Yom Sang-seop - Three Generations

“Are you making fun of us? You filthy pieces of shit! We’re going to report you to the police!” The inebriated young men were outraged to witness such a scene at their local haunt. Their eyes burned with rage. After spending several hours together and plenty of money, they hadn’t been permitted even to touch this self-styled “queen” on the hand, and yet here she was kissing a Korean stranger before their eyes — this was incomprehensible.

Though the proprietor was furious over the young men’s remarks, she was willing to chalk up their offensive behavior to liquor, break up the fight, and shoo them out. But Byeong-hwa wasn’t able to shrug it off. Eyes bulging with anger, he shouted, “Filthy pieces of shit? Report us to the police? What filth have you seen here? Bastards! Are you police rats?”

Byeong-hwa had pulled himself away from Gyeong-ae and was ready to lunge at them, and his opponents, undoubtedly, were spurred. Gyeong-ae threw herself between them, and held Byeong-hwa back, while the proprietor did her best to block the two young men. Sang-hun just looked on, suddenly feeling sober.

The women, however, weren’t strong enough to stave off the three drunkards. When, like a signal on the battlefield, an ashtray flew past Byeong-hwa’s cheek and shattered against the opposite wall, the three men sprang forward, and soon one of them was thrown to the floor. Sang-hun stood up, and when the man on the floor got to his feet and charged toward him, both were thrown to the floor. Seeing this, Byeong-hwa came to Sang-hun’s side and kicked his opponent several times. He grabbed the second man by the collar and tossed him across a wobbly table and chair — his legs dangling in the air when they collapsed. The man dropped with them, unconscious.

“Well done! Well done!” shouted Gyeong-ae as if she were in a wrestling arena or at a bullfight. The proprietor, meanwhile, was safeguarding the stove, still aflame, afraid that the fighters might crash on top of it.

Sang-hun’s coat was covered with dirt and blood ran down his right thumb, though it was not clear whether it had been bitten or crushed. He sat down, out of breath, cradling his bleeding finger, but Gyeong-ae ignored him.

Outside, passersby gathered around in the front of the bar murmuring among themselves, though no one dared to open the door.

The two young men stood up and, unable to attack their opponents again, shouted more abuse. When they seemed ready for a second round, the trembling proprietor came over to brush the dirt from their clothes, begging them to leave. Gyeong-ae, the source of all this trouble, stood by with a weak smile.

“What is the problem with you people? After young men go out drinking, they’re supposed to be on their best behavior. I must say, though, you do put up a good fight. Sit down and catch your breath.” Gyeong-ae pulled some Haetae cigarettes from the pocket of her overcoat and walked around the room, offering each man a smoke. The two Japanese men waved them away. She didn’t offer one to Sang-hun. Byeong-hwa, however, took one and used her lighter. Gyeong-ae lit one, too.

“Now, what is this? Fighting indoors on a beautiful night like this with so much snow on the ground? The thing to do would be to go over to the fields at the Drill Camp or, even better, to Keijo Gymnasium or to the pine groves at Jangchungdan, where you could fight a real duel.” Gyeong-ae continued to provoke them.

“I’m all for it. Someone’s got to teach you a lesson.” One of the men leapt toward Byeong-hwa and held him.

“Let’s go! But where to?”

“We won’t rush to the police like a bunch of cowards. Let’s go and settle scores at the Grand Gate.”

“Sounds good,” Byeong-hwa said, pulling off his torn coat.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. It was a policeman, shouting for them to open up. The proprietor ran to the door, as if he were her savior. The policeman came inside barking, “What’s all this about?” He scanned the room before his angry eyes settled on Byeong-hwa. The other two young men were relieved to see the Japanese officer, and, all of a sudden, they felt drunk again. In the policeman’s eyes, they all were drunkards, so after hearing them out, he ordered all of them to follow him to the police station, including Gyeong-ae and the proprietor. The proprietor pleaded with him, saying that she couldn’t leave her shop unattended, so only Gyeong-ae went. Assuring the officer she wouldn’t press charges for the cost of the broken chair and other items, she begged him to send them all home without further incident.

Sang-hun had no choice but to go with them, though he was afraid he might meet someone he knew.

The crowd broke up but then tagged along behind them in twos and threes. Rather than attempt to control them, the policeman ignored them. The shops on both sides of the street were closed, but bright streetlights reflected off the snow onto their faces. Sang-hun doubted he would run into members of the congregation at this hour, but a chill ran down his spine whenever anyone’s shadow appeared in the distance. He pulled up his coat collar and put on his thick-rimmed glasses.

Upon arriving at the station, the policeman who had brought them in became even more overbearing. He listened to what the two Japanese men had to say, but he addressed Byeong-hwa and Sang-hun in a menacing tone and refused to hear them out.

Another policeman noticed Gyeong-ae. “Isn’t she the girl at Bacchus?” He smiled at her and said snidely, “You’d better be more careful when you fool around with men.”

Gyeong-ae was furious. She didn’t expect to be treated well in a place like this, but never before had she been shown such disrespect. It pained her to think how she had become the laughingstock of these policemen largely because she was Korean and worked at a bar. She knew, however, that this was no place for her to talk back.

The policeman who brought them in explained the situation to his colleague. The Japanese words “koitsu to kissu wo! koitsu to kissu wo!” came up several times. He was saying that the woman had kissed that bastard.

The young policeman continued to provoke Gyeong-ae, peering at the shabbily dressed Byeong-hwa. “Well, if you’re going to go that far, wouldn’t it be better to find a man with some money to kiss or to do whatever you do with him?”

“What business is that of yours! We need the police to catch thieves, but now I see that you’ve got plenty to keep your hands full! A kiss isn’t a crime, you know!” Gyeong-ae couldn’t help getting in one good line.

“Shut up, you arrogant bitch! Just where do you think you are?” roared the policeman who had arrested them.

“She’s still drunk. We’d better take her down to headquarters and keep her there overnight,” said the infuriated officer. Nevertheless, he kept his hands off Gyeong-ae, perhaps forgiving the beautiful woman for her drunken babble.

After learning how the fight had started, the policeman wrote down the names and addresses of the Japanese men and sent them on their way. They paid no attention to the three Koreans until they called headquarters and were told to release them as well. One of the policemen said, “But they haven’t been very cooperative. ”

After hanging up the phone, the policeman ordered his tactless colleague to take them down to headquarters.

“Who are you saying isn’t cooperating? I’m not going anywhere, unless you take those other guys with us.” Byeong-hwa’s eyes were ablaze. Since he was hassled by cops all the time, he was rarely passive in a situation like this.

“I’m going home,” said Gyeong-ae, spinning around and heading for the door.