Yom Sang-seop - Three Generations

On his way to church after dinner, Sang-hun paid his father another visit. The patient would suffer chills toward the late afternoon and grow feverish, but Sang-hun still felt he couldn’t bring up the subject of using Chinese medicine. His father fretted like a child, demanding to be moved to the inner quarters, and Sang-hun agreed to have him moved the next day after it had warmed up outside. After calming the old man as best as he could, Sang-hun left for church to pray for his father’s quick recovery.

Sang-hun had to answer numerous inquiries from fellow churchgoers concerning his father’s health. When the congregation prayed, they made sure to include a petition for the speedy recovery of the old man.

Saturday worship ended before the clock struck nine. The mahjong players then gathered around Sang-hun, trying to read his mind, hoping that he would suggest that they go off to have some fun, but he made an escape and got on a streetcar by himself. Since he was heading for Jingogae, he didn’t have to take the streetcar but took this detour in order to distance himself from the group.

As Sang-hun passed Bacchus, he didn’t feel like going inside. The place was quiet; there seemed to be no customers inside. Passing the police station, the scene of his humiliation, he instinctively turned his face away. He remembered how the police had dragged off Gyeong-ae and felt a pang. But his compassion gave way to anger when he recalled how she had kissed Byeong-hwa like a madwoman and how she had sung that mocking song.

It’s been only two years! How could she have changed so much since then?

Sang-hun remembered how his son had mentioned his “responsibility.”

Why should I be the only one who’s responsible for the affair? He tried to come up with whatever excuse he could before finally confronting himself. I’m not trying to get out of anything, but what else can I actually do to fulfill this responsibility of mine?

He couldn’t think of anything. Had he been addressing his responsibility by going to see Gyeong-ae the day before and hoping to see her today? No, that was not what he had in mind. It had been old memories that had tempted him to visit her, and today’s visit was simply an extension of yesterday’s. But it was more than mere curiosity, it was a matter of jealousy and of the inability to bear the fact that Gyeong-ae had insulted him in front of his son’s friend.

Sang-hun entered the K Hotel and asked that a rickshaw be called so that he could send a note to Gyeong-ae. He hadn’t been to this hotel for almost three years now; the maids were new, but nothing else had changed.

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen you here. Your wife is well, I hope?” The Japanese clerk greeted him and started chatting away idly. Sang-hun whiled away a bit of time with the man while he was waiting for a reply from Gyeong-ae but eventually headed to a room in the back, the only room on the premises with an ondol floor.

The room was cozy and welcoming, but it was the impressions, memories, and associations it recalled that he found so pleasant. Five years ago — the first time he had been here — it had also been a winter’s day. The mat and cushions, decorated in pure Korean style, had become somewhat soiled since then, and a new gas stove had been added, which was turned up high.

Sang-hun frowned as he caught a whiff of the gas. He asked the attendant to remove the stove and leave behind a brazier.

As Sang-hun sat on a mat, which was cold to the touch, loneliness landed on him, but his heart fluttered at the same time as if spring had arrived. He looked around the room and remembered the first time he had been there with Gyeong-ae. The memory transported him like a beautiful dream.

Wondering if Gyeong-ae would ever show up, he began to feel nervous. Many a time he had waited for her here as nervously as he did now. Oddly, he felt as if he had waited for her just yesterday or the day before. Today he was less nervous about her not showing up than he was of losing face in the eyes of the proprietor and the servants were he to be stood up.

A maid came and served him tea. The rickshaw driver hadn’t come back yet. Sang-hun fumbled through his coat pockets for a pack of cigarettes and by mistake took out a small book, a Bible. Caught off guard, he stashed it away again, afraid that someone might catch sight of him holding it.

He remembered that he had no cigarettes on him because it was a church day. As he was about to press the buzzer to order some, he heard footsteps approaching. Sang-hun’s heart lept. He quickly took off his coat and hung it up.

The footsteps belonged to only one person. The maid opened the door and said, “She’ll be arriving in a little while.” He asked whether they had received word by phone, and she replied that a message had been sent back with the rickshaw driver.

This was a good sign. It was almost ten o’clock, and Sang-hun thought that if Gyeong-ae arrived late, they might end up staying overnight. The floor below the mat had gradually warmed up, but the room was still chilly, and he was restless. What he wanted was a drink, but he knew he would lose his air of authority if she found him drunk. Besides, if he had a few drinks, he would most likely crack some silly jokes, as he had the day before, and let her go without saying what was on his mind. He decided to resist the temptation.

His teacup had been replaced twice already, and it was now cold again. Yet there was still no news from Gyeong-ae. Sang-hun curled up on the mat to wait some more, but he couldn’t stand the chill, so he ended up ordering some booze. When he started drinking, it was almost eleven. Not even a maid wanted to linger in this isolated room. Not wanting to sit there and drink alone, he called for the clerk, who came in eagerly from the cold to share a drink.

“I suppose it’s not the wife you’re waiting for, but whoever it is, she’s taking her time, isn’t she?” the clerk said. Whenever Sang-hun offered him a drink, he bowed three times before accepting it. By “the wife,” he meant Gyeong-ae. Sang-hun had told him that he’d set up house with her in Bungmi Changjeong.

“It’s just someone I need to meet with briefly,” said Sang-hun, smiling. He knew that Gyeong-ae would arrive soon, but he wanted to avoid uncomfortable small talk.

The clerk laughed aloud. “Will your wife turn a blind eye if you keep seeing other women? Aren’t you going a bit too far when you have such a good wife?”

The clerk thought he knew what kind of woman was coming, and he was glad to have such customers, knowing that he’d be generously tipped in the morning — especially when business was as slow as it had been recently. Besides, he knew that Sang-hun was a lavish spender and therefore treated him with particular cordiality.

“Don’t go around giving me a bad name,” Sang-hun said as he chuckled. “I never have any luck with women.”

“You’d better watch out if you keep up with these affairs. By the way, whatever happened to that young woman we last saw you with? I was sure you’d visit us again after that.” The clerk was talking about an incident that had taken place two or three years earlier. When his affair with Gyeong-ae ended, Sang-hun had roamed the town as if in heat and happened to meet a modern girl supplied to him by the madam of a salon he frequented on the sly. Overcome with lust, he had brought her to this hotel and kept her there for several days. Later on, he came back with her a few more times to spend the night. By now, he had totally forgotten about this affair.

“It’s been almost two years,” the clerk continued, “but you stopped coming altogether. Have you been behaving yourself in the meantime? Or did you find another place? I don’t remember doing anything to offend you.” The clerk laughed; Sang-hun just smiled.