23
Decked with Chrysanthemums, 1972
One of the colleagues was inquisitive about Dano: Where he had been, what he had been doing, how he had come to join them, and what he would do. He was not being hilarious about the food thing. He was being serious. Others concurred; They were not insinuating anything; They were just curious about Dano's job shift from an elementary school teacher to a newspaper "reporter." The proofreader was referred to as "reporter."
Dano defined his erstwhile experiences as a man of default, or a "default man." They wanted to know what he meant by a default man. He blandly explained to them the person in question as a human being who had made various attempts but achieved virtually nothing. His occupational journey after he had left pedagogical job for good in the year 1971 included a mineral water and insurance salesman. He did not dare mention his stunt in judicial examination, that is, the Korean version of Bar Exam.
There had been family accidents and catastrophes during the launching years of the 1970s. Illczhin, Dano's next immediate brother had had his legs broken in a demonstration of a special alpine training course in the Nth Division in Gillchon, the U.S. Armed Forces Korea. He had been a rock climbing instructor for the U.S. Army officers. Dano's sister, who had been born in Sun Valley after the Korean War, had left home to become a Buddhist monk.
Tschai, vulnerable to Dano's whims, had been thrown off guard on and off. Although inwardly terrified at first of all the unwholesome situation about her, uprooted and without resources, she had outwardly remained calm and composed. She had always gotten herself prepared to face the harsh realities by opening the seamstress' shop, lest "the spider should build webs on the mouths" of her family.
-----------------------
Mrs. Euiseong Kim was a mystery to Tschai since Tschai had made an encounter with her after Tschai's marriage to Dano. The scene, in which her grandmother-in-law had been confined, was a shock to her because, although her grandmother on her father's side had also been suffering from Alzheimer's disease, nobody in the family had gotten her grandmother caged and nobody had ever thought of keeping their beleaguered elderly in captivity. What had shocked her more than anything else was that her unfortunate grandmother-in-law had recognized her at first sight. Tschai, who had been forced to live, albeit for the time being, at Oksan, had once stopped by to look after her grandmom, who, when seeing her, had brightened her face and astonished her with her sane recognition and the exact guess by saying "Have you been to the bazaar to buy salt?"
On an autumnal night of October, 1972 Dano's grandma had passed away with a great cry that could have torn the air into pieces. On that very day she had been uncaged. Dano had wondered why the sky didn't fall down. It had stayed bright and clear. The sky had been so studded with stars that it had appeared to pour them on earth. The chrysanthemums in the rear garden had been in full bloom and the moonlights on them had been shining blade sharp.
Dano and his cousins had had the coffin decked with the solemn flowers. Dano wondered aloud what had caused Grandma to shut down the gate to her memory. Grandma had stayed so sharp in her prime years that she had even composed sadonji on behalf of any family clan member, or the letter written on the scroll and sent to the parents of the bride or bridegroom as a token of gratitude or celebration.
To her darling grandson, Mrs. Euiseong Kim had been a best cook. She had had a good memory of various recipes. Any food material she had touched her hands on had changed into a gourmet food. She had also been a great doctor equipped with the profound knowledge of the alternative medicine. Whenever Dano had been sick, she had been on the prowl for medicinal herbs in the woods and mountain hills.
Dano had endeared so deeply to her grandmother that, in his mind's eye, she had always been standing on the hill top waiting for the late- coming grandchild holding the lamp aloft. On the starry night under the shimmering moonlight before the flower-decked coffin of his dear grandma, Dano had still wondered what kind of memory his grandma had tried to bury and flee from it.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
On the Proofs
21
On the Proofs, 1974~1980
Not since Dano had taken a job as a proofreader of the Daily News had he done night shifts so often those months. Each day was a continuation of night shifts. The problem was that of going back home after the shift work: The streets were totally deserted after the midnight. There was no traffic at the time, of course, around two or three o'clock in the morning. The police were on the patrol of the sparse streets to check the enforcement of the curfew.
Dano's night shifts helped, financially and otherwise. The overtime payment, though small in amount, which was handed downright to Tschai, used to change hands from Tschai to a grocery store. The nocturnal shifts also turned out enlightening, indeed. That is, Dano used to be bombarded with lots of beneficial information from media pundits with prestigious academic backgrounds.
Dano discovered that his night shift works evoked nostalgic and retrospective memories. Less rushed in the amount of the articles to be dealt with, the night job gave him enough breaks for coffees, for homesickness, and the recollections of things past. The young and always polite Tom Banes, his on and off night shift partner from across the street residence of the United States Embassy in Seoul, made efforts to keep good company.
The click- clacking noises of the linotype machines were unbearable at first, but as days passed they turned out very rhythmic. The odor of lead was revolting on the verge of disgusting, and the dust in the linotype room on the second floor of the building was terrible. In due course of their career, the linotype people made it a routinous habit to eat pork chops and drink makkoli to cleanse their dusty throats of toxic residues.
The six desk chiefs of the Daily News took turns playing the role of commanding the night shift teams: politics, society, economy, culture, wire (foreign news), and editing, The night shift team consisted of a desk chief and four or five staff members including one or two proofreaders. The morning editions of the Daily News were the results of their efforts made on the base of the evening editions which had been delivered previously to the provincial districts.
After the boring procedures done of desk reporters truncating some parts of the previous editions by replacing with the new, hearing the cantankerous typing by the huge linotype machines, Dano compared notes with the manuscripts, spotting the limping letters, correcting the misspelled words and misplaced lines. All that done, the chief of the night shift team put an O.K. signature on the final sheet around 3 or 4 a.m., with the night shift team hurriedly getting on board the "company limousine" to head for their homes. Dano, always left alone, mounted the company bedroom upstairs where he slumbered away the nights.
22
At The Daily News, 1974~1980
In the stillness of night when the other coworkers had returned to their homes for peace and rest, Dano savored the loneliness in the company bedroom. There were a few other boarders almost each night from the brother vernacular newspaper who had lost the last traffic going back home while boozing with office buddies. There arose physiological odors and snoring noises. Dano climbed up to a top bunk to a fitful sleep.
Grammarian Lee, proofreading desk chief, who had been named after his habit of keeping an old Japanese grammar book which had been worn out, said to Dano at the time of business shift, "Report for work tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Wang." "Why, sir?" Dano asked. "Because Mr. Kim will call in sick."
The Seoul air of the early winter morning in the periphery of the Daily News was chilly enough. Dano's bus ride to his residence at Heukso-dong, Dongjak-gu by No. 84 city bus was a painful reminder of the frustrated college life he had failed to consummate. He himself did not understand why on earth he had rented his house at the Black Rock Town of all the places.
The homecoming route from the Heuksok-dong bus terminal to his rented house on the hilltop was a knee-hurting job: He had to negotiate an uphill slope. Tschai was about to leave the den after setting up a modest breakfast table for her husband Dano with a few side dishes. He recently found out that Tschai had opened her seamstress' workshop at the corner of the town bazaar. The increased sickoo, or the "eating mouths" of four by two son children, who had been born in the 1970s at an interval of two years, had driven Tschai out of the house. The take- home paycheck envelope of an English language newspaper proofreader just out of a three-month apprenticeship was too thin to support the family of four.
Taking custody of the two sons was a minor problem. Tai, ages 5, the older of the two, was getting along well with the village boys who had not gone to kindergarten just like him and Hua, ages 3, the younger of the two, had gone to his mother's workshop, clinging to his mother's apron strings.
When he stepped in the newsroom on the third floor, Dano found the conversations, which had been going on around the entrance of the door, suddenly got stopped short. The atmosphere was that Dano himself had been an object of a back talk. Usually, it was time culture desk chief An had been bragging about last night's money job of translating English novels.
Hardly had an intuition that he had made a fatal mistake or two last night struck him when Managing Editor Koon Tagg waved him over to his table. "Good afternoon, sir!" Dano greeted. Koon, a gentle-mannered man in his fifties, who had recruited Dano above the protests of the others, looked mischievously at him, and said, "Is the night shift too hard for you?" "Not at all, sir!" Dano replied.
"Compare the proofs with the original manuscripts more carefully, will you?"
"Sure, I will, sir!"
"And you are supposed to do day shifts instead of nights from now on."
"But for how long, sir?"
"Indefinitely."
How lucky of one to have such considerate and benevolent gentleman as Koon Tagg and Grammarian Lee as one's superior, Dano always appreciated that. Lee and two other proofreaders were at their desk already. Lee suggested to Dano they have coffee breaks "down there." They climbed down the stairs of the company building and walked down the alley slope along the Japanese Embassy, stepping down to the Hankook Dabang.
The coffee shop was always packed with reporters and their visitors. When they were seated, a waitress asked for orders. All four of them ordered coffees. After having some sips, Dano wanted to know about his mistakes of the previous night. The chief and all the three colleagues beamed. Lim explained to Dano that an opinion column contributor had pointed out one proof error on his article.
A lot of readers had also questioned the validity of the word food printed in the newspaper: "I leave Korea for food." The right statement should have read: "I leave Korea for good." By the proof mistake of Dano's, South Korea was listed in such impoverished countries as DPRK whose people had been in famished state.
On the Proofs, 1974~1980
Not since Dano had taken a job as a proofreader of the Daily News had he done night shifts so often those months. Each day was a continuation of night shifts. The problem was that of going back home after the shift work: The streets were totally deserted after the midnight. There was no traffic at the time, of course, around two or three o'clock in the morning. The police were on the patrol of the sparse streets to check the enforcement of the curfew.
Dano's night shifts helped, financially and otherwise. The overtime payment, though small in amount, which was handed downright to Tschai, used to change hands from Tschai to a grocery store. The nocturnal shifts also turned out enlightening, indeed. That is, Dano used to be bombarded with lots of beneficial information from media pundits with prestigious academic backgrounds.
Dano discovered that his night shift works evoked nostalgic and retrospective memories. Less rushed in the amount of the articles to be dealt with, the night job gave him enough breaks for coffees, for homesickness, and the recollections of things past. The young and always polite Tom Banes, his on and off night shift partner from across the street residence of the United States Embassy in Seoul, made efforts to keep good company.
The click- clacking noises of the linotype machines were unbearable at first, but as days passed they turned out very rhythmic. The odor of lead was revolting on the verge of disgusting, and the dust in the linotype room on the second floor of the building was terrible. In due course of their career, the linotype people made it a routinous habit to eat pork chops and drink makkoli to cleanse their dusty throats of toxic residues.
The six desk chiefs of the Daily News took turns playing the role of commanding the night shift teams: politics, society, economy, culture, wire (foreign news), and editing, The night shift team consisted of a desk chief and four or five staff members including one or two proofreaders. The morning editions of the Daily News were the results of their efforts made on the base of the evening editions which had been delivered previously to the provincial districts.
After the boring procedures done of desk reporters truncating some parts of the previous editions by replacing with the new, hearing the cantankerous typing by the huge linotype machines, Dano compared notes with the manuscripts, spotting the limping letters, correcting the misspelled words and misplaced lines. All that done, the chief of the night shift team put an O.K. signature on the final sheet around 3 or 4 a.m., with the night shift team hurriedly getting on board the "company limousine" to head for their homes. Dano, always left alone, mounted the company bedroom upstairs where he slumbered away the nights.
22
At The Daily News, 1974~1980
In the stillness of night when the other coworkers had returned to their homes for peace and rest, Dano savored the loneliness in the company bedroom. There were a few other boarders almost each night from the brother vernacular newspaper who had lost the last traffic going back home while boozing with office buddies. There arose physiological odors and snoring noises. Dano climbed up to a top bunk to a fitful sleep.
Grammarian Lee, proofreading desk chief, who had been named after his habit of keeping an old Japanese grammar book which had been worn out, said to Dano at the time of business shift, "Report for work tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Wang." "Why, sir?" Dano asked. "Because Mr. Kim will call in sick."
The Seoul air of the early winter morning in the periphery of the Daily News was chilly enough. Dano's bus ride to his residence at Heukso-dong, Dongjak-gu by No. 84 city bus was a painful reminder of the frustrated college life he had failed to consummate. He himself did not understand why on earth he had rented his house at the Black Rock Town of all the places.
The homecoming route from the Heuksok-dong bus terminal to his rented house on the hilltop was a knee-hurting job: He had to negotiate an uphill slope. Tschai was about to leave the den after setting up a modest breakfast table for her husband Dano with a few side dishes. He recently found out that Tschai had opened her seamstress' workshop at the corner of the town bazaar. The increased sickoo, or the "eating mouths" of four by two son children, who had been born in the 1970s at an interval of two years, had driven Tschai out of the house. The take- home paycheck envelope of an English language newspaper proofreader just out of a three-month apprenticeship was too thin to support the family of four.
Taking custody of the two sons was a minor problem. Tai, ages 5, the older of the two, was getting along well with the village boys who had not gone to kindergarten just like him and Hua, ages 3, the younger of the two, had gone to his mother's workshop, clinging to his mother's apron strings.
When he stepped in the newsroom on the third floor, Dano found the conversations, which had been going on around the entrance of the door, suddenly got stopped short. The atmosphere was that Dano himself had been an object of a back talk. Usually, it was time culture desk chief An had been bragging about last night's money job of translating English novels.
Hardly had an intuition that he had made a fatal mistake or two last night struck him when Managing Editor Koon Tagg waved him over to his table. "Good afternoon, sir!" Dano greeted. Koon, a gentle-mannered man in his fifties, who had recruited Dano above the protests of the others, looked mischievously at him, and said, "Is the night shift too hard for you?" "Not at all, sir!" Dano replied.
"Compare the proofs with the original manuscripts more carefully, will you?"
"Sure, I will, sir!"
"And you are supposed to do day shifts instead of nights from now on."
"But for how long, sir?"
"Indefinitely."
How lucky of one to have such considerate and benevolent gentleman as Koon Tagg and Grammarian Lee as one's superior, Dano always appreciated that. Lee and two other proofreaders were at their desk already. Lee suggested to Dano they have coffee breaks "down there." They climbed down the stairs of the company building and walked down the alley slope along the Japanese Embassy, stepping down to the Hankook Dabang.
The coffee shop was always packed with reporters and their visitors. When they were seated, a waitress asked for orders. All four of them ordered coffees. After having some sips, Dano wanted to know about his mistakes of the previous night. The chief and all the three colleagues beamed. Lim explained to Dano that an opinion column contributor had pointed out one proof error on his article.
A lot of readers had also questioned the validity of the word food printed in the newspaper: "I leave Korea for food." The right statement should have read: "I leave Korea for good." By the proof mistake of Dano's, South Korea was listed in such impoverished countries as DPRK whose people had been in famished state.
The Poor Grandma
20
Mrs. Euiseong Kim Recognizes Tschai, 1969
When Dano was married to Tschai in December, 1969, all things about Dano were in disarray. His parents had moved to Daejon City early that year, a much far greater place than Jumgock. His parents had come to the wedding which had been served at Andong Wedding Hall after all, in which his fifth- grade students of Kilan Elementary School and colleague teachers had been invited as major guests. His senior friend Young Gapp of Euiseong had come to the gala occasion, too.
It was a complicating cause that the Toung Doung and Boolim had moved to Daejon, by which Dano had subsequently been separated from his parents. Joongang University's commitment and Dano's trust in it had been a major cause for the Toung Doungs' transfer to Daejon City.
Dano had earlier staged a negotiation battle by correspondence with the Joongang University Administration in which he had expounded his future aspirations and a sincere hope for full scholarship benefits for the full semester from the academy. Initially the school's scholarship administration had said yes. But the school had said sorry the following spring: "We have failed to register you as a sophomore student of the Law College." Another default.
Touched by the letter of the commitment from a higher learning institution to guarantee his son a full financial support for the rest of the semesters and convinced by his son's determination to pass the judicial examination before the graduation, the Toung Doung family had decided to make a "daredevil" move to Seoul, disposing of all the properties including a well-built new house and a newly developed peach farm.
The Toung Doungs' dream, however short and mirage-like, of leaving the toils of the farm and making a decent life, was shattered at the last moment by “a person of default,” or an eternal loser who turned out to be none other than his son. So the meager amount of cash money made by the sale of a modicum of a real estate, if that were to be designated as such, had not been enough for the family to settle in the capital city of the country. That's why the Toung Doung couple had decided to move to Daejon City where several relatives of the family clan had been living while their son Dano had to remain at Kilan with his wife Tschai, with Dano retaining his job as elementary school teacher.
Toung Jahng and his wife, Dano's senior father and mother, or the oldest uncle and aunt, had held a reception party for Dano and his wife Tschai. That was good of them. But it was too bad that Dano's grandmother, Mrs. Euiseong Kim was still kept in solitary confinement.
Although she had been uttering incoherent mumbling about identities of her offspring and grandchildren, when Tschai got to "the cage", touching and holding her hand, and called halmonim, my dear grandmother, with a choking voice, there erupted a shining moment of her sanity from across the confinement hole, with Mrs. Euiseong Kim saying with a clear yet subdued voice, "You must be Dano's wife." Which pleased and startled the pair at the same time. There were no others about. Hardly had the sympathetic pair tried to utter some more comforting words toward her when her expression suddenly darkened and she got her lips tightened up for ever, as if the gate to her consciousness was banged shut.
----------------
The journey to Daejon City, the purpose of which was to make a post-honeymoon appearance, was a traumatic reminder of repentance and pity. Dano was so remorseful of his own past stupidities and so pitiful of his parents' plights that he was shedding heartful tears so profusely that he often glanced as if they might have been discovered.
She was silent all through the train travel to one of the four big cities in the republic where Dano's parents, who might have been financially troubled and physically toilsome, must have been roughing it up. Guessing was loud all along the way but the situation on the spot was much more poignant.
A taxi of Daejon Station snaked its way to a poor-looking district to drop the young pair at a back alley, where shacks were put together like beehives. Toung Doung and Boolim were happy and embarrassed at the same time. "Why don't you send a telegram?" they wondered aloud. It was a little commotional with Boolim, like Keystone Cops, getting in and out of the room, disposing of the mess and making a decent mat on which the senior couple should get seated to be presented with big bows from their first son and daughter-in-law couple.
After special foods, of which some of them had been delivered from a near Korean cafeteria, were partaken of, there occurred inquisitive conversations of abnormal type, which were hesitatingly put forward and reluctantly answered. There was not a black and white television set but a second-hand transistor radio in the room, which filled the awkward vacuum between the two couples with dramas and situation comedies.
Almost all the resources of conversation done, Toung Doung told his wife to arrange the bedding for his son couple. "It will be so inconvenient of you two," Boolim said, looking apologetically at Tschai. "Not at all, Mother," Tschai held her mother-in-law's hand tightly. There was some room left even after the two couples had lain down for the night's sleep.
Toung Doung lay at the far end of the wall and Dano at the opposite end near the entrance; The mother and her daughter-in-law lay side by side but there was a considerable buffer area formed between the two because each bedding was separately shared with each other's husband. As Toung Doung switched off the light with a decent cough of "Good Night", the room turned into a labyrinth of pitched darkness.
There had been no windows. There might have been a lapse of time. Dano felt a tight squeeze in which Tschai's left hand was gliding down to Dano's crotch. Dano couldn't breathe. He restrained her inside at first by grabbing her wrist but his another organ didn't oblige: His penis rebelled with grand erection. Tschai turned and mounted him with feline agility and by one stroke of her right hand she clicked his hard stem tight shut into her stuff.
Then with a metronomic cadence she was doing it and enjoying it for quite a while. She forgot herself, Dano, the room, and whoever the human shapes around her. She clenched her lips hard and collapsed onto his abdomen with a mild shake, with fluids seeping down onto his stuff. He then exploded with force, letting her grit her teeth to keep from a hard shriek. She had another culmination this time.
Mrs. Euiseong Kim Recognizes Tschai, 1969
When Dano was married to Tschai in December, 1969, all things about Dano were in disarray. His parents had moved to Daejon City early that year, a much far greater place than Jumgock. His parents had come to the wedding which had been served at Andong Wedding Hall after all, in which his fifth- grade students of Kilan Elementary School and colleague teachers had been invited as major guests. His senior friend Young Gapp of Euiseong had come to the gala occasion, too.
It was a complicating cause that the Toung Doung and Boolim had moved to Daejon, by which Dano had subsequently been separated from his parents. Joongang University's commitment and Dano's trust in it had been a major cause for the Toung Doungs' transfer to Daejon City.
Dano had earlier staged a negotiation battle by correspondence with the Joongang University Administration in which he had expounded his future aspirations and a sincere hope for full scholarship benefits for the full semester from the academy. Initially the school's scholarship administration had said yes. But the school had said sorry the following spring: "We have failed to register you as a sophomore student of the Law College." Another default.
Touched by the letter of the commitment from a higher learning institution to guarantee his son a full financial support for the rest of the semesters and convinced by his son's determination to pass the judicial examination before the graduation, the Toung Doung family had decided to make a "daredevil" move to Seoul, disposing of all the properties including a well-built new house and a newly developed peach farm.
The Toung Doungs' dream, however short and mirage-like, of leaving the toils of the farm and making a decent life, was shattered at the last moment by “a person of default,” or an eternal loser who turned out to be none other than his son. So the meager amount of cash money made by the sale of a modicum of a real estate, if that were to be designated as such, had not been enough for the family to settle in the capital city of the country. That's why the Toung Doung couple had decided to move to Daejon City where several relatives of the family clan had been living while their son Dano had to remain at Kilan with his wife Tschai, with Dano retaining his job as elementary school teacher.
Toung Jahng and his wife, Dano's senior father and mother, or the oldest uncle and aunt, had held a reception party for Dano and his wife Tschai. That was good of them. But it was too bad that Dano's grandmother, Mrs. Euiseong Kim was still kept in solitary confinement.
Although she had been uttering incoherent mumbling about identities of her offspring and grandchildren, when Tschai got to "the cage", touching and holding her hand, and called halmonim, my dear grandmother, with a choking voice, there erupted a shining moment of her sanity from across the confinement hole, with Mrs. Euiseong Kim saying with a clear yet subdued voice, "You must be Dano's wife." Which pleased and startled the pair at the same time. There were no others about. Hardly had the sympathetic pair tried to utter some more comforting words toward her when her expression suddenly darkened and she got her lips tightened up for ever, as if the gate to her consciousness was banged shut.
----------------
The journey to Daejon City, the purpose of which was to make a post-honeymoon appearance, was a traumatic reminder of repentance and pity. Dano was so remorseful of his own past stupidities and so pitiful of his parents' plights that he was shedding heartful tears so profusely that he often glanced as if they might have been discovered.
She was silent all through the train travel to one of the four big cities in the republic where Dano's parents, who might have been financially troubled and physically toilsome, must have been roughing it up. Guessing was loud all along the way but the situation on the spot was much more poignant.
A taxi of Daejon Station snaked its way to a poor-looking district to drop the young pair at a back alley, where shacks were put together like beehives. Toung Doung and Boolim were happy and embarrassed at the same time. "Why don't you send a telegram?" they wondered aloud. It was a little commotional with Boolim, like Keystone Cops, getting in and out of the room, disposing of the mess and making a decent mat on which the senior couple should get seated to be presented with big bows from their first son and daughter-in-law couple.
After special foods, of which some of them had been delivered from a near Korean cafeteria, were partaken of, there occurred inquisitive conversations of abnormal type, which were hesitatingly put forward and reluctantly answered. There was not a black and white television set but a second-hand transistor radio in the room, which filled the awkward vacuum between the two couples with dramas and situation comedies.
Almost all the resources of conversation done, Toung Doung told his wife to arrange the bedding for his son couple. "It will be so inconvenient of you two," Boolim said, looking apologetically at Tschai. "Not at all, Mother," Tschai held her mother-in-law's hand tightly. There was some room left even after the two couples had lain down for the night's sleep.
Toung Doung lay at the far end of the wall and Dano at the opposite end near the entrance; The mother and her daughter-in-law lay side by side but there was a considerable buffer area formed between the two because each bedding was separately shared with each other's husband. As Toung Doung switched off the light with a decent cough of "Good Night", the room turned into a labyrinth of pitched darkness.
There had been no windows. There might have been a lapse of time. Dano felt a tight squeeze in which Tschai's left hand was gliding down to Dano's crotch. Dano couldn't breathe. He restrained her inside at first by grabbing her wrist but his another organ didn't oblige: His penis rebelled with grand erection. Tschai turned and mounted him with feline agility and by one stroke of her right hand she clicked his hard stem tight shut into her stuff.
Then with a metronomic cadence she was doing it and enjoying it for quite a while. She forgot herself, Dano, the room, and whoever the human shapes around her. She clenched her lips hard and collapsed onto his abdomen with a mild shake, with fluids seeping down onto his stuff. He then exploded with force, letting her grit her teeth to keep from a hard shriek. She had another culmination this time.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)