Yom Sang-seop - Three Generations

Even when they passed the alley leading to her house in Dangju-dong, Gyeong-ae said nothing.

They ducked into a café next to the police station at the Hwangtohyeon intersection. Most people, at that hour, were home eating supper. The restaurant was brightly lit but had no customers, and when they walked in, several Japanese waitresses clustered around the stove jumped up to welcome them. They greeted Sang-hun cordially; he was, after all, a distinguished gentleman with a beautiful woman at his side. Gyeong-ae chose a corner table, far from the stove, and sat with her back to the rest of the restaurant.

“You must be terribly worn out from work.” Sang-hun picked up where they had left off.

“Well, I am tired, and everyone there is getting on my nerves. I’ve been thinking of finding a job at the _____ school in Suwon.” Her father had founded it and Gyeong-ae herself had gone there through the third grade.

“Well, did they offer you a job?”

“No, but. ”

“But?” Smiling, Sang-hun studied her expression. “Even if they have a position for you, it’s not a good idea to go off to Suwon now that you’ve set up house in Seoul. Are people talking about you at school? Are the young teachers giving you a hard time?”

“No!” Gyeong-ae blushed.

“Well, then, I don’t understand.” Sang-hun pretended to be completely in the dark. He didn’t know why he felt like a woman with morning sickness, but he was certainly not in a position to acknowledge it and saw no other option but to feign ignorance.

“Everyone is spreading rumors about me and gossiping,” she finally confessed. She seemed to have made up her mind to release her frustrations. Her lips trembled as she said, “I’m furious.” She dropped her head.

“Rumors about what? Look, everything will be fine if you just ignore it, whatever they’re saying about you.” Sang-hun wanted to comfort her.

“I could put up with it if it were just me, but for no reason at all, you’re — ” Gyeong-ae finally blurted out the words she had found so impossible to utter. As tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks, she tried to turn her face away. She didn’t know why she was crying so freely; she had only intended to have a simple conversation with him. Once she sat across from him at the table, however, all the frustrations and anger she harbored inside overwhelmed her and erupted.

“You have nothing to cry about. No matter what other people are saying, it doesn’t matter as long as you haven’t done anything wrong.” Sang-hun spoke confidently, almost rebuking her, but he was indescribably torn, her tears seared into him — his words and his heart were poles apart. They sat facing each other, not knowing what to say next. Their food arrived.

Sang-hun hesitated slightly before ordering beer. Gyeong-ae looked up in surprise.

She didn’t want to ask if he drank, nor did she disapprove of alcohol. She was merely concerned about his drinking cold beer on such a frigid day, when he was suffering from a cold.

“I don’t drink normally, but a glass of beer is good when you’re frustrated or when you’ve got heartburn.” Sang-hun tried to come up with a plausible excuse.

Gyeong-ae was not prepared to watch Mr. Jo drink. Until now, she had full confidence in him, but a vague suspicion about his character was growing within her. While she didn’t feel it was her place to condemn him or find fault with his behavior, she did give him a sidelong glance as he raised the full glass to his mouth and guzzled almost half of it down.

“Heartburn because of fever —?” She grimaced.

Sang-hun ignored the remark, but he picked at the snacks that accompanied the beer, as if he were angry. Gyeong-ae felt confused and uncomfortable sitting with him. Although she rarely had a chance to sample such treats, she hardly touched the Western food and sent back one plate after another almost untouched.

“You know, I really don’t like getting involved with the ins and outs at school. I’d rather leave it all to the others.” He had already finished the first bottle of beer, and even though he claimed he’d drink only one glass, he didn’t refuse a second when it was brought to the table.

“I don’t plan to be stuck at that school forever, and I know I want to do something more meaningful in the future, but these days life itself seems too much to cope with.” He was steadily drowning his troubles. Seeing that he was hardly affected after tossing back two bottles, she was appalled to discover that he was such a drinker.

Gyeong-ae was feeling disillusioned by what people labeled “holy.” She was under the impression that a good Christian never drank or smoked, and when it came to being intimate with women, he knew only his wife. She had even wondered on occasion how a man who read the Bible, prayed, and sang hymns could allow himself to sleep with any woman, including his wife. She couldn’t imagine anything so dirty. Sitting across from this supposedly holy man, now flushed with drink, she felt ashamed for him.

Was she wrong to regard Mr. Jo and his colleagues as holy beings? Was she shocked because she was still young and didn’t know much of the world? Or were those people disguising their true nature with airs of sanctity and gentility? Was she stupid for thinking otherwise, unaware that the world was such a place? Had her father been no different?

The fact that the revered Mr. Jo drank beer threw the young woman into even further confusion.

Leaving the restaurant, they headed back on the same path they had taken on the way there. Gyeong-ae wanted to take the shortcut to her house, but he suggested that they walk a bit more together, and she followed him.

“Are you so quiet because you don’t approve of my drinking?” Sang-hun asked as they entered the avenue in front of the Joseon Dynasty’s Six Boards government buildings.

“No,” she answered automatically. It pleased her that he understood how she felt. His kindness and gentle, apologetic voice also softened her heart.

“Tighten your scarf. It’s cold,” said Sang-hun, as he lifted the back of it around her neck. A chill raced through her body, intensifying into an electric shock that jabbed her in the pit of her stomach.

“Be careful in this night air. You could catch a cold.” His voice was affectionate, filled with concern for the young woman. Gyeong-ae felt her cheeks burning. She didn’t dislike him, nor was she afraid of him. Suddenly, she had forgotten how much she had disapproved of his drinking only a few moments ago.

Why do I feel this way? All he did was lift my scarf, fearing that I might catch cold. She chided herself and tried to calm her pounding heart. When they reached the front gate of the infantry unit, Gyeong-ae wanted to say good-bye.

“Well, then, hurry on home before it’s too late. And when you’re at school, don’t worry about anything. Things will gradually. ” His words trailed off as he began to turn away, but then, drawn back toward Gyeong-ae, he offered to walk her home, since it was dark and probably eerie with so few people around. Gyeong-ae shook her head, but he followed her anyway. She didn’t object.

“Actually, I’m upset by it all, too.” Sang-hun spoke with gravity. He went on, “If anybody heard me say this, they’d probably mock me for not acting my age, but at forty I still have the feelings I had in my twenties. No one knows how much I’ve struggled against this passion, which shames me before my children, and if you sense it. ” He had come out with it at last. His ears rang and his breath was labored. He couldn’t believe what had come out.

Gyeong-ae felt the drunken man’s warm breath on her half-exposed cheek but couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her head throbbed. Her heart pounded. She had no energy left to speak.