Yom Sang-seop - Three Generations

The Suwon woman was stunned at the sight of the scarf. She shouted, “If you’re going to give me the tangerines, wrap them up in a hurry!”

“Did Uncle come here?” Deok-gi asked, noticing how flustered the Suwon woman was, though the question was unnecessary because he had seen Chang-hun’s face buried in the scarf during his visit to the hospital earlier that morning.

“I have no idea.” As soon as she responded, the gate of the outer quarters creaked open, and Chang-hun entered as if on cue. No scarf was covering his frozen chin.

“What’s going on?” he asked, facing the people standing around.

“Where have you been?” Deok-gi asked.

“We have to vacate our home, so I’ve been running all over town trying to find a place. No luck so far. It’s hard to find a monthly rental, even with hundreds of won for a deposit. We’re in big trouble.”

This was news to Deok-gi. “Have you been renting a place?”

“What else can I afford? I wouldn’t mind so much if we were kicked out after winter, but the landlord is a Japanese bastard. He couldn’t care less that at this time of year Koreans face two major expenses — winter kimchi -making and the upcoming New Year’s celebrations.”

“But how can he evict his tenants on New Year’s?” Deok-gi noticed that Chang-hun seemed to have his eyes glued on his grandfather’s money.

“What do Japanese bastards care about our lunar New Year’s?” Chang-hun’s tone toward Deok-gi suddenly sweetened, probably because he remembered that Deok-gi would be the head of the household sooner or later. “I wish your grandfather would let me live in one of his houses. I don’t expect much. If he let me live in a small hut, nothing more, he’d save my life,” he muttered.

“I don’t think my grandfather owns any extra houses.”

“You’re going a step further than your own grandfather. It’s understandable because you’ll soon assume control of the household, but your grandfather has at least five or six houses in Seoul. If you add this house, the Hwagae-dong house, the one at Bungmi Changjeong, and the house in Taepyeong-dong, they’re more than ten. Do you think you know more about these matters than I do?”

Deok-gi brushed off Chang-hun’s claim with a chuckle. “Whatever the case, were you really able to see any houses on the last day of the year?”

“Do you think I’m lying? Why would I? And why would I run around before breakfast in the cold, instead of staying with your grandfather at the hospital? I was going to ask you to take my case to your grandfather, but I can see now that it’s hopeless.”

For the life of him, Deok-gi couldn’t believe a word of what he said.

“What nonsense is this?” Secretary Ji said sarcastically as he came outside with the bag of fruit tightly wrapped in a bundle. “Going around looking at houses on the last day of the year? Was that why you dropped your scarf here, because you had to run around for something so ridiculous?”

“Did I drop my scarf here?” Chang-hun looked uncomfortable.

“If you’d done any more house hunting, you’d have left behind your own neck, now wouldn’t you?” Secretary Ji commented cynically as he stood waiting for the Suwon woman, who had retreated to the inner quarters.

Deok-gi was pleased to see that Secretary Ji had detected something odd as well and said to Chang-hun, “Anyway, please come in. I’d like to ask you to supervise tomorrow’s ancestral ceremony.”

Chang-hun, who had been cowed by Secretary Ji’s sarcasm, seemed to recover his spirits. “You understand, don’t you? Now that your grandfather isn’t here, things have come to this. That’s why you need older folks in the house.” He spoke with confidence, as if he were given a responsibility only he could fulfill. As he entered, he quickly picked up the scarf Secretary Ji had dropped near the doorstep. Chang-hun put it around his neck and hung his hat on the nail in the wall.

When the Suwon woman reappeared, after having taken a look at the groceries brought home from the market for the ritual, Secretary Ji handed her the bag of fruit and sat down across from Chang-hun. He took out a flint pouch to stuff his pipe and was about to light it when he happened to glance outside through the large glass window in front of him. He put down his pipe and clucked his tongue. Deok-gi and Chang-hun turned to take a look and saw that the Suwon woman had torn open the bag of fruit and had given her daughter, who was riding on the nanny’s back, two tangerines; the child had one in each of her hands. Now the Suwon woman was giving one to the nanny.

“Why get angry over such a trifle?” Chang-hun said to Secretary Ji. Chang-hun took out a pack of Pigeon cigarettes and lit one leisurely. Smoking cigarettes, rather than a traditional pipe, seemed incongruous in a man of his years.

“Young people these days don’t know how to show respect for their elders. What’s essential is sincerity.” Secretary Ji hadn’t taken a single tangerine for himself and had sent the entire batch to the old man with a devoted heart, though he had to swallow the water gathering in his mouth. The Suwon woman’s behavior was unconscionable.

“Is it so wrong that the old man’s precious daughter taste them before he does?” Chang-hun retorted.

Ji hid his displeasure, but when his eyes landed on the scarf, he brought up the matter again. “What made you lose that scarf of yours, the one you won’t take off even now that you’re inside?”

“Didn’t I say I’m going to be kicked out of my house?” Chang-hun answered vaguely.

“It seems to me that the scarf has legs of its own, for I saw it a while ago at the hospital.”

“If the scarf interests you so much, why didn’t you just steal it? Do you want it for a New Year’s present?”

“Steal it? I gather that’s something you would say to your friends,” Secretary Ji replied in a huff. As the saying goes, beggars don’t go begging in a group. People who depend on others for their livelihood have the habit of cutting each other down. Besides, to Secretary Ji — who had devoted almost half his life to the master of the household and who couldn’t be more loyal — Chang-hun and Clerk Choe were sorry excuses for human beings. Chang-hun, on the other hand, considered Ji no more than an old dog in a hole beneath the Jo family’s veranda.

“Why do I have to be attacked like this today?” Chang-hun asked Deok-gi. “It was cold, so I had a quick drink standing up in a bar and stopped by here to take a nap. I left my scarf behind because I was a bit drunk.”

Deok-gi changed the subject as though he wanted to cut their quarrel short, but he actually had something else in mind. “I’ve been meaning to ask you — who sent the telegrams for you? None reached me, you know.”

“I asked my kids, and I sent one myself.”

“Strange. The other day, as I passed by the Keijo post office, I remembered that you’d sent the telegrams from there. I went in and asked them. We searched everything but found no record.”

“Is that possible? Aren’t hundreds or thousands of telegrams sent from there each day?”

“All they have to do is check the ones that have been returned due to failed delivery. I’ll check again when I arrive in Kyoto.”

“I have no idea what could have happened.” Chang-hun’s expression didn’t change.

Secretary Ji said, “Whether you’re sending a telegram or wiring money, you’d better entrust it to someone who’s smart enough to know what he’s doing. Who knows, he could have put the telegram in an envelope and dropped it in a mailbox.”

Deok-gi laughed in spite of himself.

Chang-hun shot him a reproachful glance as he stood up. “I’m going home, but I’ll be back soon.” He put his hat on and went out. He wanted to get away from them.