Читать книгу Magnolia - Agnita Tennant - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Fate’s Favourite Child

The snow was getting heavier by the minute, flakes as large as a child’s fist. It fell on the top of the ever-deepening layer already on the ground. Houses, trees and all the other objects you could see stood still under its thick cover. It was the most enchanting scene that I had ever seen.

Miae and I were looking down on the courtyard from the window of our hotel room on the first floor. From the radio floated the mournful, sweet melody of Negro spirituals sung by Maria Anderson, making us feel sad and sweet too. In three hours’ time we would be catching the train back to Seoul.

Onyang was a famous spa town. Newly-married couples came here for their honeymoon. But for us it had been a few days of farewell treat. We had been the closest of friends since high school days in the provincial town, Chŏngju. We were the famous duo who sang duets at school concerts, she alto and I soprano; we were the dynamic chieftains leading our classmates in all aspects of school life. We frequented each other’s houses, treated like members of each others’ families. Our friends and teachers used to tease us calling us ‘The pair.’ Our ideals were of the loftiest, and to achieve them we worked hard with some proud results. On leaving high school we entered the universities of our choice through competition rates of twenty to one or more, the only two girls from this provincial town to get into the first-rate universities of Seoul. Miae went to the Law College of the Seoul National University and I to the College of Politics and Law of Y University. Surrounded by congratulations and encouragement from friends, teachers and families, we subconsciously had believed that our future paths would be as sunny and smooth as they had always been. There seemed no reason to believe it to be otherwise as long as we kept our heads clear.

Even though we now went to different colleges at opposite ends of the city, we scarcely passed a day without seeing each other. We were no longer a couple of chattering young girls, we were thoughtful intellectuals, brooding over serious matters like politics, life, God and love. Analysing, criticizing and then sometimes uncertain we often talked all through the night. Four years of college life, when it came to an end, seemed like a fleeting dream. It was during the last two that certain events had altered Miae’s life and these same events were to turn the course of my life also.

She had a brief but passionate love affair, which ended tragically. Though my closest friend, I learned that in matters of love there was nothing I could do to help except to comfort and support her choice of action whatever it might be. She had, after much anguish and inner struggle, chosen to enter a Catholic convent. Her parents were atheists. They declared that they would rather see her dead than a nun. Unknown to them who were conveniently out of the way living in the country, the arrangements went ahead so that in September the following year she was to enter a house of the Carmelite order in Taegu. Now that her path became clear she no longer wept or looked miserable. Knowing her as I did, I was certain that her decision was final. Whatever her motives may have been, I thought, it was an admirable choice to become a nun. At the end of December that year I got my monthly pay plus an equal amount of bonus from The Korean Academy and I thought it would be an excellent idea to spend the bonus on Miae to mark the grand finale to our friendship. I remembered that she had expressed a wish to get away to somewhere even for a few days. I took a week’s leave and decided on Onyang as our destination. It was our first ever holiday and I could afford a few days of luxury. I had chosen the most expensive suite in the hotel, and we enjoyed ourselves doing nothing in particular, and eating the most delicious things.

The radio music ended, and an unbearable sense of finality followed. We exchanged a sad smile, and then started singing a song of farewell in two parts.

Beyond the lake, the moon is setting,

while on the hill behind the dawn breaks,

Your eyes full of love, your face a vision of an angel

You smile as you say goodbye.

Jenny, my Jenny, must you go?

Jenny, my Jenny, how shall we part.

Our song came to an abrupt stop as down in the courtyard below our window we saw a smart gentleman emerging from the hotel entrance. We recognized him at once as Mr Kwŏn who we had met briefly the night before. Wrapped up in a sage-green overcoat with a hat and well-polished black shoes, he went across the courtyard and out of the main gate. He had around him, I thought, an air of poetic melancholy, probably reflecting my own mood.

‘I bet he knows we are watching him. He’s just too proud to look up and say hello to us,’ I grumbled.

‘You fancy him,’ said Miae, and imitating the voice of an old spinster, the domestic science teacher at high school whom we used to hate, added, ‘You’d better watch out. All men are hungry wolves.’ Merrily we laughed and went back to packing.

‘Still, I think he is a gentleman. What I can’t understand is how he dared to walk in here in his pyjamas. I was outraged. I nearly told him to get out.’

My mind was in a strange state so that I wanted to talk about him, whether it be praise or derision.

‘Knowing we were two women from Seoul, he thought we were the frivolous kind. That’s all.’ She said curtly.

I had known her when she had been a very sensitive yet positive and forceful girl, and then had watched the process of change taking place in her. When she had been hit by the bitter experience of love, she seemed to droop like frost-bitten grass, gradually losing interest in her surroundings. Recently she seemed to have recovered her reason, but remained cool towards the outside world.

‘I expect he’s just a simpleton and came over as he happened to be dressed at the moment.’

In my mind I went over what had happened the previous day.

It was very quiet in the hotel in the afternoon. We seemed to be the only guests in the whole establishment. Lying on our beds, we were singing our favourite songs one after another, between the usual chatter. Suddenly there was the sound of running footsteps and the hushed voices and laughter of people along the corridor outside. We took it as the male and female staff having a bit of fun among themselves, taking advantage of the quiet afternoon. Then there was a loud crash on the door of our room as if someone had been thrown against it. Then a dead silence as they made a stealthy retreat only to end up with a loud cry at the far end of the corridor. We did not take any notice and just carried on singing.

In the evening the maid who brought in our meal said, ‘I am very sorry we disturbed you this afternoon,’ and added ‘This is an apology from Mr Kwŏn, who is one of the guests from Seoul,’ and handed me a business card which said on one side: ‘Tong-hi Kwŏn, Lecturer, S Women’s University.’ On the back, scribbled in a flowing style was: ‘To the guests of Room 16. Our play got rather out of hand this afternoon. Though I hope you’ll understand as I hear you are from Seoul, I do apologize for the disturbance.’ Then the girl went on to say, ‘He wants to know whether you’d mind if he came to say hello in person.’

We exchanged a playful glance. ‘It won’t do any harm,’ we quietly agreed. On further inquiry we learned that he was on holiday doing some writing. ‘Writing?’ We were hooked by curiosity. Besides, we thought, a university lecturer can’t be a person to be on guard against. But the real reason for accepting Kwŏn’s self-invitation lay deeper. Miae and I were momentarily reminded of Mr Hyŏn, our mutual friend and hero.

Having just come out of the hot spring, our hair was still wet. Miae had hers permed short but mine was long and straight, loosely brushed over my shoulders. We were wearing the traditional Korean costume, ch'ima and jogori, hers of black satin and mine deep sea-blue silk. Mr Kwŏn followed the maid in his pyjamas with blue and white stripes. He looked around and said, ‘This room is freezing.’

After examining the fire-pot in the middle of the room he said to the maid, ‘Look, it’s going out. Take it away and fetch another, full of bright red coals.’ He used a familiar tone, as if to his own housemaid.

After we had exchanged our names he said, ‘I know you are from Seoul. Which college are you at?’

‘Miae did Law at Seoul National, and I did politics at Y.’

‘Gosh, women bachelors of law and politics!’ He said. I told him briefly about my job and then the conversation came to a halt, which was quite unexpected. In our experience with Mr Hyŏn such a thing had never happened. This man is a fool, I thought, in his silly pyjamas.

‘What were you doing this afternoon?’ I said, ‘For a moment we thought the Red Army was on the loose bashing things on its way. Do you like running about with kids?’ I said this in a contemptuous manner, just to provoke him so that he might try to defend himself, but all I got from him was a grunt of ‘Oh, yes, very much.’

Another awkward silence followed.

‘What subject do you teach?’ asked Miae.

‘English literature.’ Then we were faced with another dead end. I longingly thought of Mr Hyŏn. He would never have let us down like this. He used to make us feel so natural and at ease. The strength of our relationship had been its sexlessness. The way he treated us was such that the delicate feelings which might exist between unmarried men and women were kept out of the way. We had talked freely about all sorts of things.

While the awkward silence went on, my mind drifted from the present scene as I continued to think about Hyŏn.

We came to know Mr Hyŏn through our sixth-form teacher, Mr Chang. When we were going to Pusan, then the wartime capital, to sit our university entrance exams, Mr Chang gave us a letter of introduction. Mr Hyŏn would help us find lodgings and getting around in a strange city.

‘He maybe an even greater help to you, Sukey,’ he had said, because he did the same course as you are going to take at Y.’ Mr Chang told us in great detail what a remarkable man Hyŏn was. He came originally from North Korea, from a wealthy gentry family. Only he and his elder brother had managed to come over. As poor refugees they had been through great hardships in their early days in the South. His elder brother, determined to give his younger brother a good education, had sent him to school while he worked as a labourer and then as a market trader. Hyŏn proved to be a brilliant scholar and got through his school years always at top and every year winning a scholarship of one kind or another. Now he was a lecturer at a college in Pusan.

With all this knowledge, we met him as if we had known him all our life.

The exams took place at individual college sites. Probably because he was a graduate of Y, he was always hanging around the campus during the three-day exam period. He came to see me at breaks, and at lunch time he bought me something to eat, asking me what questions there had been and how I had answered them.

Once we started university life we did not see him very often. It was only when one or both of us needed his advice or help that we went together to his room at his college or to the modest house where he lived with his brother’s family. We were always warmly welcomed. On such occasions we greatly enjoyed his company. We went on talking for hours on end. When our bottoms ached or our legs felt cramped from sitting for too long on the hard ondol floor, we got up and went out to a nearby tea-room to continue. He was not only good at serious debate but also at making us laugh – we often laughed until our sides ached.

Our friendship continued in Seoul after the capital was recaptured.

In the depth of her affair Miae would discuss with him openly the relationships between men and women. On such occasions I felt left out and immature at not being able to contribute, but study-wise, I benefited greatly. In my third year I won first prize in a competitive debate organized by the Political Students Association. In my final year, I contrinuted a lengthy article entitled ‘The Neutral Diplomacy of India’ to the Association’s journal, which drew many complimentary remarks. On both occasions, needless to say, I owed much to discussions with Hyŏn.

In the previous year he had accepted an exchange scholarship from M State University in the United States. Occasionally when I was feeling lonely, I thought of him or rather, the thought of him made me feel lonely.

All through the time we had known him it had been rare for either of us to see him alone as if there had been an unspoken rule between us. Then a week before his departure to the States, I happened to bump into him in Myŏngdong. I was alone. It was a dusky evening in early autumn. The leaves on the trees were beginning to fall and drift about. He asked me to join him for dinner at a restaurant that we were just passing. He had finally got the visa that very afternoon. The whole procedure had been so complicated and tediously prolonged that now it was all complete, he felt as if he was going to be ill.

I don’t remember how it happened, but after dinner I found myself walking beside him up the slope that led to the Namsan Mountain. I had noticed earlier that evening that his face was thinner and wan. Now he looked completely forlorn. I had never known him to be like this.

‘You look very odd today.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know what it is, but you look sort of sad and lonely’

He looked down at me with one of his gentle smiles.

‘The season’s to blame, I suppose. It’s a sad and lonely time, isn’t it.’

We walked on along the parapet until we came to a point from which we could see a large part of Seoul sprawled out below. Through the blanket of mist, lights and rooftops of all sizes and shapes stood out like hundreds of flowers in a flowerbed. Around us the darkness grew stronger every minute and it looked as if an intoxicating scent was rising from it. We stood in silence. I thought I ought to say something to restore the cheerful atmosphere to which we were accustomed. There seemed to be a lot to talk about yet nothing important enough to break the silence.

To my relief he started humming the tune of a film that had been very popular, ‘Love is a many splendoured thing.’ I knew the lyrics in Korean translation but not in English. Soon I learned them from him and we walked down the hill quietly singing it in English. When we were at the foot of the hill that verged on the main road, I foolishly put a blunt question to him, ‘I wonder why you don’t get married.’

He wasn’t particularly impressed with it but I took one step further and asked what sort of woman would be regarded as ideal. In fact, these were questions that now and again had occurred to Miae and me. To my surprise he answered it with sincerity.

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘a girl with a normal family background, not necessarily rich, but brought up under both parents among sisters and brothers. I think such a girl would have a natural and balanced character. I am scared of neurotic women riddled with complexes.’ ‘Secondly,’ he went on, ‘a girl of above average looks, and thirdly – I am being exceedingly greedy – an educated woman who can take an interest in my studies and read English texts with me.’

The effect of these plainly spoken statements was such that I felt faint, as if a dagger of ice had pierced my heart. I was so embarrassed at this unexpected reaction on my side that the next moment I blushed deeply, thanking the darkness that hid it from him. What hurt me most was ‘normal family background...with both parents.’

My mother died when I was five. I was brought up by my father and grandmother until my father remarried when I was eleven. My family was full of complexity and going through a particularly difficult phase at that time. It was obvious that I belonged to a different class from such girls as he desired. As for my looks, assuming myself a born scholar, I paid little attention to them and never once thought of myself as beautiful. Unreasonably, I was upset with him for not having given the answer that I wanted to hear. Why couldn’t he have said, ‘I would like someone with a good brain, nice personality, well educated and with average good looks?’

He offered to see me off at the bus stop, but I politely declined and walked away. Not only did I not tell Miae about it but I carefully avoided even talking about him. On the day of his departure, I excused myself from going to see him off at the airport. When Miae, after going to the airport alone, told me that he had asked after me, I quickly turned my head blinking away my tears. That had been three months ago.

I was comparing the blissful silence I had shared with Mr Hyŏn at Namsan that evening to the awkward one of this moment with Mr Kwŏn.

Shortly he took his leave, saying, as if he had suddenly remembered, that his father was sending his car to take him to Seoul in the morning. If we’d like a lift we were welcome, he said. I slammed the door behind him as I stuck out my tongue as a gesture of contempt.

‘What an idiot!’

‘He’s like a zombie,’ said Miae. We rolled with laughter.

‘He must be a prince in disguise. Chauffer-driven car indeed!’ Private cars were indeed a rarity in these times, in the restoration period of our war-torn country. We wondered whether we should accept the offer of a lift. In a way it was tempting. Just to think that we could sing all the way to Seoul while being driven through the beautiful, snow-covered scenery. But in the end, before we went to bed, we decided against it to show him that we were not such flighty girls to accept an offer like this from a man who we had only met briefly.

No sooner had we called the maid and ordered two first class train tickets in the morning than was there a knock on the door. It was Mr Kwŏn in a smart suit of dark grey. He looked even more subdued than the night before.

‘Good morning Mr Kwŏn. You’ve been out early – we saw you,’ we greeted him cheerfully.

‘The snow is so beautiful. I went for a little walk.’ Then he added, ‘I’m afraid I have an apology to make.’

‘What about?’

‘My father phoned me early this morning. He needs his car for the next two days, so it would be Wednesday before he could send it.’ He looked troubled.

‘Oh, please don’t worry on account of us. We have already got our tickets anyway.’ We were pleased with ourselves. We set off in good time for the station, and had a cup of coffee in a tea-room. A few minutes before the train was due, we saw him walking into the station with a suitcase, but we had completely lost interest in him.

‘I just remembered I have a meeting tonight. So here we are, together again.’ But we did not look on him as our companion. Besides, his seat was far away from ours, so that we never spoke to him all the way. Outside the train, the world lay in total submission to the reign of snow, deep under its cover. The sky was grey and heavy, and snow continued to fall.

Quite unexpectedly, Mr Han was waiting for us at the station in Seoul. Miae looked very pleased. As she handed her bag over to him she gently brushed the snow off his shoulder, and said, ‘I wonder how you knew we were coming back today. Are you well?’

I walked a few steps behind them. He was a law student, a year behind Miae at her college. I knew him as an admirer of her, but more as a younger brother than a boy-friend. He had been strongly opposing her plan to enter the convent.

After a week’s leave, I went back to work. It was now early February. The last of the severe weather still hung on, day after day. Miae’s calls at my office became scarce. At one time she had popped in almost daily, but now she made her appearance once every three or four days, sometimes only once a week. Even on these visits, she did not stay as long as she used to, lingering on into coffee or tea breaks. Our meetings after work also became rare, but I did not worry too much as I thought she was preparing herself for the great event in September. I was busy myself brushing up my English and the national history as I intended to sit for the government exams that qualified students to go abroad.

Nearly a month had passed since our return from Onyang. One day, a few minutes before the closing time Miae turned up, out of breath.

‘I thought I had missed you. Come with me, I’ll buy you supper.’ She looked happy and excited. Outside Mr Han was waiting. The three of us went to a Music Room. One table away from Han, she sat opposite me and started in a whisper. ‘I hope I am not turning into the type of women that you and I despise.’ She said that recently she had been seeing Han everyday. He had proposed to her and was awaiting her reply. If she accepted him he wanted to become engaged in March. She knew it was wrong but could not resist his love. I thought I ought to look pleased but felt a sort of betrayal. I wasn’t at all sure about my feelings, when I said, ‘It’s entirely up to you, dearest. All that matters is your own happiness. As long as you don’t abandon our principles, you can’t go wrong, can you?’ By ‘Principles’ I must have meant the rationality that we had so highly upheld. Then the three of us had supper and I came away.

Next day I had a phone call at the office from Mr Kwŏn, the man we had met at Onyang. He said that as The Korean Academy was much being talked about among his colleagues, he was intending to come and see it himself, bringing a friend with him.

‘What would be a convenient time?’

‘Anytime between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.’

‘Is it true that Dr Kang is the Director?’

‘Yes. Do you know him?’

‘I haven’t met him personally, but he will know me when I explain who I am.’

‘Very well. Hope to see you soon, goodbye.’

He never came and I had nearly forgotten him when he rang again in the middle of March. He said he had been in Pusan on family business.

‘It is such a lovely weather. I wondered if you and your friend would like to come out for a little walk tomorrow. The Academy is closed on Sunday, I expect?’

Though reluctantly, I accepted his invitation. Indeed it was beautiful spring weather. When I went to Miae’s next morning wearing my favourite dress she was in bed thick with flu. I brought up the subject of Kwŏn, but she did not show the slightest interest. Going out in her condition was out of the question. Besides, Han was due to call on her shortly. Wishing I hadn’t promised to go, I went alone to the appointed tea-room.

‘Hello, Miss Yun, how good of you to come.’ He was obviously delighted to see me coming alone. He started to explain why he had to be away for so long. For family reasons he had to change his job and arrange a transfer to Pusan University. Fortunately, he said, the Chancellor was a close family friend and was only too pleased to have him as a member of his staff.

‘We won’t be able to see each other so often now,‘ he said in a solemn tone.

‘You make it sound as though we have done before,’ I said jokingly. He was instantly cheered up by my light mood.

‘Sukey, you are not as simple and straightforward as you look, are you?’ I noticed him dropping off the respectful ‘Miss Yun’ and calling me by my first name.

‘By the way, did you ring me at the college?’ he asked.

‘Why should I?’

‘There was a message on my desk saying a lady had phoned. I thought it might be you.’

Then he fell into silence and sat there thoughtfully like an object up for inspection. And inspect him I did. With strong eyebrows, large, expressive eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, a high straight nose and a firm mouth, it was an attractive face. His light coat, shirt, tie and tie-pin showed a refined taste. As we stepped out of the tea-room, a breeze ruffled his tie and brought a whiff of a scent of the lily of the valley. The idea of a man using scent would have repelled me before but it seemed to suit him. I liked it. We walked up the slope and stopped at the spot where I had stood with Hyŏn on that particular evening of the previous autumn. I compared the two men bobbing up and down on my horizon, the one with a mature, rich personality, heroically encountering the whole world, and the other with the look of a fairy-tale prince, trimmed and polished, nervous and rigid, and probably pampered by rich, adoring parents. I longingly thought of Hyŏn, but at the same time felt resentment. He hadn’t sent me or Miae so much as a single postcard since he had left.

To change my mood, I said, ‘Miae is going to be engaged soon,’ and told him briefly how she had been set on becoming a nun, but had been miraculously won over by Mr Han.

‘It shows that the power of love is stronger than the persuasion of parents or friends.’ This rather trite statement moved me deeply. Only when I look back do I realize that Miae, my long-time comrade and support, having fallen in love and deserted me, had left me emotionally vulnerable. Subconsciously, I must have felt a need to fill the gap she had left. Things were out of my control. I was ready to be impressed by anything he said.

‘So that’s why you look so forlorn today,’ he said. I ignored this and walked on.

‘You are from Yonsei University? I expect you’ve got plenty of boys after you.’

‘Well, if I had gone to a co-ed school because I was boy-hunting, no doubt I would, but I didn’t. Why? Do I look like that kind of girl?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. But surely you have at least a steady boyfriend?’

‘No, I haven’t actually.’ I strongly denied his supposition, and as I did so, I suddenly felt very shy. By denying this so emphatically had I not invited him to court me?

He bought an expensive lunch, and as a token of thanks I offered to buy the coffee. Sitting opposite him across the table in the coffee shop, I suddenly knew I was falling in love with him. That evening I told my sister Sŏnhi about him.

It was the time when everybody was trying to pick up the pieces from the ashes in the wake of the Civil War. Poverty stricken, most people went hungry. For parents who had daughters of marriageable age, the highest they could hope for was a man who had no debts, a house of his own, however small it might be, and who was able to keep his wife decently fed and clothed. A chauffer-driven family car, elegant clothes, good looks and a job as a college lecturer, these were conditions good enough to win my sister’s consent for a further relationship with him.

‘You really are a lucky girl. You’ve always been Fate’s favourite child, haven’t you?’ She was very happy for me. ‘Just think how lucky you were to get your job just like that when there is a years’ backlog of unemployed graduates all over the country...’

She started talking about those several occasions in the past that had shown how lucky I was, as if to reassure herself that nothing could ever go wrong with me in future.

While I was at college, my father had gone bankrupt. The beginning of each term had been a time of great anxiety for the family because of my registration fees. They were an enormous sum of money for a man in debt. Many times, in despair, I was prepared to leave college and get a job instead. Then the day before, or a day after the closing date a handsome sum of money, for quite unexpected reasons, came into my troubled father’s possession. Similar miracles happened several times. As he handed the money to me with no grudge, father said, ‘You were born under a lucky star, child. Fated to carry on with your study, eh? Remember to do it well.’

My sister and I lay in bed side by side till the late hours, reminiscing before we blissfully fell asleep.