“Who cares what people think, Jia, it’s a waste of time.” Seunggyu threw a piece of candy into his mouth and blinked hard, several times. “Whoa! This was my favorite candy when I was a kid, but maybe not anymore…”
He could be incredibly stone-hearted, but I knew Seunggyu wasn’t a cold person. He just didn’t know how to express himself. I thought I could help him understand people who worked hard but could not be recognized because of their class.
“Why do you despise people who are different from you?” I asked. “No matter what class they belong to, they are also loyal to the Great Leader and to our country, but they’re hungry. They have no control over their background; the only difference between you and them is that they were born into the wrong class, and that wasn’t their choice.”
He put a candy between my lips, to stop my mouth. Seeing my frown, he grinned and said, “Jia, they have bad blood and a reactionary tendency, you just don’t see it. Our country is having a hard time right now, but we have to unite—that’s the best and fastest way to recapture the way it was. Look at us! We’re trying to overcome the hardship, we’re loyal to the party and trust our leader. But these traitors screw everything up, thinking only about themselves. So selfish. They take public goods and run away at night like rats. They can’t stand a little hunger.”
Seunggyu put a candy in his mouth and pushed another toward mine, but I turned my head to avoid it.
“The second one is much better, Jia. If you give up because the first one was sour, you’ll never get the real taste. Just endure the hard time for a short while. Don’t avoid it. Runaways only look out for themselves. They don’t want to put up with a little hardship for even one moment. What else could I call them but losers?”
Patting my shoulder, Seunggyu handed me the box. “Come on, Jia. I know you’re upset about Aunt Ann, but you can’t dwell on it. Let’s think about ourselves and our future! I know today isn’t the best day to look ahead, but the winter will be over soon, and I don’t think spring will be long this year. Summer will come sooner or later. We need time to get through the trifling tasks of arranging a wedding.”
He said his parents wanted to meet me and any of my living relatives. “My father is sure he must have known your parents or grandparents. He feels sorry he can’t meet them. He has a broad set of acquaintances, you know.” At this, Seunggyu gave me a big, confident smile.
That day, it became clear that it was time to tell Seunggyu my story. I couldn’t hide anymore; I didn’t want to. Seunggyu and I had been together for more than three years; I knew he had strong feelings for me, and I returned them. He loathed people with backgrounds like mine, but my background was part of me. No secret can stay buried forever. I hoped that hearing my story would overcome his prejudice against “those people.”
The sooner I talked, the better.
The hotel grew busier. We had to divide up Aunt Ann’s duties. There were no new recruits; when one person disappeared, we all picked up the slack. A week after Aunt Ann left, I called Seunggyu.
It was still too cold to be outside for long, but I felt it was the safest place to tell the story I had never told anyone. We sat side by side on a bench in Taedong Resort, as we had the week before, and I rested my right hand on his left. His hands were my favorite part of him—big enough to cover mine, which were chronically cold. I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be, and once I began, telling the most important person in my life about my past felt like the most natural thing in the world. It felt good to share myself and be close to Seunggyu. Why hadn’t I done it sooner?
Seunggyu was silent as I spoke. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel him watching my face closely.
When I finished, he quietly stood up and said, “Let’s go back. I’ll take you home.” His face was blushing deeply, like a scarlet peony.
It was the first time I had to reach for his hand, not he for mine. I could only hold three fingers; it was hard to grab his whole hand. As Seunggyu walked, he stared straight ahead, his mouth firmly closed. I knew it would be difficult for him to digest a woman’s 20-year life story in a few hours—especially his future wife’s hidden story—and I had tried to prepare for every reaction.
When we reached my apartment, Seunggyu peered up at the window on the third floor and said, “I have a twoweek assignment training new recruits. I might not see you during that time.”
His voice was distant. After that, he turned to go.
I called to him, “Seunggyu, can you understand now why I have sympathy for the people you despise?”
He nodded his head shortly, without looking back.
I decided not to be impetuous. No matter when it might be, the next time I saw Seunggyu I would tell him how mischievous I had been when I lived on the mountain. I climbed up to my flat and fell into a deep sleep.
Two days later, I arrived at the hotel in the morning and saw a man who looked like Seunggyu hastening down the hall past the front desk.
I caught up with him and touched his shoulder. “Seunggyu?„
He turned, and his panicked face stopped me in my tracks.
“What are you doing here?” I said. “Don’t you have training for two whole weeks?”
The edges of his ears turned bright red, and he looked restlessly around the hall, apparently annoyed. “Right,” he muttered. “I must go right now. I just had something to do for Jongmu here. I was just stopping by. I must go right now so I’m not late. See you in a couple weeks. I’ll come by.”
With that, he hurried away, and I felt sorry for delaying him.
I entered the practice room and found the youngest dancer, Han, sweeping the floor with a wet mop. She noticed me and told me Director Park was looking for me.
“Oh, really?” I said, looking back at the wall clock above the door. I wasn’t late. Director Park looking for you in the early morning was never good. “How’s her mood today?”
Han stopped sweeping, leaned toward me to get closer, and said, “The most red I have seen so far.”
When Director Park was angry, her face was like a completely ripe strawberry. We could guess the kind of day it would be from her color.
“Thanks, Han. Is she in her office?”
“Yes, I would hurry.”
I crossed the wet floor with an apology to Han and turned backstage. When I opened the artificial leather door, Director Park was pacing back and forth in the office, her arms crossed.
“Close the door,” she said, glancing at me, and plopped herself down on the sofa. Her ears were as red as Seunggyu’s. “I was worried something like this would happen.”
I put my black bag down next to the sofa. “What’s wrong, Director Park?”
She leaned over slightly, without uncrossing her arms, and moved her face so close to mine that I could clearly see the wrinkles around her eyes. Maybe the rumor that her husband was having an affair with his coworker is true, I thought. Director Park was too young and too good a wife for that snaky old man. “Did you tell your story to Seunggyu?” she demanded.
I was surprised that our discussion had started with Seunggyu. “Yes…” I replied.
“He just stopped by here and asked me to tell him honestly about your background. He seemed so upset.”
Was that why he came? Not for Jongmu, but for himself?
“Jia, I accepted you at the hotel because of Teacher Song. She told me about your family’s history, and I took pity on you.”
Director Park stood up and resumed pacing.
“Your boyfriend wanted to know everything, and he asked for some documents relating to you. Jia, he threatened me! He said his father’s friend has a high position in the information bureau. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I was so anxious whenever I saw you two together—I should have stopped you.”