Into the light by LTI Korea Library

I nt ot heLi ght

Ki m Sa-r yang Tr ans l at edbyJ aneKi m

Into the Light By Kim Sa-ryang Translated by Jane Kim

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and Literature Translation Institute of Korea. The original manuscripts to these translations were provided by Gongumadang of Korea Copyright Commission.

The National Library of Korea Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kim, Sa-ryang Into the light [electronic resource] = 빛 속에 / [written by] Kim Sa-ryang ; translated by Jane Kim. -- Seoul : LiteratureTranslation Institute of Korea, 2013 p. ISBN 978-89-93360-18-9 05810 : No price 813.61-KDC5 895.733-DDC21

CIP2013027860

About Kim Sa-ryang

Kim Sa-ryang’s (1914~1950) real name is Shi-chang and he was born in 1914 in Pyeongyang, South Pyeongan Province. In 1931, after being expelled for leading a class boycott during his fifth year at Pyongyang Normal High School, he went to Japan and attended Saka High School, and then graduated from Tokyo National University in German literature. When he returned to Korea in 1943, he was sent to China as a reporter in the Japanese Army but he escaped to the coast, working as a reporter in the Korean Volunteer Army under the Chinese National Revolutionary Army and returned to Korea at the time of its independence. After Korea’s independence he was active in North Korea, and as the Korean War broke out, he participated as a war writer in the North Korean People’s Army. He died in 1950 in the Wonju region while retreating north with the North Korean People’s Army from the US Army’s Operation Chromite. Kim Sa-ryang’s literary activities started after his enrollment at Tokyo National University when he was studying German literature. In 1936, he published his first piece, “Toe Seong Rang” which was written in Japanese in the literary coterie magazine The River Bank (Jaebang). Upon his return to Korea after graduation, the publication of his short story “Into the Light” (Bitsokae) (1939) brought him wide recognition for his creative talent. His main works during the Japanese Colonial Period include writings, such as the short story “Pegasus” (Cheonma) and the full-length novel “Taebaek Mountain Range” (Taebaek Sanmaek). He wrote “Old Horse Ten Thousand li” (Noma Manri) (1945) in China. Despite the fact that most of his works are published in Japanese, they are highly regarded for their elaborate projection of the nation’s reality of the time and the portrayal of the Korean people’s deep-rooted pain that existed due to imperial colonization. In “Into the Light,” which can be considered his greatest short story, Kim Sa-ryang accurately depicts the troubles of the main character “Nam” as he struggles to overcome the hardships of his life under oppression. Written in Japanese, this piece was first published in Japan in 1939. A candidate for the Akutagawa Award in 1940, it was even carried in Spring and Autumn Literature (Munye Choonchu). This work is a masterpiece that accurately details the discrimination and sorrow experienced by colonized Koreans living in Japan, the duplicity and distorted desire of Koreans who were trying to hide their Korean identity, and the immutable, yearning for one’s Korean mother. This is shown through the life of mixed-blood Haruo, who is born of a Korean mother and a Japanese father, and the relationship that he has with a Korean male teacher. In short, it can be said that “Into the Light” impressively draws out the pain and oppression of the Korean-Japanese living in Japan during that period. This is the very reason that this work has received such high regard in the history of modern Korean novels.

Into the Light

1. The child that I am going to speak of was truly a strange child. He could never mingle with the other children and always lingered timidly in their presence. He suffered constant beatings and humiliation, but he himself tormented young girls and other children younger than he. And if anyone ever slipped and fell, he would hoot and howl in joy as if he had been waiting for that moment. He didn’t try to love others nor did he try to be loved by them. He was tall and had a thin head of hair, as well as more white in his eyes, putting you in a slightly bad mood. His clothes were more disheveled than any other child in the region, and even though they were well into autumn, he continued to wear tattered, gray clothes. Perhaps that was the reason his eyes appeared even more melancholy and skeptical. Oddly however, he never disclosed where he lived. Judging from the direction that he always came from, he most likely lived near the marsh beyond the station. So once I asked him, “Do you live past the station?” When I did, the embarrassed child shook his head. “No. Our house is next to the Association.” Of course this was an outright lie. He always made a detour to come this way to play after school, and he never left until the evening classes ended. And apparently, he had been treated to dinner in the old housekeeper’s room more than a few times. I didn’t pay much attention to him at first. However, there was one night that I stopped right in my tracks in shock when I discovered him shoveling down food in the housekeeper’s dim room. “That’s strange,” I had thought to myself. But I’m not exactly sure what I meant by this. “That’s strange,” I mumbled once more. For some reason, I felt as though what I had seen had something to do with me, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what. There was something about his huddled form, the shape of his eyes and lips, and even the way he gripped his chopsticks. In the end, I left in silence, because I felt as though I couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t really think of him after that. In the midst of all this, a very peculiar event occurred between us. Around that time, I was a boarder at the S University Association. It was my job to teach about two hours of English in the evening at its Department of Civic Education. However, because the department was located on a factory road close to Goto (Gangdong), those who came to learn were all laborers, and this made the two-hour class quite a struggle. If I didn’t stay absolutely focused during class, they would all doze off, exhausted from the day’s work. The ones bursting with energy in the night classes were of course children. Since their liberal arts class was right below our classroom, we could always hear their noisy chatter. My students practically jumped out of their seats from all the racket. When an old piano began to 4

sound, the children would nearly blow the roof off the building by cheerfully singing the song <We Grow Up Strong and Healthy> at the top of their lungs. Just as I would think, “Oh, class is finished,” it would become noisy, as though beans were being ground in a millstone. It was the sound of children racing up the stairs, scrambling to be first. I, on my way out after teaching, would be seized by the children and become like the old pigeon man. One child would jump on my shoulders, one would hang from my arm, and another would jump up and down in front of me. A few would tug at my suit and hands, while others shout and push from behind, all heading to my room. When I try to open the door, the children who had already gone inside would not let me in. On my side, the children were stuck to the door like ants and tried repeatedly to open the door. It was at this point that Yamada Haruo would try to intervene. He would shout, “Leave it alone, leave it alone. Hey, hey, hey,” and break out into a comical dance right in front of me. Just then, the children beside me would cheer and rush into the room, and the six to seven girls waiting inside would exclaim with joy. “Teacher Minami! Teacher Minami!” “Hold me too.” “Me too.” “Me too.” I had somehow become known as Teacher Minami. Everyone knew that my last name was Nam, but for some reason, I was referred to in the Japanese style. My colleagues first started to call me in this fashion. At first, this weighed heavily on my mind. But later, I thought it was perhaps better if I wanted to play with these naive children. So I tried to convince myself over and over again that I had no reason to be neither hypocritical nor servile. I even tried to justify myself by saying that if there had been a Joseon1 child in the Children’s Department, I no doubt would have demanded that everyone call me by my Korean last name. Because failing to do so would negatively influence Joseon, as well as Japanese, children. But then one night when I was chatting with the children, one of my students came to see me, looking very pale. He was a bulky young fellow named Lee something-or-another who worked as an assistant automobile driver and came every evening to study English and math. He shut the door, blocking my path as if to start a fight. “Teacher,” he said in the Joseon language. I was startled. The children, oblivious about the meaning of the word but feeling the tension in the air, looked back and forth between us. “Why don’t we play later? There’s something I need to take care of right now …” I tried to remain calm as I put a smile on my face. The children obediently walked out the door. All except Yamada Haruo, who was glaring at me with an unusual twinkle in his eyes, as if trying to figure something out. I still cannot forget those glittering eyes. He walked out slowly like a crab, bumping into things here and there.

Joseon is the term that was used to mean “Korean” during the Japanese colonial period. 5

“Why don’t you have a seat?” I said quietly in the Joseon language when only the two of us remained. “We didn’t have many opportunities to chat one-on-one, did we?” “That’s right,” barked Lee while he remained standing. “Honestly, I didn’t know which language to use with you.” A youthful rage could be felt in his words. “I’m indeed a Joseon person.” My voice trembled slightly, perhaps because of my sense of foreboding. It was because of my last name. The reason I couldn’t remain nonchalant was probably proof that I sensed there was something low and servile inside me. So I ended up becoming a little flustered and asked, “Is there something that’s bothering you?” “There is,” he answered with gusto. “Why is it that even you, a teacher, try to hide your name?” I was stunned. “Why don’t you calm down and have a seat?” “I want to know why. I knew you were a Joseon person right away, when I saw your eyes, cheekbones, and nose. But you never gave even the slightest hint. I work as an assistant automobile driver. It’s people with jobs like mine who experience difficulties because of their names …” He began to stutter as he became more impassioned. Why was he so upset? “I don’t think you should act like that. Personally for me, I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.” “That’s right.” I said, half groaning. “I agree with what you just said. I simply wanted to have some fun with the children.” The children were making a lot of noise in the hallway. The door occasionally opened and a face smeared with snot or a face with eyes closed and the tongue sticking out would pop in. “If those children knew that I was a Joseon person, I think a negative curiosity about me, a type of prejudice, would come first before their affection for me. As a teacher, this is a sad thing. No, it’s quite a frightening thing. But having said that, I do not try to hide the fact that I am a Joseon person. Teacher Minami is simply what everyone calls me, and I thought it hardly necessary to go around announcing that I am a Joseon person. But if I gave even the slightest impression that I was ashamed of being known as a Joseon person, I have no excuse …” As I said this, one of the children who peered into the room through the open door shouted, “Hey, Teacher is a Joseon person!” It was Yamada Haruo. In that moment, the hallway became completely silent. I couldn’t help feeling a little dazed. Trying to remain calm, I said, “In any case, why don’t we meet again and talk things out?” Lee, with his hands trembling, walked out of the room. Yamada and a few other children seemed to have run off. I continued to stand in the same spot, bewildered. It had flashed across my mind that I was perhaps a hypocrite. The bell rang at the bottom of the stairs. The children, noisily chatting away, moved down the stairs like a cloud, but the sound seemed to come from far away. Yamada, who had quietly tiptoed toward the room, slowly opened the door and peered into the room. And then he shouted, “Hey, Joseon person!” The stuck out his tongue and then fled again as though someone were chasing him. 6

From this point on, Yamada Haruo became even more bothersome and warped in his ways. But it was after the next incident that I became even more wary of him. When I think back in retrospect, he had always shadowed me and observed me with suspicious eyes for quite some time. It was he who had imitated my mistakes in pronunciation, laughing whenever my tongue tripped over certain words. There was no doubt that he had marked me from the very beginning, because he had thought me to be of Joseon origin. And still, he never left my side and would come into my room to joke and play. Was this because he had felt something similar to affection for me? But after that incident, he steered clear of me as if he was trying to maintain a great distance, merely circling me and never coming close. As though he were waiting sullenly in a corner to rejoice at my mistakes. However, I treated him with more affection than I did others. What I wanted was to forgive him. I’d made up my mind to observe him as much as possible and guide him gradually. This is what I had thought … His poverty-stricken family had continued to live a migratory life in Joseon. And like the other children who had crossed into foreign territory, he would have returned with a twisted sense of superiority. However, one day I could no longer stay still and watch; I became livid. Like the other times, I had gone down to the classroom downstairs to play with the children when Yamada had peered at my face a few times. He had suddenly grown angry over a petty issue and struck a nearby girl rather violently. The girl ran away crying. He chased after her, yelling, “Catch that Joseon person!” “Catch him” was a phrase that the Japanese residents in Joseon used frequently. Of course the little girl wasn’t a Joseon person. He had said it for me to hear. I ran and grabbed Yamada by the collar and slapped him across the cheek. “You wicked boy!” Yamada remained silent and didn’t say a word. Like a fool, he let me do as I pleased. He didn’t even cry. Panting, he stared up at my face. His eyes glittered with a strange white light. The other children surrounding us swallowed anxiously. Suddenly a single tear formed in his eyes. But as if to silence his tears, he suddenly said in a fierce voice, “Stupid Joseon person!”

2. Originally, the S Association was a relief organization for the poor, comprised mostly of students from the Imperial University, and since it consisted of a nursery, Department of Children, Department of Civil Education, Consumers’ Purchasing Cooperative, and a free medical clinic, it was a familiar entity in this poor region. It was a place of necessity for people, infants and children included, until they could start to live a regular life. There was also a Mothers’ Association for the mothers whose children attended classes here, and they met twice a month to provide one another with support and friendship. However, Yamada’s mother had never so much as showed her face at these meetings. If she knew that her son came and stayed as late as he did every night, it would seem that she should come and visit 7

the university students who were involved, not necessarily with heartfelt thanks like the other mothers, but at least with some concerns regarding her son. As I shifted my attention to this strange child, I thought that I should first learn about his family. Not long after, there was a four-day weekend, and it was decided that the children would be taken on a trip to some mountains. I called Yamada to my room. I knew that he had not participated in these opportunities in the past. “What would you like? Would you like to go, too?” He stubbornly stayed silent. He was always suspicious, no matter how gently or affectionately I would speak with him. “You should go this time.” “…” “What do you want to do? It would be good if you can bring your mother along. Or your father, that’s good, too. As long as one parent can come and approve.” “…” “Will you bring them?” Yamada shook his head. “Then you don’t want to go?” “…” “I’ll cover the cost.” He peered up at me with vacant eyes. “Yes, why don’t we do that?” “…” “Then do you want me to go with you to your house to talk to your parents?” He shook his head as if embarrassed. “But we need your father’s or mother’s consent, since we’ll be away for four days.” “Are you going too, Teacher? Or are you not going?” It was at this point the child finally spoke. “No, I can’t go. This time it’s my turn to keep watch here.” “Then I don’t want to go either.” A sly smile played about his lips. “How come?” “Hee—” he laughed, showing his teeth and sticking his chin out like an idiot when I asked him why. And so in this way, I never achieved my goal of visiting his home. For some reason, he never gave me the slightest opportunity. Saturday finally arrived. Giddy with happiness, about a hundred children from the Children’s Department of the S Association formed a line and headed towards Ueno Station, but Yamada was nowhere to be seen. But moments later, I couldn’t help becoming shocked when I went up to the rooftop to take care of something and found Yamada Haruo, leaning against the column used for the laundry line, gazing at the line of children growing ever distant. I felt my eyes grow hot with tears. 8

He turned at the sound of my footsteps and seemed extremely taken aback. I forced myself to laugh and lightly put my hand around his shoulders from behind. “Look over there! There are balloons floating.” “Yeah,” he replied in a tiny voice. Past the soot-filled chimneys and dark buildings near Ueno Park were a few advertisement balloons floating in the wind. I had an urge to comfort him. “Hey, Haruo. You know, I’m free from now, so how about we go to Ueno together?” The child looked up and smiled broadly. “Then let’s go. I have a few things to take care of at the University anyway.” Of course, I lied about having things to take care of at the University. I wondered why I was keeping up appearances for this child whom I didn’t even like. “What!” His eyes widened. “You go to the Imperial University, too?” He was truly shocked. “They accept Joseon people, too?” “Of course, they accept anyone. Anyone with good test scores, that is …” “That’s a lie. Our teacher at school told us everything. ‘Oh well, you little Joseon bastard. You should be grateful they even accepted you into this elementary school.’ That’s what he said.” “Are there teachers who say such things? Did the student cry?” “Cry? Of course he didn’t.” “What’s his name? Why don’t you bring him to me sometime?” “No,” he said hastily. “It was nobody, nobody.” “What do you mean?” “Nobody said anything. Nothing.” Getting all worked up, he retracted what he had said. “What a strange child,” I thought again. At that very instant, it crossed my mind that this child might be a Joseon child. I stared at him in shock. His expression hardened and he backed away as if on guard. He began to run down the stairs, shouting, “I’ll be back with my hat.” I silently nodded and walked down the stairs. However, as I approached the entrance at the bottom of the stairs, I knew that something serious had happened. The doctor and nurse from the medical clinic and men from the Consumers’ Purchasing Cooperative were out of breath, hurriedly moving a shabbily dressed woman from an automobile parked sideways in front of the clinic entrance. Afterwards, I saw the young man Lee, the assistant driver, rush in looking very upset, his shoulders heaving. The woman’s head, covered in blood, hung back limply. Haruo, trembling next to her, followed a few steps until he saw me. He then froze in his tracks. I rushed over to Lee and asked what had happened. He began to speak angrily through clenched teeth. “Her husband stabbed her in the head with a knife.” The people who had been talking in front of the clinic entrance turned to us in shock. “She’s a Joseon woman. Her husband is Japanese and he is a bad man.” Lee was about to wipe the nape of his neck with his handkerchief when he discovered Yamada Haruo lingering about and began to close in on the child frighteningly. “This little bastard. It’s this bastard’s father.” 9

He grabbed Yamada’s wrist, twisting his arm as if he had caught the culprit, and began to foam at the mouth. “You little bastard, you little shithead—” He was so upset that the rest of his words ended in a sorrowful cry. Yamada began to cry as if in great agony. “No, that’s a lie! My mother’s not a Joseon person! She’s not, she’s not!” The men nearby jumped in and split them apart. I stood in the same spot dumbly. Enraged, Lee once again tackled Yamada and kicked him hard in the back. Reeling towards me, Haruo came into my embrace and let out a loud wail. “I’m not a Joseon person! I’m not a Joseon person! Tell them, Teacher!” I held onto him tightly. My eyes welled with hot tears. I could not scold Lee’s despair or loss of control, nor the child’s pathetic cries. I felt as though I were going to collapse right then and there. Things grew a little calmer once the elderly housekeeper came and took Yamada away. Lee began to yell in front of the people. “That little bastard’s father is a heavy gambler who doesn’t even deserve to be called human. He was just released from prison the other day. You have no idea how much that poor woman has suffered and gone hungry. Since we were neighbors, she’d come to our house often to ask for some food. But as soon as that scoundrel got out of prison, he tortured his wife for coming to our house. She’s not going to live. She won’t be able to live anymore.” He blew his nose nosily. Someone came out from the clinic and said to quiet down. I took Lee to a more removed location to ask him a question. “Do you know where Yamada Haruo lives?” “Of course I do,” he replied as if disgusted. “They live in the marsh beyond the station.” “Really? That’s terrible. How could he do such a thing just because she visited your home?” He gritted his teeth. “That—that’s because my mother wears Joseon clothing. That’s why he told her not to go to a Joseon person’s home. As though he’s above us … that stupid bastard. And you know what? He’s a mixed-blood himself.” With that, Lee began to shout as though the man were right in front of him. “You better remember, you son-of-a-bitch! If we ever meet, I’m going to rip your head off, you asshole Hanbei!” “What? Hanbei?” “That’s right.” He panted. “A worthless son-of-a-bitch. Evil bastard. You wait and see! I won’t let you alone this time! I’ll make you pay for murdering your wife.” “Hanbei,” I mumbled again. The name sounded very familiar. “Hanbei, Hanbei,” I repeated several times, but the word simply swirled about my memories and I couldn’t remember anything. Just then, Dr. Yabe walked out and we all surrounded him to listen to the results. According to him, the wound didn’t appear fatal, but it was still critical and required her to be hospitalized for a month. Once she regained consciousness, she would need to be moved to another hospital. Lee, whose face had turned pale at the news, began to beg the doctor in a 10

shaking voice to let her stay at the clinic until she got better, since her worthless husband was a penniless bastard. “Please Doctor, I beg you. I will bring soup and porridge for her. Doctor …” However, everyone knew that the clinic was only a place where a few dedicated doctors treated simple problems during the day, not a place that could care for a patient in critical condition. Hanging his head in a depressed way, Dr. Yabe asked me what should be done. I thought of Dr. Yoon from the Sangseng Hospital nearby, and suggested that we phone and ask. The Sangseng Hospital could be called a salvation clinic, and as its finances came out of the poor pockets of Joseon laborers, there were various benefits for Joseon people. There happened to be an open bed and so, things were resolved rather smoothly. Eventually the woman was brought back outside. Now her head and face were wrapped in a thick layer of white bandages. She seemed as pathetic as a wingless dragonfly. We escorted her to Sangseng Hospital, located at the end of an alley. When she was placed on the surgery table, she seemed barely conscious. She let out a few moans, but they were unintelligible. She was a thin, petite woman. Her hands, as white as beeswax, seemed to indicate that her blood circulation was not good. Standing next to the surgery table, Dr. Yoon listened attentively to what Dr. Yabe was saying and arranged several different medical tools at the same time. I left the room as they started unwrapping the woman’s bandages. Outside, the weather was growing more and more ferocious. The wind began to howl. The leaves of the wisteria vine began to shake violently. Neither Hanbei nor Haruo came to the hospital.

3. It poured as evening approached. The wind also grew fiercer. The windows rattled and the lights flickered. Not a single child came. Only math class was in session quietly on the second floor. In the cafeteria, the elderly housekeeper, a few other colleagues, and I were worrying about those who had gone camping. However, I was in shock from what had happened earlier; I couldn’t shake it off. And yet for some reason, I didn’t want to think about it too much. Perhaps because I was overwhelmed with fear. The wind howled outside. A bang came from the kitchen, as though its door had flown off its hinges. We all held our breath, frightened. The housekeeper who had walked towards the door suddenly screamed and started backwards. Racing towards the door, I saw that the door had indeed fallen off, but there standing in the storm was Yamada Haruo. Just then, lightning struck and illuminated him as if he were a quivering ghost. “Haruo! What brings you here?” I embraced him and brought him inside. I took him straight up to my room on the second floor. There was no way I could explain what I was feeling. I laid him down on the bed after taking off his dripping clothes and drying him off with a towel. He was shaking. He gulped down 11

several mugs of hot tea. As though he had gained some energy, he looked up at me with a sad expression. In that moment, I felt both sorrow and warmth in my heart. What other things had happened to this child that he had come here on such a stormy night? “Are you on your way back from the hospital?” His mouth and ears twitched and he began to cry. “Why are you crying?” “No. I didn’t go to the hospital. I’m not going to go.” “That’s okay.” My voice cracked. “That’s okay.” He nodded as if reassured. He then stretched his legs under the warm blanket and ducked his head. It was a pitiful sight. He blinked and flashed me a smile. It was a sign that he had completely opened his heart to me. I was certain that this sort of beauty was also hidden somewhere inside him. For example, take his innate affection for his mother. How could others think that this child was incapable of such feelings? His affection had merely waned, not completely disappeared. I imagined a woman of my race who was humiliated and shunned by her neighbors. Then I thought about a mixed child with Japanese and Joseon blood, the tragic struggle of how he had tried to balance these opposing dualities. Unconditional devotion to “what was Father’s” and a blind rejection of “what was Mother’s”; these two sides were in constant battle with each other. Furthermore, he was a child trapped in poverty, and it was clear that he hadn’t been able to fully and innocently embrace his mother’s affection. He couldn’t openly throw himself into her arms. But “what was Mother’s” was alive and breathing, pulsating within him. I was finally able to understand, somewhat, why he had cried “Joseon person, Joseon person” almost compulsively each time he saw a Joseon person. At the same time he had constantly tagged after me, even though he suspected that I was a Joseon person from the very beginning. Surely the reason for this was because of his affection for me. It was probably an unconscious longing for his mother. And this was clearly a distorted method of expressing his love for his mother. He had come to me in place of going to the hospital where his mother lay. After all, what was the difference in how he would have felt if he had visited his mother? Lost in this train of thought, I sank into sadness while I stroked his hair that stuck out like a chestnut. I forced myself to laugh and asked, “Shall we go to the hospital where your mother is?” He shook his head as if sad. “Why not?” He didn’t reply. The torrential rain seemed to be letting up. The drizzling rain beat on the eaves, as though it had just remembered. I opened the window and looked up at the sky, which looked like it would clear up shortly. Far north, two or three stars shone brightly in the gaps between the clouds. “It looks like it’s going to stop now. You don’t want to go with me?” No reply. I turned around to see that he had pulled the blanket over his head. “Did your father go visit?” “Who cares?” he said defiantly from under the blanket. 12

“What a strange father. Don’t you feel sorry for your mother?” “…” “So I guess that means you want to go back to your father? He must be worrying at home.” “…” He stuck out his face and replied with brooding eyes. “I’m fine with staying here.” “That’s, you see …” Confused, I started to speak as though there was nothing I could do. “This here is fine, but …” Just then, the hall grew noisy as math class ended. Soon after, Lee knocked on the door and walked in lifelessly to find Yamada lying down. In an instant, his expression stiffened. Flustered, I suggested that we talk outside and led him out to the hallway. “Teacher, are you ashamed of being called a Joseon person—” Suddenly, he started cursing at me, “—that you would try to protect that kid?” “Stop it!” I was surprised by my own anger. I was clearly thrown off by his sudden appearance. “Yamada came here in the middle of a fierce storm. And even if he wanted to, he has nowhere to go.” “Who are you saying has no place to go? That poor woman is the one who really has no place to go. That little fool can go back to his father. Oh, I hope what you get what you deserve, you scoundrel!” And suddenly, the exhausted man began to weep. “Don’t you have any compassion for that poor woman? Don’t you even think about that poor woman …” “I beg you, please stop!” I pleaded with him. My voice was shaking. I couldn’t figure out what was best, because my head was spinning. “Teacher …” “Please stop!” I shouted as if enduring the agonies of death. I felt as though I was going to lose my mind. He disappeared hastily. I leaned against the wall, exhausted like someone after a spar. Of course, I could understand the naive actions of Lee. I had also gone through a similar phase in the past. But in the next instant, the fact that I was referred to by the last name of Minami buzzed and spread through my five senses like an electric bell. So I began to think up numerous excuses and reasons why I was called that, as was my habit whenever I was shocked or startled. But it was no use now. “Hypocrite, you’re being a hypocrite again.” It was as if someone else’s voice was ringing in my ears. “Even now, you still can’t let go. Look at how low you’re stooping.” Stunned, I disdainfully demanded answers from myself. Why was it that I always had to pant, “I won’t stoop so low, I won’t stoop to that level”? Wasn’t that proof that I had already stooped that low? I didn’t have the courage to argue any further. Until now, I had thought that I was mature. I didn’t have a twisted mind like little children, nor was I fanatical like young people. Then why was I sitting here, debasing myself? I began to lash out at myself. 13

I told myself that it was because I didn’t want any distance to exist between myself and these pure, innocent children. But in the end, how was I different from the Joseon person who tried to hide his true identity at the yakitori bar? That was why I had tried to counter what Lee had said, in order to protest it. Then how are you any different from a man who shouts in a moment of passion at the yakitori bar, “I’m a Joseon person, I’m a Joseon person!”? This was no different than Yamada Haruo shouting that he was not a Joseon person. I’ve watched Turkish children with different colored hair, wrestling and playing innocently with the children here. But how was it that only Haruo, who had the blood of a Joseon person, could not? I knew the reason for this all too well. And so, anytime I was conscious of the fact that I was a Joseon person in this land, I had to be on guard. It was true. I was exhausted from arguing with myself. I stood in the same spot, feeling dazed. Lee was already gone. I staggered into my room again. It was dark inside. I went toward the bed where Haruo lay sleeping. Just then, my eyes grew wide in shock. The sight of Yamada Haruo, sleeping curled up on his side like a shrimp, his eyes half open and his right arm folded under his head, my hand flew up to cover my mouth as I swallowed the words that were pouring out. “He’s Hanbei’s son!” It was only then that I remembered. Hanbei—he had hovered around my mind, and yet I hadn’t been able to recall him. “He’s Hanbei’s son!” I almost fainted out of shock. Oh, what was this all about? I don’t know for how long I had watched Hanbei sleeping like that. His mouth agape, his large eyes shadowed with age— they looked like his father’s. Again, his son was lying next to me in the same way. I had lived with Hanbei in the same prison cell for about two months. Just thinking about him made me shudder. It was because I loved Haruo. The frightening thought that this two-sided Haruo would become like his father in the end crossed my mind. It gave me the chills. It was November of last year when I had met Hanbei at the M Police Station Prison. He had approached me with a grin. He was a hideous man with a long, wrinkled face and large bleary eyes. But I had thought, “Oh, he’s a Joseon person.” “Hey! Lend me your shirt.” He began to undo my suit buttons. Because I was already upset, I simply shook him off and went to go sit in a corner. The others looked anxiously between us as though anticipating something. “Did you just hit me?” He became serious. “This Joseon bastard doesn’t know who I am.” He rolled up his sleeves. Just then, a guard who was walking along the corridor glanced into opening and yelled, “Yamada, sit down!” It was then that I realized he was Japanese. He snarled, giving a big laugh, and then obediently returned to his seat. He hung up his clothes on the chopstick that he had nailed into the wall (you couldn’t see it from outside the cell), and feigned ignorance. I barely stifled the laughter that threatened to erupt. Just then, when a small hairy man sitting next to him leaned his head against him, Hanbei punched the man in the head with his fist. Then he glared at him. That evening, he did not give me my dinner. He ate all of it, greedily, like 14

a pig. I could still vividly recall what I had seen then. That was why Hanbei had once come to mind when I’d seen Haruo eat. He was a cowardly tyrant. Though many feared him, they hated him behind his back. He was overly suspicious and afraid of the guards, but was extremely violent and aggressive with others who were weaker or new. His extraordinary talent was his ability to threaten people with a frightening expression. “I may look like this now, but I was known in big old Edo (Tokyo). Don’t mess with me. I’m different from you petty little thieves …” Based on my observations of the prison’s activities, there were about seventeen inmates who were considered to be his friends. His threats claimed that as the Takadagumi2 within the jurisdiction of Asakusa, they had blackmailed famous actors for large sums of money. He tried to make himself out to be the most fearless in the group. But soon enough I found out that this gang called him Hanbei because he was the “slow-witted one.” To this day, I still don’t know his real name. I got used to him as the days passed and grew to understand his nature. At the same time, my place continued to grow closer and closer to his. This was because whoever had been imprisoned the longest stayed closest to the door. Finally the time came when I was face to face with Hanbei and lie down next to him. Soon, he was more cordial with me, but sleeping next to him was pure torture. The foul smell coming from his mouth was difficult to endure, but the most agonizing thing was that he would scratch his groin all night long. He told me himself that it was syphilis. I was sure that it had spread to his brain. One evening, he asked me a question in a strange bout of seriousness. “Where was your hometown exactly in Joseon?” “The north side.” “I was born in the south.” He watched my slyly for my reaction. And then he snorted in laughter as if to deny what he had just said. I struggled to hide my surprise. “Is that right?” I said. He gnashed his teeth. “It’s true!” Of course, we whispered these words to each other. “My wife is also a Joseon woman.” “I see …” But I couldn’t help my eyes from widening in shock. He laughed heartily, as if thoroughly pleased by my reaction. I was certain he had some explanation for this. “Did you get her in Joseon?” “It’s funny and annoying. When I went to a Joseon restaurant in Seusaki with my boss to discuss something, I told them to hand over the woman or else I wouldn’t leave them alone, and then threatened to set the paper doors on fire. The men turned pale and gave her to me.” He peeked at me out of the corner of his eye. As I looked at him in the late-night moonlight, I saw a ghastly shadow over his eyes. However in the morning, he feigned

The name of a group of samisen musicians 15

indifference and acted as though nothing had been said. And just as always, he would bully and harass the weak and take food from the newcomers. However, I grew more suspicious of him from that night. Still, there was no doubt that he was Japanese, since the policemen called him Yamada. It crossed my mind that his mother might have been a Joseon person, but I was released before I could find out, because my indictment was suspended. And it was only now that I had managed to remember him. How stupid of me. Why couldn’t I have pieced things together from their last name? The image of Hanbei had probably wavered before me from the moment I had laid eyes on Yamada Haruo. But I hadn’t been able to realize that it was Hanbei. It may have been my affection for the child that had prevented me from seeing Hanbei. “Hanbei,” I mumbled quietly again. Yet Haruo continued to sleep peacefully. In my mind, Hanbei saying that his wife was a Joseon person and then bursting into laughter played over and over again. Then before I knew it, this image was superimposed on the image of Haruo who lay fast asleep. Just then, Haruo let out a barely audible moan. His face then contorted and convulsed, and he let out a cry as if he was having a nightmare, and sat up, his eyes snapping open. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” I asked as I wiped the sweat drenching his neck. He mumbled as he closed his eyes again. “Father said that he’s going to get rid of me this time.”

4. I didn’t sleep well that night and only had dreams that were difficult to understand. By the time I woke up in the morning, Haruo was already gone. Surprised, I told myself he was probably at Sangseng Hospital. That day was a Sunday, so Haruo wouldn’t be going to school either. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the hospital doors pressing the doorbell. It just so happened that I ran into Dr. Yoon and we chatted as he led me to the room where Haruo’s mother was admitted. “In any case, it says her name is Yamada Deijun, so she’s not a Joseon person. But her accent and the spelling of the name Deijun seemed a bit strange, so I asked her in the Joseon language how she got hurt, but she shut her mouth and wouldn’t answer. She just keeps repeating in Japanese that she fell.” “I see.” I began to ramble. “Is her injury serious?” “She’ll be fine. However, the knife mark is going to be permanent. It’s going to leave a big ugly scar on her temple. It will be impossible to hide. Her room is there ... Ma’am, a teacher from the Association is here.” Haruo wasn’t there. There were five beds in the small room, and a patient lay silently in each one. Haruo’s mother was in the corner bed. Her face was wrapped in bandages, so you could only see her mouth and nose. The woman didn’t reply; she didn’t even move. Dr. Yoon left 16

for his rotations. I hesitated for a second, because I didn’t know how I should speak to the woman. “You must be in a lot of pain. Haruo is very worried about you. I’m a teacher at the Association that Haruo attends … My last name is Nam.” The woman seemed to understand and slightly moved her body. I was sure she was surprised by my Joseon last name. “Ah, ah.” The woman’s hand trembled and she let out a moan. “Haruo … he’s worried? About me?” I had nothing to say in response. She was so moved that she began to sob. “My Haruo really said that? That he was worried about me?” Her words left a bitter taste in my mouth. But I had to comfort her because of Haruo. “I’ve been meeting with Haruo every day. Of course there are days when crazy things happen. However, he’s still very young. He will soon become someone you’re proud of.” And I honestly believed this. I believed that if he focused on the various things I recognized in his character today, and if he had some warm guidance along the way, this would inevitably awaken his sense of humanity. However, she didn’t answer. She seemed to be holding her breath and diverting her attention away from my words. I continued. “At first, I thought that the only option you had was to take Haruo and return to Joseon.” She was shocked. “I thought it was the best option for you, as well as for Haruo’s future. But, I’m sure you still deeply care for Mr. Yamada.” “Oh … please don’t ask me anything,” she said pitifully in a low voice. “He’s my owner …” “There’s no need to hide anything. I already know about Mr. Hanbei Yamada quite well.” “Oh!” she exclaimed, swallowing her shock. Then she moaned like a drunk person. “But he’s the one who gave me freedom … I’m a Joseon woman.” Her words became weeping. Was she still living in this slave mentality of gratitude? I called to mind the cruel Hanbei and fell into a state of deep, indescribable anxiety. This was the very woman that he had once taken after threatening the owner of the Joseon restaurant in Seusaki. The cowardly and cruel Hanbei could have very well fixed his eyes on this Joseon woman and taken her by force. From the very beginning, she had been chosen to be his sacrifice. She was so pitiful, compared to the violent, dirty Hanbei. It was easy to imagine her life at home. She would have been abused every day. As she lay prostrate on the ground, whe would have begged for mercy. This was also the way Haruo had grown up. “I’m a Joseon woman,” the woman had said sadly. It was possible that she had felt her marriage to a Japanese person was something to be proud of and had even found comfort in this through the trials in her life. Instead, I had expected her to feel hatred for Hanbei, and had hoped to share a happy, righteous anger over his act, since we were from the same homeland. However, it was as if I had been slapped across the face. 17

“Teacher.” “Yes.” “I have a favor to ask.” “What is it?” “I beg you. Please … please stop taking interest in Haruo.” I stared at the woman in silence. She looked as though she was going to burst into tears any second. “Haruo enjoys playing by himself …” As though the pain was suddenly too much, she became like a dead person again. Still, I heard her moans, as quiet as the whine of a mosquito. “By himself … he plays imitating ... imitating the voices of children ... many children. He’s good at dancing. It makes me sad. He saw it somewhere … he dances by himself and practises … and he used to cry, too.” “Do the others humiliate him because he’s a Joseon person? Is that why?” “But he doesn’t cry anymore,” she insisted. “Haruo is Japanese ... that’s what he believes … that child isn’t my child … you shouldn’t interfere … it isn’t a good idea …” “I heard that Hanbei himself was born in South Joseon …” “Yes … that’s right … his mother was a Joseon person like me … but now ... if you even mention the word Joseon … he gets angry …” “But Haruo listens to me, a Joseon person. Actually, he came and slept in my room the other night.” “…” “I think his attitude towards you is going to change from now on.” I tried to sound encouraging. “The affection Haruo has for you in his heart will soon awaken. The reason he listens to me isn’t only because he likes me, but I believe it’s actually a distorted expression of his affection for you, his mother. It’s obvious that he is starved for affection. He couldn’t expect to receive it from his mother, nor could he genuinely accept it. But I believe it will get better with time …” “Do you think so?” Instead, the woman let out a sigh of despair. “That child …” At that moment, an old woman wearing Joseon clothing walked in. I could tell right away that she was Lee’s mother. I moved away from the bed. Upon seeing the horrible condition of the patient, the elderly woman heaved out a long sigh and spewed out a string of words in rage in the Joseon language. “Could anything be more terrible than this? That monster is going to be paid a thousandfold for his evil actions. Mother of Haruo, do you know who I am? I’m Lee’s mother. You have to stay strong and get better quickly. All right?” The patient raised her trembling hand and groped for something. The old woman grabbed her hand. 18

“Once you get better, you have to secretly make it back to our homeland. You can’t come back again like last time. Nothing good will come of it.” The patient let out a groan. As if she suddenly remembered something, the old woman hurriedly untied a package and took out two citrons. “They’re citrons. They’ll help with the thirst.” The old woman began to peel them. “My son bought these and told me to give them to you. He received his driver’s license today and was happy he could start driving a car.” “Anyway, please take care of yourself,” I said, thinking that I should leave and let them be. At that point, Haruo’s mother, panting, mumbled something in the Joseon language. I stopped in my tracks, as if I’d been electrocuted. She spoke to the old woman in the Joseon language as if pleading with her. “I won’t go back ... they say it’s going to leave a horrible scar on my face … if that’s the case … he can’t threaten to sell me anymore … and no one will want to buy me …” Suddenly, she tried to sit up, as though she’d had a convulsion. “Ah!” “What’s wrong?” The flustered old woman laid the woman down and tried to calm her. “I heard a sound.” The woman was hyperventilating. “Grandma … Haruo is coming. Look. He’s coming to visit me …” And then all of a sudden, she began to scream in a shrill voice. “Grandma, please leave … please! You need to hide!” “No one is coming. There’s no one there,” the old woman said in a half sob. I tiptoed out of the room, but why was I drenched in sweat? Then I thought I saw a small shadow running down the hallway towards the corner. It was hard to know who it was exactly, but it crossed my mind that it might be Haruo. I rushed to the corner and scanned the area. I was right. In the dark corner of the stairs going up to the second floor was Haruo, his eyes shining as he hid himself. “What's wrong?” I asked, as I drew closer. Taken aback, he hung his head. As if afraid, he took a few steps back. He had his right hand behind him, as though he were hiding something in his grasp. It seemed like he was going to scream any second. “You came to visit your mom.” As I spoke, deeply moved, I felt something warm flood my throat. “Your mother said she wanted to see you.” He stubbornly kept his head down. Frustrated, I pulled him towards me. He continued to keep his right hand hidden. Whatever it was, he was trying to hide a sheaf of white papers. He had brought his mother something. What a tragedy that he felt he had to avoid people and visit his mother in secret. It was such a sad sight that I was honest with him. “Your mother is going to be really happy.” He suddenly buried his face into me and began to cry. “Hey, don’t be like that.”

He sobbed even harder. At that point, for whatever reason, the crumpled papers fell. When I saw them, I thought it was strange. It was a bag of shredded tobacco. It was the bag I had scoured my desk and desk drawers for this morning when I had woken up. “You were afraid to face me because of this? You could have just told me before you’d taken it. It’s okay. Just tell me first from now on. Your mother is waiting for you. Take it. She’s in the third room on the left.” I patted him on the shoulder as if to give him courage. “Cheer up, Yamada. This isn’t like you. I’ll wait for you at the Association. When you come, let’s go to Ueno like I promised yesterday.” He sobbed out loud. I was moved as well. However, I hurriedly left the hospital after telling him where his mother was, thinking that staying at the hospital would only continue to make him feel uncomfortable. Then I mulled over why he had taken the bag of tobacco. The only answer I could come up with was that his mother smoked. The fact that she smoked seemed completely out of this woman’s character. I then recalled Hanbei laughing slyly after hanging his clothes on the prison wall.

5. About an hour later, Yamada Haruo appeared again before me. However, he was chewing on his fingers and had his eyes glued to the ground. He must have been feeling relieved, because a smile threatened to break out across his face at any second. At the same time, it seemed as though he had accomplished something tremendous and was feeling shy in front of me. Had there been a moment when he had looked this innocent? This childlike? It was safe to say that he completely trusted me now. However, I only smiled in secret and didn’t ask a single thing. “Shall we go?” That was all I said as I grabbed my hat. After the rainstorm of the night before, it was now a breezy afternoon. When we got off the trolley, the wide street was crowded, as it was Sunday. People were pushed in a current towards the entrance of the Matzakaya department store, and although I didn’t need to go inside, I grabbed Haruo’s hand and walked in. It was bustling inside. When we stepped onto the escalator his request, his face was bright and happy. I also felt an overflowing happiness. The thought of this child in the midst of many people made me feel strangely happy. He was Haruo and he was standing next to me, as well as standing in the midst of many other people. We went up to the third floor. There too, it was congested with people, and we went up to the fifth or sixth floor and sat across from each other in the corner of a restaurant. However the two of us didn’t say more than what was required. He had a curry with rice and some ice cream while I drank a soda. “Is it good?” “Uh huh.” He hunched over his plate and looked at me. “The curry here is really good.” 20

From there, we took the elevator down to the first floor and I bought him a shirt at the special sales stand for one won. He had a wide grin on his face as we stepped out of the store, him carrying the bag that contained his shirt. There were an unbelievable number of people at the park. We went up the stone stairs and started down the big street. The dense woods were stirring quietly, as if dissatisfied by the serene sunlight that was shining through. The sky was gloomy and grey, but the winds occasionally whined through the treetops. Women and men who seemed as they had just stepped out of bath walked along the wide road. At some point, Haruo had changed into his new shirt and tucked his old raglike shirt in his armpits, and was whistling. I felt an inexplicable tenderness for him. But I couldn’t say anything to him. He suddenly tugged on my sleeve and began to speak. “Teacher, are you going to tell on me?” “Tell on your for what?” A closer glance revealed that suspicion and rebellion gleamed in his eyes like any other time. I knew what he had meant. He was talking about the tobacco. “What’s there to say? I won’t tell anyone. Since you took it for your poor mother. You did a good thing today. Does your mother like tobacco?” “No, she doesn’t.” He seemed strangely dejected and began to mumble to himself as if unsatisfied. “Whenever mother bled … she always put tobacco on her wounds. I’ve always known.” I took a deep breath. For some reason I couldn’t even act shocked. I felt like everything before me was turning white… She would miserably chew the tobacco with her saliva and then put them on her bleeding wounds. In the same way that the farmers in her hometown did. “Is that right?” We had already come to the police station. Next to it was a sturdy-looking scale. Spotting it, I let out a melancholy chuckle and asked if he wanted to weigh himself, as if nothing had happened. He happily got on the scale. The sudden weight sent the needle flying. He was surprisingly heavy. Then as if he had gotten scared, he jumped off the scale and pointed to the big street. Looking in the direction of where he pointed, I turned to see an automobile coming towards us. It stopped before us. When I looked, it was none other than Lee, sitting in the driver’s seat, raising the brim of his new hat in greeting. I walked towards him, just as glad to see him. “Congratulations. Your mother was just talking about you at the hospital. It seems that things have really worked out for you.” Haruo didn’t seem afraid and followed after me. Seeing him, Lee looked away as if he were uncomfortable. “Yes, I’m just coming from the hospital as well.” Then he must have seen Haruo there. Lee kept blinking, as if unable to hide his joy. “I ended up getting another job. This is quite a nice car. It’s a ’37 model, but it’s relatively new and has a good engine.” 21

He stepped on the gas to show off. Though it looked like a common Ford model and didn’t look particularly nice to me, I said, “It really is a nice car.” “I’m spending the day with Haruo.” I pushed Haruo out in front of me. “I didn’t know how to use this scale, but he taught me.” “What do you think? Would you like to go for a ride? I’m guessing you were on your way to the zoo?” He opened the door and offered. Haruo and I couldn’t refuse, so we got in the car. It wasn’t too far to the zoo. “So what do you think? It’s a pretty nice ride, isn’t it?” Lee said as he dropped us off. This innocent young man seemed to be enjoying himself. “That’s what all the customers say.” “It’s new and it feels good.” I said honestly. Satisfied, Lee skillfully turned the car around and waved at us before honking his horn to clear the people out of the way. He sped away. Haruo stood still, watching the disappearing car. I thought about what a happy day today was. “Lee’s become an accomplished driver. What are you going to be when you grow up?” I asked Haruo cheerfully as I looked back. “A dancer, that’s what I’m going to be,” he said in a bright voice. I looked at him, startled. In that moment, it looked as though his body were gushing with light. “So you’re going to become a dancer.” It crossed my mind that it was actually possible for him to become an accomplished dancer. “Is that right?” “I like to dance. But I don’t dance in the light, dancing should be done in the dark. Do you not like it, Teacher?” “I think it’s great. Now that you mentioned it, you have a great body for dancing.” I spoke as if daydreaming. “I actually really like dancing, too …” Before my eyes appeared a child, tortured and abused because of his background, dancing on stage amidst the red and blue flashing lights. My body felt like it was overflowing with delight and joy. Pleased, he smiled and watched me. “I created my own dance before. And I like dancing in the dark, too. Okay, from now on, let’s study dance together. If you get good, I’ll take you to an even more accomplished teacher.” These weren’t empty words that I was saying. I had once wanted to become a dancer and had tried creating my own routine. “Okay.” His eyes shone like blue stars. “Okay, let’s move to an apartment close to the Association right away. Let’s live there, just the two of us for now,” I mumbled to myself. There was no way of knowing how he might change in the future. He could betray me. But I had decided that I would not let this opportunity pass me by, this opportunity to thaw my stubborn and hardened heart that had just started to soften.

We made our way past the big trees and were walking by a small Buddhist temple. The signs of last night’s downpour were visible here and there. Broken branches hanging on trees, yellow leaves strewn everywhere. A flock of pigeons flew around the temple’s roof and fivestory tower. As I passed the stone lantern, I glimpsed a pond between the trees of the forest. It was shining a gold light as it reflected the sunset. There were about five or six boats afloat. On the stone bridge over the pond, many people were leaning against the rail, looking out at the surface of the water. There was a light fog. It was getting dark. Dusk seemed to be approaching, following the pond. As it did so, both of our hearts grew clearer and calmer. “We were supposed to go to the zoo, but we came all the way here.” “But I want to ride the boat.” Haruo said bashfully. “Okay, then let’s go down to the pond.” There was a long set of stairs. Haruo and I walked down. He walked one step ahead, leading me by the hand carefully as if I were an old man. When we were about halfway down, he suddenly stopped and came close to me and said childishly, “Teacher, I know your name.” “Is that right?” I laughed lightly. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me?” “It’s Teacher Nam, right?” After he said this, he took the shirt he had put under his arm, placed it in my hand, and skipped happily down the stairs. It was then that I finally let out a sigh of relief and followed him down the stairs with a bounce in my step.