“Goodbye, I will miss you,” Jade whispered in the garden as Hesoon opened the gates. She was coming back in a few hours, but nothing would be the same as before. After being seen like this, she could never go back to being a marriageable girl in people’s eyes. She had come into the house as a child, and was now stepping out of its gates as a courtesan.
6
The Parade
1918
AFTER MYUNGBO LEFT, SUNGSOO WAITED TEN MINUTES IN HIS OFFICE before heading out himself. He did truly regret that the meeting with his old friend hadn’t gone as he’d hoped; that instead of reminiscing about their old adventures over food and drink, and reveling in the discovery that someone else remembers you as you once were, and vice versa, they were each shocked at how different the other had become. It was far worse than meeting someone new and failing to like one another. Moreover, no one had called out SungSoo’s faults to him in years. Everyone was eager to please him, his subordinates with deference, his peers with compliments, his wife with adoration. And this universal approval was so unconditional, and so much a part of his reality, that someone telling him to his face that he was wrong shook him to the core.
“Is he right? Am I wrong to not want to renounce my birthright, move to Shanghai, or some mountain village in Siberia, and spend my days target shooting and plotting assassinations?” SungSoo asked himself. He’d heard stories of how these young men—from wealthy and noble families, peasantry, or anywhere in between—gathered in safe houses in these places and swore an oath to give up their lives for the cause. They cut off the tip of their ring finger and signed the pledges in blood, and wore sharply tailored suits and hats in the highest style in order to look dignified when they died, which may be at any moment. It was also said that women fell passionately in love with them.
“But for what? It is all foolish—nothing will be gained from it. Not only that, assassination is murder.” This train of thought was beginning to soothe his angst. “We say the Japanese are murdering our people, but is the right answer murdering them in return? It’s all so barbaric, and no less wrong. No, I won’t contribute to such reckless violence. I won’t be bullied into it, no matter how MyungBo judges me.”
Having thus arranged his reasoning, SungSoo was satisfied. He nearly smiled with the increase in self-respect as he headed out to the streets. The sun was high in the cerulean sky, and there was a cool invigorating breeze. Before long he ran into a friend, a playwright who had also studied in Japan. SungSoo shook hands with him and brought up MyungBo, whom the playwright knew.
“How strange it is to see you both in one day,” SungSoo said. Then, he discreetly communicated that MyungBo wasn’t in good shape physically or financially, that he was in Seoul for a while to ask friends for money, and that SungSoo himself couldn’t agree to it immediately—though he was thinking about it still. All of this, SungSoo made sure to skillfully convey without saying anything directly.
“You did right to refuse him,” the playwright said. “I never could stand him. Thanks for the heads-up—if he asks to meet me, I’ll come up with some excuse.”
As they were thus catching up and walking, they noticed a throng of people just ahead, loudly shouting something.
“Oh goodness, is this another protest? We should take a different road,” SungSoo said.
“I don’t think so, that sounds like laughing. Maybe it’s some show?” The playwright, who liked spectacles, started heading in that direction. As they approached they could see that the crowd was whooping and clapping at something in the middle of the boulevard. They pushed their way to the front, and saw that it was a procession of about two dozen courtesans.
Each woman was dressed in a marvelous silk costume, tied together with a white sash that trailed behind them. On the sash was written the name of the courtesan and the name of the new restaurant MyungWol. Some of them carried baskets of flowers, and from time to time tossed a blossom at the adoring crowd.
“Incredible!” The playwright laughed. “How brilliant. MyungWol will be the talk of the town! We have to go there together soon.”
SungSoo had always enjoyed the sight of beautiful women, and he watched the courtesans with great interest. Then, in surprise, he froze. In the middle of the procession was the familiar yet changed face of Dani.
At first, SungSoo could only process her appearance in comparison to the one in his memory. Her round face had thinned, and her features had become more prominent. Her powdered skin looked like polished marble, though it had once been as fresh and rosy as a spring dawn. Her black-lined eyes, sharp cheekbones, and painted red lips gave her a formidable air. It was undeniable that she no longer looked young. Only the lively expression of her eyes, which showed a glimpse of the mysterious garden within her and seemed capable of looking into anyone’s soul, remained unchanged. But so, so unchanged! The moment he finally made that connection, he saw her as other people saw her: a resplendent woman against whom all other women simply paled.