Beasts of a Little Land(114)
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JADE WAS WALKING HOME AFTER finishing the last day of school. She had a month and a half of winter break and was buoyed by a sense of relief and possibilities. She allowed herself to think back to the meeting with HanChol just as a writer dips her pen in ink—with habitual pleasure.
At the time, she hadn’t had a chance to dwell on her emotions. As always happens with significant events, the feelings developed fully and took on new colors and scents as she relived the scene in her mind. She now saw that she hadn’t been angry at him in his presence, even over Dani’s passing. She was more surprised to discover that she wanted to see him again, to talk to him about the different paths that they had taken. It was hard to believe that they had once walked the same path, enough for her to have imagined that they might one day marry.
She took a turn onto a boulevard in Jongno. She wanted to stop by Café Seahorn for coffee, as she sometimes did by herself. The café was now a quiet place that strictly played music from before the Korean War. The red-leather booths were cracked and peeling, the umbrella stand was filled with canes, and the have-been patrons murmured in heated tones about art that had fallen out of fashion twenty or so years ago. They had a habit of quarrelling among themselves over misremembered history or perceived slights, but quickly forgetting or pretending to forget. There were so few of them left after two wars and countless struggles in between, that it wasn’t easy to end relationships even with one’s enemies.
The poet-owner was still there, and though his head was now gray he was the thing that had changed the least from Jade’s younger days. He wore the same round spectacles and a well-pressed white shirt, and never noticed his clientele’s aging or their star waning. He never married or had children, and people no longer bothered to spread rumors about why. Even his acquaintance with Jade had never deepened to friendship, and she was perfectly happy with that. When she walked in he always chatted amicably for just one minute and then left her alone.
Jade was startled out of her reverie by a crowd lining the boulevard on either side. She was annoyed; she’d wanted to walk in peace and quiet to her café. As she started to weave her way out toward a side street, people started shouting and jeering.
“Bastards! Sons of bitches!” they cried out.
Jade turned around and saw a line of about a dozen men, wrists bound and roped together like a string of dried croaker fish. Each man had a large placard hanging over his neck. I AM A THIEF AND I DESERVE PUNISHMENT read one sign. I SLEPT WITH MY FATHER’S WIFE read another. Not merely satisfied with booing, some people started picking up stones and throwing them at the men.
Jade nearly screamed out loud when she saw JungHo in the middle of the line. His sign, in a shaky, childlike handwriting, said: I AM A GANGSTER & A COMMUNIST & I DESERVE TO DIE.
“No! No!” Jade cried, pushing aside the waves of gleeful strangers. People hissed at her from all sides, but she made her way to the front and followed the train of men.
“JungHo!”
Somehow, above the din of the crowd, JungHo heard her and found her eyes. One side of his face was already purple and swollen, and the rocks still flew by him. One hit him in the back and some young men near Jade erupted in delighted whoops.
“Stop, you dogs!” Jade pushed the young man who was cheering the loudest.
“What the fuck? Old bitch,” he muttered, not so loudly, and then disappeared into the crowd with his friends.
Jade met JungHo’s eyes again. He gave her the tiniest shake of his head—don’t do anything. Then he smiled, to let her know he was okay.
He was remembering at that moment the parade of courtesans, many years ago now. It was almost at this same spot he’d fallen for the beautiful young girl who threw a flower at his face—the first time he saw Jade. He had the delirious sensation that he’d been walking this road all this time; and all this time, she was there to meet him. He wanted to look at Jade again, but thought that might provoke her into doing something dangerous and heroic. He had to look away, even though it pained him not being able to say to her, I love you. The rope was tugged, another rock hit him in the ear, and the jeer of the crowd faded away. He began to walk again, one footstep at a time, toward wherever the road ended.
Epilogue
The Seawoman
1965
AFTER THE EXECUTION, I COULDN’T BEAR TO STAY IN SEOUL. I RESIGNED from the school, came home, and packed all my things. I gave away almost everything to the neighbors and some of my pupils. Then I went to the garden and dug up the diamond necklace and the celadon vase. Wrapped in silk and hidden in two nesting boxes, they still looked the same as when I had last seen them. It was only I who had changed.
I took the train to Busan, watching the landscape change out the window. When I got off the train, the sun was setting in the harbor and a flock of seagulls landed noisily near my feet. Then I heard the ships blow their horns, just like the poet told me. I felt like I could breathe again for the first time since that day. But this still wasn’t far enough from Seoul, and the next morning I got on a ship to Jejudo.
Everything about Jejudo is different from the mainland, starting from the sea. It is light turquoise near a sandy beach, and deepens to emerald-green and sapphire-blue farther from the shore. In some places where the black volcanic rock dashes off to a sudden bluff, the indigo waves look like they’re reflecting the night sky even when it’s sunny and bright. In midwinter the camellia trees with their glossy green leaves were in full bloom, and when the wind blew, their red flowers fell on the black cliffs or tumbled into the sea. The air smelled of salt and ripe tangerines.