From Wonso Pond (23 page)

Tokho patted Sonbi's warm cheek lightly with his hand. Sonbi flinched and took a step backward.

“Hah, ha . . . I guess you're old enough now not to want to mix company,” said Tokho. He opened the door and went outside.

When she finally heard his footsteps tread through the middle gate, she sighed in relief and rubbed her face with both her hands. She could still feel the spot where Tokho's hand had touched her cheek. Does he really mean to send me to school? she wondered, collapsing onto the floor. And what in the world would she say if he asked her again? How about, ‘I'm going to Seoul!' No, no, that won't do! ‘Please let me go to school!' That's more like it . . . ‘Oh, Father, please let me go to school.' Now, that's what she should say! And as these words rolled off her tongue, Sonbi truly believed she'd soon be going off to study in Seoul. It had been almost as long as she could remember since she'd actually said the word ‘Father,' and while there was still something strange about it, she really did feel as though she'd met her father once again after a long separation. These emotions pulsing through her made her heart pound all the more.

Why didn't Father talk about this when Okchom's mother was around? she asked herself. Then it struck her that she should probably be saying ‘Mother' and not ‘Okchom's mother.' And yet, Okchom's mother was the one person she couldn't, with all her heart, address in that way. Whenever she said the word ‘Mother' she remembered her own mother, and she always fell into a state of indescribable sadness.

Sonbi decided that Tokho hadn't mentioned this subject in front of Okchom's mother because he knew full well that she would have certainly opposed the idea, and she now felt grateful to Tokho for not doing so. Yet she knew that in the end it couldn't all happen behind the woman's back. He'd probably tell her after he'd already sent Sonbi to Seoul, or else the day before she was about to leave, or so Sonbi imagined. She could just picture the expression of utter shock on the woman's face, and those angry eyebrows slanting in disapproval. But, it won't matter anyway. Father's been planning to send me off to school this whole time, she reminded herself, shifting her gaze toward the door.

It now dawned on Sonbi that she'd survived for so long in this household only thanks to the protection that Tokho had been kind enough to give her. And there was no question about it—she'd have to let Tokho take care of her in the future as well . . . Or rather, she firmly believed that he would always be there for her in the future. And this was the reason why whenever Sonbi stayed up late at night worrying about one thing or another, she could always put her mind at rest and fall to sleep with the comforting thought that the master of the household would do whatever was in her best interests.

From the time she'd been a small child, her mother had always referred to Tokho as Master of the household, and she, too, had come to refer to him as ‘Master.' And yet this morning for the very first time, she had decided to call him ‘Father'! She had made up her mind, and from now on, ‘Father' was how she would address him.

“Oh, Father, please send me to school!” Sonbi repeated these words once again. She was so overwhelmed with emotion that her eyes glistened with tears.

The middle gate creaked open.

55

Sonbi quickly wiped away her tears and looked out the glass window. Yu Sobang was coming in with the pair of straw shoes he had made for her. She opened the door and went outside.

With a broad smile on his face, Yu Sobang made his way to the breezeway.

“Here, try them on!”

Sonbi took the shoes from him, the hint of her delight betrayed only in the arch of her eyebrows.

Yu Sobang had asked her to measure her foot yesterday, and she had done so using a piece of string.

“Come, try them on. If they don't fit, I'll make another pair for you.”

“You don't have to do that . . .”

Sonbi glanced at Yu Sobang, but she made no move to try on the shoes.

“Come on, kid. I said try them on . . .”

For his own peace of mind, Yu Sobang wanted to see for himself that the shoes he'd worked so hard to make actually fit her. Sonbi finally
agreed to try on the shoes and bent down to put them on, but the instant she looked at her feet, her face went red.

“I'll try them on later,” she said, dashing back into the house. Inside, she bent to look at her socks again. What is that, blood? Where did that come from? Oh, this is so embarrassing . . . And so strange! At the tip of her sock was a round red spot—she touched it and examined it carefully. It was nothing but a drop of dried liquid from some
kimchi
. Only now was she able to breathe easily again. But what if Yu Sobang had thought it was blood? she wondered, peering through the pane of glass. With the same broad smile on his face, Yu Sobang was watching Blackie scamper this way and that through the snow. Perhaps the dog understood Yu Sobang's smile, or perhaps he was just excited by the falling snow, for he plowed his nose through the snow and dug his paws into it, jumping this way and that, and rolling about.

At each stunt, Yu Sobang urged him on under his breath.

“That's it! Hah, ha,” he laughed. “Go, go!”

As far as Yu Sobang was concerned, that dog was his one and only friend. Sonbi felt the same way. The dog was attached to Yu Sobang, Sonbi, and Granny. Perhaps because they were the ones who fed him.

After watching the dog for a while, Yu Sobang peered through the glass window.

“So they fit?”

“Yes.” Sonbi looked at the shoes placed beside her before answering.

Yu Sobang seemed satisfied with her answer, and headed back outside toward the middle gate. Blackie, still coated white with snow, followed him. Sonbi's gaze shifted down to her straw shoes. She tried them on, and they fit perfectly. “Oh, how beautifully he wove them!” She stared at her feet. Yu Sobang had woven these shoes especially for her, and she was terribly grateful to him for them. And when she imagined who might weave shoes like these for her in the future, the first person who came to mind was Ch'otchae. But didn't they say he ran off somewhere? He did something bad and ran off, didn't he? What in the world was wrong with him? But with a mother like that, how could anyone turn out okay? Despite her misgivings, Sonbi felt sorry about his leaving. If only she'd been able to see him one last time before he'd left—it was this lingering sense of loss that stayed with her for some time as she gazed down at those newly woven shoes. But, I'm going off to school, so none of this even matters . . .

That evening, Tokho's whole household went to the chapel. The children were supposed to put on a special show, so everyone—even Yu Sobang and Tokho—had gone to see it.

As Sonbi sat in that enormous room all alone, winnowing the rest of the cotton she had started that afternoon, her mind wandered in many directions. From out of the cotton gin flowed white clouds of round, plump cotton. They passed through the gin, one after the other, just like the myriad of thoughts that seemed to flow through her mind.

Only hours earlier Sonbi had looked forward to going to the chapel that night, too. But after her unexpected conversation with Tokho, she was more than content to just sit there, entertaining thoughts of her studies in Seoul. So when Okchom's mother told Granny to watch the house and asked Sonbi to come along to the chapel, she had declined and let Granny go instead.

Each time Sonbi thought of studying at a school, the first thing that came to her mind was learning how to embroider. This was the only kind of studying she'd ever seen with her own eyes. She assumed that students had to dress up in fancy western clothes and use powder and face cream and lipstick—just like Okchom did. And she imagined that being a student meant walking around with boys as if it were nothing, eating lunch with them and studying alongside them without ever getting embarrassed. It was with this mixture of embarrassment and distress on the one hand, and pure joy on the other, that these thoughts churned through Sonbi's mind to the rhythm of the cotton gin. But then the door slowly slid open.

56

A cold wind swept inside and Sonbi shivered. She jumped to her feet in surprise.

“Who's that?” she cried in the confusion of the moment. But when she turned around, it was of all people Tokho. She was ashamed to have been so alarmed, and her face went red.

“Did I scare you?”

Tokho brushed off the snow that had fallen on him and took a seat in the warm corner of the room. Then he started stroking his beard.

“There wasn't a thing worth seeing. So many damn peasants there, it was more like torture than entertainment.”

Tokho had taken the liberty of striking up a conversation with Sonbi, but Sonbi picked up the cotton gin and stood up to go.

“What's the matter? Why are you getting up?”

“I'm just going to gin the cotton in the side room.”

“Oh, just do it here . . . Come on, girl, don't go now. I've got something to talk to you about.”

Sonbi put down the cotton gin and sat down again, thinking that he probably wanted to ask her whether she wanted to study in Seoul.

“Put that gin away and sit over here.”

Sonbi would have felt too exposed without holding the cotton gin in front of her, so she kept her hands firmly clasped onto it. Tokho got up and sat closer to her.

“So do you really want to study?”

Sonbi felt awkward for some reason and she couldn't give him an immediate reply.

“Come, child, why won't you answer me? When an elder asks you a question, you've got to be quick with an answer.” He chuckled. “Boy, are you something!”

Sonbi cracked a smile, then hid her face from him. She was both embarrassed and deeply moved, and she could feel her heart racing at a frightful speed.

“So you don't want to go?”

Tokho moved closer to her inch by inch, whether conscious of it or not.

“I want to study . . . ” replied Sonbi, still looking at the cotton gin.

She had finally spoken, but had left off the ‘Father' that she'd been planning on using since that afternoon. She considered saying it again, and glanced over at Tokho. Tokho smiled.

“So you want to study . . .”

The blushing face of this girl half hidden behind the frame of the cotton gin! Tokho could feel the lust surge unbearably inside him. He sprang to Sonbi's side.

“Stay still! No one's going to hurt you.”

He quickly grabbed her hand, just as she jumped up in alarm. Tokho's hand was as hot as fire. The scent of alcohol and the powerful odor of a strong middle-aged man were almost suffocating. Sonbi didn't know what to do, and started to tremble.

“Please let go of me!”

She tried to shake off Tokho as he slowly pulled her closer, but she also had to fight back the wave of tears that were building up inside of her. And then, just as she thought she might finally break free from him, that fatty yellow flesh on Tokho's face, like an over-grown squash, pressed up against her cheek.

“Oh, Sonbi! Just do what I tell you, and I'll give you anything your heart desires, much more than the chance to go to school! You understand, my girl?”

Sonbi whipped her face away from his.

“Oh, Father! Please stop it!”

“Aha, hah, ha . . . Father! You said Father! Oh, you sweet little thing, you. Now then, why be afraid of your own father? Come, my girl . . . ”

He whispered this into her ear and squeezed Sonbi so tightly that she now felt sick to her stomach.

“Father, I think maybe you've had too much to drink.”

“I know, my girl, I'm dead drunk.”

Tokho was breathing heavily. And as his lips moved ever closer toward her mouth, he started slobbering all over her. She had no idea why Tokho was doing this to her. She struggled to break free from his arms, kicking like crazy. She was squirming like a freshly caught fish, as Tokho saw it, but once he'd savored that flesh of hers, he knew she'd taste just fine raw. He kicked the cotton gin to the side and dropped to the floor, Sonbi still in his arms. He grabbed the waist of her skirt and pulled it down.

“Father, Father, oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” she cried out, finally breaking into tears. Once again, she tried to shove him away.

“Not going to stay still, are you? Well, if you won't do as you're told, then just get the hell out of this house! Get out! Right now!”

Glaring at her with his fierce, blood-shot eyes, Tokho was so terrifying that Sonbi was convinced he was on the point of murdering her. This was the same Tokho she had so trusted, so depended on! The same Tokho she had entrusted with her future in place of her own dead mother and father . . . Could she ever have imagined—even in her wildest dreams—that in the course of an hour he could transform into this monster! Sonbi turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, so she wouldn't have to watch him.

57

Returning home late at night, Sinch'ol opened the main gate very quietly and entered the yard. Approaching the door of his room, he stopped short when he heard someone speaking in a hushed voice.

“ . . . No, I'm all right . . . It's just that it seems like Sinch'ol has found a girlfriend.”

The voice belonged to Okchom.

“Oh, come now, that boy? A girlfriend?”

This was his stepmother making excuses for him. When he heard his father clear his throat, however, he glanced briefly at the inner room, removed his shoes, and opened the door to his own room, where Okchom and his stepmother were sitting. Judging from the expressions on their faces, they'd been taken by surprise. The sight of them confirmed to Sinch'ol how much Okchom resembled his stepmother.