Mo cnéonts her husband and children had lefther allslone in an empty house and gone their merry way. Just like those faithless litle creatures of het childhood. ‘Where would this strect beside the stone wall lead? Hier dream of the pre- vious evening suddenly returned to her. Ws thir the street she walked in her dreams? Although she knew there would be sign for her ina erevice among the crumbling stones, the memory of wasing in distress from those dreams made her anxious. Hej tilted the bottle of on and the liquid gurgled down hier throat. She drank it all 2t once, as ifit were a wonder drug in a dream from which she would never awaken. “You all think I'm a murderer, you're ‘watching for me, you're avoiding me. ...” She said this in a loud voice and swith a grand gesture hurled the empty torele with all her might, “Anyone else would have done the same thing. What was I supposed to do?” On that day, Hyeja had been making dolls in her basement workshop as she always did afer the children left for school. Ie was a sweltering summer day, she had turned on the hotplate to mele some oxhide glue, and the basement felt like a steamer. The front gate was locked, she expected no visitors, and she was ‘working in her slip. She had finished the complicated process of attaching the sleeping princess’ hair and accessories and was intent on adding the fin- ishing touches when she saw the man standing in the doorway. There had ‘been no sound of his entry. What she had seen then was not the man’s face but her own nearly naked body. It was pure terror, though, that had caused her to plunge the hot soldering iron into the man’s eyes as he approached, “The alcohol made. Hycja fecl as if something were blooming from her body as she swayed down the street. Looking straight ahead, she passed her hand along the stone wall, searching the ereviees ofthe erumbling stones for a token of that pledge of love, that hidder, secret promise of her dream. But then she heard 2 murmuring in her ear: “They've all forgotten you and there's nothing you can do, is there? And even if you hadn't stuck him with that soldering iron, you wouldn't be any better off than you are now.” She ‘vaguely realized that che place where this street ended, this street along the stone wall that she had visited in her dream, was merely the desolate present ‘of wakefulness. But still Hyeja moved, one step at a time, deeper into the darkness, her blossoming body telling her the street would never end. Thamslated by Bruce and Ju-Chen Puhen 21. CH’OR YUN Ch’oe Yin was born i literature at Sogang University in Seoul, obtained a dac- torate in French literature at Provence University in jeoul in 1953. She studied Korean ‘France, and then returned to Seoul to teach at Sogang, She began her literary career as a critie and made her fictional debut in 1988 with the novella “Chézi sori dpshi han chom kckonnip i chigo” (trans. 1997-1998 “There a Petal Silently Falls”). She has since published halfs dozen volumes offic tion and essays. “Hanak’o niin dpta” (trans. 1997 “The Last of Honak’o”), won the 1994 ¥i Sang Literature Prize, In addition to her scholarship and creative writing, Ch’oe has partnered Patrick Mauris in a series of well-received translations of contemporary Korean fiction into French, Ch’oe is a cosmopolitan writer whose stories avoid the tendentiousness of some of her con:emporaties in Korea. She writes convincingly from the point of view of both ‘men and women and approaches the upheavals of contem- porary Korean history through the eyes of such unconven- tional protagonists as a riot policeman and an inarticulate laborer, Her characters may unwittingly become involved with political activists or suffer the disastrous results of unswerving devotion to ideology: not just the obvious physical consequences—the deaths, the separation of fam- ily members—but also the spiritual osses, the mispercep- tions bred by absence or silence. In other stories, some of them set as far aficld as Venice and Paris, she transcends the historical realities ofthe post-194s Korean body politic and comes to grips with the psychological and spiritual state of individual Koreans today. “The Gray Snowman” (Hoesaek nunsaram) carned her the Tongin Literature Prize in x002THE GRAY SNOWMAN ‘The events ofthat period almost twenty years ago have returned to my memory like a stage being lt. I see them fist asa somber, bluish green tableau. But then, as if through a window beside the tableau, a warm light emerges. It was a period of confusion, And above all else, suffering, Because it was left unfuléiled? On the other hand, are any of life's stages ever brought to perfection? There are periods in our past that can't be dismissed with a flippant “Oh, tbat time.” They may be short, those periods, but they work their influence throughout our lives. Nevertheless, daly life is a powerful healer. Day after day, snow and rain have fillen, flowers have withered and bloomed, and that period has gradually scabbed over, like a wound grown slowly insensible. ‘We—yes, its all right now to refer to myself as part of the group—we locked ourselves up evening after evening in that mindawn print shop, fh a fover I didn't understand, It was an ordinary eorner print shop on 2 seedy commercial street on the outskirts of Seoul, We met there every ‘evening for almost three months, they and I tethered to our work, neither of vs knowing a thing about the other. Way does the name of that ordinary print shop escape me? It must be selective memory—how else to explain i? A short article I recently came acrossin the newspaper has brought back that period to me with the immediacy of yesterday and today. The article wes already a couple of days old, and finding it was even more of a coincidence because, sitting in the reference room cf the National Library, I was sup- posed to be looking at the editorial page and not the city pages. Iwas doing research for a former professor who was writing a book. Tean'tsay I read that short piece. Mors accurately speaking, my eyes took in the contents, then swept over the words with lightning speed. There, looming huge before me, was my own name. My heart jumped dizzily and fora moment sat stupefied. As the next shock wave hit, [cautiously scanned ry surroundings, but as usual that section of the reference room was nearly vacant. Besides myself there was only the man with glasses who for several | | TWE GRAY swawMAN 347 days had laid out on the desk before him some sort of statistical data before dozing for half the morning. ‘And then I read the article in a whisper, my lips moving, as if practicing words of tenderest affection. I read itagain and again, as though memorizing «formula that wouldn't register in my mind ‘This was the article: A Korean woman was found dead in New York’s Central Park on the 26th. The woman carried a long-expired passport that bore the name Kang Hawn, age 41. The Korean Association, however, is question- ing her identity. The woman is listed as an illegal alien. An inquest re- vealed the cause of death to be starvation. T checked the date of the newspaper, then flipped through the city pages of other dailies. Innone of them did I find anything similar T returned to the page of the newspaper spread out before me. The violent palpitations of ray hheart eased, and from a place deep insce me there gradually surfaced a pecu- liar sensation, accompanied by a faint convuliion. At frst felt regret, a long- standing regret, it seemed, for something that could never be repaired. A re- gret with no conerete object. But nestled in that regret was, paradoxically enough, relief. any of the others of us from that period had seen the article, what would his reaction have been? Shouldn’t we have been dashing to the telephone and ‘moking contaet with one another ae coon ae possible? But perhaps the article had escaped their notice. More likely, Pd long since been forgotten by them. ‘And pethaps, well before the article appeared, they expected that an incident of this sort would happen sooner or later. In spite of allthis, I found myself rammaging quickly through my hand- bag for my old address book. Theie addresses remained, but Thad never tried to contact them. In any case, these people’ important positions would make itdlificut for us to meet, even assuming I coald reach them. With trembling hands I excised the article with the point of my pen, then tucked it away in the address book. I put avay the reference materials, packed up my things, and left. The autumn scy was innocently clear. We were four in number. Why has that word we always intimidated and dis- ‘comfited me? We were not, of course, we from the very beginning. And the ‘many people who had known the others in the group would oppose my use of ‘ee. But will take the liberty of employing it, regardless of what they think. ‘What made us us was Alexei Astachev’s The Poetic of Vnlence: Biography of 4an Unknown Anarchist. The title ofthis insignificant book is unimportant,though that tide has lingered in my mersory. It was « difficult period. Pd completed my first semester at college and was forced by poverty to sell my textbooks in order to buy new books for the following semester, This meant ‘mumerous trips tothe secondhand bookstores along ChSnggyech’én, In one of the shops I found this book, whose author I'd never heard of, and obtained it for the price of a meal of instant noodles. That black casebound volume, now dimly distant in my memory, began with a piece of agitation that read something like this: “Comrades, if you have courage, throw away this book that has fetcered you; if you are perceptive, read this book and then add it to the fre.” Tn those days I was intent on collecting banned books that I found at the secondhand bookshops. It gave me the so-t of thrill one might get from col- lecting guns. They were also like money in the bank, something I could sell ‘when Iran out of cash, and because they were fated to leave my rented room someday Tread my banned books with a prssion, But T was merely an impov- erished student doring that time, mest ordinary and of no account, someone frequenting the secondhand bookshops of Ch’éngayech’én to make ends meet Tas tormented, in those days, by a far that someone from my home- town would come and take me back. That would have meant giving up my tiny room, and so I never felt free. My heart wut reilly in my course work, and because I needed to earn spending money I began tutoring younger children during the day. And sill Jate at night, Iwould teach older children Korean, English, math—the usual things—and occasionally “Ichbin, du bint ot *Contmentalle-vows?” Though these were languages I'd never studied formally, Pid teach them after a day’ brushup; it was a common practice at the time, T readily took on such jobs as they presented themselves, I knew that I sight one day be exposed as incompetent but my immediate problem was to save up some money. I indulged in only one pleasure: upon returning to my chilly room at night I would smoke, a habit Yd picked up in school ‘The following semester I had no luck attracting students to tutor. Even before that semester was over I packed up my texts and walked from my room at the high point of ¥ Precinct to Ch’8nggyech’én. Ie seemed that ‘money not spent on tutors was not spenton used books ether: For there in the corner of one of the shops was pile of textbooks, unsold, that T had brought in before. Itwas that very visit tet led to my meeting a nan T'l sim- ply all An. The bookshop owner gave mea telephone number, saying some~ cone was looking forthe book by Alexei Asachey that I had obtained from his shoo several months earlier, It was a dav of omnipresent gloom, thick as the THE GRAY SHOWMAN Me bottom ofa beer bottle. My empty stomach wouldn't sustain me another day, and so I fonnd a pay phone and deposited my last coin. With certain people it’s impossible to tell precisely where they belong, where they come from, what their family background is... I mean those people who pop out of the woodwork right before your eyes, talk noncha- lantly about this and that, then disappear from your life. But in contrast with the superficial manner of such people, An introduced himselfin more tengi- ble terms. He said he operated a small shop that printed business cards and all sorts of greeting cards, that he enjoyed listening to music, and that Erik Satie was his father. From such particulars I saw nothing in common be~ tween us, and I was too burdened by the poverty that was my constant com- panion to take an interest in his affairs. My knowledge of music was limited to what I heard over the radio, and it took me some two months to realize that the man with the peculiar name whom An had jokingly called his father ‘was actually a French composer. Anyway, Irlinguished the book and gained a week’ living expenses in return, An slipped the book into his briefcase without even checking the title, then said in a noncommittal tone, “From what [ean tell, you're ina tight situation—le’ see if there's some work you could do for me.” L wondered what it was that had prompted him to say this. My shabby clothes? My shriveled body, burdened with melancholy since birth? Or per- |haps the glint of thirst hidden deep in my gaze? In those days I could hope for nothing short ofa miracle te rescue me, an it didn’t matter who the is strument of that miracle might be. ‘We met again two days later, and from then on I went to his print shop three afternoons a week to do odd jobs. Proofreading, folding printed cards and invitations, and such. From time to time [also delivered orders. Thanks to An I had 2 place to work and had some variety in my life. But I felt [could never trust a person who said his favorite pastime was listening to music Deciding to take the coming semester off, I devoted myself full time to ‘the print shop. Iypesetting was added to my odd jobs, and I delivered orders ‘more frequently. There wasn't that much work, and the three other employ- es left without full at the end of each workday. By dinnertime I would be wandering the sill-unfamiliar streets of Scoul before returning to my room, ‘The coal briquette in my stove had always burned out by the time I got hhome, which made ita chore to cook. I would take the clothes iron Pd picked up from who knows where, prop it upside down on a few books, toast some cheap bread on it, and make do with that, ‘There was no doubt in my mind in those ¢ays that I would soon be dead. even imagined the date of my death, Iwas sure it would be April, maybe in ry death would attract, the coming year, maybe in the year after. And sitno notice, it would be some time before my mother’ sister—my only imme- lately farily—wvas informed, Maybe she would breathe sigh of relief and say something like, “Poor thing. She runs off with money and look what hhappens—she couldn't even keep herself alive.” When my death approached ime in such vivid terms, T looked uneasily about my eramped room but I couldn't bring myself to venture ovt, ‘Ar such moments An face sometimes appeared. F couldn't help but be startled by this bizarre association. Although it was already several weeks since I'd met An, he rarely appeared at the print shop, and after that frst meeting we'd had no opportunity to talperson to person. “You poor kid,” T ‘would murmur to myself. “Irs because An’s the only one who’ been kind to you in Seoul.” Glancing about the room, I would see on my squat table the thick book written in German by an Italian historian, Ihad devoted myself to translating it, a8 if Twere composing my ast will and testament. A humbling task for someone with no formal training in either Italian or German. Like the tangled syntax of German, Ielian, and Korean, life seemed im- possible and unfamiliar to me. My anticipation of death, on the other hand, ‘was quite clear; Ieould live with iteasily snoug ‘Winter arrived, and the orders for New Year’ greeting cards and funeral notices accumulated. began working kte more frequently. A man named Chang, who managed the shop in An absence, seemed to feel this was a great opportunity to make money by working overtime, but whenever he re- ceived « phone eall from An he closed the shop at the end of the narmal ‘workday and cleared us out. This happened twice or more a week, soto keep ‘up with the orders we had to work on weekends. This was fine with me since [was thankfl for @ reason to leave my room each day. At work, no one spoke ‘of An, and I couldn't manufacture a way to bring him wp in conversation “The orders for seasonal greeting cards ended, and there followed a winter thatwas traly difficult to endure. I tried my best to resist the urge to go home and visit my sunt. foe that once I went back to the countryside, I'd spill out all my bitterness, ask forgiveness, and just plop myself down there, ‘The repetitive work at the print shop was a source of tremendous comfort to me. Bue when my loneliness became too muca to bear, [sought out friend from back home, a nurse’ aide, I found her sick in bed in the very hospital where «he worked, and in no condition to ask mz how Thad been or where I was liv- ing. She told me she was recovering from an appendectomy, but as I left the hospital I heard myself mutter, “She’ lying; I'l bet she had an abortion.” I ‘was then that I realized I had becosne so impoverished that T believed in no How much of our behavior can be explained logically? Te was after ten o'clock by the time T left the hospital, bat instead of going home I found my- THE GRAY SNOWMAN 51 self headed toward the shop. I'd left nothing there, nor did I have work that demanded finishing. ‘The metal sereen was down over the front door, but T could see a faint light inside, I grew suspicious, for I distinctly recalled having turned off the light before locking up. As I approached the back door I heard the sound of a machine, T tugged gently at the small door. The key was in my handbag but I didn’t dare try it. Instead, I strained to listen. From the office inside came music and the low- pitched voices of three men. Their murraurs, now muted, now heated, formed a gentle harmony. By listening carefully to the trio I was able to dis- tinguish An’ voice, and I forced myself to focus on it. But it wasn’t loud enough for me to understand, and its texture was frequently masked by the slightly deeper voice of one of the others. Needless to say, I didn’t knock on the coor or call out his name. I just stood there. The steady turning of the printing press, just audible from the front of the shop, sounded like a train apprenching from a distance. Twas a month end a half before I was able .0 sit down with An face to face. ‘He had invited me to dinner, though at the time the invitation seemed more like a summons. Iwasa simple meal ata Chinese restaurant downtown. The bbus we took was packed, making conversation impossible on the way. At the restaurant our surroundings were so noisy and chaotic that Thad to shout at the top of my lungs to answer the simplest questions about myself. Te was a stunted conversation: at ane point An asked where Twas from, but Tmisun= derstood the question and in response tolc him the address of my rented room. Not that I had much to say, butI grew progressively tight-lipped nev ertheless, leaving only stupid thoughts suc’ as this to circulate inside my head: I appreciate your giving mea job, because otberuise I'd have to go back home to my aunt's place branded a thief and PA rather die than do that, s there's no telling what kind of trouble you've saved me fron ‘The winter air was clear and pure, and cold enough to freeze all the germs in the city, Following An toward the Secrot Gatden in search of a place where ie was easier to talk; Thad an urge to tell him things T had never felt be- fore arriving here in Seoul. But as he walked just ahead of me he seemed pre~ occupied. He is obviously taller, thinner, anc older than Iam, I thought, But he talks even less. What is there to connect us? Iwondered anxiously. An casually pushed open the door to a bar and entered, What would he tell me? Whatever tis, i'l be a complete shock to me, I thought, something decisive that Pll never forget, something that will change my life all at once. As followed An through the door it occurred to me that I could simply re- turn to my room. But it was too late. I was enveloped by the warm, dense air inside, So, this is how people forge their destiny, I told myself, Though awarese cwor YUN of impending catastrophe, in a momentary lapse people give themselves up passively to some unopposable system, and thereby have the compass of their lives reset. But this passivity is a choice too. “There are certain incongruities to a pace that leave their mark in our mind. Take, for example, the beaming face of the actress on the calendar Ihanging on the wall: she was on the other side of my beer glass, and I couldn't take my eyes from her. Trying to out of the fatefal moment I knew svas approaching, I watched that empty face until her bright smile Looked ex- aggerated and her gaudy clothes recked of cheapness. Did people really pin up such photos beside their beds? ‘Well, what have you found out so far?” An was s0 curt I coutdn't help inching at his question. Tt startled me into silence, “I know you've been checking up on me.” T now understood why An had brought me here. [es true that after that chance nighttime visit to the shop I had gone back, but I had always stayed only long enough to pick out An's voice. Iwas all the more surprised because Thad never been confronted by An or anyone else at that late hour. My face burned with shame. I fel as if ad suddenly bumped into An while forking in that dark alley outside the shop. “Vm sorry.” My head drooped. The peculiatity of my actions became all too clear to me. I apologized once more. ‘Arms folded, An solemaly examined my expression. “Miss Kang, ate you sure you can handle the consequences of your eu riosity?” ‘Would he have understood if Thad tol itm that kept going out at night because death was tempting me, harassing me, that I hovered about the print shop because I had no place else to go, thatthe sound of his voice from inside the door reassured me? Curiosity was not the issue. But he wouldn't have understood. “es... nota matter of curiosity,” L began. But I couldn't continue, For some reason 1 found myself utterly mute. When you travel at nigh, I silently asked, dn’t you walk toward light? The light Tobose was your shop; why should it be a rime for nte to journey there? Don't you sometioes take comfort from something insignificant? Like the sound of someone's oie, or a certain ambience? If | drew a bitof reassurance and comfort from your voice and from envying what you and the others were doing, bow could that be a problem for you? I swallowed, and in doing so swallowed che words that An ‘wouldn't have understood. His expression still said, “Well?” “TFyou want, PN quit working there.” i i Pele a ornate THE GRAY SNOWMAN 23 Tooked up at him and for the first time let resentment fill my face. Tt wasn't hard to imagine how that made him feel, for [had often encountered iy twisted visage in the mirror. “Allright, then,” he said. Jus like that. Having nothing farther to say, I took my handbag and slowly rose. Butbefore I could leave he added, “Or, maybe you'd like to help us outin the evening?” T took this as an attempt to lighten the mood, And in fact he was smiling, the whites of his eyes looming large. Some people's eyes are like that, my sunt had told me; Ishould be careful with such people. An’ smile was that of someone who finds himself ina fix. Isat down again “Aren't you going to ask what it involves?® I shook my head. ‘This man wouldn’t understand me at all, I kept telling, myself. ‘As we were about to catch the last bus before curfew An handed mea folded sheet of paper. “Remember the book you sold me? This vas inside. I forgot all about it. Berter keep an eye on it.” Ieywas a brief note and letter of invitation from my mother, who had left ‘me with my aunt in order to go off to the United States with « man who worked asa chauffeur for the American army. Ithad aerived after an interval in which there was no word from her. Why the invitation, T don't know. It ay have been that the awfulness of the news from out homeland that reached her abroad had reawakened long-dormant maternal sentiments. Or pethaps her living situation had shown a slight improvement. Or else she was bing frivolous, well aware I wouldn't be able to go to America. What I had brought with me to Seoul from my hometown were thet letter and, unbe- sknownstto my aunt, the money Thad stolen to use for my college tuition. All of that money, to have been used for my unck’s hospital expenses, had come from the sale of family land. The leter had slipped my mind. ‘Te was becoming plainer by the day that school was a pointless luxury. I de- cided to drop outand be done with it. Having made that decision, [felt more settled, I obtained an application for a leave of absence and gave myself plenty of time to fill it out, There was nothing unusual about this, for me or ofcourse anyone else. Itwas my second leave of absence from school. More- cover in the year or more [had been at that school I had met virtually no one. Now, nobody would look for me in the crannies of this huge city of Seoul. [Nighttime visits to the print shop became a part of my life, at first irregularly, maybe three or four times a week, and then most every day.i eH"on YUN was still in the habit of aimlessly wandering the streets. That tendency i tensified, and I spent the long hours before going to the print shop riding the bus from one end of the line to the other, or else walking most of that dis- tance, I guess this was more a propensity in me than & matter of killing time, Its as if an incurable disease inhabits the rare person who can never settle down in life. I wondered if anyone had welked the ins and outs of Seoul as T hhad, [felt that by passing a place I'd invested it with a trace of my own life ‘This city still rebuffed me-with the seme singular coldness as when I had fist stepped off the train here: no matter how I touched, smelled, or desired it, not one person or street accepted me. I seemed to drift over this carth like a spirit with no place to settle. Where had I gone wrong? But that period of wandering—which appears now through a gloom thick 4s liquor bottle’ glass bottom-—was peraaps the most eventful time of my life, fot for it, there'd really be nothing to say about my life. Because even though it was a period of misunderstanding, uncertainty, and suspicion, for se it was a beginning. "To this day I can't be sure why An invited me to work with him, and with- out questioning me farther. It must have been three months before the dis- appearance of their Cultural Revolution Association—an underground movement established more than five years earlier—that I decided to join them, I wasn’t a confirmed socialist, and although T collected books of that stripe, I wasn't theoretically equipped to con faidhfal to the employers who provided me my work, I read and proofread the writings they composed and, except for the riskier cases, intermittently ‘took on the chore of distributing them. Ata time when any sort of antigov- ‘ernment movement collapsed as soon as it was uncovered, it was inconceiv- able to me that their activities had continued for more than five years. “Three people were responsible for the printing: An, Kira, and Ch&ng, ‘whom everyone called Scratch Paper because he worked during the day ata precinct office. They mentioned an end.ess stream of names, but I didn't know and never asked if these were the actual names of real people. An, Ching, and Kim existed, and to me that was sufficient. They never tied to exclude me from what they were doing or conceal their methods. We worked together printing and proofreading leaflets that were distributed at demon- stration sites and in the countryside. But there was always a distint distance ‘between me and them. Attimes I wondered if they feltcomfortable with that distance, and [would lose sleep over it for days at a stretch. I made no effort to eliminate that distance between us: ifewas already more than Tcould deal with, ‘One morning ina spasm of activity I rose and sent-a letter to my mother in the U.S. ‘There was nothing in particular to occasion this leer: It wasn’t | | | i | THE ORAY SHOWMAN ass that missed her. But by that particular date T was supposed to complete the application for my passport, something diffeult to obtain at the time and possible only if one had a letter of invitation, Mother, T turned twenty yesterday. I can’t believe its already twelve years we've been living apart, and four yeas since you left for America, Thope your workat the stuffed animal factory isn't too difficult Thad nothing more to write. I didn’t give her my address, nor did I men- tion the passport or what I was doing in Seoul. That evening I silently threw ‘myself into my work atthe print shop, The next day I stayed at home. I bun- dled myself in several layers of thick clothes and spent the entire day in my poorly heated room translating that volume I'd abandoned, the book written in German by an Italian historian, I didn’t go to the print shop. More than once, though, I found myself getting up and preparing to go ovt. Only when the midnight curfew signal was sounded on txe radio did I give up. [had not quite three pages of translation to show for my day's work. The night was un- ‘usually windy, and for once I wasn't bored by the continual hacking and spit- ting of the drunks coming up the hill. ‘The more profound the cold, the deeper people seemed to sink into drunkenness ‘The following day I went to the print shop a few minutes early and found ‘An waiting alone for his comrades. He immediately demanded to know how he could get in touch with me. My absence the previous evening had held things up, and everyone had been quite worried about me. Something in his tone suggested he wasn't so much worried about me personally as he was slightly mistrustfal and anxious. I thought of giving him my landlady’ tele~ phone number but didn’t want to create problems, and so I gave hin my ad- dress and left it at that, telling him that since I was 2 fugitive of sorts he was not, under any circumstances, to pass it on to anyone else. With an expres- sion of disbelief An looked deep into my eyes, trying to interpret my mea ing, My situation was very privat, I told him. It wasn't important whether he believed me. I guess [wanted to insinuate to these people that in one sense ry circumstances were the same as theirs ‘Their nightly discussions became gradually lengthier, gradually more intense, ‘Tkeptmy eyes on the proofs and made myselfas small s possible in my corner butatthe same time listened intently to An and the others. When they vented theirimpassioned words tried not to move, often feeling like apiece of need- lessly heavy furniture that merely took up a lot of space and was difficult to ‘move around. I tried not to miss a word they said. For the most part they talked about the vulnerability oftheir group and about thei writing,| knew virtually nothing about their personal lives, From their chats, however, I gradually come to learn various incidentals: Chéng had recently quit his job at the precinct office, Kim was writing drama criticism, An and (Ching were from the same province, and An had been expelled from a mu- sic school. But that was all. It was only by chance remarks chat I learned their ages. An was twenty-seven, Ching + year younger, and Kim, who was married with two children, was three years older. ‘There were names they often referred to when problems involving their group came up. Among ‘them was Kim Hitjin, who seemed to be responsible for # considerable por- tion of their planning. In fact T had proofread a couple of articles bearing that name on the by-line, Sometime earlier I had developed the habit of try- {ng to imagine the face of the person wao had written what I was proof- reading, I endowed one person with a loag beard, another with a sad, thin face. On rare occasions one or two of these people dropped by the print shop, but of course there was almost never a match with any facet of my imaginings. The rest ofthe time there were only the four of us atthe shop, bbut my presence doubtless discouraged te others from speaking at length about their private lives. As I listened to them talk, a slender hope was born inside me, that the ‘business of life didn’t have to be as hellish as E made it out to be. I grew more ‘optimistic, thinking T could beoome one of them by taking a more positive attitude, instead of feeling that with each step T was sinking deeper into quicleend. Slowly Icame toa better understanding of the uses ofthe printed material with which T worked, and the effects they were meant to achieve. But I wes still distant from thom, and they were distant from me, ‘From time to time An would tell meas we left for home, “Miss Kang, you can leave anytime you feel like quitting. Trealize we're giving you too much ‘work nd not enough compensation.” But far from quitting, I would arrive at the prine shop before anyone else and keep to my seat until the words “Time to go” dropped from someone’ lips. Kim began to tease me with a nick- name—The Leech, But none of the three asked me to join them at their meetings. The days passed inthis state of uneasy balance. ‘One day as [returned home late my landlady popped outside all ina tizry be- fore I could even duck through the small door in the front gate. A policeman had been there, she said, My geze went to che lock on the wooden door of my kitchen, which gave aceess to my room, a door I automatically locked before leaving. Ie didn’tscem to have been opened. I sighed with relicfand asked the landlady for particulars. All she would tell me was that the policeman would THE OMAY SHOWMAN 287 return the following day. With a fearful expression she returned inside, slam ming her dos Should [eall An? “That might be risky, I dzcided. I examined my room for anything that might lead someone to the shop. The row of used books against the wall eaught my eye. Several of them might attract a policeman’s attention, so I hid them in a bundle of clothes in the comer. I checked my watch. Ten minutes until midnight. I gave up on the idea of calling An and plopped myself down on the floor. Since T was away only in the evening, the coal briquettes that heated my floor rarely had time to burn out. I placed my hhands and feet beneath my quilt near the firebox and gave myself up to a stream of tears and feelings of fatalism. Lying open on my table was the book that I seemed forever to be tcanslating. Across iterawied a tiny spider. took one more look about the room, spread out my bedding, lay down, but couldn’t sleep. I tried to think of all the ways my working at the print shop might be discovered, Almost immediately I had to pause. [knew too litle about the three who worked there. Weighed down by distrust and regret, I watched the night’ layers of darkness present themselves before me. There was no one moment of utter blackness. I saw violet, I saw dark gray... The colors ofthat anxious night when F awaited the policeman were simply splendid, ry great surprise the plainclothes detective who called the next day ny identiy—part of the process of issuing was merely interested in veri iy long-forgotten passport. Since this was back when authorities would actually interview people when they wanted genuine proof of identity, I took the detective to 2 hillside tearoom where we could talk, Although F re- sponded calmly enough to his questions, my heart pounded from start to fin- ish. The deteetive had given my room only a cursory glance, and his ques- tions were routine. I told him I was taking time off from school to visit my mother and was doing occasional tutoring to get by, and that my travel ex- penses would arrive sooner or later from the U.S. Probably the most unbe- licvable part of the story, for me, was the idec of actually going to the U.S, to see my mother. But I explained all ofthis with complete assurance. ‘The de- tective, neglecting the practice of accepting money for verification of iden- tity, which applied even to persons of spotless reputation, scurtied away down the endless slope of the hill. ‘A month later, passport in hand, I took my mother’ letter of invitation and went to the heavily guarded American embassy to complete the visa for- malities. Fortunately, because my permanert address was that of my aunt, there was nothing to rouse suspicion, even in the eyes of these officals who cerned about illegal immigration, And then, as ifin revenge for the were co}time and expense I'd wasted, I stuffed the passport into a bundle of odds and ‘ends and returned the banned books to their place against che wal. Certain nights made me realize that these were dark times for them, Even the theatrical Kim, ordinarily a jokester, would spend the whole evening silent and preoceupied while the others sat around the stove drinking on empty stomachs. Small disagreements developed into arguments, and mate- rials already printed were ripped up. Those were the most dificule moments for me. I could see the others were trying to geuge my reactions, wondering if they could argue openly in my presence, It was an awkward situation: T ‘wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving first when there wis nothing to do, and it was impossible for me to ask what was bothering them. Waiting for those tense, anxious moments to pass, Tweuld gaze inattentvely at the books T brought to the shop, books I'd been reading in my room to fill the intex- inable hours of daytime. Once, Ching confronted An about me, suggesting that my participation in their activities put chem at risk. An’ only reaction was a grin. I wished he had defended me more vigorously, but what could he have said? He knew so litle about me, “This was the heyday of government eersorship and official investigations, and almost daily the newspapers ran articles about people being arrested and seditious publishing activities being squelched. But only a fraction of these cares were ever reported. For some time now we had been gathering almost nightly at the print shop to complete a special publication of some three hundred pages. Accord- ing tothe others, two ofthe authors whose work we had recently typeset had been taken into eustody. An urged us on in our work, saying that scarcely a ‘week remained until an absolutely essental conference avould be held. Be- cause the work often kept the others at the shop past the midnight cucfew, and because someone had to remove any suspicious untidiness by morning, cone or two of them regularly spent the night there, Most of the time it was Kim and An, I had never seen them use tre phone, but the manuscripts ar- rived like clockwork nevertheless. After -hey left my hands as first proofs adomed with my question marks, they returned with corrections and emen- dations a day or two later, without fail in a plastic basket, (One night remained at the print shop after curfew. Itseemed the natural thing to do, Ching and Kim appeared tc have business elsewhere and had turned over their work to me carly on, Itold An I would finish up and he could leave first, but he replied that he had something to write; he seemed to think it quite normal that I was staying to assist him. I gave the stove a gen THE ORAY SHOWMAN a cerous helping of coal from the tin bucket. The action seemed so familiar it surprised me: it was as if were heating 2 house Thad long occupied. An was ‘writing at his metal desk with his back to me. I had been sneaking looks at what he was writing and I wondered how it was developing. I examined his progress with great interest, like someone following the latest episodes of a radio drama, [took the corrected proofs from the plastic basket. The wind whistling beneath the flimsy window had grown colder with the coming of ‘midhnight. I opened the stove venta bit wider, pulled my chair alongside, and sat there with the galley proofs in my lap. “Miss Kang,” he said nonchalantly, without looking up, “don’t you think you ought to wash your hands of this work before you get implicated?” For the first time since we'd met a hundred and eleven days ago he was speaking to me in plain speech forms, dropping the polite endings from his verbs. Tooked at him with a blank expression, unsure how to take this. I decided to ignore his remarks and returned to my proofs. “You ought to resume your studies, find yourself a steady job, and get married.” Perhaps because ofthe gloom that seemed to emanate from his face [took this banal remark, which I would ordinarily heve used as ammunition to put down the speaker, to be a deliberate insu. “Because once everything blows up, you'll knve nothing but trouble ahead of you." He swiveled around toward me. The stave had jnst hey ta hear np, and T pushed my chair back as Ife the warmth radiate to my face. Was he jok~ ing? He didn’ seem to be. His exhaustion only served to sharpen the con- tours of his face. I hardly recognized it, How could the same person's face look so different? I scrutinized him as if he were a stranger Pd encountered late at night. “Now don't take this the wrong way.” “Mr. An, why are you devoted to something you're so unsure of?" “Tes not me who' unsure. What I mean is, 'm hoping in the near future there will be a lot more people who are sure.” ‘We fell silent fora moment. was of two minds about our rare, whispered conversation. On the one hand I hoped it would long continue, though T didn’t care what we talked about, and on the other I wished that gaze, so weary and exhausted, would return to the pageiin front of him. An stretched his arms, and in a moment everything seemed to return to normal. He ‘turned back to is desk. “Anyway, once we're done with this particubr projec, I think its better if you stay at home until T get in touch with you."‘Was this some plan they'd cooked uy to get rid of me? True, a giel like me ‘whose background and trae colors were uncertain must be troublesome to deal with, But I'd worked faithfully with them until nov; what farther proof did they need? Pl give you a ite help with your ruition,” he added ina soft tone. ‘That hurt. Had my life these past few months grown so comfortable that my pride could be injured by this offer of assistance? Fen the warmth in his voice seemed to be coming from a cold, calculated distance. “You don't have to worry about me, Mr. An, P'll soon be leaving the coun- uy. Pve already arcanged for my passport.” ‘My sodden change of tone could well have sounded slightly farcial, but he didn’t look up again. Nor did he respond to my words. "Tivo o'clock passed, and finally An seemed to be done for the night. He turned out the light over his desk, unfolded his army cot, snd lay down. I ‘wasn't sleepy. I had work to do, but I didn't want to disturb his sleep, so T added the remaining coal to the stove, narrowed the vent, then lay down on the nearby sofa, which An had left for me because it wes more comfortable than the cot. Although I had trouble fling asleep, I tried notto toss and turn or to make noise. I tied to steady my breathing, but this just made me heave seat sighs instead. I closed my eyes and imagined I was talking to An: You don't now a thing abvut me, Mr An Las born in the CB ungeb"ing countryside. We vere poor and unhappy. And then my nother went to te city to find work, leao= jing ave with may ans family inthe conn. T guess Maan sent some money for stp- port, but [remained poor and unhappy. Léropped out of ddl scocl, aed later took 4a bigh school equivalency exam. But noneof these tages in ray life seems veal to me nou. Amn I the only one who feels this oay? That's what I'd like to know, Or do oth- vs, even alittle? Por exannple, I don’t think you fel like this at all—ane I right? {fell asleep to the sound of An's regular breathing and his tossing and turning, Sometime later I vaguely felt—as ifT were dreaming of something from the distant past—the gentle pressure of someone tucking my blanket up tomy neck, and then thatsame person stroking my hollow, emaciated cheek, and Tsank briefly into a sound sleep. [seem to remember too that I sobbed as slept. For some time there had been more work on weekends than during the ‘week, and so I should have realized that news of a weekend off did not bode ‘well. True, I'd been helping them only slightly more than two months, but daring that time I hadn't once spent tvo consecutive days without working. Jes so strange: on the rare occasions that I think back to that time I experi- THE GRAY swowmaN agp ence a distortion of my memories. Although we began work around sex theeveing Thatbor the illision thet our labors tock place atsome an Jate each night when not just che city but the whole world was asleep, In any cas, when they fly gave mea weekend off eomvineed myeef thes hey some seeret task todo, in which I couldn't be involved. This was the kind of situation where our tacit agreement came into play: I was to help with odd jobs, and was not privy to thei internal affairs. And so An gave no explana tion. During those two days off I suffered from the doubts and defensiveness that often affict those who don't belong. [My hillside room was an island threatened by the winter sea, and on that bleak island 1 waited desperately for a vister: Only my landlady ealled. On Seedy een it snowed, and she knocked at my door, asking me to crash my burned-out coal briquettes and sprinkle the ash on the slippery stree. But I had none. i Beate applied myself to the book I was translating, which lay perpetually ope on yb hele cold nish ale pge ws wer ont ond ge Tput on my only jacket, stuck my hands in may armpits to keep them warm, and read 2 book that the three others were alvays talking about. I don’t recall the tile or author, bt the title ofa short picce Iwrote after reading it proves that not even a petson like me was immune tonarcissistn: “Reflections on the Non-Historicity of an Alicnation Called Poverty.” My weekend had gotten off to slow start. As night set in T started to fel settled. Ino longer waited for anyone, Morning arrived, and I threw off my solitary confinement. To make the time go quickly, I cheerfully cleaned my long-neglected room, then strolled ‘up and down the hilly street, now coated gray with snow, dirt, and ash, whistling as I went. While the faint sunshine sneaked among the clustered plank houses, in a shaded arca children with chapped cheeks were making a snowman out of the gray snow. I watched as they made the body, seta round head on top, attached two pieces of rock for eyes, atid fashioned a mouth. I thought of the volume we were printing, which was also undergoing finish- ing touches: early next week we would attach eyes to that book, and a nose. I vas seized by a peculiar excitement. Something was missing from the mo- ‘ment. Not people but work. And not just any work, but the work Pd started a few months before. Even though I was an outsider doing odds and ends, I needed the work I did at the print shop, with those three and no one else. ‘When the children had finished the snowman they shouted, “Hurrah” Tre- moved my muffler and wrapped it around the neck of the gray snowman, who had become quite the stylish fellow with his chopstick mustache. An hadvhen we were short of coal, pulling it from given me the muffler one evening when we were his overcoat and circling it about my neck. I turned away as the children burst out with another “Hurrah! and Iran all the way up the hill never was able to sce that book finished. And I lost forever the opportunity to fit my cherished key in the print shop's worn-out door. Finally it was Monday. Ie my room even before sundown. I could not show my face atthe print shop just anytime T pleased, and so, to pass the hours, I walled the long distance to work This time I wasn't doing it to save 1 bus ticket: An and Ching were insistent that I avoid encountering those ‘who worked during the day atthe print sop, and it wasn’ difficult for me to imagine the effect such encounters might have had. Call ic fortune if you will, butT forsook my usual practice of turning down the alley that led to the back door of the print shop. As soon as the entrance came into view in the distance, I saw at once that everything had gone awry. ‘The screen was up, the lights glaring, the gless door wide open. ‘The lower half of the door was shattered; see itso clearly now, as iin a close-up. Peo ple were inside; they looked agitated. Cutside the door stood two men in suits, their backs to me, smoking. My heart jumped, then felt lke bursting. Whatever yo do, U told rayslf, Rep cain and do's ble aoey. Don’ run, and whatever you do, don’s panic; just eras the sree. And for beaven’s sake, don’t look ‘ack T placed my trembling hands in my pockets, blended with the passersby, and cate wW » stop at a ralroed erocsing The red light seemed to block the ‘way indefinitely. Tewas aleeady dark, and shough I was no longer a risk oF be- ing spotted from « distance or pursued, in that short period at the crossing the world seemed to hecome a den of treacherous informants. At any mo- ant, Tf, someone next tome woud rely grip my arm od whisper in my cat, “You're Kang Hawn, aren't you? Come along, and don't try to re- at was emped ve look into the fae of those around me, bueT managed not to. crossed the street, slunk into the nearest alley, and came out on another rain street. I reentered an alley ... and when I had finally convinced myself 1 was far enough from the print shop {started running. have no memory of hhow long Iran or which streets I took. But s Tran T did something I'd never done before: from out of my mouth came something like a prayer, over and over again, “Dear God, let me not be caaght here, so that no harm will come to my comrades. I have nothing to lose, but they do. They have much work oe pore onder [ound ot fom the newspaper that all ws ls: the mate- rials we'd been printing for other organizations were confiscated, not to cereal THE GRAY SNOWMAN ae ‘mention the book we'd nearly completed. [read the names of a few of those taken into custody, but there were none I recognized, apart from an author ‘who was familiar from my proofreading. As always with such newspaper arti- cles, this three- or four-line summary of their activities was tucked away where it wouldn't catch most readers’ eyes. This did not guarantee that An and the others were safe. But if the names by which I knew them were their real ones, then their capture did not appear in the press. Anxious days began. My chest pounded atthe slightest sound outside my door. Itwas really very peculiar; it wasn’t fear -hat made my heart pound, but tather the waiting and the longing. More to tae point, it was the waiting for ‘An. He was the only person who knew my address. More than that, his ap- pearance one day might mean we could resume our work: ‘The weather gradually became moderate. I spent several days in bed. T had a temperature but no illness, and there vas but one cure—sleep. Now and then my landlady quietly opened the doo; she must have been worried. think she wanted to sec if Iwas dead. I guess [didn’t want to disappoint her, for I kept perfectly still whenever she looked in. When my throbbing antici- pation turned to resignation, Ireached the linits of my suffering. I couldn't bear the certainty that I would never again heve the opportunity to work with the others, I felt pangs of guilt and deluded myself into thinking it was my fault that their activities had been thwarted—that I had made a mistake and somehow alerted the authorities. T roamed the streets, But there was no way T could make.cantact with them, Nor was there any trace of the few months I had spent with them. ‘Well, there was that used-book shop in Ch’dnggyech’én, But it ened out to have changed hands. I also walked by the prirt shop. Bue the sign was gone and the shop looked as though i had closed down ages ago and was now off- limits. With no one to make inquiries of, and no place I could phone for in- formation, Tended up back in my room, worn out. But even with a name ora ‘umber to call, what could, have done? I was still terrified that through some act of mine they might come to harm. There was no logical possibility ‘of my seeing them again, but stubbornly I waited for one of them to appear. Several nights later, exhansted though T was from trying to maintain my impoverished body, I woke and rose. I sharpened the blunted feelers of my memory and began to send out signals for anything that could deliver me from despair. But there was no receiver. I opened the notebook on my table and sat down, Mobilizing all of my recollections, I wrote dawn one by one the titles of the pieces in the book we'd been preparing, essays I'd proofread at least twice. I began to roughly outline ther contents, as I remembered them, My memory had mysterious blind spots, but just as often it pur on anastonishing display. Occasionally an entie paragraph came back word for word. During that one night T was able to reconstruct three essays, and the preface as well. There were eighteen essays in all, two of them translations. Of those two, I had helped out on one, and T managed to locate a copy of the original in the pile of paper I'd stowed avay in a wrapping cloth. Te took me all the next day, but I finished that translation, Afraid my resurrected memo~ ries would fade, I kept feverishly at my work with scarcely a thought of rest- ing my eyes. A kind of prayer, I guess you could call it, Or perhaps suto- suggestion, a superstitious belief that T could signal them as long as my memories were kept fresh. Perhaps my prayer was answered, even though I was a nonbeliever, for around dinnertime I heard the plank door to my kitchen gently rattle. And then the voice of my landlady, “Student, come out—your cousin's here.” Consin—tny energy drained. Isat still, holding my breath. My landlady’s voice, nowa murmur, continued from outside I closed the notebook, then— and Pm not sure why T did this—I fished out my passport from the cloth ‘wrapper and placed it on the table. Inspecting my cramped room, T calmly waited for my visitor to break down the door and enter. Then I heard the voice of a second women, “Hawt, are you in there?” ‘The gentle tone almost convinced me that my visitor was a close friend or relative. Stl, it was a voice T'd never heatd before. I instinctively sensed my visitor wae somehow connected with An, the mare so since Thad no female cousins. I'm not sure what it was about that voice, but I felt as if my last ounce of energy had slipped sway. Whether the owner ofthat voice that had called my name was the bearer of good news or bad, this was no time to hes- irate. T opened the door, ushered my visitor inside, and made a show of tanks to my landlady. “My name is Kim Hi askyourhelp.” ‘The woman sat down next to me on the floor, gathered her legs to the side, and slumped against the wall. She had with her a good-sized tavel bag, and the hand that had set it down looked tough and knotty. That hand spoke of physical and emotional impoverishment. She was pale, but no more so than L Her face had a chilling beauty that mde me feel she hed come froma faraway place and would vanish to another, But her expression and general appearance skillfully camouflaged all these things. Her eyes had a feverish ‘glimmer. I could see she was ill, and I pleced a pillow behind her back. We ‘observed cach other silently. For her this must have been a rare moment of repose, Finally I ventured a question. ‘Mr, An gaveme your address and said T should snc “Is everybody safe?” “Some of them, But our group is pretty much broken up. Everything we ‘were working on was confiscated and everyone's either in custody or 2 fugi- tive.” “What about Mr, An?” Kim Hiijin’s expression turned to utter gloom and she closed her eyes. “I don't know. Ijust don’t know.” Ina soft voice she told me about several people she knew. Thad met none of them, and most of the names were unfamiliar. I wondered if An had told her anything about me when he gave her my address, But it was enough that he had directed her to me, and almost immediately I felt all of my doubts about him evaporate. In a spirit of deep trust, the kind you would find be- tween longtime friends, she told me of the danger their group was facing, I'm not sure why, but I could not tell her the truth about myself. Instead, Fet her believe I had belonged to their group for some time, and at her mention of unfamiliar names or names I had heard only occasionally at best, I put on 2 concerned look as if they were intimate friends. In fact, in my heart I war concerned about them, After a slight interval I timidly said, “Whenever 1 heard your name 1 thought it was a man they were talking about.” ‘This seemed to have reminded her of something, “Oh, [have a letter for you from Mr. An.” ‘Heer tone had a certain uneasiness to it. From her bag she handed mea thin, sealed envelope with worn edges. In~ stead of opening itn her presence I impulsively tacked it in my pants pocket and hurried out to the kitchen. ‘The arrival ofnews, so long in coming, had made me giddy. T opened the vent to the concrete firebox and put the rice pot on, then cooked stew on the kerosene stove I'd borrowed from my landlady. Itseemed 1m eternity since the aroma of food had last come from my drafty kitchen, and I found myself feeling jumpy. In all the time I had occupied this single room beneath the skies of Seoul, no one had come visiting. T congratulated myself that this first visitor was not my aunt or a relative she had sent. I sat down against the firebox and opened the leter Mis Kang, This will bave tobe short. Doe sent you someone as dear tome as my own self, along wit a request for belp. For the time beingie ill be dificult for you and ‘me tome. To et tothe point, [have a very ig favor 10 ask. Could you Tend ber your pasport? It would be a great belp. Beanse of the nature of his re~quest, PUlunderstand if you refuse. Bue Itt say icagain: i would be more belp- {ful than anyone could imagine ifyou agree tit. Ifyou do, Pl eave the rest to ‘you and Kira Hiljn, An Short and to the point—a businesslike letter. I gazed at this letter. Had it really been written by An? It was certainly his handwriting. And did he have the right to ask me such a favor? Yes, he did. Why? But to this had no an- swer. Coulda’t An have phrased the leter differently? But even if he had, 1 ‘might very well have been hurt just the same, inconsolably so. Tretumned with the meal tray to find Kim Hiijin half reclining. She sat up and received the tray with trembling arras. We finished the meal in silence, I hhad eaten meals like this a long, long tim» ego, silent meals taken late at night, ‘oppression in the at, and I had cautiously observed the weary face across from ime, On the other side of the table had been Mom, home from work, her fa- tigue camouflaged by makeup, and opposite her was myself, no more than cightor nine at the time. But Kim Hijin displayed a weariness different from ‘Mother’. Her face had an unusval aura Thadn’t recognized till then, an aura felt she had perseveringly nurtured to resist exhaustion. I wondered if Kim Hitijin was about as old now as my mother had been back then, No. Kim Hitijin’ face looked much younger. It didn’t now how to age. ‘Whenever I thought of her after that moment, I was seized by 2 kind of persecution complex. Hr face, her bearing, aroused in me something I had to find the words for. And there was nothing so difficult to define as her beauty. She resembled so-and-so, or she looked like such-and-such; no, she hhad something about her that such comparisons couldn't hope to explain. ‘The only word that occarred to me finally was the simplest of adjectives— beautiful. Was this the fontasy ofa lonely, immature girl? Certainty it wast "Though T hadn't known who was calling me, as soon as Theard the voice out- side may door hada’ I produced the passport for her? I would have sheltered her, or enybody else, etter or not. I wassute of it. “You must have something on your mind, staring at me like that.” picked up the passport, which Pd pushed to the corner of the table. “T've been thinking about what to do from now on.” Kim Hitjin reached across the table toward me. I took her hands without word. They felt feverish, She gave mea slight squeeze, [released my hands, then enveloped hers with mine. [never asked about her relationship with An, sometimes wonder if this thing we call hope is a kind of narcotic. Whatever it's, the person who gets a taste of it ends up unconditionally hooked on it cores THE ORAY SNOWMAN a7 ‘Then if her hopes are shattered, she feels the hellish agony addiets experi- ence when the drug wears off. And her anticipation of that agony makes her cling more strongly to her hopes. The day Kim Huijn came to my room 1 watched her weary eyes fall shut and woke up to the fact that Pd long been infected with a hope that was difficult to pinpoint. Tknew that in one form oF another it would end up guiding me for the rest of my life. Obstinately ex- pectant that my vague hope would be realize, I tended Kim Hisijin, She was bedridden from the day she arrived. I nursed her in the evenings and roamed the fat reaches of Seoul during the day looking for people who could help her or provide news. But the addresses she gave me were wrong or, with everyone so concerned about the political tensions, Iwas asked to go away and come by later when things cooled off. There were also 50 frequent, needless to say—that certain people provided material ass tance. In any event, though it was late in the game, I met many people who gave me strength. Through contacting there various people I was able to see Chong, who'd been passing anxious days ata tearoom run by a friend of his. "Who is this! How did you know I was here? Are you by yourself?” Ching fooked at me with surprise, more worried than pleased, as if it mes—not ‘were my ghost he was seeing. All too cleary I saw in his expression the dis- trust that can overcome people under these circumstances. ‘Ching’ suspicions no longer hurt me, though. What really surprised him was the news that Kim Fitijin was bedridden in my room, Ching too was in seclusion, constantly feerful, and knew absolutely nothing about his friends except that An had escaped to the countryside. I told him the contents of An's letter and Kim Hitjin’ intentions and gave him my passport. I wasn't sure what connection there was between altering a passport and working ata precinct office, but three days later Ching brought the passport back. He'd done perfect job of replacing: my photo with one of Kim Hiijin. But Ching was afraid of handing it over to me and placed it in a drawer in- stead. We were in a tiny alcove to the rear of the tearoom, and Chéng was dunk as could be, The hour was late but he kept trying to sit me down so he could ratte on with his griping about An. Aa had been ineerested in my pass- port ever since I started working with ther: atthe print shop, he told me, It hhadaall been planned. Yes it had, I told him—and An and Thad done the plan- ning; we'd kept it secret from the start. But Chéing was too drunk to listen carefally to what I was saying. And he was furious that An was hurrying Kim Hiijin off to the U.S. so that their problemas wouldn’t escalate. I waited for him to pass out, and when he started snoring I took the passport from the drawer and started to leave, thankful that he'd obliged me before curfew. “Hawén, Pm sorry!” he called out to my back.1 didn’t ask what he was apologizing for and I didn't accept the apology. He'll never understand me and P'l never see him again, I told mysof. I fele oddly emotionless ‘Kim Hiijn stayed in my room about three weeks, During that period she slowly recovered and at times she was absorbed in some kind of writing until late at night. When I had time I would sit seside her and continue the job of reconstructing the lost essays. (One night I awakened to a clattering in ny kitchen. I opened the door and there she was, scrubbing away at the cupboards and cookstove with a rag. Like a true cousin who fom the goodness of her heart had come to help her younger relation clean house, she had rolled up her sleeves and made the kitchen spotless, Heating me, she turned with a sheepish laugh, like someone caught red-handed ina secret activity. But that laugh was a hint of a deeper anxiety. “Don’t worry—everything’s going to turn outall right,” she said. By then she had returned to a semblance of health. While I made prepa rations for her trip I vaguely expected An to visit, But that was impossible, “The days went by without her ever seeing An or making secret contact with her family in the countryside, The day she left my room, left this city of Seoul, left this nation, she gave me halfa dozen letters to mail and her beg, ‘hich was full of papers and things. “Hawn, could you take care of this for me? Tes some trivial stuff Ive ‘written; whon the time is sighe they can sre the light of day. Tm sure Pl see you again, And T promise P'll be back.” With the altered passport and the ticket Pd obtained for her she left alone for Kimp'o Airport. For safety’ sake I couldn’ see her off there. Topent the days after her departure at home waiting and preparing my- self mentally for the arrival of somcone, family or otherwise, who would carry me off to the police. But nothing happened to me. I finished recon structing all the essays and read every last one of the articles Kim Eijin had lefe me, and in all that time no one came knocking at the door of my shabby dwelling. There was no doubt in my mind that Kim Hiijin had de- parted safely. Hints of spring were evident, but endless winter was the sea~ son of my mind, Not mach sunlight reached the neighborhood and the snowman still stood frozen upon the hil. A single postcard arrived, un- signed, bearing no return address: Miss Kang, ‘Thank you. THE GRAY SNOWMAN as ‘And that wast, Presently Tread a rather long article about An's arrest, and then much Iter an article containing a distorted and exaggerated commen- tary on the activities of my unnamed colleagues. always wanted to write something in the form of short report about that period, starting out lke this: “Tcan see it new the gloom of early winter on that endless road. Darkness lay everywhere, like the dense color of a liquor bottle’ thick glass bottom, and yet it was during that melancholy journey that I frst encountered the word hope...” Itseems I sill hold sacred those thoughts we printed, but I lack the talent to record that period with any pre~ cision in writing, More to the point, theres nothing in my existence that could be turned into 2 story. Who in the world would eare about my life, which has been like a bar of the drowsy music An listened to now and then when he worked? An absued idea. Even if Kim Hiijin had tried to make contact with me, it would have been impossible. For I myself left Seoul, telling ro one. T dropped out of school once and for all, returned to my aunt, and for years I helped her with the farm work. At the same time, I ventured into other activities, wanting to share with those around me the color of the hope I had tasted. My life since then has changed litle. Meanwhile, An became well known as a folk artist and activist, speaking out in the media, He gave several lectures in a city nor far from the raral svea where T live Te alteadly several years since the ane accasion T went re that city, around the time of one of those lectures. I asked the sponsors to give him a bag for me, Although I had high'y recommended this lecture to the young people in the village, [returned home once my duty was done. In that bag were the materials Kim Hijin had lefe with me, along with the bundle of articles we'd worked on at the print shop, which I'd managed to reconstruct and hadn't read since. Later I saw some of those pieces in a ‘magazine. There now remains no physical evidence within my reach that this period of my life ever existed. I take that back. There is one piece of evidence: my ‘unfinished translation ofthat Italim historiar’s book written in German, But that translation, my erstwhile remedy for anxiety and solitude, has been stuffed away so long now that the paper hes yellowed. And ifthere’ anything to say about that book, is that perhaps its been published ina translation by professional, someone better than I've never tried to find out for sure. After that period I loved a man, the one and only time. But he left me to marry a friend of mine. If had been him, [would have selected my friend,to0. Several years ago met a professor who had quit teaching and moved to the country to commit hs life's work towriting. He was. linguist and sad he ‘was prepating a book called Contemporary Socelingurtcr. He needed some ‘one who could help him with sources end proofreading, and I went to his hhouse and volunteered. I’m now his sssstant, and I go up to Seoul once a ‘week to look up sources for him atthe library, But Pm notatall sure when his book will see daylight: the expansive thoughts of this elderly professor only proliferate by the week, ‘walked toward the station to catch my train for the countryside. How could the sky in this season be so innocently clear? And how could my suffering duting that period be so fresh in my mind? Suffering knows no aging, I guess because our ardent desires to be healed are so fresh and persistent. Shall I gather the neighbor children this winter and build a huge snowman in the fields? We'll ft the head with a long brench, an antenna to send signals to the star of the woman who recently left this world, But wouldn'e those children know better than anyone that a person doesn’t turn into a star when she dies? OF the person who diseppears in pain from our lives, all that is left in the hearts of those of us who knew her is a tiny scar of light. ‘Translated by Bruce and Ja-Chan Fulton | 22. KIM YONGHA Kim Yongha was born in x9¢8 in Seoul and graduated from Yonsci University. His first published work of fiction was “Kéul e tachan mySngsang” (1995, Meditation on a mirror). He gained farther novice with “Hoch’l” (1996, Pager), a hit with readers and critics alike and the tile story of his frst story collection (1997), and with Na niin nari ‘pTagochal sli ka itta (1096, Thave the ight to destroy my- sel), his first novel. ‘To date he has published two other story collections and three other novels. In addition to fiction writing Kim has produced essays and film reviews and is at work on a screenplay. He also hosts a daily radio show devoted to books and authors. He attended the International Writers Workshop at the Uni- versity of lowa and has the cosmopolitan, urban outlook of many of his generation, Representative ofthis outlook are the stories “Sajingwan sarin sakiin” (1999, trans. 2003 “Photo Shop Murder”) and “Ellibeit’S e kkin namja niin ‘tke toetinna” (999, trons, 2003 “Whatever Happened to the Guy Stuck in the Elevator?” “Lizard” (Tomabaem) was first published in 1997 in Heb.