‘Does anyone know what has happened to Miss Yun?’
They would be perplexed. Mr Hong would give a sigh of relief thinking ‘Is that all? She’s just absent without leave. She should know better what he’s like. “Always remember the difference between official matters and private ones. If you are called away from the office make sure we always know where you are, etc., etc.”’
‘Well, I could easily have made something up. Told him that she had phoned in and said she was not well.’ At the thought of this sanguine friend I smiled to myself. Meanwhile Mr Chin, feeling that he ought to say something would cautiously speak.
‘She is not in today, sir, but she hasn’t been in touch, most unlike her.’ Getting no clue from them he would call Miss Pak to his office as she is my closest friend. She might tell him that since I came back from a holiday at the spa town of Onyang a couple of years ago, I seemed to be harbouring some secret but it was only a vague impression, and she was not at all sure. He would show her my letter. She would turn white.
‘We can’t just sit here and talk like this, sir. We must do something. I will ring her sister.’
By that time my sister would have read my letter to her, but at the thought of her reaction to Miss Pak’s call, I burst into tears. Please God, don’t let them make too much of a fuss about me when it’s all over. I walked into a coffee-shop and sat in a quiet corner. The experience of the past two years came floating before my mind’s eye so vividly, like a film.
Chapter 2
Fate’s Favourite Child
The snow was getting heavier by the minute, flakes as large as a child’s fist. It fell on the top of the ever-deepening layer already on the ground. Houses, trees and all the other objects you could see stood still under its thick cover. It was the most enchanting scene that I had ever seen.
Miae and I were looking down on the courtyard from the window of our hotel room on the first floor. From the radio floated the mournful, sweet melody of Negro spirituals sung by Maria Anderson, making us feel sad and sweet too. In three hours’ time we would be catching the train back to Seoul.
Onyang was a famous spa town. Newly-married couples came here for their honeymoon. But for us it had been a few days of farewell treat. We had been the closest of friends since high school days in the provincial town, Chŏngju. We were the famous duo who sang duets at school concerts, she alto and I soprano; we were the dynamic chieftains leading our classmates in all aspects of school life. We frequented each other’s houses, treated like members of each others’ families. Our friends and teachers used to tease us calling us ‘The pair.’ Our ideals were of the loftiest, and to achieve them we worked hard with some proud results. On leaving high school we entered the universities of our choice through competition rates of twenty to one or more, the only two girls from this provincial town to get into the first-rate universities of Seoul. Miae went to the Law College of the Seoul National University and I to the College of Politics and Law of Y University. Surrounded by congratulations and encouragement from friends, teachers and families, we subconsciously had believed that our future paths would be as sunny and smooth as they had always been. There seemed no reason to believe it to be otherwise as long as we kept our heads clear.
Even though we now went to different colleges at opposite ends of the city, we scarcely passed a day without seeing each other. We were no longer a couple of chattering young girls, we were thoughtful intellectuals, brooding over serious matters like politics, life, God and love. Analysing, criticizing and then sometimes uncertain we often talked all through the night. Four years of college life, when it came to an end, seemed like a fleeting dream. It was during the last two that certain events had altered Miae’s life and these same events were to turn the course of my life also.
She had a brief but passionate love affair, which ended tragically. Though my closest friend, I learned that in matters of love there was nothing I could do to help except to comfort and support her choice of action whatever it might be. She had, after much anguish and inner struggle, chosen to enter a Catholic convent. Her parents were atheists. They declared that they would rather see her dead than a nun. Unknown to them who were conveniently out of the way living in the country, the arrangements went ahead so that in September the following year she was to enter a house of the Carmelite order in Taegu. Now that her path became clear she no longer wept or looked miserable. Knowing her as I did, I was certain that her decision was final. Whatever her motives may have been, I thought, it was an admirable choice to become a nun. At the end of December that year I got my monthly pay plus an equal amount of bonus from The Korean Academy and I thought it would be an excellent idea to spend the bonus on Miae to mark the grand finale to our friendship. I remembered that she had expressed a wish to get away to somewhere even for a few days. I took a week’s leave and decided on Onyang as our destination. It was our first ever holiday and I could afford a few days of luxury. I had chosen the most expensive suite in the hotel, and we enjoyed ourselves doing nothing in particular, and eating the most delicious things.
The radio music ended, and an unbearable sense of finality followed. We exchanged a sad smile, and then started singing a song of farewell in two parts.
Beyond the lake, the moon is setting,
while on the hill behind the dawn breaks,
Your eyes full of love, your face a vision of an angel
You smile as you say goodbye.
Jenny, my Jenny, must you go?
Jenny, my Jenny, how shall we part.
Our song came to an abrupt stop as down in the courtyard below our window we saw a smart gentleman emerging from the hotel entrance. We recognized him at once as Mr Kwŏn who we had met briefly the night before. Wrapped up in a sage-green overcoat with a hat and well-polished black shoes, he went across the courtyard and out of the main gate. He had around him, I thought, an air of poetic melancholy, probably reflecting my own mood.
‘I bet he knows we are watching him. He’s just too proud to look up and say hello to us,’ I grumbled.
‘You fancy him,’ said Miae, and imitating the voice of an old spinster, the domestic science teacher at high school whom we used to hate, added, ‘You’d better watch out. All men are hungry wolves.’ Merrily we laughed and went back to packing.
‘Still, I think he is a gentleman. What I can’t understand is how he dared to walk in here in his pyjamas. I was outraged. I nearly told him to get out.’
My mind was in a strange state so that I wanted to talk about him, whether it be praise or derision.
‘Knowing we were two women from Seoul, he thought we were the frivolous kind. That’s all.’ She said curtly.
I had known her when she had been a very sensitive yet positive and forceful girl, and then had watched the process of change taking place in her. When she had been hit by the bitter experience of love, she seemed to droop like frost-bitten grass, gradually losing interest in her surroundings. Recently she seemed to have recovered her reason, but remained cool towards the outside world.
‘I expect he’s just a simpleton and came over as he happened to be dressed at the moment.’
In my mind I went over what had happened the previous day.
It was very quiet in the hotel in the afternoon. We seemed to be the only guests in the whole establishment. Lying on our beds, we were singing our favourite songs one after another, between the usual chatter. Suddenly there was the sound of running footsteps and the hushed voices and laughter of people along