The Old Garden

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  “We?”

  “Song Young Tae is waiting for us at my place. He told me to bring you here without telling you why. In the underground we call it docking.”

  I was not too surprised, and I could respond without changing my facial expression.

  “Then wait, we should do some grocery shopping.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ve prepared everything already.”

  “Why? Today is a special day?”

  Mi Kyung grinned, “Well, it doesn’t mean much, but . . . it is my birthday.”

  “I see. Wait, I see a store over there. And I bet that red light means it’s a butcher.”

  I simply ignored Mi Kyung pulling my arm and bought beef and vegetables.

  “You said he lost a lot of weight. Isn’t he here to get some food into his body?”

  “My friend and Mr. Song already went grocery shopping. I bet they’re done cooking, too.”

  Mi Kyung and I walked into a long, dark alleyway. There was not a single streetlight around, and following the steep slope, the alley was lined with the outer walls of small house after small house, so that it looked like a narrow corridor. We reached an old house plastered with cement. The front gate was so low that Mi Kyung simply reached over it and undid the crossbar with one hand. It had a traditional layout, a square with one side open, but it was hastily built with unevenly applied cement plaster. In the courtyard, some women wearing slips and thin underwear were sitting on a flat wooden bench and cooling off in the evening wind. There seemed to be at least ten rooms in the building, and there was a young man or woman in front of each door. Mi Kyung greeted each one of them. She seemed to be familiar with everyone in the house. They, in turn, shot brief, furtive looks at me. All of sudden Mi Kyung, who had been walking in front of me, disappeared, and I was lost in the middle of the courtyard. As I stood there, I heard Mi Kyung’s voice coming from somewhere right above my head.

  “Yoon Hee, I’m over here. Come on up!”

  I looked up. I could never have imagined adding a room in a place like that. There was a room built with cement on top of a structure used as a storage shed. I saw a steep iron ladder, and, carefully, climbed it. All I saw at first was a tiny room containing a kitchenette and a space to take your shoes off. Someone was standing in front of another door, the indoor light illuminating him from behind.

  “It’s good to see you, Miss Han.”

  It was a familiar voice. No matter what, I was happy to see him again, and I felt like crying a little. I thought of making a joke out of it, too, but I decided to just grab his hand.

  “Well, you look well.”

  I followed him into the living quarters. It was actually a lot larger than it looked from the outside. In one corner there was a plastic closet, a desk, and a chair, and a small bookcase was in the other corner. Mi Kyung, who was standing right behind me, screamed, “My goodness, what is that?”

  In front of the window on the right side was a clothesline from which various pairs of underwear and boxer shorts hung. The men in the room appeared to have done lots of laundry while Mi Kyung was gone. Song Young Tae just stood there and grinned while the other guy took them down.

  “The kids in the room by the gate were using the laundry machine,” he said. “So I thought we might as well use it, too. Why not?”

  “Hey, they’re still wet!” said Song Young Tae fingering the clothes piled in the other guy’s arms. The young man took a look at me, put them in a large plastic basin, and took them outside.

  “We’re about to eat, so . . .”

  “What, is laundry garbage or something? Why can’t we eat with wet clothes hanging to dry?”

  In the middle of the room was a round table with a large pot, bottles of soju, and glasses. Mi Kyung took the lid off and sniffed.

  “Imbeciles! What kind of food is this?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Song made it. It’s good, actually.”

  “Did you decide to experiment, using my birthday as an excuse?”

  Song Young Tae was shameless as ever.

  “What’s your problem? It is a dish called mapa tofu. Don’t complain about it until you’ve actually tried it.”

  “Mapa tofu? I see pork and tofu, but what is this?”

  “Oh, we bought some fish cakes but we didn’t know what to do with them, so I just added them in there.”

  Mi Kyung gave them a look before she went out to the kitchenette. I was thoroughly enjoying this little commotion while I walked around the room. The window over the courtyard was small, but directly opposite it was a larger window, and the room was quite cool, thanks to the breeze. I stood in front of the larger window that had been revealed when they took down the wet clothes. We were pretty high up, and I could see clusters of slate roofs below and the brightly lit office buildings further away.

  “Do you see the line of lights beyond all the neon signs? That’s the ocean. You can see it clearly during the day,” said Song Young Tae as he stood behind me.

  “It’s better than what I expected,” I whispered.

  “Isn’t it? Mi Kyung found an ideal spot. So I come here from time to time to escape the heat, even though I have to suffer her abuses.”

  I saw that Mi Kyung’s boyfriend was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall.

  “Have things calmed down a bit?” I asked.

  “Who knows? I’m a missing person. Everything’s different now, my name, my job.”

  It was a story I had heard before. Hyun Woo had told me in detail what he did when he had to go underground, so the neighborhood and the atmosphere did not seem so unfamiliar.

  “What are you doing these days?”

  “Working at a factory. I’m a lathe technician. I’ve got the license, too.”

  “And you’re about to stir things up again?”

  “No, no, that’s not it. I don’t want to rule over anyone. I’m just a friend who can assist them. I want them to stand on their own and be the owners of their lives.”

  Song Young Tae finally introduced me to the young man sitting on the other side of the room.

  “This is Ki Hun. He works at the same factory as Mi Kyung. They’re the same age, too, and they’re friends. This is Han Yoon Hee, my friend.”

  Ki Hun smiled shyly and nodded. I continued to question Song Young Tae.

  “You’ve been here for a year now?”

  “No, I was actually in Anyang learning how to use a lathe with friends.”

  “And you never contacted your family?”

  “I sometimes sent a word or two, but I haven’t done that in a while. No news is good news, as far as they’re concerned.”

  “But are you really okay? I mean your health.”

  I looked at his hollow cheeks and his coarse, dry skin. Song Young Tae flexed his muscles to show off his biceps.

  “I eat well, I feel better, I think I’m actually healthier now,” he said.

  “Well, I guess that’s a good thing then. So you plan to live here for a while?”

  “For a while? I’m going to spend the rest of my life here,” he replied in a lighthearted tone.

  Somehow, his cheerfulness sounded ominous to me.

  After that night, I did not see him again for a year or so. When we parted he promised to keep in touch through Mi Kyung, but she did not call me, not even once. They were busy, conspiring. Later I found out that they were managing numerous study groups and clubs in the industrial area. They even led a demonstration in their neighborhood under the banner of Laborers and Students United.

  They were able to march all the way into downtown Seoul, even to the front of an American army base. I thought I could find my way back to Mi Kyung’s house, but I knew that I should not visit them unless they asked me to, for their safety.

  I finished my degree in the spring of 1987. And I found a teaching position at a college in a small city, where I spent two days a week. That spring, strikes and demonstrations seemed to go on endlessly, and by early summer the whole coun
try seemed to be protesting, denouncing the government for the death of a young university student called Park Jong Chul who was tortured to death, and demanding an amendment to the election law. By June, the resistance was reaching its climax. Urged by my classmates, I joined a cultural organization and was asked to participate in many protests and demonstrations. From old men with white hair to young woman like me, we all marched together in downtown Seoul, the crowd flooding every street corner. I did not know that I had the energy left in me, but I screamed and yelled with the others. We covered our mouths with masks or plastic bags to withstand tear gas and pepper spray, and we threw bricks, even though they did not travel very far. All over the country, millions of people from all walks of life rushed into the street. We were full of hope at the time. We thought we could remove the military dictatorship and build a new world where everyone could live like human beings. When the government took one step back and declared that a presidential election would be held later that year, the resistance quieted. That was the beginning of our failure. The laborers’ struggle for their rights was just beginning, but the masses did not participate. For them, the only thing that mattered was the election of a new president and a change of power in government. When the June resistance was over, the summer vacation began. That was when Song Young Tae called me.

  “Miss Han? It’s me, Young Tae.”

  “Hey, how are you?”

  Although it had only been a year since Mi Kyung had helped us see each other using her birthday as an excuse, it felt like a decade. We spoke like survivors inquiring about each other after a war had ended.

  “Are you still staying there? I guess not much is going on these days.”

  “Well, something’s going on. I’m at a hospital.”

  “Why? Are you sick?”

  “Yeah, the same thing I had before. I’m a lot better now, though. I’ve been wondering how you are.”

  “It’s about time you come back to the big wide world. You should go back to school, too. Where is the hospital? I’ll come see you.”

  So I headed to a sanatorium run by a Catholic organization outside of Seoul. Because of my commute to work I had bought a car, and I had gotten quite used to driving on highways. I liked that I could be so mobile, going wherever, whenever I wanted. And I liked the solitude of driving on an empty road. The machine once more confirmed what an individualist I was, how much happier I was not having to mingle with too many people. It was weird imagining Song Young Tae at this clean and quiet sanatorium located among rolling hills. Many nurses were nuns, and one of them took me to the exercise room.

  Song Young Tae was dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of hospital-issue pants, and he was absorbed in a game of ping-pong. When he saw me approaching, he put down the paddle and forfeited the game. While others stared at us, he came up to me and extended his hand for a handshake. I felt a little awkward, but I accepted it.

  “You look good,” I said.

  Song Young Tae took me to the garden in front of the hospital. We sat on a bench under a tree, looking out over an open field. I knew he had had tuberculosis in the army and in prison, and I remembered that Jung Hee had told him she saw something in his X-ray when we had first met.

  “They tell me it’s gotten a lot worse,” Song Young Tae said. “I need to rest and take medicine for at least a year.”

  “That’s a good thing, a chance for you to take a break.”

  “I can’t stand it. I feel like I just ran away from it all.”

  “Isn’t it almost over? There’s going to be an election.”

  “The fact is, this is only the beginning. Nothing has changed yet.”

  “What is it that you really want?”

  “For the people to have real power. To get rid of the Yankees and their puppets.”

  “You should just take care of yourself now. I don’t want anything anymore, just for Hyun Woo to come back.”

  “You’ll probably have to wait for a while. The transitional period will last longer than people expect.”

  “How are your friends? Are they all well?”

  “Many in the core have been arrested. But I think there are still plenty in the field. I just don’t think I can go back there again.”

  “No, your job from now on is to take care of yourself and live well. Who can object to that? You did everything that you could.”

  “Maybe I should go back to school, concentrate on studying.”

  “No one can deny that you have the potential. I bet your parents are relieved, too.”

  He blinked a few times, then rubbed his eyes as if he had something in them. Then he started to cry.

  “Hey, hey there, big guy, what’s going on?”

  “I just . . . I just regret . . .”

  Without thinking too much about it, I put my arm around his shoulder, and he buried his head in my chest. We sat there, just like that, for a long time.

  “I think I should go.” I patted his back a few times and got up. I did not want him to feel awkward about it, so I stared down at the ground and avoided meeting his eyes.

  The summer vacation was ending, and I was preparing for the fall semester when I received a thick envelope delivered to the college I was working at. On the outside was written “From: Chae Mi Kyung.”

  Dear Yoon Hee,

  It’s me, Mi Kyung. I’m still at the same place, alive and well. As for Mr. Song, I believe you may know by now what happened to him. He was working all through the night at the factory when he threw up blood and fainted. We discussed the situation among the group and collectively decided to hand him over to his family. I was going to contact you as soon as it happened, but he did not want me to, saying that he would do it himself. I think he must have contacted you by now.

  Everyone’s so tired and exhausted, I don’t know if we can go on. But we do believe that this summer was a crucial turning point, and we’ve been preparing diligently for the last few months to form a labor union. It is not the decisive moment yet, but we think each factory should develop a core group at this point.

  Here in my factory, four of us former students were sent in by last year. But the higher-ups decided that only one unit should take the lead, while the rest of us had to remain undercover, careful not to be exposed while remaining spectators. This was not the case everywhere, but quite similar things have been happening everywhere, including in heavy industry where Mr. Song was working. The workers put up a tremendous fight this summer. They were totally prepared for it, too. They are not the submissive, meek workers of the past. They’re determined to claim their rights, and some of them are taking a step further, ready to go beyond forming a union and become a real political force. We did not have to spend a long time changing their minds and educating them as we did in the past.

  We started by distributing newsletters to various groups and clubs within the factory. There are 2,500 employees in our factory, and about 400 of them are female. We make refrigerators and washing machines, and we’ve started producing air conditioners as well. If you’re a man who has graduated from a vocational school and finished his military service, you get paid 5,300 won a day, but if you’re a woman it is 3,700 won a day, no matter what. If we meet the quota there is a 50 percent bonus, and there is something called a special allowance for risky operations, which never gets distributed among the floor workers. The old-timers and section chiefs split the money among themselves. The average overtime per month is about one hundred hours, and two days out of the week are all-nighters. If there’s a deadline for delivery, we go into special overtime, which happens at least a couple of times a month. If the overtime lasts longer than four hours, we get bread as a snack, and during the all-nighters they serve us rice or milk. There is no holiday except for Sundays. We’re supposed to get a couple of vacation days per month, but that’s in name only. Untaken holidays are covered with extra allowances, and no one gets to rest.

  At least the working environment is not as dangerous as it is for others, since we deal
with electronics. Most accidents result in slight injuries, unlike other places dealing with steel or chemicals, where something disastrous happens every week. Instead, it’s dusty in the factory and there is very little air circulation. There is a locker room with showers, but no one trusts the water quality, and I have never seen anyone actually using them. For fun, there are various circles and clubs, such as a soccer team, a baseball team, a hiking club, a fishing club, and the women’s club. And then there’s the kusadae union, the “company protection unit.” They don’t mingle with the rest of us, and they call themselves a union even though they work for the benefit of the owners, not the workers, and they are the first ones sent to clash with us on behalf of management.

  Through these various groups and clubs, we met experienced and insightful workers whose thoughts were similar to ours. They became the core, and we hoped for them to lead us. We guided them toward analyzing the political situation and studying the labor law or reading certain books, while they told us about what kind of life an ordinary worker had and how to organize them into a force. It is amazing progress compared to four or five years ago, when our predecessors had to operate alone and in secret, unable to accomplish much before they were fired and arrested.

  You remember Chung Ki Hun, the man you met when you came to my place? He is my colleague and comrade. He did not even graduate from elementary school. His mother passed away when he was young and he was raised by a step-mother. He left home when he was in fifth grade. After he got to Seoul, there was not a job he did not have, from delivering Chinese food to working at a sweatshop. When he was fifteen he committed a petty crime, and he was sent to a juvenile home where he passed high school equivalency exams. Sometimes, a good thing can come out of the worst situation, too. I think that even in the most horrendous circumstances, certain people turn out differently due to their natural intelligence and their effort to live correctly. He’s been working here for about three years now, and he is considered a good technician. Remember how profoundly moved we were by the life of Chun Tae Il? But here, I’ve met so many Chun Tae Ils.16 They are not the workers of the past.