and it’s is more important than ever that she remains stable and calm.”

  I was at a loss for words again. I had no idea what to say. If the road is blocked, there is no need to drive straight through and collide with the barriers. There must be a way around them.

  “I just wanted . . . to hear about Miss Han, and . . . her.”

  “Call us when you’re back in town.”

  “Yes, well, thank you.”

  We exchanged goodbyes, and the phone call was over. I wanted to avoid the woman in the café, so I walked to the restroom instead of returning to my table. I glanced down through the small, round window. From here, all I could see was a part of the roof, neat rows of black gables, not the courtyard. I walked into the restroom. There should be a couple of stalls. Standing in front of the urinal, I saw the window opposite me, just as it had been before. And there was the courtyard. Under the March sunlight, washed clothes were drying. Under the shadow of the gabled roof was a row of pots full of plants and flowers, and on the other side of the courtyard was an orderly garden with a Chinese juniper tree, rhododendrons, and camellia trees in a neat row. I cannot remember what it had looked like before; the trees must had been younger then. But I do remember what Yoon Hee said merrily as she came back from the restroom. She said she saw a garden that looked very familiar. That there were four o’clocks and moss roses and cockscombs and morning glories. That the house’s main porch seemed to be the perfect place to sit on a rainy day to eat scallion pancakes and drink rice wine. To spend quiet, ordinary days when nothing really happens.