Magnolia. Agnita Tennant

made us special, packed lunches. Ostensively we were going to pick wild herbs. We went beyond the town to the hills, and deep into the woods. Now and again we picked tender fern shoots or other edible leaves and wild garlic but we most enjoyed our lunch by a bubbling little stream, and splashing about in the water. Father with a boyish grin carefully turned over a flat stone, and gave a cry of delight as he lifted with his thumb and forefinger that held a crayfish. He quickly handed it to me and started chasing another one that was scurrying away. ‘Cor! It’s fast!’ We were all excited with the chase. A little way up it escaped among some dead leaves and small stones by the edge of the water. ‘That must be its den – let’s see.’ He stealthily removed the stones one by one, and there it was. When he finally caught it and held it up in the air we all let out loud cries of triumph. All that we brought home, wrapped in a handkerchief, was a handful of wild herbs and three little crayfish which all went into the soup pot of soya bean paste for supper. The crayfish added a fishy flavour above all other ingredients. We all agreed it was delicious.

      When the school holidays came we could not wait for Hyŏngsŏk to come from Seoul. Meeting him at the railway station was the most exciting moment. Having probably inherited father’s weak sight he was already wearing dark-rimmed glasses. Each time he seemed to have grown a head taller. He was handsome in his school uniform. We were proud of him as we all walked home followed by a coolie carrying his bags on a jige.

      My father who was gentle and delicate with his daughters had quite a different way with his son. It was quite Spartan. He sent him to classes for Karate, fencing and swimming, and punished him for the slightest wrongdoing. When Hyŏngsŏk spoke back to grandmother and upset her, father ordered him to roll up his own trousers and to stand straight, and caned him until red weals stood out all over his calves. At such times I was shaking all over as I whimpered but Hyŏngsŏk stood up to it with his lips pressed tight, never uttering so much as a groan. He looked heroic and I worshipped him.

      ‘An honest, honourable and manly boy’ was father’s motto in bringing him up. Probably, in this way, from his childhood any ­element of feebleness or cowardliness was eradicated from the ­formative process of his character.

      At this time he was at the threshold of adolescence and yet very much a child at heart. On the way home from the station he was excited at the prospect of seeing us, his younger sisters, opening the presents he was bringing home. He could not wait until we got home.

      ‘Yours is a set of pretty beads,’ he whispered. ‘It’s in there.’ He pointed to one of the bags that were being carried by the porter.

      ‘Sŏnhi’s is a pair of stockings, long silk ones. Shh, don’t tell her until she opens them herself.’

      But when he challenged the authority of grandmother he looked so grown up. ‘Your way of bringing up the children is called despotism. You should try to understand their psychology a bit, granny.’

      She would be outraged at this. ‘What insolence! Is this how that useless school of yours teaches you to behave to your elders? I’ve always thought it was a waste of money that your father earns with his blood and sweat.’

      ‘Please leave my school out of it, granny. To disgrace its honour through my deeds is unbearable.’

      Being away from home meant that he had some money to spend as he chose. Now and again he took us to a baker’s shop and gave us treats with cakes and ice-creams. At such times, he was generous and happy. He seemed to be enjoying the privilege of being the eldest of the brood. He told Myŏngsŏk, ‘Don’t tell granny that we ate cakes outside, will you?’ Myŏngsŏk eagerly nodded in agreement. As soon as we got home, he ran straight up to her and said, ‘Granny, we didn’t eat any cakes outside,’ with an uncertain shake of his head. Father could not help smiling, and even granny smiled as she pretended she was cross and said to Hyŏngsŏk, ‘You think I am not feeding your brother and sisters properly, don't you, silly boy?’

      Approaching fifty, father now had white hairs among the black. With his head laid on a wooden pillow in a sunny patch on the floor of the verandah, he often called and asked me to pull them out. Parting his hair this way and that I searched for them and plucked them out. I liked doing it. I thought it was like looking up at the night sky with a lot of stars and giving them names one by one. He fell into a sweet sleep while I was messing up his hair.

      It was about this time that the possibility of his remarriage was being whispered among the grown-ups. The prospective bride was an elderly spinster, Miss Lee who was the head teacher at the municipal kindergarten. During one of these hair-plucking sessions, I gave my father my heartfelt advice as I fingered through his hair. ‘Father, please don’t turn her out this time, will you?’

      ‘Silly child.’ He gave one of his sad smiles. I might not have put it over-elegantly but it came from the bottom of my heart and with solemn resolve that for the sake of my father’s happiness I would do anything for the new stepmother.