Gwangju Writes: Mysterious Maiden

Today, you can even visit a Chunhyang-themed park in Namwon, North Jeolla Province, a mere hour away from Gwangju by bus! Namwon, I should mention, is the traditional setting of Chunhyang. There you can visit a Chunhyangthemed park or participate in the regular Chunhyang Festival, which includes performances of the pansori narrative and a Miss Chunhyang Beauty Pageant. And, of course, Namwon is always a beautiful spot for enjoying Korea’s spring cherry blossoms!

Sources

Cho, Sung-won (2004). Trapped in the quest for realism: Mistaken equality in Namchang Ch’unhyangga. Korea Journal, 44, 102–122 Cho, Sung-won (2003). Waiting for the Sage King: The “political unconscious” of Namchang Ch’unhyangga.

Korea Journal, 43, 240–266 Deuchler, Martina. (1992). The Confucian transformation of Korea: A study of society and ideology. Council of East Asian Studies, Harvard University. Eckert, Carter J., et al. (1990). Korea old and new: A history. Harvard University Press. Kim, Heunggyu. (2003). P’ansori. In Peter H. Lee (Ed.), A history of Korean literature. Cambridge University Press. Kim, Yeongmin. (2011). Portrait of two women: Multiple layers of Confucianism in late Chosŏn Korea. In Yeongmin Kim & Michael Pettid (Eds.), Women and Confucianism in Chosŏn Korea. State University of New York Press. Rutt, Richard. (1974). The song of a faithful wife, Ch’unhyang. In Richard Rutt & Kim Chong-un [Trans.], Virtuous women: Three classic Korean novels.

Royal Asiatic Society, Korea Branch / Kwang Myong Printing

The Author

Diane Dooley is originally from Glasgow, Scotland, and has a BA in Korean and an MA in Korean literature. She enjoys reading, coffee, and talking about Korea to anyone willing to listen. She currently lives and works in Gwangju as an English teacher and is passionate about education. Email: dianedooley@naver.com

Mysterious Maiden

By Stephen Kagarise

Deep in the mountains, there once lived an old bachelor. Every day, he would go digging for herbs and then sell them in the market. Nearly thirty, and quite poor, it seemed unlikely he would ever find a wife.

One day he went deeper in the woods than usual, looking for herbs, and struck such a rich vein that he lost track of time. Before he knew it, the sun had set, stranding him in the dark. Eager to get home, he only got more lost in the forest. He had no other recourse but to keep wandering. At last, he saw a faint light flickering in the distance. He ran over to see who it might be. What he found was a straw-thatched house with a fencedin garden. Hearing his footsteps, a young woman came out to greet him.

“I was digging for herbs,” said the man, “when the sun set. Now I’m lost. Can you put me up for the night?”

Without a moment’s pause, she beckoned him to enter the house. She gave him a bowl of rice and a plate of vegetables. He ate well and slept the night.

The next morning, she prepared breakfast. As the two shared their meal, she broke the silence, curious to learn more about him. “Tell me, how much do you earn digging herbs?” she asked. “How many mouths do you feed?”

survive. “As for children or a wife, I have nothing of that sort.”

With joy written all over her face, the woman asked him to live with her, but on very specific terms. “Just tend the garden now and then,” she said. “It needs weeding and other care. On market days, come rain or snow, go to the market. When you get back, you must tell me what you saw there and heard. For each report, I will pay you ten gold coins.”

Well, as someone who was used to selling his wares at the market, that was the fairest deal he had been offered in a long time. Actually, more than fair. And to receive this lovely young woman into the bargain, as his wife, was more than an old bachelor could resist. Without further ado, he moved in.

As per their agreement, on off-days he did some gardening, and on market days, whether it rained or snowed, he went to the market. He kept his eyes and ears open so that he could report it all, without fail, to his wife. She would simply nod as she listened. Three years went by without incident, the two enjoying each other’s company.

One day our happy husband saw something new at the market: a young man on a donkey, wearing a straw hat. Hanging from the hat was a small bell, which rang as he rode.When he got back from his trip, the husband told his wife how absurd it was to see a man wearing a bell that should have been attached to his donkey.

All the color left her face. “If you see him again, be sure to follow wherever he goes. Find out where he lives for me.” It was the first time she had responded to one of his reports. For the past three years, she had seemed to pay them no more heed than to the clouds in the sky.

It so happened that the very next market day, there was the same man in a straw hat riding a donkey, his bell ringing all the while. He left the market and went into the mountains, with the husband close on his trail, and entered a dark hole in the rock.

“Did this guy just ride his donkey into a cave?” wondered the husband, confused by his strange behavior. He tried to peer in, when suddenly the man reemerged from his lair. “Did a woman ask you to follow me?” he asked, without any preamble.

What could the husband say? This donkey rider seemed to know it all already. So he said yes, his wife had asked him to do so.

“That woman is not your wife, but an old centipede born ten centuries ago. She will eat you up for dinner this very night.”

The husband found this hard to believe, having lived with her for so long. But the thought of being eaten by a centipede filled him with fear, and besides, his marriage ending in a gruesome death would only be fair, considering how happy he had been until now.

“What should I do if I want to live?” he asked the young man.

“Go to the market and buy the most pungent tobacco you can find. Burn it and rub the ashes all over your body. Then go home but sneak up from the rear and peek in through a hole in the door. When you see the centipede, blow smoke at her through the hole. She will die and you will live.”

The husband followed his instructions. He covered himself in ash and went home, where he saw his wife slithering all over the floor. She was in fact a centipede.

All that remained was to blow the smoke and kill her. If not, it would mean his own death. He believed it all now, the entire story. But he could not do it. This was his wife of three years. He owed her a debt of gratitude and was greatly fond of her. He still loved her, even if she was a centipede.

Better me than her, he thought, if someone has to die. He washed in a nearby stream, removing all the ash. Then he walked back home and entered through the front door. His wife gave him a hug in her normal, human form. As always, she was happy to see him.

He told her about the cave, and what the young man had told him. “I know you’re a centipede. You’re going to eat me tonight, aren’t you?”

His wife was taken by surprise. “I may be an insect, but why would I eat you? Let me tell you all about it,” she said, as they sat together at the table.

“That man you saw at the market, he’s an earthworm, as old as I am. He killed my husband in a fight. I’ve been hiding here in the mountains, waiting to take my revenge. Now that I know where he lives, I plan to go there and end his life. You have nothing to do with this, but since we’ve been husband and wife for three years, I ask you to honor our marriage by helping me.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Tomorrow when I am locked in combat, do not be afraid, but yell as loud as you can. He will look at you and forget about me. That’s when he will die.”

Early the next day, they went to fight the earthworm. In front of the cave, the woman did three somersaults, becoming a centipede as large as the ridgeline of a tiled roof. The earthworm slithered out of his hole, well aware that she had come to fight, and ready to meet her head on. Soon they were joined in a fatal embrace, where they tried to choke and rip each other apart.

Watching the fierce contest from the sidelines, the husband could not yell out, as his wife had requested, and even fell down in a swoon. The centipede and earthworm called a short truce, both exhausted and needing some time to rest. She returned to her human form and shook her husband awake. Together, they walked home.

That night she got his firm assurance that he would yell out and distract the earthworm during their fight the next day. This was necessary if she was to be victorious. But when the time came, his whole body was frozen with fear. His stiff neck would not allow the yell to pass up his throat. The second day of combat also ended in a draw.

“Please do not fail me tomorrow,” she told him. “If I don’t kill that earthworm, I have to wait another three years for my next chance. If that happens, he’s likely to devour us both, so make up your mind to yell.” The next day he set out with a full measure of resolve to yell during the combat. As before, the centipede and earthworm locked together, so intent on killing their foe that they leapt high into the air. While they roiled in a hissing ball, a Gordian knot of hate, the husband finally found the strength to shout, “Kill that scoundrel!”

The earthworm was struck as if by thunder. He fell to the ground, dazed and defenseless, where the centipede could rip his head from his neck.

She returned to her human form, addressing her husband as the lovely young woman he had always known. “Now that I’ve had my revenge, it’s time for me to return to the land I came from. You go that way to our home. There you will find a chest full of gold. Take it and live a good life.” She disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

The man walked to their home, crestfallen at this turn of events. But the garden, the house itself, had all gone. It was just weeds in a barren field. However, he did find the chest, full to the brim. Whether he considered it fair recompense for the loss of his wife is anyone’s guess.

The Author

Stephen Kagarise is an English teacher from Chapel Hill, North Carolina. He has been living in Gwangju since 2012, when he began studying Korean at Chosun University.