Yom Sang-seop - Three Generations

But when her colleagues sneered and insinuating remarks were brought more frequently to her attention, she was shocked and angry. She found herself gradually avoiding Sang-hun. She even felt a little afraid of him, though she had no concrete reason to be so. Still, she couldn’t hate him even if she wanted to. He was the same Mr. Jo he had always been.

Her colleagues’ suggestive ridicule grew more intense. She couldn’t respond directly to their innuendos, so she didn’t know how to defend herself. Bottled-up rage and anguish tormented her. The more she suffered, the more she avoided Mr. Jo, but in her heart her fear of him faded and her affection for him grew. Though she couldn’t complain about her situation to her mother, who was the only person in the world she could really depend on, she felt she could pour out her innermost thoughts to Sang-hun. With the start of her third semester as a teacher, Gyeong-ae decided to meet with him to ask for advice. What she most wanted was to request a transfer to another school, though it was impossible for her to explain the reason. Gyeong-ae’s nerves were so frayed that she didn’t want to teach another day under such malicious scrutiny.

By this time, however, Mr. Jo himself seemed less friendly toward Gyeong-ae, as if he were trying to keep his distance from her, and he had stopped coming to her house altogether. If she wanted to meet him, she would have to go to his house. She didn’t like the idea of running into Deok-gi, as had happened the previous winter, but in her opinion it would be far better to meet Mr. Jo at his house, away from watchful eyes, than to meet at school or at church after service. She would have preferred that he come to her house, but it would be difficult to talk in her mother’s presence.

She debated with herself for some time until she heard that Mr. Jo had been home for two days with a cold. As soon as she got home and put down her books, she told her mother that she was going to pay him a visit since he was sick. Her mother was surprised at first and thought it would probably be better if she went along, too, but she quickly changed her mind and urged Gyeong-ae to go over straight away. She had to cook supper; her daughter could relay her sympathy.

Gyeong-ae ventured out with resolve. There was no reason for her to be anxious about what others might say; she was only visiting a sick colleague. Besides, she had told her mother that she was going to see him. Yet as she approached Hwagae-dong, she was ambushed by the worry that someone from church or school might be there. Having come this far, though, she couldn’t turn back.

She stood at the gate but couldn’t bring herself to enter. She peeked in, hoping somebody might come out of the house and see her. Luckily, the maidservant appeared carrying a large bowl of rice. It seemed that dinner was ready.

Gyeong-ae thought the maidservant would go to the inner quarters to report her arrival, but instead she went to the outer quarters, returned, and asked Gyeong-ae to come in. If the master were eating dinner, he would be in the inner quarters. If he was in the outer quarters, he must be meeting a guest. Who could it be? Had someone come from school? Although she knew she shouldn’t feel uncomfortable, she was on edge as she entered. There wasn’t a guest in sight, however, and the master of the house, coming out to the veranda, welcomed her warmly. From the sound of his voice, his cold didn’t seem to be severe.

“I’m so sorry to keep you out in the cold, but please wait just a minute. I was on my way out to meet someone,” Sang-hun said. He went back into the house and came out, hat in hand, having put on a Western-style overcoat over his Korean one.

Through the windowpane, Gyeong-ae caught sight of a dinner tray that seemed to have been brought in only minutes before.

“Oh, please finish your meal. I can’t stay anyway. When Mother heard you were sick, she asked me to pay you a quick visit.”

Although Gyeong-ae was simply being polite, she was relieved that she might be able to leave with him and thus avoid the eyes of Deok-gi and of any guests who might drop by. Sang-hun had something similar in mind as he hurried out of the house. He wanted to avoid his wife’s nagging.

Just as he was out the door, with Gyeong-ae in front of him, the maidservant came out to serve him some rice-water. With her eyes glued to Sang-hun and Gyeong-ae, she slipped on a patch of ice at the foot of the steps. Water splashed from the bowl and the brass tray nearly slipped from her hands.

Sang-hun and Gyeong-ae, now in front of the gate, started when they heard the maidservant shriek.

“Watch where you’re going!” Sang-hun barked.

The maidservant stood there blankly, speechless, forgetting to ask whether he had finished his supper and she could clear his tray.

Afraid that they might run into Deok-gi, who hadn’t come home yet, Sang-hun took the road leading to Samcheong-dong and then turned onto the main street at Yeongchumun.

The two walked in silence.

It’s spilled water, thought Sang-hun as he recalled the scene he had just witnessed leaving the house, but he was surprised at how appropriately his words described his own feelings at the moment. He made excuses to himself. But what have I spilled? His words rang in his ears: “Watch where you’re going!”

“Are you going straight home?” Sang-hun finally asked when they reached Yeongchumun.

“Yes, but I have something to tell you,” Gyeong-ae said, making up her mind after a brief hesitation.

“Oh?” Sang-hun stopped in his tracks and looked into her eyes. They couldn’t stand in the middle of the road, so they moved toward the Yeongchumun wall and stood side by side. His heart raced wildly.

Sang-hun recently had been as troubled as Gyeong-ae. When he first caught wind of the rumors, he tried to turn a deaf ear to them and resolved to get on with his own work. Then, in order to clear up the misunderstandings and bolster his own standing with even more good deeds, he considered marrying Gyeong-ae off to a good family and hastily arranging a wedding ceremony, in much the way he had supervised her father’s funeral. Yet when he tried to push Gyeong-ae out of his mind, his heart seemed to draw closer to her. If he had been serious about searching for prospective families for Gyeong-ae to marry into, he would have found one soon enough. The truth is he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. He rebuked himself, but the more he did so, the greater his torment grew. Even after hibernating for two days, with the pretext of a cold, he saw no way out of his predicament. He was unable to calm himself, and was so agitated when Gyeong-ae appeared, it almost seemed as though fate had directed her to do so. He might have in fact been secretly hoping that Gyeong-ae or her mother would pay him a visit when they heard he was bedridden.

“What is it?” he managed to ask. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t make up my mind about school. Could you find somewhere else for me to work?”

The evening wind, descending the slopes of Samgak Mountain and bouncing off the eaves of the Yeongchumun pavilion, swept away Gyeong-ae’s words.

The two began to walk again.

“Why are you asking me now, out of the blue?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Gyeong-ae didn’t answer. As they reached the Government-General, a brightly lit streetcar approached from Hyoja-dong, made a stop, and then took off again. Sang-hun wasn’t sure how to proceed. To have a conversation, they would have to go inside somewhere, but there was nothing in sight. He worried that if they took a streetcar toward Jingogae, they’d run into someone they knew on board.

They didn’t speak again until they had walked all the way down to Hwangtohyeon. Both could hardly breathe. As Gyeong-ae followed Sang-hun, she couldn’t dispel her anxiety. They could have met briefly and parted ways after exchanging a few pleasantries, but now that things had gotten to this point, she almost felt as though they were doing something wrong by evading other people. Yet, she didn’t want to shake off these feelings completely. Perhaps this was the sweet scent of temptation.