The air was crisp on that ordinary November day. At dusk, a loud banging came from the gate. Kungu and Sonju were drinking tea in the living room. They set their cups down. The banging continued, rattling the metal lock. Kungu went to the gate while Sonju watched through the half-open glass door.
“Who is it?” he asked, his hand on the lock.
“Taegil,” a man’s voice yelled out.
Kungu hesitated a moment before opening the gate.
A rough-looking fellow in a brown sweater stepped in, strands of his overgrown hair almost touching his eyes. “Hey buddy!” His voice was loud. “A promising banker, I hear.”
Kungu pushed the gate halfway, turned slightly and hesitated again, then turned back to the man. “Why are you here?”
“What kind of greeting is that to a war buddy? Have you forgotten me?” He nudged Kungu with his forearm with a toothy grin. “It’s me, Taegil. We fought together.” He strutted into the courtyard.
Kungu walked alongside the man, keeping a distance between them. “How did you find me?”
Halfway to the living room, the man stopped when he noticed Sonju watching him. Kungu stopped too. The man sharply pivoted and lifted his arms in a shooting stance. “Pow!” He jerked his head backward as if he were shot.
Kungu froze, his face suddenly pale, gaze blank. Sonju immediately sensed something ominous. Her heart stopped.
The man cocked his head, thrusting his face into Kungu’s. “Aren’t you well?”
Kungu stood still as if he didn’t hear the man. Sonju rushed to the man and pointed to the gate. “You should leave.”
“But I’m his war buddy,” the man protested as he backed away and out of the gate. She slammed the gate shut and locked it.
Kungu was still standing in the same spot. Her chest hammering, she put her arm around his waist and led him to the bedroom. He sank to the floor and stared straight ahead. Even when she sat in front of him studying his face, his blank eyes still stared through her at the same spot as if she were invisible.
“What is it?” She asked. “Kungu, look at me.”
“Ohhh …” He closed his eyes and moaned. “Forgive me.”
“What is it? Tell me.” She grabbed his shoulders and shook them. “Look at me!”
His eyelids lifted slowly, and hardly moving his lips, he talked to himself, “I see it. Why didn’t I before?”
Sonju shook him again. “What do you see?”
“Something happened during the war … I did something.”
“What did you do?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were far away.
She shook him. “Tell me. What did you do?”
He took a deep breath and looked at Sonju. He started talking but sounded more like talking to himself. “Taegil and I fought side by side near Waegwan all day. It was getting dark. I couldn’t see well. Explosions like lightning, then dark again. Gunshots from everywhere, artillery fire, grenades. A bullet passed by my ear. I didn’t expect the enemy so close. Right then, another explosion bright as daylight. I saw a figure. He saw me, too. I pulled the trigger. It happened so fast, yet it seemed like hours, everything moving slowly, and him falling backward.”
“That’s war. You were almost shot. Kill your enemy, that’s what soldiers do in time of war.”
“I recognized him. Why did I shoot him? Why?”
Hiding her fright, she searched his eyes. “Who did you recognize?”
“It … it was my cousin I killed. I see it clearly now.”
For a moment, all she saw was darkness. She heard him mumble, “Taegil must have known. He said I talked in my sleep.”
“Did he tell you what you said?”
“No, he just gave me an odd smile. It stuck with me,” Kungu choked down a cough a few times. “I must have blocked …”
Her heart was drumming. She tried to keep her voice calm. “We’ll sort this out together.”
Remain calm, carry on a normal routine, she told herself. “Do you want more tea?”
His nod barely showed.
She brought tea to the room, and they sipped slowly staring into space. Must say something ordinary to break the silence, she told herself again, but when their eyes met, she only managed a faint smile and a squeeze of his hand.
He patted her hand and put it aside. “I feel a headache coming. We’re out of aspirin. I’ll get some. Do you need anything from the drug store?” He said, sounding casual.
“No, but I’ll go,” she said, still worried.
“No, you stay here. Fresh night air would be good for me.”
The drug store was only a ten-minute walk. Half an hour passed, but Kungu didn’t come. Sonju washed the cups in the kitchen, returned to the living room, and listened for the gate opening. At nine-thirty, Sonju went to the bedroom, laid the yo on the floor, and paced. He was all right, wasn’t he? Nine-fifty. It seemed an eternity.
He finally came home at ten-twelve with aspirin and a paper bag.
“I bought the aspirin and took it at the drug store. On the way home, I stopped by the roasted chestnut stand and waited for a fresh batch.” He handed her a brown bag. “Your favorite.” He smiled.
“Thank you. It’s still hot. How is your headache?”
“It’s going away.”
“I’m glad. Let me get a bowl for the chestnuts.”
When she returned with a bowl, he seemed fine. He had bought chestnuts for her.
Sitting next to her with a small paring knife, he peeled the charred shells. Black soot and brown fuzz collected under his fingernails.
She ate the naked yellow nuts Kungu handed her. “They’re so good. Thank you.”
He kept shelling and she kept eating. He ate one and teased her. “You ate all but one.”
He was all right, she thought. Back to his normal self. He even joked and smiled. “You kept giving them to me.” Sonju returned the smile. Things were well again.
Sonju woke up to the subdued early light coming through the windows. She nudged Kungu. “Wake up. You’ll be late for work.”
There was no response. She sat up and shook him. “Kungu, wake up.” He was still. She shook him again. Her heart dropped.
She placed her ear to his nose and touched his neck to check for a pulse. His skin was cool. “No!” she screamed. She put her ear close to his nose again. “No!” Smoothing his hair, she cried, “Wake up, Kungu. Get up!” She lay close to wrap her arm around him, his body so still. When her cheek touched his, she got a chill. “Kungu, tell me this isn’t true. This can’t be.” She sat up, stared at him, and cried. She lay next to him, held his cool hand, and talked to him to his ear, “You could have talked to me. We could have pulled through this together.” She sat up again and wept.
She didn’t hear the gate open and close but heard quick footsteps outside her door.
The maid barged into the room without knocking. “What’s wrong? I heard you ...” She looked at Sonju, then at Kungu, and fell to her knees, weeping.
Sonju shook Kungu, crying, “Tell me how I am to live without you.”
“Don’t stir the body. Let him be in peace.” The maid pulled Sonju’s arms away. “We have to notify the master’s uncle and the bank.” Standing up she said, “I’ll go,” and pointed at Sonju’s pajamas. “People will come.”
Kungu’s uncle and aunt came within half an hour.
“He was fine last night,” Sonju explained. “He was fine.” She wiped her tears on her sleeve. “Last night, he bought some roasted chestnuts. And he peeled them for me. I still have the peels.” As if to prove to herself how perfectly fine he had seemed, she went to the kitchen to retrieve the shells. There she found a water glass and three paper squares with traces of white powder on them. With shaking hands, she tucked the papers into her skirt pocket, brought the bowl of chestnut shells, and showed it to Kungu’s uncle and aunt.
The aunt glanced at the shells, then turning to Kungu, wept. “Look at you. You’re so young. You were like a son to me.”
Sonju gazed at the black crescent tips of Kungu’s fingernails. She kept repeating in her head, “I should have stayed up, should have watched him closer.”
The maid came in to say that a man from the bank was here.
“Let him in,” The uncle said.
The man came into the room, bowed to Sonju, then to Kungu’s uncle and aunt. “I am Kim Chonil. I am so sorry.” Kim Chonil. Just two days ago, Kungu had talked about inviting him for dinner next week perhaps, their first try at entertaining.
The uncle said to the man, “I am Kungu’s uncle. Thank you for coming.”
“Kungu was a good friend of mine, a classmate at the university.”
The uncle said the funeral would be in three days and the man left after saying he and others from the bank would attend the funeral.
Shortly after that, Kungu’s uncle rose saying he would be back. His wife told Sonju they would take care of the funeral and followed him out. After the uncle and aunt left, the maid went to the kitchen.
Sonju sat, looking at Kungu’s peaceful, gentle face, lips slightly open. She lay next to him with her arm on his chest, holding his unresponsive hand. She said quietly, “Kungu, you cannot die. We just started our lives together.”
The maid came in with a tray of food. “You have to eat something.” She gently pulled Sonju up to a sitting position and brought a spoonful of broth to her lips.
That afternoon, Kungu’s uncle returned in mourner’s attire of stiff hemp cloth over his wool suit. “We’re moving Kungu’s body to my house today.”
“No.” Sonju covered Kungu with her upper body, held him with both arms, and clung to him.
Two men walked in with a coffin.
The maid pulled up Sonju away from Kungu’s body and held Sonju from the back. She whispered to her, “You know people can’t come here where you live.”
Sonju lunged forward when she saw through her blurry eyes the two men lift Kungu, but the maid’s hold was firm. The men placed Kungu in the wooden box, closed the lid, and picked it up. Sonju tried to move toward the coffin, but the maid pulled her back and held her until all three men left the room.
The gate opened and shut with a clatter.
“I’ll lock the gate,” the maid said leaving the room.
Sonju lay on the yo, gazing at Kungu’s spot. “I came to you. Why did you die? I’m all alone, don’t you see?”
The maid returned to the room and said, “Earlier, my master’s uncle told me to stay with you tonight and tomorrow.”
“He took Kungu away,” Sonju said with bitterness. “He doesn’t want his people to see me.”
The maid covered her face with her hands and wept.
Sonju was quiet but tears kept coming. Soon she drifted into sleep and awoke in the darkest hour of the night. Kungu couldn’t be dead. Just the night before, she felt his warm body next to her, heard him say, “I love you.”
When she woke up again, the light was on and the maid was sitting next to the yo. She looked at the clock. “Three o’clock. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”
“That’s what I should’ve done, make sure he was all right. After that man came, he was not right. I thought he was, but he wasn’t.”
“What man?”
Without thinking, she said, “This man came yesterday evening. He called himself Kungu’s war buddy. When he made a gesture of shooting, Kungu’s face turned pale. After the man left, Kungu told me something happened during the war. A bullet almost hit him, and he pulled the trigger. It was his cousin he shot. It all came to him when the man made the shooting gesture.” She was feverish. “I thought everything was fine after we talked.”
She bolted up. She shouldn’t have said all that to this woman, to anyone. She searched the maid’s eyes. “No one can know about this. He died in his sleep, understand? This is the only thing I can do for him now.” Sonju didn’t want Kungu’s life to be shamed and his death questioned.
“No one will know,” the maid said.
Sonju had no one left who would stay beside her.
1952 November 16
My Daughter Jinju,
The man I loved died suddenly two days ago. I don’t know what to make of it. I can’t believe he is gone.
I wish you were here with me. I think I would be all right if I could be with you.
She whimpered and moaned, couldn’t continue the letter.
The day after the funeral, the maid said, “It doesn’t seem right to me that you couldn’t be there.”
The clanging of pots came from the kitchen, the splatter of water falling from the pump, the splash of washing and rinsing in the work area. Noises, noises were everywhere, so loud. Stop! No sound, please. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to shout ugly, angry words.
The maid brought a tray of tea. As she turned to go, Sonju reached out and touched the maid’s arm. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me these last few days. I don’t know how I would have been without your help. Now I must do on my own. I won’t need your service after today.”
“I understand, Ma’am.”
The maid must have thought she couldn’t afford her service. No matter. She needed physical work, needed to cry and throw things.
With just herself roaming in the house all day, there was no sound of life. “Why did you have to die, Kungu?” She asked the empty air again and again. “You said you were glad you were alive.” Their union was so brief, they had only nine months together. “I hate my mother. I hate my father. Go to hell, Taegil.” After repeating the same words four or five times, it seemed pointless. She stopped. She grabbed a damp rag and cleaned the whole house. Anger was watching her. She threw the rag again and again. She plopped down and cried. After her crying died down, she sat still taking in absolute silence as loud as a trumpet blowing in every crevice and in every molecule in the house. Everything was still, unmoving, even time.
At dusk, she lay on the yo and held his spare pajamas tightly in her arms, extended her arm and swept the yo surface with her hand. Such an indifferent white surface.
There had been signs, she realized now. Those confused looks on Kungu’s face, unfocused eyes, more frequent headaches. She shouldn’t have dismissed them. A week before he died, he had told her he had transferred most of his money into her account. He must have had a premonition. He had wanted her to move on.
On her sixth day alone, the maid came. “How are you doing?” she asked, lowering herself onto the floor.
“Thank you for asking. I’m doing better.” Sonju wondered why the maid had returned. Does she want something of Kungu’s, a keepsake?
An awkward smile crossed the maid’s face. She fidgeted, her hands knitting and unknitting, creasing her forehead. She parted her lips, ready to talk, only to close them. She cleared her throat. “I have to tell you something sinful I’ve done.” She dropped her head. “I’m the one who wrote the letter to your father-in-law about you and my master. I did that because my master, you know, he had a good future ahead of him. And he was such a decent man too. Never brought a woman to the house. After you started coming, neighbors started gossiping.”
The letter! Fire started in Sonju’s belly and filled her chest. She wanted to lunge at the woman. Without that cursed letter, she could have had Jinju with her right now. Her hands in balls and her jaws tightened, she trembled, not knowing what to do with them. She wanted to beat the woman with her fisted hands.
With downcast eyes, the maid continued, “From your letter, I figured you were a married woman because you have a Seoul accent but a country address.”
How clever of you, Sonju thought with venom in her eyes. The maid fidgeted again with her hands, then her eyes still lowered, said, “I was so furious that you were ruining my master’s future. But after you came to live with him, I realized you’re a nice lady and my master was so happy. I heard you mention your daughter and many times, I saw tears in your eyes. I asked myself, ‘Who am I to be so judgmental and get into other people’s business?’” She grabbed a corner of her skirt and wiped her eyes with it. “My guilt was eating my stomach, so I confessed to my master. He said my letter brought you to him. And now my master’s gone and you’re alone without anyone because of me. Damn me.” The maid hit her chest with her fist, then slumped down almost flat on the floor, crying.
Sonju glared at the woman, shaking. She wanted to pound on that woman’s back and shout, Give me back my daughter! Then she became afraid of her impulses to let loose of her fury and actually beat the woman and she might not be able to stop. She unfurled her hands and dropped her shoulders. After a few slow deep breaths, she took another look at the woman’s slumped body. Kungu had already forgiven this wretched woman. He wouldn’t have wanted Sonju to hurt her. She watched the weeping woman’s back and saw that he had his maid’s loyalty and eagerness to protect him. Besides, this woman didn’t have to confess, yet she did. Sonju respected that. She asked, “Would you work for me as you did for your master?”
The maid lifted herself and wiped her tears. “Of course, Ma’am.”
There were days Sonju didn’t cry. She thought of the days of cosmos flowers, the black stains under Kungu’s fingernails, and all the days in between. She often gazed out blankly or stared down at a lonely cup on the tray.
For several days in early December, the sky brooded, dropping its grey to the ground. The maid had gone grocery shopping. Sonju was in the bedroom folding Kungu’s laundered clothes and piling them up on the floor in neat stacks when she heard a loud banging and an argument at the gate.
Sonju went to the living room and looked out. The grocery bag was leaning on the fence near the maid who had her back against the gate trying to push it shut. Someone was muttering something behind the gate.
Looking at Sonju, the maid said urgently, “There’s a man wanting to talk to the master. He followed me to the gate, said his name is Taegil. He smells of alcohol.”
At Sonju’s nodding, the maid let go of the gate, and Taegil tumbled in swaying and staggering.
“Buddy, Kungu, come out. You don’t want to see me? I scared you last time, didn’t I?” He swung his arm and almost lost his footing. “Get me a job, buddy,” he said. “Come out. Shall I go see your uncle instead? How would that work out for you? Heh heh.”
Sonju marched to the storage shed at the end of the courtyard, grabbed a shovel, and walked calmly toward Taegil. Then she swung the shovel against his leg with all her strength. The flat of the blade hit his leg. He cried out and fell, grabbing his leg, and thrust one arm over his face.
“You snake!” Sonju screamed at him. “Kungu died. You can’t blackmail a dead person, can you?” She didn’t sound like herself, her snarling voice rough. Sonju raised the shovel. For a split second, she thought she could kill the man, then saw naked fear in his wide-open eyes. His elbow still pinned on the ground, he tried to block his face with his forearm, and with his free hand, he attempted to grab the shovel, all the while slithering this way and that toward the gate. With the shovel raised above his knee, Sonju kicked him again and again until he was out of the gate. She slammed the gate shut and locked it, turned and stared at the maid. They both grinned. The maid took the shovel from Sonju’s hand and returned it to the storage shed. She would never tell a soul about her murderous thought. She was scared of herself, of what she could do.
Taegil’s incident shook her up. After a long bus ride and a long walk, she came to a small gravestone standing in front of a mound, the grave unremarkable from all the rest other than the recently dug red dirt on the surface. She sat facing Kungu, felt the December chill of the soil through the wool scarf under her folded legs. All she could think was Kungu in the cold wooden box, his body in hemp clothes, his arms and legs aligned and bound to keep his form for the next life. No! She wanted him in this life. She needed him in this life.
Two months after the funeral, Kungu’s uncle wrote to say a buyer for the house would take possession in one month. Sonju wanted to scream and bang on the wall. What more would be taken away from her? Kungu’s presence was still in his house. She could hear all the little noises of their life together, Kungu’s and hers—the patter of going from one room to another, the newspaper flipping, a teaspoon hitting the saucer, quiet talks and laughter. After the move, what of Kungu would remain?
She had no choice but to visit real estate offices fighting the cutting blades of the freezing January breeze. With nine days left to move, Sonju packed her clothes, then walked to the bookshelf in the living room and emptied Kungu’s books, his treasured collection, into four boxes. In another box, she packed the books she had studied. Then, she kept the bedroom dark and slept twelve, thirteen hours a day.
For five days, the maid would come in and say, “You need to eat more,” but Sonju would just wave her away.
On the sixth day, Sonju saw tears on the maid’s sagging cheeks and felt tenderness for the woman who grieved with her and chose to care for her. “We have to move in three days,” the maid said.
Sonju got up and went to the living room. Wind was whipping outside. Clothes on the line chained together and stiff as corpses did a dance of the macabre, swinging side to side, up and down. She no longer wanted to be in that house.