Mother and Father's Roots
While Gijo was away from Korea, Sunrye missed her husband—and she worried over Yeongsu, whose middle-school entrance examination was drawing near.
On the fourteenth of the month before, the Ministry of Education had abruptly announced that a physical-fitness test would be added to the middle-school entrance exam beginning that year, startling students and parents alike. Education, the Ministry said, had leaned too long toward book learning alone. Intellect, virtue, and bodily strength had to be held in balance, and so the examination itself would change. The shift followed a decision by the revolutionary government to build up the nation's physical fitness.
The fitness score would count for one-seventh of the total, enough to decide who passed and who failed, and so Yeongsu had taken up exercise. He would not be a sixth-grader until the coming year, but he was already preparing. Together with Seogwang's son, Yeongbae, he ran the schoolyard and worked the chin-up bar, chasing every point he could get.
When the two boys came home from their workout, Sunrye mixed honey water and set it before her son and Yeongbae.
"You're not too worn out, are you...?"
Her son had always been a pale, indoor child, far from anything athletic, and the sight of him suddenly spending himself like this filled her with worry.
"I'm all right. It's fun, exercising with Yeongbae."
Yeongbae grinned.
"Auntie, I don't suppose I'll ever get into a prestigious middle school the way Yeongsu will, but I'll take it on myself to see him into Gyeonggi Middle School. Yeongsu—if you earn a good score on the fitness test thanks to this big brother, you'd better not forget the favor."
He was so open and easy about it that Sunrye could not keep from laughing. He took after his father, Kim Seogwang, so completely—likable, thick-skinned in the warmest way—that the mere sight of him brought a smile. And with the smile came another thought: when had these children grown so poised?
The boy who used to run the fields of Eundae-ri with Yeongsu, yellow snot smeared under his nose, was now stepping forward of his own accord to help a friend into school.
Sunrye went into the kitchen, meaning to steam a few eggs for the two of them, and Yeongeun and Yeongjun trailed after her, fussing that they wanted honey water too. Looking at six-year-old Yeongeun and four-year-old Yeongjun, she thought these two would be grown before she knew it. She carried the bowls out and asked Yeongsu to watch them.
"Will you see that your brother and sister don't break the bowls? Mother's going to steam some eggs."
"Yes, ma'am! Don't you worry!"
It was Yeongbae who answered.
Sunrye went back into the kitchen to steam the eggs, and the children's voices drifted in to her.
"Yeongbae oppa, our dad went to America."
That was Yeongeun.
"Did he? Must be nice. He'll bring presents when he comes back, won't he? You all excited?"
"Yeah. Dad's going to buy us something good. Our dad's rich."
It was only a child's thoughtless remark, but it left Sunrye a little uneasy. Even now, hearing the word rich still felt strange to her.
"Yeongsu, what do you want?"
"Me? Nothing. I just want Father to come home safe."
"Aw, come on, say something. American pencils would be great. The lead's so soft, and it doesn't even break. Oh! An American eraser, too. Those are squishy, and they smell like flowers."
"How would an eraser smell like flowers? It's rubber. It'll smell like rubber."
"It does too. There's a kid in my class who smelled one himself. If it's America, the strongest country in the world, they can make something like that easy."
Listening to Yeongsu and Yeongbae, she thought, Children are children. Still, she believed Yeongsu, who had known even a little of poverty, would turn out different from Yeongeun and Yeongjun, who had never known it at all.
When the eggs were done she cooled them in cold water, peeled them herself, and brought them out on a tray with salt. Sitting with the children on the wooden veranda, she broke a hot egg with her fingers, fed a piece to Yeongjun, and said,
"Yeongsu, tomorrow's Sunday, so put the studying and the exercise aside and come out somewhere with Mother."
"Yes, Mother."
He obeyed without a fuss.
"Where are we going, Mom?"
Yeongeun asked. Yeongjun, slow to find his words, bounced where he sat, thrilled at the mere mention of an outing.
"Let's go to Deokjeong."
"Where's Deokjeong?"
"Where Mother and Father used to live."
Yeongeun brightened, as if the place her parents had lived must surely be a palace.
The next day was Sunday, the nineteenth of November.
Soon-young drove the jeep herself and pulled up in front of Sunrye's house. She had come because her sister had asked, the day before, to be taken to Deokjeong. She climbed out in khaki military trousers and a white shirt and went in through the gate, as proud in her bearing as a woman pilot in the service.
"Everybody out. Let's go and get back quick."
The children came running, calling for their aunt, and looked up in admiration at the aunt who held the car keys and knew how to drive.
"You're sure you can drive all right?"
Sunrye asked, coming out of the room.
"I might just be the best woman driver in the country."
Soon-young said it with a grin.
The five of them climbed into the jeep and set out for Deokjeong-myeon in Yangju County. They ran the unpaved road into Deokjeong, then turned onto a farm track that was worse still. When they stopped before the house where Gijo and Sunrye had once lived, Soon-young sighed before she said a word.
"What is this? The place is a wreck."
The sight of the old house gone to abandonment sank Sunrye's heart. Yeongeun, who had thought they were off on some kind of picnic, shrank back from the ruin.
"Let's get out."
Sunrye helped the children down, looked over the neglected house, and set to cleaning. She swept the dirt from the veranda, carried the water standing in a broken jar out beyond the yard, and pulled the weeds that had run wild across the ground. Soon-young helped her sister, and Yeongsu helped his mother without being told. Once everyone was working, Yeongeun and Yeongjun joined in too. When the inside and the yard were more or less cleared, the bleak house seemed to find a little warmth again.
Somewhat tired, Sunrye sat on the veranda and looked out at the railroad tracks in the distance. Before they were married, Gijo used to say he liked those tracks: even without a watch, the trains passed on time, so you always knew the hour. Just then a train went by, and the children shot to their feet, waving and calling out to it.
Soon-young asked quietly,
"Why'd you want to come here? On a Sunday we finally get off..."
"I wanted the children to see it."
"See what? How miserably poor we lived?"
"It wasn't miserable. I was happy."
"Happy, my foot. So you're not happy now?"
"I am."
At that, Soon-young shook her head as if she could not understand. When the train had passed, Sunrye brought out what she had come to say.
"Yeongsu, Yeongeun, Yeongjun. This is the house where Mother and Father lived."
Yeongeun asked, hardly able to believe it.
"Mom and Dad were this poor?"
"Yes, we were poor. Mother and Father were very, very poor people. So at school, you must never make fun of children from poor families."
"I won't, Mother."
Yeongsu answered, and Yeongeun and Yeongjun said they wouldn't either.
"And the reason Mother and Father climbed out of poverty wasn't only that Father worked hard. It was because people like Yeongbae's father helped us with everything they had. Without them, we wouldn't be who we are now. Always be grateful to them."
"Yes, Mom."
Yeongeun answered.
"Never boast to anyone that you have money. Keep yourself low, the way Father does, and stay humble. Respect people—and especially, keep a heart that understands those who are having a hard time."
Listening, Soon-young thought she understood why her sister had brought the children here. She put in a word of her own.
"Kids, your uncle was terribly poor too. When he and your dad met, they say there wasn't a single coin between them. And your dad fed him, bought him a drink, and told him if he had nothing to do, they ought to work together."
"Uncle too?"
Yeongeun was astonished.
"Of course. Your uncle had no money and no family. He just wandered around by himself. How lonely do you think that was? How bitter? And the one who saved a man like that was your aunt."
Sunrye stared at her sister, who had veered off in a rather odd direction. But soon she was smiling, remembering the days when Soon-young had raised a storm about marrying Ma-ryang. She could no longer recall why she had tried so hard to talk the two of them out of it. She turned back to the children.
"When Mother was carrying Yeongsu, she lived here with Father. There was so little to eat that Mother just lay in the room. Father came home meaning to feed me, saw there was nothing, said he would step out for a little while, and disappeared."
"Where?"
Yeongeun asked.
"Mother doesn't know. Even when I ask where he went, he won't really answer. But when he came back at night, he had porridge in an empty bowl."
"Porridge?"
Soon-young asked. She was hearing this for the first time herself.
"Yes. Your father had gotten hold of a handful of rice somewhere, and he waited outside a seolleongtang shop—one of those places that simmer beef bones into a milky broth—until the day's business was done. When the owner went to close the doors, Father stepped up and begged him to put that handful of rice into the pot and boil it. He was asking the man to boil the rice in whatever broth was left at the bottom of the cauldron."
Soon-young looked at her sister with a grave face.
"The owner stared at Father for a long time. Then he held out his hand and took the handful of rice. And Father brought home rice porridge boiled in seolleongtang broth. It was night, and he could hardly see in front of him. He must have walked so carefully, afraid the porridge would spill."
Remembering, her chest tightened, and she stopped for a moment.
"When Father left the house, he went out with an empty gourd bowl. He came back with it filled with porridge for Mother."
"I was so hungry I couldn't even tell him we should eat it together. I just ate and ate, out of my senses. All I could think of was whether the baby inside me might come to harm..."
Even now, that grieved her. She was sorry she had never once managed to say they should share that meal.
Yeongsu bowed his head, and the tears fell in drops. Thinking of what Mother and Father had suffered while they were carrying him, he could not make them stop. Seeing her brother like that, Yeongeun began to sniffle too. Yeongjun patted his crying brother and sister.
"Don't cry. Don't cry."
"Don't cry, Yeongsu. Don't cry, Yeongeun. I only want you to understand that Mother and Father have come this far on other people's help, and that we want to pass that help along. That is the proper way of a person. And since you are Mother and Father's children, you must not be harsh with people."
"Yes."
Yeongsu and Yeongeun answered, and even Yeongjun, who did not yet know what any of it meant, answered with them.
When the children's tears had eased, Soon-young asked,
"Sis, where'd Brother-in-law get the rice?"
"I don't know. That, he absolutely will not say."
"He won't...?"
Soon-young looked disappointed. Sunrye thought the children had understood well enough from this much, and she rose. Soon-young started the car, and Yeongeun said goodbye to the thatched house sagging toward collapse.
"Goodbye, Mom and Dad's house. I'll come again later."
Sunrye lifted Yeongeun into the car and looked back once more at the old house. The poor years had been harsh and cutting, but they had also been a time she was grateful for. They had shown her what a family was, and what kind of man her husband was.
She climbed in and looked over the children in the back seat. Yeongsu sat in the middle, holding Yeongeun's hand and Yeongjun's.
"Hold tight to your brother and sister."
At her words, Yeongsu answered, "Yes."
The car pulled away, turned back along the road they had come, and drew nearer to Seoul. Passing through the town of Uijeongbu, Soon-young stopped.
"Sis, let's eat at this place before we go. I'm hungry."
She had stopped in front of a seolleongtang house. The five of them got down, ordered four bowls, and shared them.
"Eat slowly, so you don't burn your mouths."
Soon-young looked after the children, then said to Sunrye,
"When Brother-in-law gets back from America, find out where he got that rice. I'm dying of curiosity."
Sunrye let out a small, helpless laugh. Then she slowly lifted a spoonful of broth to her mouth.
No seolleongtang she had ever eaten had tasted as good as the cold bowl her husband had carried home. Even when Gijo took her to a shop he swore was delicious—however much meat crowded the bowl, however the hot broth warmed her mouth—it was never as good as the seolleongtang he had brought her then. This place, though, was rather good.
She took the broth into her mouth without a word, considered the taste, and glanced around. A stern-looking proprietor sat at the counter. After turning a few thoughts over, she spoke to Soon-young.
"I'm glad we ate here. It's good."
"See? Who do you think I am? I can tell a good place at a glance."
Soon-young said it, laughing.
"Yes. Thank you, Soon-young."
A faint shine of tears gathered in Sunrye's smiling eyes. The taste of the seolleongtang Gijo had brought her was in this one, and her throat closed.
