Sonju, page 25
The Snow, 1965
All the way home from the cottage and for weeks afterwards, Sonju thought about what the Assemblyman said. Like him, her life hadn’t turned out the way she had envisioned. There had been many things she didn’t get right. Society didn’t owe her the change she wanted at the pace she wanted, her mother didn’t owe her fidelity at the expense of the family’s reputation, her husband didn’t owe her the expectations she had held for him.
She urgently and wholeheartedly wanted to make peace with her mother. But what would she do with her anger and bitterness then? They energized her. They were convenient. This sudden insight jolted her with an uncomfortable sensation in her chest and in her belly. She felt lost and unmoored. She took a few deep breaths and looked out to the garden. The lilies were blooming. She dialed Lady Cho’s number.
In an hour, Lady Cho arrived. Cool spring air followed her in. Sonju placed tea and pastries on the table in front of the couch. Lady Cho picked up a cream-filled puff pastry, and after a slow bite, said, “I haven’t talked to Chairman Park since his wife’s funeral. I wonder how he is doing.”
Sonju said, “There were so many people around him, yet he looked so lonely that day.”
“Assemblyman Kim and Professor Shin haven’t heard from him either.”
Sonju could understand Chairman Park’s grief. She still missed Kungu. There was a long moment of silence. After a sip of tea, Sonju said, “I have been thinking …” She ran her fingers over the folds of her skirt. “I have been wrong about many things.”
“Like what?”
“The way I saw things. My mother’s attitudes and convictions were probably typical for a woman of her time and of her class. She is a formidable, forceful woman. I saw her as always trying to force her will on me. I fought it, but when I failed, the feeling of my powerlessness made me angry and rebellious. I never felt she cared for me deeply, but she must have because she kept showing up even after my bitter words. I want to reconcile but there is so much anger in me. She took a big breath and let it out slowly. “It’s a flaw in me.”
“I have my own,” Lady Cho said and paused briefly. “After all these years, my mother still frequents the temple to pray for forgiveness for my sin. She sighs when she sees me and starts rolling her prayer beads. My mother feels she has to repent for me because in her eyes I haven’t. And there is the club.”
“Yes, there is the club.” Sonju took another sip of lukewarm tea. She picked up a pastry and chewed on it slowly. Lady Cho did the same. Sonju spoke again, “During the war, I made a vow that I would have no regrets, but I live with so many now. I have asked myself over the years if I had made a different choice then, might I have been better off, and the answer has been always no.” She looked at Lady Cho. “I am contradicting myself. My thoughts are all muddled. I don’t live with clarity.”
“I don’t know if anyone does. Most of us just march along, sometimes in confusion, sometimes with clarity, but most of the time without thinking.”
“Does striving for clarity lead to a better life?” Sonju asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps you become more aware. I should think about those matters too.”
“You seem sound and solid to me.”
Lady Cho grinned. “And you seem very agreeable to me, no hint of rebellion.”
After a soft laughter, Sonju said, “I have lost the restraint that my mother worked so hard to instill in me. If I were her good daughter, I would have revealed none of the things I have told you over the years. In a way, it is liberating.”
“You should be able to let it out sometimes. I am glad you do that with me.”
Sonju said, “It’s sad that I wasted so much energy obsessing about my mother. I would have been a better person if I hadn’t and could have accomplished something instead. I see you lead people and help them achieve their goals. Artist Kang is where he is now because of your encouragement and promotion of his art.”
“But that’s what I love to do.”
Over the next few weeks, Sonju thought about what specific things she could do. She could write about her own experience and about solutions to what she saw as a hindrance to women’s advancement. She started writing. Even to her ears, what she wrote sounded amateurish. She read more articles and books to study how authors articulate their ideas. She filled her journal, but none of them were good enough to submit for publication.
Lady Cho and Sonju didn’t have to worry about Yunghee and Gija idling in boredom. They had talked about owning a restaurant for some time and had been searching for one for sale since February. They found it near the Yungdeungpo Train Station south of the Han River. The restaurant could only hold fourteen small tables, but they expected a quick turnover of customers because of its proximity to the train station. In April, the restaurant opened with Assemblyman Kim, Professor Shin, a few other former clients, a few artists, and Lady Cho’s friends filling the place.
While Lady Cho walked around conversing with the guests in that tight place, Sonju was helping Gija and Yunghee in the kitchen and serving. Once in a while, she felt Assemblyman Kim’s eyes on her.
Several weeks later, Lady Cho called Sonju to tell her, “Gija called. She said the restaurant has been packed since the opening. She thinks people come because they saw chauffeur-driven cars parked there on the opening day and assumed the food must be excellent.”
In July, Gija called to tell Sonju she still couldn’t stand Yunghee’s laughter and chattiness, but said she was learning to tolerate her because a lot of men frequented the restaurant to flirt with Yunghee. Gija was annoyed that Yunghee actually enjoyed the attention from men.
Then in the fall, Gija called to say that the business kept her so busy that she didn’t notice the time passing until she saw the yellow ginkgo leaves on the streets. She moved onto the topic of Yunghee—the usual complaints.
Sonju listened. Those two adversaries found a way to not only live together but also run a business together. That could be an excellent material for an article.
Those bright yellow leaves that Gija had mentioned had been swept away a month ago. Now the brooding grey sky had dropped to the ground. The lashing wind pushed against Sonju and slowed her steps, but she didn’t mind. With her head covered with a woolen scarf, the collar of her coat up to her chin, she was well-protected.
She arrived at Myungdong, the fashion Mecca at the center of Seoul, where the soul of the city throbbed. This place energized her and made her happy. She almost hopped up to the second floor of a granite building and walked into the familiar tearoom. Lady Cho was waiting by the window. Sonju sat next to her, and they exchanged news about Gija and Yunghee when Assemblyman Kim and Professor Shin walked in together. As soon as they took off their coats and gloves and settled down, Lady Cho asked, “Do you have news about Chairman Park?”
A waitress came by. After they ordered tea, the assemblyman said, “I hear that he buries himself in work.”
“I hear the same,” the professor said. “Perhaps it’s best to leave it up to him to decide when he is ready for social gatherings.”
Lady Cho put down the cup on the table. “It has been eight months since his wife died. I am worried about him.”
Professor Shin told Lady Cho, “I promise we will have a drink with him once in a while.” They talked about Chairman Park’s reaction to the death of his long-ailing, childless wife. After a meandering talk about his utter helplessness without his wife, Professor Shin said, “I hope my wife outlives me.” Then he turned his head toward the assemblyman and said, “Unlike my friend here, I don’t know if I can manage a life alone.”
The assemblyman ignored his friend, ordered another cup for everyone. “Do you remember Chairman Lee? I heard he has emigrated to Brazil. He told very few people about it.”
“I haven’t seen him since the fall of Syngman Rhee’s government.” Lady Cho looked at the two men over the rim of her cup. “Did he go there for undeveloped free land?”
Professor Shin said, “To start a new life. I heard it had been hard for him since the revolution. His children were taunted.”
Professor Shin scanned other people in the room before he said in a hushed voice, “Remember, he accumulated great wealth on that government contract President Syngman Rhee granted.”
It was risky to be too close to great power and great wealth. Sonju leaned in and said almost in a whisper, “The people in the news … an imprisoned newspaper executive, a judge on house arrest, and who knows who else.”
They changed the topic. There were too many ears close by.
After they finished the second cup of tea, Lady Cho pulled out her leather gloves from her purse. They rose to leave. Sonju looked out the window at the sky. “We are supposed to have heavy snow sometime today. I think I will go to the cottage today.” She turned to Lady Cho. “Do you want to go with me?”
“No, I am meeting with an artist tomorrow morning and I don’t think I can make it back to Seoul in time.”
Sonju went home to pack a few things for an overnight stay at the cottage. By the time she arrived at the gate of G-62, it started to snow. Midway to the cottage, she took off her gloves, put them in her coat pocket, and walked with her arms out with a wide smile. The snowflakes grew larger. The fluffy white flowers landed lightly on her upturned face, even into her mouth and on her bare palms. The melted snow dribbled down under her collar. Wiping her face and shaking the snow off her coat, she looked up once more at the steadily falling snow before walking to the cottage.
She hung her coat in the bedroom closet, then made tea. She had packed two books with the intention of finishing them. Instead, wrapping the warm cup in her hands, she sat at the table and looked out the window watching the snow dance toward the tree branches and to the ground covering everything layer upon layer. The snow was still falling when she went to bed.
Upon waking the next morning, Sonju hurried to the living room window. The snow had stopped overnight. A blinding white blanket lay under an immense expanse of blue sky. Ten meters away, a wild rabbit hopped. Nearby, a bird shrilled. After showering, Sonju returned to the window. Staring out, she reminisced about winters in Maari and the round heaps of snow covering the sauce jars on a raised platform near the rise and Jinju poking holes in them with her finger and giggling.
A man in a long black coat with a grey scarf around his neck was walking toward the cottage. He waved at her. Two staggered rows of hollow footprints on the pristine white surface followed Assemblyman Kim. A gush of cold air entered with him.
“Hello! What brings you here?” Sonju said, closing the door.
“I wanted to come yesterday, but I thought it unwise.”
Yesterday. A man and a woman alone in the late hours. Scandalous. Sonju pressed her lips.
He took off his coat, hung it on a hook near the door, and sat in a chair by the table. Sonju seated herself across from him and saw his eyes fixed on the view outside. She could sit right there looking out the window, she thought, and talk about the snow until he left. “Isn’t the view almost divine?” she asked.
He turned his head to her with a smile. “Yes. I am glad to share it with you.” He smiled.
His response sounded a bit personal, and she felt uncomfortable. The muscles tensed in Sonju’s shoulders and neck.
He said, “Last year, I was here at the first snow. It does something to me.”
“It does me too,” she almost said, but she had no intention of encouraging him, so she said, “I forgot to eat. Would you like some breakfast? Tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she went to the kitchen. She rubbed her neck and rolled her shoulders and waited for the water to boil, hoping he would make this visit short. She returned with a tray of tea and heated rice cakes, and thinking she was rude not to respond to his remarks, said, “I am in awe of the snow this morning.”
“It is a good day to stay in, drink tea, and enjoy the beautiful view outside,” he said.
It sounded as though he meant to stay a while, and she couldn’t come up with an idea to end his visit. It didn’t feel right to her that they should be alone in a room. She drizzled honey over the cakes hoping he didn’t notice her trying to keep her hands steady.
They chewed slowly with an awkward silence and awkward smiles. One minute seemed like ten. He knew better than to be alone with a woman, seemingly without a reason, she was telling herself. The long silence continued. She couldn’t stand it but didn’t know what to talk about either. She ended up saying, “Miss Im is studying in college to become a professional accountant. I began to write essays on women. I sent a few out to the newspapers but none were printed.” It occurred to her then that all of the women of The Hall were engaged in something fulfilling to them. Distracted by this thought she smiled and began to feel at ease.
He said he would look for her essays in the papers because he was interested in what she had to say. The conversation turned to the news about the people they both knew, and eventually they ran out of safe topics to talk about. He left at about ten. He never told her why he came. She didn’t ask.
On the way home in the afternoon, she thought her writing needed something, a pivot, and more substance. It was what he said that triggered such thought. Since Kungu, Assemblyman Kim was the first man to take her seriously.
Losses
Warm rays of the sun poured onto her face when Sonju awoke. In a week, Jinju would turn seventeen. Her daughter was born during the best time of the year. How excited she was seeing 1966 in a large print on a calendar on New Year’s Day. She had just one more year to wait. Her mood rose and stirred like a canary in the spring season. She walked around the living room, then looked out the window at the garden several times. Still, her body didn’t want to settle down. A stroll under the sunlight, the spring breeze, the smell of spring air, perhaps a new outfit, she thought.
She got off the bus at the Ducksu Palace stop and walked, looking at the trees with new leaves over the stone fence and along the sidewalk and noticed the cobblestones were a few shades lighter under the bright sun. She went past the city hall, then to Myungdong. It seemed half the people in the city had the same idea. At Midopa Department Store, she came upon a black-and-white houndstooth suit of European import with black trim on the collar and the sleeves. Her heart dropped when she turned over the price tag. She would rather spend the money on her daughter.
She left the store and walked along the street lined with boutique shops. The photographs of Twiggy on the fashion magazine covers were on display windows, and young women in short skirts and black fishnet stockings walked by. Sonju heard her high-heeled shoes click-clacking on the hard pavement as the hem of her skirt touched her knees. The smell of imported coffee wafted from a coffee shop. It was fashionable nowadays to drink coffee instead of tea.
“Little Auntie!”
Sonju froze. She turned. It was Jinwon from Maari. They grabbed each other’s hands at the same time.
“Little Auntie, I thought it was you. How are you doing?” Jinwon’s eyes gleamed and her cheeks lifted in a smile.
“I’m fine. Look at you.” Sonju glanced up and down at Jinwon as if to see how tall the child had grown. She was thirty-nine, so Jinwon must be thirty-two now. Jinwon wore a plain poplin dress in periwinkle blue but no makeup. There was no glimpse of the girl who had desired a shimmering blue velvet skirt. She led Jinwon toward the wall of a stone building away from the briskly walking pedestrians. “What are you doing in Seoul?”
“I’m visiting a friend. This is my yearly vacation. I left my three children with my mother-in-law. My children want something from Myungdong every time I come to Seoul. So lucky I spotted you. You’re with him?”
Take a breath, Jinwon, she was tempted to say. “No. He died in 1952.”
“Oh.” Jinwon’s eyes and mouth drooped. “I’m so sorry.” After a short pause, she asked, “What do you do now?”
“Not much, but I used to work for a businesswoman.” She asked, “How is Jinju? She will turn seventeen next week.”
Jinwon briefly planted her intense eyes on Sonju, then hooked her arm in Sonju’s. “Where do you live, Little Auntie? Can we go to your house now?”
“Of course.” Sonju laughed a little. Jinwon hadn’t changed a bit. “Let’s take a taxi.”
Jinwon sat in the back seat with her and was unusually quiet for a while, even her body. She then said, “I thought of you often. I can’t believe it’s been fourteen years since I last saw you.”
“Yes.” She stroked Jinwon’s hand, which was no longer smooth at the joints. She said, “Second House family is close to my heart.” She wanted to ask about Jinju again but seeing Jinwon’s eyes following the views outside, she thought she would wait. Jinwon was on vacation and there was a lot to take in all around her.
Passing Sonju’s front garden, Jinwon flashed a smile, that same delighted smile of her youth. “I knew you would do things differently.” When she stepped into the living room, she said, “American furniture. It suits you, Little Auntie.” She made a full rotation, scanning the room. She walked to the sofa. “You still get Life magazines.”
“Sit down at the table. Let me get you some tea.” Sonju went to the kitchen to boil water. Jinwon spoke across the living room, “You know, Little Uncle and his wife live in Seoul. I should go see them before I return home. To be honest though, I dread it.”
So, her daughter had been living in Seoul. But Jinju’s name was not on any of the bulletin boards of the middle schools, and three years later, of the high schools. Jinwon had said what … Oh, about dreading the visit with Little Uncle and his wife.
Sonju transferred the tea to the table and tried not to look shaken. “Why would you dread seeing them?” she asked.
