emerging from the hotel entrance. We recognized him at once as Mr Kwŏn who we had met briefly the night before. Wrapped up in a sage-green overcoat with a hat and well-polished black shoes, he went across the courtyard and out of the main gate. He had around him, I thought, an air of poetic melancholy, probably reflecting my own mood.
‘I bet he knows we are watching him. He’s just too proud to look up and say hello to us,’ I grumbled.
‘You fancy him,’ said Miae, and imitating the voice of an old spinster, the domestic science teacher at high school whom we used to hate, added, ‘You’d better watch out. All men are hungry wolves.’ Merrily we laughed and went back to packing.
‘Still, I think he is a gentleman. What I can’t understand is how he dared to walk in here in his pyjamas. I was outraged. I nearly told him to get out.’
My mind was in a strange state so that I wanted to talk about him, whether it be praise or derision.
‘Knowing we were two women from Seoul, he thought we were the frivolous kind. That’s all.’ She said curtly.
I had known her when she had been a very sensitive yet positive and forceful girl, and then had watched the process of change taking place in her. When she had been hit by the bitter experience of love, she seemed to droop like frost-bitten grass, gradually losing interest in her surroundings. Recently she seemed to have recovered her reason, but remained cool towards the outside world.
‘I expect he’s just a simpleton and came over as he happened to be dressed at the moment.’
In my mind I went over what had happened the previous day.
It was very quiet in the hotel in the afternoon. We seemed to be the only guests in the whole establishment. Lying on our beds, we were singing our favourite songs one after another, between the usual chatter. Suddenly there was the sound of running footsteps and the hushed voices and laughter of people along the corridor outside. We took it as the male and female staff having a bit of fun among themselves, taking advantage of the quiet afternoon. Then there was a loud crash on the door of our room as if someone had been thrown against it. Then a dead silence as they made a stealthy retreat only to end up with a loud cry at the far end of the corridor. We did not take any notice and just carried on singing.
In the evening the maid who brought in our meal said, ‘I am very sorry we disturbed you this afternoon,’ and added ‘This is an apology from Mr Kwŏn, who is one of the guests from Seoul,’ and handed me a business card which said on one side: ‘Tong-hi Kwŏn, Lecturer, S Women’s University.’ On the back, scribbled in a flowing style was: ‘To the guests of Room 16. Our play got rather out of hand this afternoon. Though I hope you’ll understand as I hear you are from Seoul, I do apologize for the disturbance.’ Then the girl went on to say, ‘He wants to know whether you’d mind if he came to say hello in person.’
We exchanged a playful glance. ‘It won’t do any harm,’ we quietly agreed. On further inquiry we learned that he was on holiday doing some writing. ‘Writing?’ We were hooked by curiosity. Besides, we thought, a university lecturer can’t be a person to be on guard against. But the real reason for accepting Kwŏn’s self-invitation lay deeper. Miae and I were momentarily reminded of Mr Hyŏn, our mutual friend and hero.
Having just come out of the hot spring, our hair was still wet. Miae had hers permed short but mine was long and straight, loosely brushed over my shoulders. We were wearing the traditional Korean costume, ch'ima and jogori, hers of black satin and mine deep sea-blue silk. Mr Kwŏn followed the maid in his pyjamas with blue and white stripes. He looked around and said, ‘This room is freezing.’
After examining the fire-pot in the middle of the room he said to the maid, ‘Look, it’s going out. Take it away and fetch another, full of bright red coals.’ He used a familiar tone, as if to his own housemaid.
After we had exchanged our names he said, ‘I know you are from Seoul. Which college are you at?’
‘Miae did Law at Seoul National, and I did politics at Y.’
‘Gosh, women bachelors of law and politics!’ He said. I told him briefly about my job and then the conversation came to a halt, which was quite unexpected. In our experience with Mr Hyŏn such a thing had never happened. This man is a fool, I thought, in his silly pyjamas.
‘What were you doing this afternoon?’ I said, ‘For a moment we thought the Red Army was on the loose bashing things on its way. Do you like running about with kids?’ I said this in a contemptuous manner, just to provoke him so that he might try to defend himself, but all I got from him was a grunt of ‘Oh, yes, very much.’
Another awkward silence followed.
‘What subject do you teach?’ asked Miae.
‘English literature.’ Then we were faced with another dead end. I longingly thought of Mr Hyŏn. He would never have let us down like this. He used to make us feel so natural and at ease. The strength of our relationship had been its sexlessness. The way he treated us was such that the delicate feelings which might exist between unmarried men and women were kept out of the way. We had talked freely about all sorts of things.
While the awkward silence went on, my mind drifted from the present scene as I continued to think about Hyŏn.
We came to know Mr Hyŏn through our sixth-form teacher, Mr Chang. When we were going to Pusan, then the wartime capital, to sit our university entrance exams, Mr Chang gave us a letter of introduction. Mr Hyŏn would help us find lodgings and getting around in a strange city.
‘He maybe an even greater help to you, Sukey,’ he had said, because he did the same course as you are going to take at Y.’ Mr Chang told us in great detail what a remarkable man Hyŏn was. He came originally from North Korea, from a wealthy gentry family. Only he and his elder brother had managed to come over. As poor refugees they had been through great hardships in their early days in the South. His elder brother, determined to give his younger brother a good education, had sent him to school while he worked as a labourer and then as a market trader. Hyŏn proved to be a brilliant scholar and got through his school years always at top and every year winning a scholarship of one kind or another. Now he was a lecturer at a college in Pusan.
With all this knowledge, we met him as if we had known him all our life.
The exams took place at individual college sites. Probably because he was a graduate of Y, he was always hanging around the campus during the three-day exam period. He came to see me at breaks, and at lunch time he bought me something to eat, asking me what questions there had been and how I had answered them.
Once we started university life we did not see him very often. It was only when one or both of us needed his advice or help that we went together to his room at his college or to the modest house where he lived with his brother’s family. We were always warmly welcomed. On such occasions we greatly enjoyed his company. We went on talking for hours on end. When our bottoms ached or our legs felt cramped from sitting for too long on the hard ondol floor, we got up and went out to a nearby tea-room to continue. He was not only good at serious debate but also at making us laugh – we often laughed until our sides ached.
Our friendship continued in Seoul after the capital was recaptured.
In the depth of her affair Miae would discuss with him openly the relationships between men and women. On such occasions I felt left out and immature at not being able to contribute, but study-wise, I benefited greatly. In my third year I won first prize in a competitive debate organized by the Political
