From Wonso Pond (32 page)

Sinch'ol felt sick to his stomach. He knew that the girl eating shaved ice had caused him to entertain these unpleasant—indeed, positively sickening—thoughts. As he wandered on the rooftop, he pulled from his pocket the newspaper that Pamsongi had given him last night. He opened up the paper and turned straight to the political page. As he scanned the prominent headlines, the pangs of hunger in his stomach
became unbearable, and he felt in the pounding of his head the beginning of a migraine.

Then he noticed from the corner of his eye that the couple who'd been sitting next to him were going inside to the flower exhibition. He collapsed back into one of the chairs. Judging from when the noon siren had gone off, he guessed that it was somewhere around two-thirty or three o'clock. A continuous stream of people were coming and going on the rooftop. But he was so famished that he could hardly focus his eyes on them. His mouth was bone dry and his stomach was growling. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. If his mother had still been alive and he'd run away from home, thought Sinch'ol, she would surely have . . . No, she would never have even let him leave in the first place, never mind let him go hungry to the point where he could hardly move! He resented his father. And he needn't even waste the energy to think of his stepmother. He even resented poor little Yongch'ol, who was hardly old enough to understand what had happened. At the same time, he knew full well that it was cowardly for him to think this way.

If only he had five chon
,
he wouldn't be so hungry . . . Five chon! Only five chon! He could see the nickel coin before his eyes now. It was slightly smaller than the ten-chon coin, and thinner. He was going hungry because he didn't have one of these simple five-chon coins! With this thought on his mind, he quickly took a look behind him. If he was lucky, the couple might have left behind a five-chon coin after paying for their shaved ice. He peered over to their table, but he couldn't see anything there.

The young couple came out of the exposition hall, having bought a parrot.

“
Konnichi wa.
Hello there,” said the girl, staring into the cage.

Both of them laughed. How many five-chon coins had they spent on that thing, Sinch'ol wondered, counting in his head all the coins they must have handed over to buy it. As he glanced at the two of them, it struck Sinch'ol that had he only married Okchom, he too would probably be shopping right now, buying things just like that parrot.

I wonder if Pamsongi is back yet, thought Sinch'ol, once the two had disappeared. I better go and find out. He could be out delivering the evening edition soon, he thought, quickly standing up to go. But the view was dizzying, and he felt like he was being spun around and around. He grabbed a chair to get his bearings, and for a moment just stood staring
ahead. The thought entered his mind that he wouldn't hesitate, for even an instant, if someone came up and offered him five chon to jump. Perhaps it was precisely because he thought about it in these terms that he now saw the distance shorten, little by little, between the rooftop up here and the ground down there.

80

Sinch'ol took the elevator to the basement floor. As he got out of the elevator, he saw a woman he knew coming straight toward him and panicked. He dodged her by heading toward the restaurant. Pretending to look over the food in the display case, he waited anxiously for the woman to go upstairs, but she seemed to be intent on finding something, and he could see she was still walking around the store. Glistening on the other side of the glass in the display case were neatly arranged samples, curried rice, egg
donburi
, sushi, just waiting there to dry out uneaten. His hunger was so intense that he couldn't bear looking at them any longer—he turned around without thinking.

“Sinch'ol? Is that you?”

The woman walked right up to him. Sinch'ol removed his hat and clutched it with both hands behind his back. Then he pressed up against the display case so that she wouldn't see his tattered shoes.

“Oh, it's so nice to see you again,” he answered.

“Now, tell me, why haven't you come over to visit?”

“ Well . . . I . . . I've been ever so busy.”

The fact that he was standing in front of a restaurant made him feel all the more humiliated. If only this woman would just get the hell out of here! he thought to himself, but it seemed as though she had no intention of budging.

“Well, I really must be going now,” he said, slowly taking a few steps backward. The woman gave him the once-over, as though something about him wasn't quite right.

“Okay, well, good-bye then. And do stop by sometime.”

“Yes . . . yes, I will.”

Sinch'ol made his way through the Mitsukoshi doors as though he had been running for his life. As he let out a deep sigh of relief, he could feel the beads of sweat slowly dripping down his back. He was so itchy that it felt like he was being eaten alive by lice. But he was far too conscious
of the people passing by him to do anything like give himself a good scratch. As he walked, the sweat kept pouring down him.

He made his way into Pon-jong. From both his left and right sides came a cacophony of sounds filling the streets—records blasting from storefronts, Japanese wooden clogs clanking against the asphalt, the hustle and bustle of people buying and selling in the shops. And the flood of people, swimming through the middle of it all like fish in water! All of them with chins held high and arms and legs swinging with such vigor.

Sinch'ol's shoulders were slouched over even further now, and his back was itching like crazy. Just then he caught the powerful scent of pomade in the air, and he noticed a young Japanese man walking toward him. He was dressed for the season in a cool
yukata
, and his hair was glistening with perfumed oil. His face was glowing as though he'd just come out of the bath. This suddenly made Sinch'ol conscious of an odor emanating from his own body. He felt as though he was dragging along on feet made of lead.

He passed through Yongnak-chong and crossed through HwanggÅ­mjong to the Sup'yo Bridge. As soon as he made it there, he stuck his hand underneath his shirt and then reached behind to scratch himself as he collected his thoughts. Well, he's probably gone back to the newspaper office by now, he thought. Maybe he'll be coming out soon to deliver the evening edition. Sinch'ol made his way quickly through Chinatown and finally came to Chongno. He was surprised by how empty it was. Though the streetcars were still speeding back and forth, there were hardly any people riding inside them; it all seemed so desolate. He went to Pamsongi's house, but no one was home, so he headed over to where his friend delivered papers. Soon he heard the sound of someone ringing a bell in the distance, and there was Pamsongi, coming straight toward him. Pamsongi's eyes lit up in surprise at the sight of Sinch'ol, but he gestured for him to come his way.

Sinch'ol followed him into an alleyway. Pamsongi took a quick look in each direction and spoke to him in a whisper.

“It's been decided that you're going to Inch'on. Now make sure you get on a train tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“Inch'on? Fantastic! That means that I . . .”

Sinch'ol wiped the sweat off his brow. Then he smiled almost sadly. Pamsongi took out three one-won bills from his wallet and handed them over to Sinch'ol.

“Use this for the train fare and for whatever other expenses you might have. When you get to Inch'on, you'll probably have to go straight to the day-labor market . . . Let me give you this address in Inch'on.”

Pamsongi took out a scrap of paper and a pencil and wrote something down. After looking at it for a while, Sinch'ol nodded his head. His friend put the scrap of paper in his mouth and chewed on it, looking carefully down the alleyway.

“Okay, well . . . take care . . .”

Pamsongi hurried off with a bounce in his stride. Perhaps because he was now clutching three won in his hand, Sinch'ol too felt somewhat lighter on his feet than before. As he came out of the alleyway, he made up his mind to stop somewhere for a bowl of
udon
. He remembered what Pamsongi had written down on the scrap of paper: Mr. Kim Ch'olsu, No. 3 Oeri, Inch'on. Sinch'ol repeated this once again to insure he wouldn't forget it.

81

Sinch'ol ate two five-chon bowls of
udon
in front of the Umigwan movie theater, and only then did he come back to life. He bought a small packet of rice and a few loaves of bread and made his way home. Lying on the floor with towels tied around their heads, Ilp'o and Kiho quickly sat up when they saw Sinch'ol come in. They each snatched a loaf of bread and started hungrily biting off large pieces.

“What happened? You bought bread, you got rice. Did you strike it rich today, or what?”

Only after finishing his loaf of bread could Kiho bring himself to ask the question.

They both noticed that Sinch'ol had walked in with a full stomach, and they were trying to figure out if he still had money left in his pocket.

“Give me a five-chon coin,” said Ilp'o. “I've got to get a swig of
makkolli
. I don't see how anyone can live like this.”

The rims of his eyes were red, and the hand he stuck out toward Sinch'ol was like that of an opium addict, bleached of all color.

“Oh, hell! We don't even have firewood and you want to waste our money on booze. Give me some money for firewood, Sinch'ol. I'll go get some wood so we can cook our rice.”

Both of these guys had a hand thrust out toward him. For the alcohol, Sinch'ol doled out ten chon, and for the firewood, thirty. He slipped off his jacket and flung it across the room. Then he took off his fedora and threw it to the floor.

Ilp'o and Kiho found the strength to go outside, while Sinch'ol peeled off his sweat-soaked underwear and hung it out to dry. He was determined never to let himself sink into such despair again. Hadn't he known how everything would turn out in the end when his father kicked him out of the house? Hadn't he known well before that? How vulgar it had been of him to indulge in such nostalgia about the past, just because he'd gone through a bit of hardship!

He was determined to rid himself of this vulgarity once he got to Inch'on by becoming a strong, true friend of the workers. Should he go down tonight by train? he wondered. Then he repeated the address to himself as he went back inside: Ch'olsu! No. 3 Oeri. He saw that Kiho seemed to have bought some firewood as well as a few vegetables for side dishes.

“Hey, we almost died waiting for you today, you know . . . And I've had just about all I can take of Ilp'o. He actually sat there all day long picking at his toes!”

Kiho laughed as he imitated Ilp'o's toe picking. Sinch'ol smiled, too. Then he wondered what these friends of his were going to do once he left for Inch'on. They'd be far better off by going back to the countryside, he thought, to give their wives some help on the farm. The more he tried to analyze their minds, the more amusing, even absurd, it seemed for them to want to stay here in this corner of Seoul, despite all their suffering.

Their only desire was to latch onto some sort of capitalist and start up a newspaper or journal with his financial assistance. In any case, they wanted to become leaders of the people and at least make their names well-known on the front lines of the movement. For them, it seemed, the only possible way to do this was to come to the center of it all and take charge of a publication. When they were hungry, as they were today, they didn't have a single word to say on the subject. But put a bit of food in their bellies and they quickly launched into a critique of what this newspaper or that journal was writing. Listening to them rattle on for a while was enough for anyone to think them first-rate polemicists.

The way Sinch'ol saw it, it was some sort of feudal heroism that fueled their ambitions and kept them blinded from a more clear-cut path of action; every time he looked at Ilp'o and Kiho, he was convinced that they would have to get rid of that old-fashioned, offensive petit-bourgeois mentality at the root of their thinking. And yet judging from what had happened to him today, it was clear that something similar had rooted itself deep inside his own mind.

The next morning Sinch'ol left the house, telling the others he'd be back soon. By the time he made it to Chongno and found a clock in one of the shops, it was almost time for his train to leave. He wondered whether he should jump on a streetcar or a bus. Just yesterday five chon had seemed like an enormous sum, but with a small fortune in his wallet now, he didn't feel like walking all the way to the station. Oh, to hell with it! I haven't been on one of these in months, he said to himself, catching up to the streetcar that had just passed him. He jumped onto it. The streetcar picked up speed and zoomed past the Hwasin Department Store on its way to HwanggÅ­m-jong. Once there, a crowd of men in suits, no doubt heading toward Yongsan, filled the car to capacity. Sinch'ol felt uncomfortable sitting there, wedged into his narrow seat. Each time he caught the eye of one of them, he could feel his heart in his throat: What if somebody I know is in here . . . Finally, he simply turned his head around to face outside.

His eyes fixed on a rickshaw in front of the Choson Bank that was heading straight toward him. The girl sitting inside it looked somewhat uncomfortable, as though she'd never ridden inside a rickshaw before. And as Sinch'ol took a closer look at the girl, he gasped and jumped out of his seat. He tried to push his way through the car full of people, but despite his best efforts, he just couldn't get through.

82

Rising one day at dawn, Sinch'ol put on the knee britches and light jacket that his friend Ch'olsu had brought to him. Then he pulled on his leg gaiters, slipped on his work shoes, and went outside.