Eun Ok looked ever so beautiful with the moonlight on her voluptuous body. Eun Ok’s face glowed the way it had when he had seen her at his senior thesis presentation, in the early morning at the University Park, and on the train station platform. It made Jeong Jin Wu more attracted to her.
“Eun Ok, if it’ll make you happy, cultivate the vegetables at Yeonsudeok. I will help you. As your husband, your comrade, and your friend.”
Jeong Jin Wu promised Eun Ok to support her, thinking that her research project would take only a year or a couple of years at most. He had never imagined that her research would be indefinite; he certainly had not imagined that he would have to live a life that was very different from those of other families. He did not want to look that far ahead. The enchanting reverie of marriage veiled the reality of life. Jeong Jin Wu and Eun Ok were in their prime. From their perspective, any difficulty appeared easily overcome and any agony tolerable.
“Thank you very much,” said Eun Ok softly.
In the vast, dark sky, a comet flew over the mountains and then disappeared. The moonlight cast a shadow of the two lovers embracing on the blankets.
“Comrade Jin Wu, when we receive our new home, I was planning on using the master bedroom as a greenhouse so that I can check on the plants when I return from the research lab. Would that be all right?”
“Of course it will. I will buy you all the flowerpots you need,” said Jeong Jin Wu.
Eun Ok, completely moved by Jeong Jin Wu’s commitment, gazed into his eyes and promised eternal love, a harmonious family, and positive results from the research lab.
Jeong Jin Wu perceived their wedding vows materializing in her eyes. He read his wife’s heart with his. A week later, Eun Ok left for Yeonsudeok.
It was still too early to conclude that there would be, or hope for, any positive results from Eun Ok’s research lab, but since it was nearing the end of March, she had to sow new seeds.
This was how their life began.
Jeong Jin Wu reminisced about the early, innocent, and passionate days of their marriage. And now, twenty years had passed.
Jeong Jin Wu felt utterly dejected.
It was such a beautiful, elegant wedding. Those were good days, full of love and joy. But how could I have forgotten about all that just because time has passed?
Time had passed. Marriage had not been an enchanting reverie but a harrowing reality.
Jeong Jin Wu had been burdened with his legal duties along with having to take care of the greenhouse in their apartment and other chores in Eun Ok’s absence. He had bid farewell to her with their infant son on his back on countless occasions. He had raised his son from kindergarten to the day he left for compulsory military service because she was absent most of the time. Rather than being eventful, those days were hazy to Jeong Jin Wu. He had complied with every one of Eun Ok’s requests and desires. He had done all this without complaining once.
Now he was frustrated with her and his family situation. He has become indignant about her research experiment. Where had his passion on their wedding night gone? What had happened to the covenant of faithfulness he had made at the altar? Had it, perhaps, passed along with time?
Jeong Jin Wu sank into a pensive mood as he looked at the flowerpots and the moss growing on them.
The rain continued to pour down, and the wind moaned.
It must be snowing heavily in Yeonsudeok. And by tomorrow morning, the ground will have frozen. Eun Ok must be cold.
TWO LIVES
5
Sun Hee lay in bed with her eyes closed, listening to the rain beating on the roof tiles, flowing down the eaves, and splashing on the ground. The unpleasant sound irritated her and kept her awake. The heavy rain seemed to be an ominous sign. She thought that nature did not discriminate among people, but tonight, it seemed that nature was not going to free her from her misery.
During her carefree childhood days, her dream-filled teenage years, and her blossoming adulthood, nature had blessed her with warmth and beautiful memories. In her home village, the sound of the summer rain dripping from the eaves was an enchanting and vibrant song, a joyous and wonderful melody. Sun Hee thought that each drop of water contained the universe. Each drop of water that fell from the vast sky contained a power too great for the dark clouds to hold and, like the faint sound of a bell tolling in the distance, dropped to earth one by one. If she were to put her ear close to the ground and listen to the beating rain, she would be able to picture everything of interest that was happening at school, in the fields, and on the hillsides.
Sun Hee reached out her small hands and received the summer rain. The rain began to fill her cupped hands, and some drops bounced off her face. As the rain began to fall harder, a stream of water flowed from the tip of the roof tile into her hands. Drip, drop, drip, drop. The rain tickled her hands. At first, the dripping rain sounded like a stringed instrument. But soon it turned into the sound of a symphony orchestra, producing harmonious melodies as it fell on pear tree leaves, barn roof tiles, wooden fences, flower gardens, clay pots, and the dirt path. The rain allowed her to experience something entirely new and musical. It rolled down her face and down her shirt. It seemed like the neighborhood children, who were also listening to the sound of the falling rain, were soon going to congregate at Sun Hee’s house to appreciate nature’s symphony. Children sang and danced to the rhythm of the rain. Sun Hee, full of vibrant energy, joined the neighborhood children. The falling rain, the sound of children laughing and chattering…
“Mom?”
What a familiar voice. That voice was now pulling at her shirt, dragging her away from her memories of her youth.
“Mom?”
Sun Hee was tossing and turning in her bed as she returned to reality, leaving her youthful days with the neighborhood children in her ephemeral dreams.
“Are you asleep?”
“No, dear…”
Sun Hee shuddered at the sound of reality. It was her son, Ho Nam. He was sitting by the sliding door between the two rooms. She was able to make out the silhouette of her son fearfully hugging a pillow in the dark. Ho Nam had been sitting there because he had not decided which room to sleep in. His father was sleeping in the main room and his mother in the other room. The two rooms, which were separated by only a sliding door, appeared to be worlds apart. They had turned off the lights to go to sleep many hours ago, but Ho Nam sat between his parents, between the two rooms, amid the tense atmosphere, completely alone and dejected. Sun Hee recognized Seok Chun’s stubbornness in Ho Nam, a resemblance that displeased her greatly. However, she could not suppress her motherly love.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Ho Nam stood up with his pillow clutched to his heart. As he moved toward his mother, he banged his knee on the dinner table that Sun Hee had prepared for Seok Chun. Neither she nor her husband had eaten that night. So the dinner was untouched, and the dinner table remained in the room as evidence of their lack of concern for each other. Ho Nam crawled into the blankets next to his mother. He turned his back to her and got into a fetal position. He did not sink into his mother’s arms like he used to. Even though he snuggled next to his mother, he had his back to her and his face to his father in the other room.
Sun Hee tried to make her son look at her by turning his body. Ho Nam obediently went into his mother’s arms, fondled her breast, and fell asleep. His deep breathing was a telling sign that he had been upset over his parents’ quarreling for quite some time. The dark sky wept through the night like Ho Nam’s dejected spirit, beating the earth, trying to keep the boy awake with its irritating noise. The boy slept, while Sun Hee lay awake in fear that the rain would wash her precious and beautiful childhood memories down the muddied gutters.