Seok Chun pushed a backpack in Sun Hee’s direction. “Can you wash this for me? It’s Comrade Judge’s. I have to give it back to him.”
He glanced quickly at Sun Hee from the corner of his eye and continued. “He brought this backpack full of sand from the river. He wanted me to use it for my molding. The water must’ve been cold. His clothes were wet, and his pants were muddy. His face had turned blue from the cold water.”
Sun Hee felt her hair stand on end, as she immediately recalled the day when she was washing her clothes by the river and saw the judge shoveling sand. She thought that he was going to use the sand to fix something in his apartment. Sun Hee recalled snickering at him for his absurd behavior.
“So, were you able to use the sand he brought you?” asked Sun Hee in a low voice.
“I couldn’t. You can’t use that kind of sand for molding. I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Instead, I used the sand that our purchasing manager had ordered from the Eastern Sea.”
Seok Chun sighed at the thought of having to tell Jeong Jin Wu the truth one day. How would the judge take it? He had gone to the trouble of digging up the sand, which was useless. Nonetheless, Seok Chun understood that the sand represented Jeong Jin Wu’s attempt to unify his family. This alone made Seok Chun grateful to the judge.
It was Sunday.
Sun Hee and her troupe had finished their tour in Seong Gan District and were on their way home. They had planned to leave on Saturday, but the locals had insisted that they stay for one more night.
The train sped along the tracks.
Sun Hee sat by the window with her elbow on the armrest and her chin resting on her hand. The half-opened window let in the fragrance of the countryside—the fresh scent of the soil and the melting snow. The air that blew in would normally have bothered her, but today, it did not seem to affect her. It also did not seem that she was going to strike up a conversation with anyone on the train. She sat motionless, like a statue staring blankly at the passing mountains, valleys, and fields. The lush, warm, natural scenery appeared cold and bitter to her. The brisk breeze made her hair fly uncontrollably. It seemed to be the only part of Sun Hee that was alive.
“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” asked Eun Mi, who was sitting across from Sun Hee. Just like a few days ago when they had argued at the theater, Eun Mi broke the silence by speaking first. Eun Mi examined Sun Hee, who was wallowing in her own sorrow.
Sun Hee envied Eun Mi’s virtuous, gentle heart. Misery, worries, or agony seemed to melt away, and only new buds seemed to blossom from Eun Mi. Sun Hee turned her head away from her friend and sank back into her anguish, dismissing whatever Eun Mi had to say.
All of a sudden, Sun Hee missed Ho Nam. She wondered if, in these past few days, he had eaten properly, or had gone to school on time, or if Se Pil, the kid who lived behind them, had hit Ho Nam again. As Sun Hee was thinking about her son, she also thought about Seok Chun. As if they were two leaves on a branch, there was no way for her think about her son without thinking about her husband. Yet she did not yearn for or miss him. She did acknowledge the fact that he must have had a difficult time trying to take care of Ho Nam by himself for the past few days. She wondered how his multispindle machine was coming along. That man, who could not stay away from his work for more than a second, must have had a stressful time juggling Ho Nam’s meal preparation and drawing up his blueprints. She also could not overlook the difficulty that he must have faced these past years in having to deal with a woman like herself. The night before she went on her tour, Seok Chun held Ho Nam in his arms as though there were no problems between them, and that had made her feel at ease. She regretted thinking him foolish for trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere in the house, though it turned out awkwardly at times. Ho Nam had sulked the entire evening until his father came home. After Seok Chun had eaten his dinner, he and Ho Nam went into the master bedroom and made various things out of wire. Later, Ho Nam slept in Seok Chun’s arms.
Sun Hee desperately wanted to see her son. However, longing faded into grief because she knew that Ho Nam would not be able to come out to the train station to greet her. Ho Nam had never once come to greet Sun Hee at the station when she returned from a tour. Since Seok Chun never came, there was no way for Ho Nam to come.
Sun Hee asked quietly, “Eun Mi, I was pretty bad, wasn’t I?”
“We’ve been on this train for an hour, and these are your first words?” said Eun Mi jokingly. She then turned serious. “Yes, you looked really depressed. You weren’t moved by the songs at all, and you looked like your mind was elsewhere.” Then Eun Mi tried to be encouraging. “But still, you sounded good. The audience requested several encores.”
Sun Hee turned her face toward the window again. She recalled the locals who gave the singers boxes of tomatoes on the day they were leaving, and the factory workers who showered her with applause and flowers. She recalled the joyful faces of the workers and their generous hospitality that overflowed like a mountain spring.
“Hey, Sun Hee. Get your things together. We’re almost at the station,” said Eun Mi.
As soon as the train came out of the tunnel, it began to slow down with the abrupt sounds of gears changing and the screech of the wheels grinding against the tracks. The singers, actors, and other passengers got up from their seats, laughing and chattering while reaching for their luggage.
Sun Hee remained seated and closed her eyes. She waited for the others to get off the train first and meet with their waiting family members. Sun Hee would get off the train when they had all left the platform. She would then head home by herself. She knew that no one would come to greet her at the station, so she would hide her melancholy and pain from her comrades by remaining in the car until everyone had left. And now, that moment of insurmountable pain was approaching as the train pulled into the station.
The people waiting on the platform took a step back when the train came to a halt. The other comrades and Eun Mi moved down the aisles and got off the train, immediately greeting and being greeted by their loved ones. Some frantically looked for family members, standing on tiptoe and bobbing their heads for a better opportunity to identify their loved ones in the crowd. And some shouted names with the hope of an answer, even the faintest one. The many hands waving in the air made it impossible to distinguish to whom each was directed.
How affectionate and harmonious does a family have to be to receive that kind of welcome? thought Sun Hee.
“Ma’am, wake up, please. This is the final stop,” said the conductor, passing along the aisle.
Sun Hee looked out the window. All the people bustling around on the platform made it through the turnstile in an instant. Sun Hee sighed, brushed her hair with her hands, and reluctantly grabbed her luggage. She was the last one on the train. She exited onto the platform and was greeted by loneliness. It no longer terrified her as it used to because she had grown accustomed to its spectral presence. It was the only faithful adversary that had never failed to greet her at the station in all these years. The station was completely desolate, and so was Sun Hee.
Sun Hee composed herself and had headed out of the station when she noticed two men and a child standing by the turnstile.
She felt a rush of electricity running through her limbs, momentarily paralyzing her. Without a doubt, the two men were the judge and her husband, and the child was unquestionably Ho Nam.
“Mom!”
In the midst of her dejection, Sun Hee heard the distinct and familiar voice of her son. Ho Nam ran toward Sun Hee at full speed, like a rolling ball.
“Ho Nam!”