‘Next year, I think, we ought to move Sŏnhi to Seoul as well,’ said father. ‘I have been thinking about it a lot. For the children’s sake we must eventually settle in Seoul ourselves. To do that, this orchard will have to go. It is hard work for you as it is now.’
‘Is Myŏngsŏk asleep?’ He changed the subject.
‘Yes.’ Mother’s voice was low.
Myŏngsŏk, just over two was asleep at one end of the room. When the supper table was taken away, the kitchen maid brought in a large wicker basket laden with sweet melons. They were bright yellow, the skin smooth and thin. Putting aside the sweetest looking one for father, mother said, ‘Children, take your pick.’ My brother picked out a big one, and so did my sister. Not being a big eater I picked up the smallest and yellowest.
‘Let’s see who’s got the sweetest,’ said father. ‘They say that one who is good at choosing a sweet melon is also good at choosing a spouse.’
‘Taste mine,’ ‘taste mine, too,’ we all held out our melons to father. Sampling a bit off brother’s he said, ‘It’s very sweet, ‘and then to Sŏnhi, ‘This is very sweet too.’ Lastly taking a bite of mine, he said, ‘Look, this is the sweetest. She has the right way of choosing – you taste, mother.’
‘Um, it’s delicious. She was the last to choose, and picked the sweetest!’
‘Let me try,’ ‘give us a bite,’ my brother and sister begged me. Proudly I handed my melon to my sister, ‘You have two bites,’ I said, and then to my brother, ‘No, you can’t have any,’ pouting.
‘Why?’ They all looked at me.
‘Are you sulking about something, darling?’ asked mother with a smile.
‘You wouldn’t let me stay with you.’ I gave my brother a sidelong glance pretending I was still angry. They all burst into laughter.
‘Silly idiot. It was all because you were making such a fuss about nothing.’ He explained what had happened.
‘This afternoon we went into the orchard to see how blackberries were doing. We saw this gorgeous dragonfly darting about. She kept pestering me to catch it for her. If I’d had a net I would have, but without one how could I? She started being silly and crying. I told her to go home. I’d forgotten all about it.’ Once more they all laughed.
‘She was sitting on the ground, crying, so I coaxed her and brought her home, mummy.’ Sŏnhi explained her part in the drama.
‘She’s like that,’ said mother to father. ‘Sometimes she brings up some little thing that had upset her ages and ages ago, and goes on and on about It. I don’t know why she does it.’
‘Because she’s a clever and sensitive girl, that’s why. Mark my words, she will be somebody when she grows up. Look at the way she has chosen that melon.’ He laughed and I was instantly happy.
‘It’s thanks to Sŏnhi that I’ve kept my sanity. She’s so good and never causes any trouble. She’s so reliable and practically looks after Sukey. I am sure I don’t know what Sukey will do if Sŏnhi goes.’
‘Let’s have a song contest. Come on, who would like to start?’ Father thus changed the atmosphere.
‘Hyŏngsŏk, you go first,’ said mother as she patted my brother on his shoulder, but he seemed suddenly to have gone shy, or feel that he was too old to do such things.
‘No, not me. But mum, you do it, with dad. Your favourite, “I wandered today to the hills, Maggie...”’
The melody of ‘The Song of Maggie’ had been deeply rooted in our minds since our infancy along with the gentle voices of mother and father. Even now I feel like crying when I imagine them, young and in love, singing it together as they dreamed of their future, happily married, bringing up a brood of happy children.
Sŏnhi and I stood against the wall and sang ‘Clementine.’ Father clapped loudly and praised us. ‘They’ve got good voices just like their mother. I have a mind to send then to a music school!’
Then all the family sang together a song from the gramophone record:
The sun has gone down from the top of the hills,
‘Caw, caw’, cawing the crows are homewards too.
We’ll meet again tomorrow, till then adieu,
Let us to our mama’s welcoming arms.
Join hands together and stand in a ring, then
Let them go at one, two, three.
Bow your heads for a goodbye now,
Let us to papa’s welcoming lap.
As the last song was coming to a close, Myŏngsŏk woke from his sleep and joined in the fun, keeping the rhythm with his hips while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His rosy cheeks were dimpled and, fully awake, his eyes were like two bright stars. We adored him. Now joined by the youngest member, the family fun gained a new momentum. Myŏngsŏk liked music. When in a good mood he would go on singing to himself making it up as he went along, picking up bits from here and there from the family songs, the gramophone, or the labourer’s singing, keeping time with his head. This particular evening, he sang his latest song in which some mysterious words recurred. Mother interpreted them:
Daddy’s train’s gone away, chuff, chuff, chuff,
The toffee man went away and never, never, never comes again...
‘What a clever boy!’ Father gathered him in his arms and said, ‘That is a very good song. His rhythm is right and a good tune too.’
Suddenly there was a commotion outside the door. Opening it, we saw in the courtyard, Samsu, a casual worker from the village, blubbering.
‘Please come and save her, sir. My wife, she is dying. She’s been whimpering with tummy ache since lunch. Thinking it’s the old worms playing up again, I let it be, and now she’s...’
My father cut him short.
‘Is it upper or lower stomach? Has she been sick? Is she hot?’ He told mother to fetch the first-aid kit while he put on his shoes.
‘Let’s go and see.’ They disappeared round the bend into the darkness.
On both sides of the house were paddies and beyond them the vast orchards. At the far end of the front yard and behind the house grew all kinds of fruit – peaches, pears, persimmons, plums, grapes, dates, chestnuts and walnuts.
The village was called Sapsuri. The village and its surrounding countryside in Kangwŏn Province, now a part of North Korea, was to my father, his kingdom and Utopia. He had built up this community with his blood and sweat, and youthful idealism to practise his passionate patriotism.
When he came back from Japan with his hard-won graduation certificate, he found his country, now a Japanese colony, a difficult place to find a job that suited him. Besides, young intellectuals like himself were under constant police surveillance. After a long, frustrating search for a job, he had decided to serve his country by living amongst the uneducated farming folk and enlightening them. With all his inherited money he bought a hundred acres of land here and developed it into a flourishing orchard and farm.
He started night classes and taught ignorant people to read and write. Over the years he had become a sort of sage. He was a friend, teacher, scribe and solicitor, and a mediator when there was a row. He even treated minor ailments.
When he made up his mind to forsake his Utopia, it must have been a heart-breaking decision for him. He could do it only because, to his mind, the education of his children was a matter of highest importance.
The day came when my