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KOREA, 1948
Springtime is always memorable.
The peaches blossom with grand ripeness, food is aplenty, and the weather is bound to remain docile for the coming weeks. Every few or so rainfalls will swell the nearby rivers and streams, but a bit of water will always do the crops some good.
The opium-boats and flower-boats will be docked closer to the shore than ever, and countless clicks of heels will resound as every footfall by every customer passes in and out with brisk ease. These customers in question will always get their money’s worth.
Any city man with enough strips of cash to spare, especially those who are idle in body but tact in business, is sure to be in one of the many multistoried buildings that overlook the view of the river and the distant haze of mountains across the shore. They sit in their velveteen chairs that are soft on their bums, and watch as the boat-women serve their guests with opium-pipes.
There are always voices calling from above and below, and if said man were to come down from his office and call for a boat-woman, there is no doubt a lady would run to attend to him. They would talk in wild ravings and waggish chortles, and when the man would pay her up, the two would walk down the wet, ill-smelling lane until at last they would reach the waiting boat.
For six thousand won, any man can smoke and sleep as much as he pleases inside one of the flower-boat’s many rooms. He can enjoy his woman of choice, one who will serve him through the night.
This— is a long-practised business in the history of man, but in a place and time where war has just ended yet will return soon, such a line of work is quickly gaining both its fill of supply and demand.
For the man, he earns a woman who will shed some warmth on his world-weary bones. And for the woman, it is a job that does not spoil her health.
These ladies come from the country, the unmapped villages that dot the lands presumed to be nothing but wild woods of shrubs and beasts, and their families are poor farmers recently recovering from their land being seized during the decades-long duration of the previous war. They harvest heaps of crops, but when even their hard work isn’t enough, the women will leave their mill-stones and their husbands to take to a life on boats within the city.
It is all very simple, really. These girls will send what she earns in two nights to her honest and hard-working husband whose hands are rough and calloused from handling scythes and rakes, and what she sends will be a welcome addition to all he has gathered from his profits of grain. This has become so common, in fact, that many country husbands will send their wives to the city once they are married while he lives quietly on the farm.
And whenever the young husband thinks of his beautiful wife on the flower-boat, or when Chuseok comes around, it behoves him to see his wife, and so he dresses up in starched, clean clothes tailored to him from the earnings of his own wife. He takes with him some spare garments, hangs a pipe on his girdle and stores a tobacco pouch in his pocket, and boards the next train to the city.
But not Kim Gyuvin.
Not Kim Gyuvin, because Kim Gyuvin does not smoke.
Nature’s son since birth, he loathes the smell of it. He loathes the after-essence of opium and other narcotics the American soldiers bring to the city, and he hates the vices that linger there.
Most of all, he has always hated having to send his wife away, but his bride had promised him that she would not ever be ruined by the city’s wicked influences, so ultimately, he relented.
And because it is springtime now, Gyuvin is onward-bound to see his wife. With a hamper of potatoes and dumplings prepared for her, he scales the port on the lookout for the boat in which his lovely wife resides.
Once he makes sure of her whereabouts, he sets foot on a particular purple-ornamented flower-boat, lays his pair of cloth shoes neatly outside his wife’s cabin door, and raps his knuckles twice on the wood.
When the door swings open not a minute later, Gyuvin comes face-to-face with the woman he has been working so hard to see, the very object of his daydreams and the one reason he has come so far from the country and spoiled his shoes on city soil.
Seo Youngeun.
Her great beauty has always been a sight for sore eyes— it was her dagger-sharp yet daisy-like eyes that have helped him bear through many previous winters, her gentle traces on his skin that have made him feel as though he had already experienced heaven itself in its premature form, and the thick lucerne of her hair that he has so graciously missed tangling his fingers in to twirl and card through the generous raven locks.
It has only been a year since Gyuvin has last laid his eyes on her. After the evening in which he had waved goodbye on the dreadful platform just a little over a year prior, this is his first visit to his wife.
It has only been thirteen months, but upon the initial shock that racks his body from the sight of his wife who has entirely changed right before his eyes, Gyuvin wonders if time has tricked him into thinning the sensation of thirteen years into thirteen months.
“Darling!” Youngeun smiles, and throws her arms around him in a tight-locked embrace. The hamper falls from Gyuvin’s trembling fingers, and his nerves are afray —they’re on fire— but he wills his muscles to still as he welcomes her in his returned embrace.
“I missed you so much,” he mumbles against her bare neck, and tries his hardest to persist in the ignorance of her now dissimilar scent. His wife used to smell like the wildberries and the crystal river streams that nourish the country, but now she smells of…
Gyuvin is unable to relate her current scent to anything he can think of at all. Youngeun does not smell like the unruly end-of-summer plains that envelop their house, nor does she smell like the flecked, green round oaks that their neighbour axes down, nor does she smell like the oatmeal hills and spired blue flowers that he is so familiar with—
“I missed you, too, darling! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Before Gyuvin can ponder on his troubled thoughts a second longer, Youngeun pulls away, and he feels his breath snag in the tightness of his airpipe when he truly looks at her, his ears near-deaf and almost unresponsive to the rest of her words. “I would’ve tidied the room if I knew, you know? Ah, I would’ve run down to fetch some violets from the nearby florist to clear the air, I would’ve replaced the sheets with brand-new ones…even requested a night off today…”
Her great pile of gleaming hair sits tidy atop her head. Tied up in a fashion Gyuvin has never seen on a country girl, Youngeun’s hair is now free from any spider-sized balls of tangles and stray strands of hay and leaves that he is so often used to seeing whenever the two would roll around on the plains all day, their elbows turning red from mossy irritation and their clothes tawny from the earth beneath their bodies.
Her fine eyebrows are now artificially plucked as well, and both the white powder and scarlet paint on her face serves as a jarring contrast to the charmingly unkempt young woman Gyuvin has of her within his memories. With her sun-kissed skin now modified to look paler and her youthful wildness hidden behind the exterior of a well-bred and well-schooled city girl, Youngeun’s current city dress and city face confuses her poor farmer husband.
Gyuvin thinks she must notice his stupidity from how wide his eyes are and how unnaturally quiet he is being.
“Darling?” she asks, and he notices there is something, just a tad little twinge of something different, but once again he is failing to find the answer to his own questions, “are you alright? You aren’t coming down with a cold, are you?”
The way she expertly raises a single brow to her scalp and along with the subtle lift of the corner of her lips— the Youngeun who stands before Gyuvin is so very different to the one he married.
“No, I’m…I’m not.” He finds his voice frail and unsure. He feels like a child.
“Oh. That’s good to know, then.” Youngeun performs a trained smile that only looks stiff to Gyuvin, and she picks up the fallen hamper to set it down on the small, creaky table by the door before beginning to speak at great length. “Did you receive the twenty-four thousand won I sent to you earlier this month?”
“Yes.”
“Have the pigs produced piglings?”
“Yes, plenty.”
“That’s grand! And how is our lovely Eumppappa?”
Now it is Gyuvin’s turn to force out a smile. “She’s doing wonderful.”
“Oh, that is just lovely to hear.”
The tone in which Youngeun speaks has changed by far. Gyuvin cannot recognise her in the visibly restrained, gentle-mannered woman who has nothing in common with his country wife who is free and loud and rambunctious and highly unlady-like, but truly so loveable.
What has the city done to his darling?
But ultimately, he realises he must not let her know his thoughts, and not one drop of it. He fears it may break her heart more than it already breaks his, but when she does the unthinkable and pulls out a cheap cigarette to smoke, Gyuvin is shocked by her boldness and snatches the stick from her palm.
“Why…” He cannot even bring himself to inquire. His brows knit in pure confusion at this madness as he stares incredulously at his wife. “Youngeun-ah, what is the meaning of this?” He holds the cigarette up, crumpling the roll between the pads of his thumb and index finger that squeezes the tobacco out of its life.
Perhaps Gyuvin expected an apology. Perhaps he expected all the sense and sensibilities of their old life to dawn into his dear Youngeun, but what he does not expect is for her to stifle a laugh behind a daintily-poised hand with purple-polished fingernails— a hand that used to be rough on his skin from hours working in the mill and nails that used to be caked with dirt and the fur of farm animals.
“Goodness, darling, you and your old-world reticence. Are you really that scandalised from a simple smoke?”
“Yes, in fact I am. I believe we agreed that smoking is something we would never do?”
Youngeun exhales a short huff. “There are many things I thought I would never do, but that was before I came to the city. Now come on, darling, lighten up, will you?”
At a loss for words, Gyuvin simply stares with his jaw unhinged from its locks as his wife pulls yet another cigarette out and begins to smoke. His nose wrinkles and his lungs demand he leave the room in the instant Youngeun expels the grey cloud from her lips, but he cannot will his feet to move.
His wife’s eyes return its attention to his own, and, from a wooden box on the table, she produces an unused pipe and a flint and outstretches the items on her hands towards him.
“If it isn’t too much to ask, will you smoke with me, darling? Just this once?”
Gyuvin’s poor, bruised heart cannot deny Youngeun of what she requests.
In the evening, when supper is done and finished, Gyuvin is still smoking his pipe.
Though downhearted and brow-beaten, he finds the pipe quite interesting. Its mechanics are not too difficult for a farmer like him to understand, but the childish fascination of watching the smoke blow out from his mouth like an ancient dragon keeps him quite occupied while his wife chatters away with the other boat-women.
And then a guest arrives.
A punter too fine-looking to be a simple merchant, the man dons a pair of cow-hide boots with a large silver chain shining from his plentiful pockets of girdles. From one sight alone, one can tell he is a man full of strong wine. He staggers onto the boat and shouts for kisses and sleep, for soft breasts to smother him and wide hips to straddle his own. His loud, rough voice and the pomp of his progress remind Gyuvin of the village head and the country gentry. He sees the well-dressed barbarian drape himself over his wife, and Gyuvin realises he does not have the self-control to watch the defilement of his own darling.
Pocketing his pipe, he crawls into the after-hold located in the far left corner of the boat, and hides in there, panting. The weather is neither hot nor terribly humid, yet his hair is slick and stuck to his forehead from sheen sweat. Gyuvin feels as though he’s swallowed coal, and he looks helplessly at the river that has changed for the night.
Lamps have been lighted to shine along the banks, and crowds of soldiers and soldiers-in-training now bustle along in-between crowds, the greens and browns of their attire attracting more eyes than the casual wear of civilians around them.
Gyuvin sighs and thinks of his fowls and little pigs back home, and his dear Eumppappa because he is so far away from home and is lost to solitude now that he has realised just how much his dear wife has to tend to uncouth boors.
He wants nothing more than to go home with Youngeun. Gyuvin decides right here and now that he must bring her home at once. He cannot let her live a life so abhorrent such as this.
It is true that there are jackals, wild cats, and soldiers wandering the night or on guard in the country, but here in the city, there are far worse things to be cautious of. Gyuvin can hardly even stomach the guilt he feels from letting such troublesome things cross paths with Youngeun.
He cannot leave without her.
The slight shift of the boat is enough to make Gyuvin’s head turn in said direction, and he finds himself surprised when a young soldier around his age climbs onto the after-hold beside him, a half-finished bottle of alcohol in hand. He has a strong, sturdy structure that is expected of many fighters, but the lack of colourful ribbons on his person lets Gyuvin know the soldier is nothing more than an aspiring warrior.
“What’s wrong, comrade?” the soldier asks.
Gyuvin blinks; he does not expect such a question, and blinks owlishly yet again at the man before him. He feels a sickening pit settle into his stomach when he surveys the soldier. That boy looks to be well-fed, and his arms are as strong as the oxen back at the farms. Perhaps this is the kind of man who visits Youngeun every night while Gyuvin tends to the flock, ten miles away and so foolishly unknowing.
He feels inferior. He is nothing compared to the freedom fighters of this nation.
All of the sudden, the tightness in his throat and the stinging sensation in the back of his eyes seem to reach a boiling point. Before Gyuvin realises it, he has started crying.
“Oh no, don’t cry. Are you alright?” Seemingly slightly alarmed, the soldier gives a pat on Gyuvin’s back and offers him the bottle. “Come on, comrade. You can talk to me.”
Hurriedly wiping his tears with his sleeve, Gyuvin shakes his head. “It’s alright. It isn’t anything that should have me crying so shamefully, but I guess you could say I’m just heart-broken right now.”
The soldier hums, nodding in acknowledgement. “Ah, I see. The old every-man’s tale of having just enough money for a pack of cigarettes, but not enough for a boat-woman.”
Gyuvin knows it is far from his companion’s intent to twist the knife further into his wound, but he cannot help but burst into tears again.
“Soldier,” he cries, burying his face in his hands, “I’m in distress because my wife is a boat-woman!”
“Oh!”
Eyes wide and jaw slack, the soldier clasps a hand over his mouth as though trying to burrow the source of unintentional offence.
“Oh, comrade, I’m very sorry to hear that. It wasn’t in my intentions to—”
“It’s alright, really,” Gyuvin brushes it off with attempted coolness. “It is my fault for allowing her to come to the city. I didn’t imagine just how horrible it would be, and now I have nothing to blame but my own ignorance.”
“Don’t be so down-trodden, comrade,” the soldier slaps his back for encouragement. “If you wish, you can always take her home. Do you come from the country?”
“Yes, I do, and bringing her home is now my highest priority.” Sighing, Gyuvin rests his head on the wood behind him. After a short moment, he shakes his head apologetically and faces his companion. “I’m sorry, that was awfully rude of me to have cried my heart out just like that. What’s your name, soldier?”
“Don’t be sorry about such things. I hear crying is good for the soul.” The soldier’s smile brightens Gyuvin’s mood just like that, and he offers a smile back as they lock in their greeting with a firm handshake. “You can call me Park Gunwook.”
“I’m Kim Gyuvin.”
“Kim Gyuvin. I like that name.” Gunwook hums to himself. “You certainly look like a Kim Gyuvin to me.”
Gyuvin snorts boyishly. “And you look like a Park Gunwook yourself.”
“So I’ve been told. All my seniors have said that about me.”
“You mean you aren’t one of the more experienced soldiers in-training?” From what he has seen, Gyuvin, like anybody else, had thought Gunwook was perhaps an in-training soldier who is at least close to joining the true ranks.
“Oh no, I’m not.” Gunwook laughs. “But that’s another common thing I’ve been told. I’m guessing it’s because of my physique that I’m thought to be older than I actually am, but I’m really only twenty years old.”
Gyuvin cannot help the surprise that creeps into his features. “We’re the same age.”
Gunwook shrugs, his smile never faltering. “I assumed so. Well, that’s a good similarity to share, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Gyuvin nods absentmindedly as he feels his self-worth burn and turn into ash. The soldier who sits beside him is the same age as he is, and yet they lead very different lives. What has Gyuvin accomplished aside from breeding some cattle and cutting some crops?
Absolutely nothing else to brag about, he thinks.
“Well,” he starts again with a clear of his throat to rid the nerves, “what brings you here to this part of the city?”
Gunwook gestures to the animated bunch of his fellow soldiers along the banks, downing beverages and getting themselves lured into boats where women await.
“After some endless training, our superiors thought a free week off would do our morale some good. That certainly seems to be the case for my seniors, especially.”
“Do you frequent the boat-women?”
The question earns a subtle jolt from Gunwook, who puts both palms in front of him in a sign of innocence. “No, no. Of course not. If you think I might have—”
Gyuvin’s bark of laughter silences the soldier. “I didn’t mean it like that. I realise how bold my question sounded. I simply asked out of pure curiosity.” He smiles at Gunwook for added reassurance. “After all, there’s nothing wrong with self-indulgence, I suppose. If I were a soldier myself, I too would be craving the warmth of a woman.”
Gunwook nods in slow agreement, though hesitant. “That’s true, comrade. However, I for one am engaged, and….”
In the same time it takes for his words to trail off into silence, his head slowly turns towards the pitch-black of the over side of the river, a stark contrast to the gleaming street lights.
“And?” Gyuvin prompts.
Chortling sheepishly, Gunwook waves the topic away. “Well, the reason’s quite taboo, but I suppose a better excuse as to why I’m disinterested in any nightly service is because, well, I simply have no interest in such things.”
“I actually think that’s a reasonable reason as to not take on such services,” Gyuvin weighs in strongly before wearing a doubtful frown. “Or perhaps it could be because I’m a man whose wife is in the business, but I do think men who are able to stave off their desires are more noble than those who don’t.”
“I must be virtue personified, then,” Gunwook laughs. “But really, most wouldn’t take kindly to my true reason.”
“Ack, what is there to be ashamed of? We all have our vices. Take me, for example— my wife is in bed with another man as we speak, and here I am, sitting in the after-hold and enjoying the wind and the view of the river. I could walk inside with my heels hot and beat that man senseless to stop this madness, but I won’t, simply because of too many reasons. I don’t think there is anything more shameful than a man who sells his own wife’s flesh, and you, soldier, are not a shameful man like me.”
Gyuvin’s own ramblings surprise himself. Born with turbulent emotions he does not know how to control, he finds himself in yet again another situation where he is blindly spilling his heart out onto whichever poor soul is in his vicinity during his time of torment.
What pains him more, however, is Gunwook’s immediate response to him. Not in words— but through actions. His lips quirk into a small, sorry smile, his expression softer as though tending to a crying child, and once again, he places a steady hand on Gyuvin’s shoulder.
If it is meant to comfort him, Gyuvin would politely disagree. Rather, he feels emasculated.
“You’re not happy with what’s happening, are you?”
Gunwook’s words sound like a question, but in Gyuvin’s ears, it is a pointed statement.
“You’re right. I’m unhappy.”
“That makes both of us, then. We may have found another similarity.”
“Unhappy?” Gyuvin tilts his head. “Can I ask you why?”
“Well, aside from risking my soul for the upcoming war, I’ve got nothing else to lose. There’s simply nothing I will mourn over in the afterlife if I were to die in battle, and I have no family who will mourn me, either.”
“But what about the lady you’re engaged to?”
There is a disappointed down-light in Gunwook’s eyes. “It’s a marriage of convenience, comrade. Before my parents passed a few years ago, they made an agreement with my fiancée’s mother to help their family move here to the South. Which is a shame, really, because I’m sure that girl much prefers the air in her hometown.”
“Hm. I can see why she would think that. But still, I think that young lady is lucky to have such an understanding fiancé. If I were her, I would find myself comforted in the truth that my husband-to-be is a wonderful man.”
Gunwook’s bright peals of laughter are joyous enough to nearly rock their end of the boat. Gyuvin finds himself stifling a guffaw of his own as he tries to quiet his companion down, lest the boat owner finds them camping out on the after-hold.
“Comrade, that’s the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever heard.”
“But I mean it!” Gyuvin says. “Though my wife and I did not marry out of convenience, I can understand how you feel. However, I think that as long as you cherish your bride-to-be and refrain from making the same mistakes I have, you’re truly on the path to becoming a perfect husband.”
Lips pursed to hide a smile as best as he can, Gunwook turns sheepish right before Gyuvin’s eyes.
The latter finds himself having a peculiar urge to pinch Gunwook’s cheeks, which have been dusted red from embarrassment. And what an odd urge, indeed, he thinks, as he can only ever remember feeling such an impulse towards Youngeun whenever she would turn beet-red from a stream of endless teasings.
Oh, his sweet Youngeun…how Gyuvin wishes he could stop the clocks and turn its hands back to a time before all this traversing into the depths of hell itself.
“I appreciate the sentiment, truly, I do,” Gunwook smiles reassuringly. “But the idea of growing old is not a guaranteed plan for the future when one is a soldier. I’d hate to leave my fiancée widowed after a short honeymoon period— if we will even be granted the luxury of it.”
Gyuvin clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t say such things. As long as you aren’t a medic or are stationed in the front lines, there are very high chances that you’ll be home sooner than you think. And if you’re truly worried about it, you can still resign, can’t you?”
“I could, but why would I? Like I said, aside from my engagement, I haven’t got anything else left to my name. And besides, in the event in which I’ll pass in battle, all will still be well for my fiancée. Moving to the South is all her family is in dire need of, and by marrying her and leaving all my assets to her, she will still be guaranteed a good future here even without me.”
“Park Gunwook!” Gyuvin chastises, uncaring of the rise in his voice, “how could you say such a thing? Listen here, we may have only just met tonight, but you are already very dear to me. I believe this short hour of bonding over our sorrows is stronger than many year-long relationships that continue to exist as of this moment. I’m being sincere when I say that what we have here is very special —it is almost impossible to feel such comfort with a stranger within an hour of meeting them— but I would mourn you if you were to walk into an early grave in battle, you understand?”
A peaceful silence overtakes the two as Gunwook breathes out a long, contemplative exhale. Wordlessly, he lifts the bottle in his hand, and, just as Gyuvin thinks he is about to take a sip out of it, Gunwook tosses it into the river without warning.
“You’re right, comrade.” His voice is quieter, and holds more of an unfiltered, murmuring element to it. He sounds more honest now. “After I had lost my parents during those terrible years not too long ago, I decided I would become a soldier. But why? I wasn’t too sure of that myself. Initially I’d thought it was from a place of desired vengeance. But when I realised I wouldn’t be facing the same enemy yet I didn’t find myself backing out of it, I sought for another reason. I was then convinced it was because I was a man with almost nothing to lose, but now that you’ve been so candid with me, I think I’ve come to realise something.”
Gunwook outstretches his hand towards Gyuvin’s, and clasps the latter’s in his. Gyuvin’s breath hitches, his lips parted and eyes unable to tear away from Gunwook’s darkened gaze with a hint of ache in them.
“I have been lonely. That’s what. It’s as simple as that— I became a soldier to find others like me, others who crave what should not be wanted, but time and time again I find myself empty-handed and heavy-hearted.”
Gyuvin does not quite understand just what Gunwook seems to be hinting at yet is simultaneously avoiding voicing outright, but the warmth of his hand is causing an indescribable distension within him. Almost electrifying, his fingers are tempted to twitch, but knowing there may be a chance that Gunwook will remove his hand if he moves, Gyuvin decides it is best to turn to stone.
“Do you feel lonely, too, comrade?”
Gyuvin swallows thickly, the tingle in the tips of his fingers too much to bear. “I do,” he whispers, and in one swift motion, turns the palm of his hand upwards to meet with Gunwook’s as he seamlessly entwines their fingers together.
“I do,” he says again, voice sibilant and skull throbbing from a headache colliding with a heartache. “I’ve been so lonely in the country, yearning for my wife. But when I’ve finally come to visit her, she asks me to smoke and spends her time tending to other men. If I may be honest, I feel awfully bitter about it. I know it’s pathetic to feel so much disdain over the reapings of my own doings, but I can’t help it. I love her, I do, but I feel so spiteful at the very same time. At her, or myself— I am unsure. But what I do know is that I feel even lonelier here than I did in the country.”
Gunwook’s thumb smoothes over the ribs of Gyuvin’s knuckles. The pad of his thumb bristles over the minute hairs on the back of Gyuvin’s fingers, his body leaning just slightly closer to which their shoulders are pressed against each other.
“So now, what will you do about those spiteful feelings of yours, comrade? Will you pay them back with a satisfying act of selfishness, or will you let it go?”
“What I want is to bring my wife home tonight, early in the morning before dawn cracks the sky. I want to forget all the toils in this city and resume my old life.” Gyuvin seeps in a deep breath, and he knows, he knows this should be the very end of his interlocutor, but there is something so alluring and so mystique about his charming soldier companion, that his tongue falls loose and all his thoughts come undone from its knot.
“But—” he says, “I feel I want to be selfish. Just this once, and I hope you understand that I have spent so many nights alone in my solitary abode in the country, but I wish to be selfish and indulge in what my wife has been sharing with other men.”
A prick of sweat rolls down Gyuvin’s temple. He feels smothered in both a blizzard and a sea of flames all at once. He thinks Gunwook will do what a righteous man would do— scold him, mock him, set him on a straight path, but he does not.
Instead, he moves closer so that their foreheads touch and their breaths are glossing over each other’s lips, and he asks, “may I indulge you in your selfish needs, as you will indulge mine?”
Gyuvin believes they are taciturn already. He does not have to speak to convey his thoughts and all his damning emotions. He raises a hand to gently caress the thicket of Gunwook’s hair, and presses his lips to his.
He had never thought he would be sharing even a slightest morsel of love with another man, but if this is the unsaid ‘shameful deed’ that Gunwook treats as though it is a sin, then Gyuvin will admit that being selfish has never felt more vitalising.
Gunwook’s lips are soft against his, and to Gyuvin’s delirious embarrassment, he finds himself yearning for more as he cradles the back of Gunwook’s head in his hand and slides his tongue into the warmth of the soldier’s mouth, who reciprocates the prod and press of his, their spit mixing as Gyuvin sucks on Gunwook’s hot tongue.
A tug of Gyuvin’s collar and the deepening of their kiss by Gunwook sends Gyuvin’s mind into a frenzy. The blissful sensation of Gunwook’s breath against his lips, the clink of their teeth as they kiss as though their lives depend on it…
But the haze of pleasure subsides when a soft whine from his own throat brings Gyuvin back into his surroundings. Out of breath and cheeks hot, he draws away, panting, and surveys Gunwook. The soldier’s cheekbones are flushed, his full underlip glistening, and Gyuvin has no doubt his own dishevelled appearance must mirror that of Gunwook’s.
What has he done?
“I…I think I should go.”
He only winces when Gunwook’s sharp expression of hurt incredulity becomes a new forefront of his previous projection of starry eyes and rosy cheeks.
“Hold on, comrade, do you—”
“No!” Gyuvin exclaims, voice perhaps a tad too loud, “no, I don’t find myself repulsed by what we’ve just done. No, I…I have no prejudice against this…sort of thing. The matter is, however, I…” Thoroughly weather-beaten, he sighs. “I can’t do this to my Youngeun-ah. My wife, she…I know she is in bed with another man, I know, but I…” Words failing, he gestures between them, “I cannot do this to her. I care about her too much. But I— ack, I care about you, too, but…”
If it is any consolidation, Gunwook’s small, knowing smile provides more comfort to Gyuvin than words ever could. “It’s alright. Don’t be sorry, comrade. I understand, you still love her—”
“No, no, what irks me is that I find myself so fond of you already. I hope you don’t think I don’t care about you or that I was simply using you to fill what my loneliness has carved out of me, but I just…” Everything hurts. “I just need some time to think. I think it’s best if I retire for the night.”
Gunwook nods, ups himself on his feet, and offers a hand towards Gyuvin. The latter is reluctant, his fingers drawing back for a split second before deciding that just one more touch is nothing to worry about.
“Would I be correct to assume this is where we part ways?” Gunwook asks.
There is a small part of Gyuvin that wants to disagree, but he knows it cannot be done. He nods, and finds that his lungs still feel depleted of oxygen— it would seem Gunwook has truly taken his breath away.
“Yes. Thank you for everything, Park Gunwook.” Because saying ‘goodbye’ is simply too difficult.
“Goodbye, comrade.”
Gyuvin thinks this is the last time he will ever lay eyes on Gunwook, the soldier who has made the myth of ‘love at first sight’ turn into a meaning; a lesson of sorts. He watches as Gunwook skitters out of the after-hold and steps off the boat. It then only takes one blink for Gyuvin to lose sight of Gunwook when he rejoins the chameleon crowd of soldiers, all in uniform.
After a few more moments of quiet solitude, Gyuvin decides it is time to go ashore. He sidles through the gunwale towards the boat’s bow, and is careful not to make any noise so as to not disturb any of the current services in session.
It is no later when he arrives at an empty cabin, his wife nowhere in sight. But it is no matter, for Gyuvin has a growing train of thought which he must try to steer on the right rails.
He prepares himself for bed, lies down on the cleverly-crafted quilt made for two, and closes his eyes. With one of his senses put to rest, the others heighten. His ears pick up on the sound of the drum of the watch-tower, and his twitching nose finds Youngeun’s scent misted around the pillows.
Even after all that has changed, it is still her.
And yet, Gyuvin had gone and kissed another soul with an insultingly low amount of restraint on his end.
And a man, to boot. Does this make him a deviant for indulging in such things? It is one thing to note when one’s wife must kiss other men for the sake of money and her position as a boat-woman, but Gyuvin was and is not held under any obligation to be passionately disloyal with another man.
He smothers his face with Youngeun’s pillow, and groans in frustration against the stuffing. Never has he ever experienced such agony before. It had felt perfect in the heat of the moment— when Gunwook’s lips were on his, Gyuvin had no qualms about pushing him away. He would even go so far as to say that kissing Gunwook, a man, felt as natural as kissing Youngeun, his wife.
Oh, poor Youngeun. Gyuvin would like to shuffle through his memories like a deck of cards and choose one where he can easily picture his wife’s tender smile under the warm morning haze of the countryside, but all he can think about now is Gunwook and his own perfectly brilliant smile.
Is it so wrong to be infatuated with Gunwook? Gyuvin tries to reason himself in this manner— committing adultery is never excusable, but in the event in which it happens, there can perhaps be some grey areas to be pardoned. He personally considers that kissing a man is not as terrible as the idea of him kissing a woman, because his lawfully wedded spouse is, of course, a woman.
He thinks this method of thinking is just— if he were to view this all from an opposite angle, he would rather Youngeun be unfaithful to him with another woman than be unfaithful with another man.
Why? Gyuvin cannot quite put it into cohesive reasoning, but while he struggles to wade through the mental mess that is his mind, the cabin door opens, and in steps his wife.
Gyuvin lies still, and pretends to be asleep.
He feels too much guilt writhing within him to be able to face Youngeun. He listens with bated breath as his wife scuttles about the room, changing into her nightwear and wiping her makeup away before the dip of her weight on the bed next to him makes him feel rather guilty about pretending to be asleep in order to bury a much deeper guilt.
“Darling?” Youngeun gently shakes his shoulder. Gyuvin opens his eyes to let her know he is awake.
“Youngeun-ah, you…” The dim pallor of moonlight that slithers through the cabin window is enough to grace Youngeun’s bare features. With her hair down and face free of any powder, she looks just as she does in all of Gyuvin’s cherished memories.
“Hm?”
“You look beautiful.”
Youngeun pouts and huffs half-heartedly. Her hands toy with a pouch that rests on her lap. “Don’t say that, darling.”
“But it’s true!” Gyuvin props himself up on his elbows, a disbelieving look on his face. “You’re so beautiful, Youngeun-ah, it really…it makes me feel so much more regretful to know that I let you come here. Everybody has taken your beauty for granted, and it pains me to know that I am complicit.”
Youngeun says nothing, but her gaze never leaves his. She continues to roll the pouch between her palms in a circular motion, and the malty sound of its contents rolling about and grinding against each other make for quite the pleasant background noise.
But when the verbal silence stretches on for too long and all Gyuvin hears are the clicks and rolls resounding from the pouch, he feels as though he is about to go mad.
“Youngeun-ah, please say something!”
Her shoulders square, breath held, and Gyuvin has an apology ready on his tongue, but Youngeun speaks before he does.
“I should be the one who is sorry…darling.” Her hands come to a stand-still. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for how I treated you today. You came all the way out here from the country, and I’ve been nothing but a negligent wife. I’ve…I’ve left you to your own devices in a foreign place, I asked you to smoke, I…” Her face contorts into a spasm of disgust. “I’ve been absolutely awful to you. I don’t know what’s come over me, darling, I…”
Not wishing to listen to Youngeun down-talk herself anymore, Gyuvin places a hand over hers to let her know all is fine. “That’s enough, Youngeun-ah. Don’t blame yourself anymore. I know you, and the city has changed you. It’s this…damned environment that is to blame, that’s what it is.” Clasping her hands in his, Gyuvin sits up and peers into her sorrowful eyes. Precious tears gather in her eyes, glimmering under the moonlight. He thumbs them away when she closes her eyes and lets the drops fall.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, darling,” Youngeun sniffles.
“Ack, now what did I just say?” Gyuvin teases in a playfully stern voice, “you don’t have to feel sorry, Youngeun-ah. I’ve never harboured any anger towards you in the very first place.”
A lie is a lie, but a happy wife makes a happy life, does it not?
It must, Gyuvin thinks, as the act of putting wool over his eyes and feigning passiveness proves to be the right decision in ridding all of Youngeun’s self-doubts.
It may not ease any of his own, but Gyuvin has always been a selfless man. Almost always.
“I missed you— I missed this fondness,” Youngeun admits. Her fingers proceed to unwrap the pouch, and she plucks out a perfectly round sugar-candy; Gyuvin’s favourite. “Say ‘ah’,” she motions, and it does not require any convincing for him to let her plop the sweet treat in his mouth.
He hums in approval of the sugar-candy’s taste. Youngeun smiles.
“I knew you would like it, darling. I fetched those for you on my way back.”
“You’re certainly right about that. My taste in food hasn’t changed one bit.”
Laughter is laced between her words. “Are you still wringing the fruit vendor dry of his mango supply?”
Gyuvin nods proudly. “I still find myself his best patron. I’m undefeatable, really. Nobody else in the country loves mangoes as much as I do.”
Smiling softly, Youngeun lifts the quilt and slips into the comfortable bedding. Gyuvin lies down next to her, heaving a delicious sigh of relief. It has been far too many moons since their last night together.
“It seems that not much has changed,” she notes.
“It really hasn’t. The only thing that I will never find myself used to, however, is the feeling of a lonely bed.”
Gyuvin continues to stare up at the ceiling of wooden planks, but he can feel Youngeun’s eyes pinned onto him.
“You know I miss you, too.”
“I constantly think of you, Youngeun-ah. Nights alone simply aren’t the same. Eventually, I found myself growing lonely. You, at least, have your companions aside from your customers.”
She clicks her tongue distastefully. “Oh, please. My customers hardly account for any level of decent companionship. It’s not as though I enjoy their presence.”
“Is that so?”
He can feel Youngeun’s eyes narrowing at him.
“Do you think I’m lying, darling?”
Now, Gyuvin turns his gaze towards her, challenging. He dares to stroke her bare leg along the gooseberry fuzz of her shin, lips curling at the slight twitch of her limb.
“Do you enjoy mine above theirs, at the very least?”
Youngeun lets out an unlady-like snort, and now, that— is the girl Gyuvin knows by heart. He brings her closer and presses a tender kiss to her flushed neck, treating her to a quick nuzzling as his hand creeps up her thin back. Just from a ravenous suckle to her neck, he has her arching her spine against him.
“Youngeun-ah,” he moans, “let’s return to the country by morning. I cannot wait to bring you home and live as we did.”
“Darling,” Youngeun gasps. Her hands rise to try and cup his face towards her, trying to lean in for a kiss, but Gyuvin subtly reels back from self-revelation.
The guilt is still there. He can still feel Gunwook on his lips.
He does not want to mix the two of his lovers together.
But can he call Gunwook that— a lover?
His hold on Youngeun slackens as he unknowingly allows the stone of thought to fall deeper into the waves of his thoughts. Does he love Gunwook? Does he still love his wife? Just who does Gyuvin love?
“Darling?”
Youngeun’s voice breaks him out of his daze. Gyuvin blinks and tries his hardest not to look as though he has been led astray by a sinful torrent. He moves the hand on her back to trace and gently tread up and down her back as he peppers kisses on her collarbone, his other hand groping her breast as she sighs deeply.
Of course he loves Youngeun. Who else would he love? A man?
Ridiculous. Gyuvin is a happily married man, or so he tells himself.
He is a man who is happily married to a woman who works tirelessly for money, and he understands that. He tells himself he can pardon sharing her with faceless customers for the night. He tells himself he finds no revolt in sleeping with his wife even if she is a nightly companion to others.
Gyuvin is content with his marriage. He is content with his wife who moans so sweetly into his ear as he crawls on top of her, hikes her skirt up, and spreads her open—
What kind of lies has he been telling himself all this time?
He had not seen it before, but now that Youngeun is no longer concealed by dresses that shield her from predatory eyes, Gyuvin finds himself stunned by the bruises, bites, and marks littering her once unblemished skin— none of them the work of his own hands, mouth, or teeth.
“Youngeun-ah…I’m sorry, but I feel today has thoroughly tired me out.” His voice is strained, and Gyuvin can hardly even believe he has the strength to speak. He limply falls onto his back beside his wife once more, bones weak and soul well-close to shattering. “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight, Youngeun-ah.”
Once he closes his eyes and commands his body that he is stone, Gyuvin is non-reactive to any external happenings. He is almost sure he can hear Youngeun asking him if he is alright, if he needs some honey-water brought to him, or if they are truly leaving in the morning.
And what a lovely wife she is, how much she still tries to tend to her husband.
But alas, Gyuvin is no longer sure if he is still capable of looking past all that the city has done to her. He tells himself that his dear Youngeun is not at fault, that it is the fault of the lawless men who have their way with her every night while he rests on an empty bed that is miles away from here, but despite all his efforts in trying to trick himself into feeling otherwise, Gyuvin knows that the truth is what he has confided in to Gunwook.
He is lonely. He is angry. He feels guilty for those vices, but tries his best not to entertain such thoughts.
It is here and now that Gyuvin decides this— he will stay another night in this wicked city to prove himself worthy as any and every city man that Youngeun has bedded with. Tomorrow, he will smoke some cigarettes, down some drinks that will burn his tongue and throat, breathe in some opium, and lose himself.
He tells himself he will do every dishonourable act imaginable, perhaps out of spite towards Youngeun despite her never intentionally hurting him. But when Gyuvin thinks of the only act he has ever done that he would consider uncharacteristic of him, he can only think of his kiss with Gunwook.
But that kiss, however, does not feel very dishonourable.
It feels disloyal towards Youngeun, yes, but Gyuvin does not think it is in any way self-destructive.
However, the painful twist in his heart when he thinks of Gunwook is what must be the karmic aspect of such an act.
He lets his tears dry between the lids of his eyes as he slips into a dreamless slumber.
Villages such as Gyuvin’s hometown produce strong women and faithful husbands. The women come to the city to sell flesh, and their husbands know of the benefits that can be derived from such merchandise. The women still belong to them; children, should any be born, will also belong to him, and part of the money earned by the wife will always belong to her husband, too.
Many such men accept and turn a blind eye to their wife’s activities whilst she is in the city, but Gyuvin finds that he does not deal well with this knowledge. He thinks it is because he still loves and cares for Youngeun— a pure, selfish love that he does not want to share with others, that it disheartens him to know that she does not belong to him, and only him.
He does not care about how much money she has obtained or how successful she has become in this underworld of hedonism; he would rather remain poor and happy than well-off but broken-hearted.
Gyuvin thinks it must be a curse to be one of the only men in the country to have such a heart so full of blood, passion, and pitiful emotions. It must be a curse to feel such strong emotions at such painful depths.
Now, once again, he finds himself staring at the wasteland of his own rash, emotionally-driven decisions. His own wanderless anger had convinced him to stay one more night, and now there is nothing he can do— and of course, he is not about to make all of his bitter thoughts of smoking opium and running wild come true.
The boats lie along the bank of the river, so many that a stranger can never count them. The only man who knows how many there are, and who can recognise every boat and every woman on them, is the water sheriff Kim Jiwoong.
He is a one-eyed man, and they say that he was once a fearsome fighter who lost his eye in the previous war. His single eye, however, has seen what two eyes have never seen. The whole river looks to him, and his power over the small boats is more complete than the power of the last Emperors over the nation.
When the river is swollen, the sheriff is busier than ever. He has to look everywhere; he must know where the boat lies in which a baby is crying for milk because its parents have gone ashore; he must recognise at once which boat people are quarelling, and he must see whether there are any boats in danger of floating away, because there is no one to guard them but him.
Today on-shore, however, something has affected the life of the river. Three small robberies have taken place, and according to the police who have searched everywhere, they have found no traces of the stolen properties. It is nothing but irritating news to the water sheriff, as it means that the water police who are stationed by the banks at all times must be pulled on-shore to aid in the investigation.
This leaves Jiwoong without any extra pairs of eyes, hands, and feet to help him in guarding the boats.
At this unfortunate moment, too, he is taking a walk through the banks when he steps on a painfully old plank that leads to the newly-painted bow of a boat. The boat is moored under a ‘house with hanging feet’, which is the house of a store that sells lotus seeds. He stands and surveys the boat, and finds it far too eerily quiet than it should be. He knows whose boat this is, and he knows that this boat in particular is rarely ever quieter than the war-torn mornings he has experienced.
As soon as Jiwoong drops on the boat, he calls out, “Seo Youngeun!”
There is no answer. Neither the young woman nor the boat owner appears. Well-knowing, Jiwoong thinks that perhaps there is a young fellow playing with one of the women on-board, so he stands there looking at the bows for a little while.
Then he calls again. He calls for Kim Chaehyun, the most favoured woman of the boat, and then he calls for Choi Yujin, the sharp-minded eldest who almost always remains on-board whenever the others go ashore to buy rice.
But there is no answer.
Jiwoong thinks he hears something in the cabin, a sound like a human breath, and it seems to him that the people on the boat have not gone ashore, but are rather still asleep this late into the day.
So he bends down and looks through the opening of the cabin as he shouts into the darkness, “wake up, the lot of you, or you’ll miss supper!”
But when there still comes no answer, Jiwoong huffs, vexed that there are no water police around to help, so he whistles and beckons over the first soldier he spots— a young man of good build and of fair face.
“You!” he points, “come here, soldier. I require your assistance.”
The young man points at himself, uncertain, and once Jiwoong gives a sharp nod of confirmation, he stands tall with a swift salute and walks over to the boat.
“What’s your name, boy?” Jiwoong asks.
“My name is Park Gunwook, sir. I am a new recruit for national defence.”
“Good, good. Do you know who I am and what my job entails?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you know I must see to it that every boat on this bank and all its residents are of good state and health. Now, this boat, however—” he points, “is too quiet for my liking. Nobody has answered any of my calls, one I can only assume there is something amiss within the cabin. Will you keep an eye out as I investigate?”
Gunwook nods. “I would be glad to, sir. Lead the way.”
Jiwoong proceeds to rap his knuckles on the wood, calling out once more, “who is there?”
When the outcome of the call is the same as all his previous attempts at gauging a reaction, he kicks the bow with a robustness that shakes the raft. “Who is there? Answer now!”
“It’s me, it’s me!”
Finally, a man’s voice can be heard from within, timid and fearful. The voice continues to say, “everyone else on the boat has gone ashore. It is just me here.”
Jiwoong raises a brow. “All gone ashore, eh?”
“Yes, they…”
As though fearing that simply by answering like this he would offend the newcomer, Gyuvin crawls out of the darkness and steadies himself by holding the sail-yard and squinting up at the water sheriff and the soldier as the sun’s unforgiving rays hinder his sight.
The first thing that Gyuvin’s eyes see when his pupils adjust to the light are a pair of high and tall pigskin boots, seemingly oiled with persimmon oil. Above these he sees a girdle of soft deerskin and two crossed, taut arms belonging to a man with a sharp-face and handsome crow-like eyes.
Still unable to see the soldier beside the sheriff, Gyuvin mistakenly imagines the two men to be customers, and he begins to speak in a tone of excessive politeness and mingled flattery, attempting to imitate the city people.
“Oh, sirs, pray take a seat inside. The…the women will soon be back.”
“Comrade?”
Flinching at the familiar voice, Gyuvin pops his head out further into the light and blinks several times before the blur before his eyes settle into the figure of the man he had kissed the night before.
“Park Gunwook?”
Jiwoong looks back at the soldier before turning back at Gyuvin, whose face has seemingly lost all colour from the shock.
“Are you acquainted with this man, son?” Jiwoong asks Gunwook.
“Yes, sir. I…I met him last night. He has just arrived from the country.”
Interest piqued, the water sheriff addresses Gyuvin. “Is that so?”
“Yes…sir.”
“Well, do you know if the wheat is out yet?”
“Oh, wheat— our wheat in front of the mill, ah, my wife used to take care of the wheat and that little pig of ours…”
Suddenly aware that his replies are not what was demanded and are instead nothing but the witless ramblings of a distraught husband, Gyuvin stares at Jiwoong apologetically and simpers.
The water sheriff, most likely thinking nothing more of Gyuvin, lets the matter slide and simply asks, “where has Choi Yujin gone? Will she be back soon?”
This time, Gyuvin replies more carefully. “Well, I’m not sure, sir. She left with the other women and some soldiers and went into town. I was told to keep guard over the boat in the meantime.”
“I see. Well then, I will take my leave. It was nice talking to you, gentlemen.” Patting Gyuvin on the shoulder and then Gunwook, Jiwoong jumps ashore at the bow, and walks off to another boat.
Now, Gyuvin is left alone with the source of his restless thoughts. With nothing better to do, he peers up at Gunwook and asks, “would you like to come in?”
The soldier does not need any further prompting. He happily accepts the offer with a nod and follows Gyuvin into the cabin.
As the newest addition to the women of this boat, Youngeun’s cabin is at the very far corner of the boat. The room is smaller than its neighbouring counterparts, and with two tall men taking up its space, Gunwook only has enough space to sit on the corner of the bed.
“Do you want a smoke?” Gyuvin asks.
“Usually not, but I could use one right now.”
Gyuvin turns to the small table and looks for cigarettes and matches for his guest, but in the process of his search, he accidentally overturns a small vessel containing chestnuts. The round, shining baubles of black and gold tumble down and begin to roll about the dim floor of the cabin.
Muttering curses under his breath, Gyuvin tries to pick them up and put them back in the small container, but Gunwook makes himself at home as he picks the nuts up from the floor and cracks them open with his teeth.
“This season’s nuts are really delicious,” he says, pleased, before he notices that his host is not eating them. “Do you not like chestnuts, comrade?”
“I do like them. They grow on the tree behind my house. Around this time there are so many of them that they burst out from their green, thorny covers.” Gyuvin smiles at the thought. Gunwook does, too.
“You know, chestnuts as large as these are rare.”
“I selected them myself.”
“You selected them?”
“Yes, I was keeping them for my wife. She likes them.”
“Ah.” Upon learning this, Gunwook stops devouring the fallen chestnuts and instead helps Gyuvin gather the remaining ones. “Are there monkey-nuts at your place, too?”
Gyuvin laughs. “What are those?”
“Well, there are monkeys that live high on the mountains, and when men come and insult them, the monkeys throw down heaps of chestnuts, each one as large as your fist. And because people desire these chestnuts, they deliberately use foul words to collect and take the monkey-nuts home.”
“That’s absurd,” Gyuvin laughs, but finds the idea very entertaining. “Have you ever done such a thing, then?”
“Gone up a mountain to yell at monkeys to take their chestnuts?”
“Yes, that.”
Gunwook’s merry laugh rocks the bed. “No, but I would like to. If I have the time to, anyway.”
Once the stray chestnuts have been returned into their container, Gyuvin takes a seat beside Gunwook. “I would do that, too, if I wasn’t living in a very fruitful place.”
“Do you eat them often, then?”
“Oh, yes. Almost everyday. There is a chestnut grove just down the hill near my home, and also a place called ‘Chestnut Cave’. The city people who visit the area always marvel at just how many of them grow in the country.”
Gunwook casts a longing, thoughtful smile. “I sometimes dream of living in the country. Whenever I visit my fiancée, I am always reminded of how different life is in there…it’s so peaceful. It’s the kind of mundane clockwork life I would like to have.”
Gyuvin shrugs. “The grass is always greener on the other side.”
“True. Many come to the city in search of new opportunities, and many come to the country for a change of pace and to break free from the hum-drums of machinery and society.”
“I’ve only been here a day and I’m already quite tired of those hum-drums.”
“Well, it isn’t usually so bad. Would you like to explore said hum-drums?”
Gyuvin considers himself to be a man open to any and all kinds of exploration. While a home-body at heart, he has always had a sense of adventure within him— the thrilling desire to experience the world outside of his small country home.
Youngeun had once asked him what he would do if he was born several hundred years ago. To that, he had said he wanted to be a pirate so he could travel the seas and discover the age-old plunders of gold left behind by previous thieves of the sea.
But in the present 20th century, Gyuvin is already jaded and has lost his venturesome spark.
“No, I don’t think I want to,” he says, shaking his head. “I had opted to stay inside all day and discuss country affairs with my wife today, but early in the morning she had said she wanted to go ashore with the other boat-women and some soldiers and told me to guard the boat. I’ve just been sitting here a long time, waiting for them to come back, and I haven’t the slightest urge to step outside.”
Turning his head to the window behind them, Gyuvin looks upon the far stretch of the river. Everything here is so new to him that he feels tormented by it.
Receptive to the slightest change in one’s demeanour, Gunwook does not miss a beat in his notice of Gyuvin’s shift in tone. “Is there a river near your home?”
“Oh, yes.” Gyuvin finds peace in talking about what he is familiar with— his home and his roots. “Around this time of year, the river is usually flooded. Just a week ago, I went fishing for carp.”
“I’ve never had carp.”
“You’ve never?” Scandalised, Gyuvin sends Gunwook a horrified look.
“No, well, they tend to be just slightly more expensive than the usual stock of beef and poultry. Perhaps it’s cheaper in the country, but I grew up without seafood.”
“Ah. How different we are.”
“Indeed. I’ve never had carp, and you’ve never tried monkey-nuts.”
Gyuvin shakes his head. “I still refuse to believe that such a thing exists.”
“Come now, comrade, why would I lie? The city is full of wonders, after all.”
“You are correct, but I suspect I’ll have to put my miseries aside to enjoy its beauty.” With an unconscious alignment of their eyes, Gyuvin wonders if the slight change in the rhythm of his respiration is a direct cause of Gunwook’s enchanting eyes.
That man looks so much more handsome under the clear light of the morning sun.
And so much bolder, too, as he places a hand atop of Gyuvin’s, leans closer, and entices him into loosening his tongue. “Then tell me about the beauty of the countryside, comrade. Tell me more about the land that bears the city’s most sought-after lovers.” His gaze lowers to Gyuvin’s lips, and it takes all the latter has not to throw himself at Gunwook and kiss him madly.
“Well…it truly is beautiful. It’s lovely, trustful, dreamy, enormous…the hills stretch on and on, there are cushionets of tiny alpine flowers by its feet, and scenic drives are…very popular for the city-folk.”
“And why is that?”
Gyuvin bristles at the close-spaced softness of Gunwook’s voice. He can feel gooseflesh prickling his skin, the cold wave of nerves kissing the back of his neck as his hairs stand and he feels on the edge of a precipice that he is so dangerously close to falling into.
“There are…creeks, springs, and painted canyons if you are willing to take just another train ride down to the last station.”
“But what do you like most about your home?”
“Well, I’ve got a small pig with a mischievous temper. As a child I used to play hide-and-seek around the mill, and I have a lovely pet dog named Eumppappa.” Gyuvin has not had the chance to talk about Eumppappa in a while, so he finds himself eminently satisfied with the conversation. Gunwook is an amiable company.
“Your smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Boyish and blushing, Gunwook’s own lopsided smile threatens to send Gyuvin into a deeper infinity of solipsism.
“I hadn’t realised I was smiling.”
“You are, and it’s beautiful.”
“You shameless flatterer. You better not be thinking about kissing me.” Gyuvin puts on a tone of mock-anger, but finds his own cheeks growing warm at the prospect.
Challenging, Gunwook eyes him intensely. “And what if I have such thoughts, comrade? Will you indulge me, or turn me away?”
There is a bubble of hot poison kindling in Gyuvin’s loins, and the subtle flame in his spine has spread to his nervous neck and sweat-matted brows. As if held by an unknown force, he remains still as Gunwook tilts his head and slowly leans in, an experimental yet daring move, and Gyuvin can almost feel the soldier’s lips graze his own—
“Wait.”
Heaving and dizzy from the accelerating warmth of want, Gyuvin blinks hard to regain his senses. His eyelids crumple and his heart knocks against the confines of his ribs with a brutal force. He feels as though he has been doused with gasoline, as though he is about to yet again partake in something irreversible and not without consequence.
But who is he trying to fool? He wants to partake in a devilish thrill of an act that he can never undo. He is only human, after all.
“Park Gunwook,” he starts, his voice foreignly frail to his own ears, “I am…not as perfect as you think I am. What do you see in me? You deserve a better man. I am not some country commoner free from any sin that the ordinary city man bears. Dare I say, I’m even worse. Not only have I been an imperfect husband, but an awful man, too.”
“Comrade,” Gunwook lowers his voice in a sense that he is treating a frightened deer, and Gyuvin supposes that is a perfect example of his current position. “Don’t dwell on such things. Do you stop to think about the many men I will shoot once I am in the frontiers of war? Some will say it would be a noble act for the state, but you know that I enlisted because I have nothing left to lose, and I will only be taking the souls of other men who have wives, families, and very much everything to lose. I’m just as imperfect as you are, if not more.” He brings Gyuvin’s hand up to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles, eyes never leaving one another. “Does that make you feel better?”
Gyuvin thinks his own cravings are crazed, and made even more insane from Gunwook’s ravings.
“But why me? Surely, there are other soldiers you know who would be better company than I. I’m a married man with no chance of staying in the city; this place is not where I belong. Why do you flourish me with affection when you know this will all be nothing more than a short-lived dream?”
“You selfless bastard. You call yourself selfish, but all your reluctances have stemmed from worries of your wife or me. I’ll tell you this now, comrade— don’t you worry about me. I’ve never hidden any of my intentions from you. I don’t know when I will be called to fight, and I don’t know when I will die. It could be here tomorrow, next year in the trenches with a bullet through my brain, or it could also be eighty years into the future from the failings of an ageing body. Nobody knows.” Gunwook’s voice drops to a whisper, “but what I do know for certain is that I want this. I want you, comrade.”
Gyuvin can hardly reach his own thoughts. All that is rational has seemed to have left him. And with Gunwook’s slowly-inching fingers on his thigh, the way he gently spreads his palm across his leg like gentle clouds over a royal swab of sunset, Gyuvin is in such a state of exasperation that he is sure not even the cold blue waters of the river outside could bring it relief.
Nothing but Gunwook can tame the fire in his veins.
Gyuvin decides here and now that he wants Gunwook, too.
He grabs Gunwook by his shoulders and pulls the soldier in for a kiss. Letting go of all restraint, Gyuvin pays little attention to the force he puts into it; his fists bunched in the fabric of Gunwook’s outerwear, his tongue in Gunwook’s mouth, and teeth clinking against teeth as Gyuvin continues to hold onto him so tightly as if afraid it would all disappear if he let go.
He feels Gunwook kissing him back. His playful tongue finds Gyuvin’s, and the latter finds himself already aroused as he shifts his sitting position on the bed to better kiss Gunwook. Toeing off his shoes, he brings both feet up and onto the bed to straddle the soldier and gently lay him down onto the bed, the kiss remaining unbroken and rather amplified with a dashing heat when Gyuvin presses himself down and grinds his hardening length against Gunwook’s, flaunting its rigidity and size.
Until the very second where the two are dangerously short of breath, Gyuvin does not pull away. And even then, with a web of spit bridging their kiss-swollen lips, Gyuvin does not stop kissing Gunwook. He moves on to kiss his cherry-tinted cheeks, his earlobes, his neck, as he feels the cold breeze running in from the open window contrast with the heat of his form.
Gunwook raises his arms and arches his back gingerly as Gyuvin’s hands travel down and slips under the hem of his shirt; stretching himself when Gyuvin’s kinetic attention is on his chest and torso.
“May I take these off?” Gyuvin gestures to the few layers of troublesome clothing separating them. Gunwook nods breathlessly.
Once given permission, Gyuvin begins stripping himself of his shirt before moving on to Gunwook’s jacket and shirt. Trousers tight and beginning to strain, Gyuvin’s mouth feels dry as he takes in the sight before him. Only half-nude, yet Gunwook has already cast such a captivating spell on him.
“Park Gunwook, you’re…” Gyuvin wets his lips and tries his hardest to steer his foggy brain towards a praise that is perfect enough to capture the beauty that is in front of him, but words fail him.
“You don’t have to speak, comrade. I find myself speechless as well.” Impishly, Gunwook hooks two of his fingers through Gyuvin’s belt loops, pulling him lower onto himself and groaning at the delicious friction.
“Ah, you…if I was a smarter man, I would gladly shower you with compliments.”
Gunwook scoffs lightly. He takes Gyuvin’s hands and places them on his chest. “Then you’re in luck, because I need actions more than I do words.”
“Fair enough.” Humming lowly, Gyuvin lowers himself on Gunwook’s body. His thumb and index fingers lightly pinch his nipples, and just beneath the palm of his right hand is where he feels the rapid beating of Gunwook’s heart accelerate the moment he dips his head down to lick and suck on his nipple.
Up until this moment, Gyuvin had never spared a morsel of thought for strong, sturdy bodies such as Gunwook’s. He had always been appreciative of the ideal female body such as Youngeun’s— consisting of a slim stature, well-rounded hips, and a considerable bust.
He had never thought he would view another man so lustfully, let alone act on such taboo grandeurs. And yet here Gyuvin is, teasing Gunwook’s soft skin as the soldier places his hands on Gyuvin’s clothed rear and spreads them. With deft fingers, Gunwook’s finger prods at Gyuvin’s hole and uses pressure to further stimulate the foreign feeling. He rubs over the area as Gyuvin groans and feels himself clenching around nothingness, his teeth grazing lightly over Gunwook’s nipple and making the other let out his own sigh of content.
“Park Gunwook…” Gyuvin does not know just what Gunwook is doing to be able to elicit such a reaction out of him. He has never touched such a place before. It is dirty, and to play around with such a part of the body is considered shameful, even between a married couple. Youngeun herself would never let him entertain such an idea with her.
But the cruel ministrations are too much. Gyuvin can barely feel anything yet also feels too much at the same time. He can feel his own precome stain his trousers, and the desire to free his aching length is becoming too much.
“Park Gunwook,” he chokes out, “I want to…try something.”
Removing himself from Gunwook, Gyuvin buries all his reservations as he begins unclasping his buckle and undoing his trousers.
“Impatient, comrade?” Gunwook teases.
“And you aren’t?” Gyuvin prompts in return, eyeing and raising a brow at the other man’s growing arousal.
“I like to think I have at least a semblance of self-control, but…” Gunwook’s words hang in the air for a moment as the very last article of clothing on Gyuvin comes undone, his trousers circling his ankles before he props back onto the bed and taps on the metal square of Gunwook’s belt.
“But?” Gyuvin smiles, his fingers tantalisingly close to touching Gunwook’s straining cock. “Is this enough to strip you of the self-control you claim to have, Park Gunwook?”
Entranced, Gunwook swallows and nods. His hands are swift as he rids himself of his own clothing, and now it is Gyuvin’s turn to find himself with limp wrists and a slackened jaw.
Gunwook is, in all respects, a large man. His privates are no exception, either. While Gyuvin had thought himself to be quite blessed himself, he can only imagine the stretch of Gunwook’s length when put to a pleasurable use.
“At a loss for words again, comrade?”
Gyuvin quickly closes his mouth. “I just…have never seen another man’s privates, is all.”
“Me, neither. Yours doesn’t disappoint.”
While Gunwook says such things with such an airy flair, Gyuvin finds it difficult to keep himself composed.
“You…”
He is thankful when Gunwook offers a helpful redirection. “Now, what did you want to try, comrade?”
Gyuvin finds himself hesitating, but the gentle hand on his thigh eases his concerns.
“Does it…hurt if you were to put anything down there?” He asks with such cautiousness that it makes Gunwook laugh light-heartedly.
“It depends, really. If it’s just fingers, it may be quite strange at first, but I promise it won’t be long before it becomes pleasurable. As for something else in question, however…”
Gyuvin is unsure if he wants to think about that just yet.
“Have you ever…done this before?”
“Not with anybody else, no. I’m just as new to this as you are.”
That comforts Gyuvin. He would rather not be the only one to go clumsily into such an experience as this.
“But you’ve…”
“Yes, of course, comrade, I’ve used my fingers on myself.” Gunwook’s warm responses are a blessing.
“About that— I wanted to try that. It…felt very pleasurable when you were touching me there, so…” Gyuvin loses his voice as Gunwook’s hand slowly but surely makes its way to his rear to press up against his tight hole. Gyuvin’s body jerks lightly, backing himself onto the bed as Gunwook advances on him and thumbs at his hole, the pad of his finger hot and teasing against his entrance.
Gyuvin can barely breathe.
“Do you want me to touch you…” Absolutely failing at stifling a thrilled smile, Gyuvin flicks his thumb over Gyuvin’s hole. “Here?”
Shutting his eyes and hissing out a curse, Gyuvin nods. “Yes, I…I do.”
“I’m happy to help, comrade, but…how about I loosen you up first?” Pressing his middle finger against Gyuvin’s entrance now, Gunwook teases at his puckered hole, which is already clenched tightly from anticipation. “You’re quite tense, comrade,” he notes.
“Hold on, do you mean to…” Furrowing his brows, Gyuvin can only think of one possible way to solve the age-old problem of a possibly painful penetration.
“I do,” Gunwook says, and it confirms his suspicions.
“Now wait just there, isn’t it—”
“Considered dirty? Frowned upon?” Gunwook chuckles at the notions. “That might be true, but those who preach such faux purity have never allowed themselves to explore all the pleasure that comes from these ‘unspeakable’ acts. Do you still wish to continue, comrade?”
Gyuvin considers it. Selling one’s wife to many men was also considered a taboo until it was no longer ruled as one simply because of the rise of trying times. In a similar fashion, perhaps the majority of humans —himself included— are in truth, limiting themselves from the many fruits that life has to offer simply because the people of the past have deemed it ‘taboo’.
But it is the twentieth century now. Gyuvin supposes it is the golden age to break all prior structures.
“I want to continue.”
Gunwook is quick to action. He goes down on his knees and elbows, and licks. His tongue is soft and hot, and it wets Gyuvin’s hole with long, vicious strokes as his hands squeeze and spread his arse. Occasionally taking turns with his thumb that draws circles around Gyuvin’s untouched sphincter, it does not take long before it softens under constant licking.
As for Gyuvin, he finds himself teetering on pure insanity. Normally a chatterbox, he fails to bring any thought to life as his breath lags behind, his fingers tug and crumple the sheets, and his eyes cross and uncross from the unspeakable sensation.
He never would have thought something like this was possible. Gyuvin had thought only women had the fortune of being pleasured with the tongue down there. And how wrong he is— now that he has tried it, he now finds it addictive beyond imagination.
“Park Gunwook, I…” Teeth bared, he sucks in a sharp hiss as his hole pulsed. Every time Gunwook’s movements are a little bit wider, a little bit slower, he gently coaxes Gyuvin’s hole into spreading wide enough for the tip of his tongue to fit inside.
“Fuck!” Gyuvin chokes out. It feels incredibly strange to have something inserted in him, wet and squirming and making him writhe. Gunwook thrusts his tongue in and out a few more times to allow Gyuvin to further ease up on the sensation before wriggling an experimental finger inside.
“Are you alright, comrade?” Gunwook asks. Bleary-eyed and panting, Gyuvin rests up on his elbows and meets Gunwook’s eyes. For a short second he wonders if this is all nothing but a psychotic fever dream.
Gyuvin digresses; it feels far too good to be a dream. There is only so much that the human mind can trick oneself into feeling.
“I’m alright,” he manages to say. Gunwook then begins fucking him with his finger, slowly at first, before picking up pace. Gyuvin feels his breathing roughen with every thrust into his hole, his cock twitching on his belly with every draw and push of the insertion.
He bites back a moan once his body has adjusted to the stimulation. While still finding it quite awkward to have such a private area touched, Gyuvin finds himself earning relief with every pull of Gunwook’s finger and being rewarded with an eccentric euphoria from every long push into his arse.
“Does it feel good, comrade?”
“Well, it’s…it’s something.”
Gunwook devilishly curls his finger while being buried knuckle-deep into Gyuvin’s hole. It earns a strained whimper as Gyuvin involuntarily bucks his hips off the bed.
“Do you want me to try adding in a second one?”
Gunwook must be a madman. Gyuvin’s eyes snap open as he looks at the soldier with a deadpan gaze made only less daunting by the fluoride flush on his face.
“Yes.”
Despite perceiving Gunwook as a ‘madman’, Gyuvin’s own answer must surely make him a forerunner of insanity itself. Bracing himself, he feels a second finger enter him. He chokes on his own spit as his hips jerk, and his head snaps upright to watch the so-called ‘debauchery’ he had been so appalled by just a few moments prior— how his hole clings to Gunwook’s skin whenever he pulls out and pushes in.
“How is it?” Gunwook asks softly.
“A bit strange…but it’s quite pleasant.”
When Gyuvin starts becoming too dry, Gunwook replaces his fingers with his tongue and licks around his hole, alternating between the two. As for Gyuvin, he feels that the initial strangeness has now gradually acquired a different character; a more relieving edge. It is enjoyable enough that he can feel his cock aching for attention of its own, and the urge to touch himself is becoming a sweet temptation.
But Gyuvin holds himself back. After a lonely year on the farm, he decides he wants to come undone not by his own doings, but by Gunwook’s carnal caresses.
“Park Gunwook,” he calls out, and continues when the man stops, expectant, “let’s…let’s do it now.”
Retracting his fingers, Gunwook’s lips curl into a teasing smirk. “You’re quite the impatient man, aren’t you?”
Sitting up to bring Gunwook’s face closer to him by tilting his chin up, Gyuvin can feel a mysterious, debonair change come over his senses. And though he is almost certain his current thoughts are nothing but a product of the momentum he has swept himself up in, he realises now that he just cannot stop.
He needs this. He needs Gunwook.
“Only for you, comrade.” Gyuvin does not give Gunwook a second longer to make note of the teasing use of the constant nickname. He kisses Gunwook, all rhyme and reason discarded and done with. He cups the soldier’s face and digs his fingers into the soft pudge of Gunwook’s cheeks, thumbs tracing his strong cheekbones as the kiss grows ferocious. Spit trickles down their chins, and Gyuvin can taste salt and liquor on his tongue.
When he breaks the kiss, Gunwook’s large, glistening eyes meet his, his mouth half-open, and strings of saliva adhering to their chin and lips.
“Park Gunwook, do you want to…”
“You know my answer, comrade. But what I should ask is— would you prefer to be on the giving or receiving end?”
Gyuvin swallows tightly, a nervous breath of a laugh escaping him. “As much as I enjoyed the new experience earlier, I highly doubt if I’ll be able to take in anything more than just two fingers,” he admits. “Are you alright with—”
Gyuvin is interrupted by a quick kiss. His lips uptick in a small smile upon feeling Gunwook’s own against him.
“You’ll find that I’m a very flexible man, comrade.” Gunwook turns around, positioning himself on his hands and knees. He arches towards Gyuvin, presenting himself and enticingly showing him his winkling, puckered hole. “Is this to your liking?” he teases.
“You know my answer,” Gyuvin parrots back. He exhales a shaky breath, eyes on Gunwook’s rosy skin. The sun plastered on the width of his back brings a healthy glow, and Gyuvin finds his sensibilities withered-down and quashed the moment he places his hands on Gunwook’s shoulders and slowly brushes down his spine all the way to his arse, sending shivers rippling through his body.
“You’re so beautiful,” Gyuvin says. Lathering his own thumb with spit, he traces circles around Gunwook’s hole, teasing his creased flesh and lubricating it as Gunwook convulses in pleasure. Gyuvin slides his thumb in to thrust a few pumps in aid of adjustment before lining his cock against Gunwook’s hole. “Are you ready?”
Gunwook cranes his head back to look at him. “Spit on your hand and rub yourself first, comrade.”
“Ah, right.” Gracelessly, Gyuvin does as he is told. He raises a brow when he hears Gunwook let out a soft chuckle.
“Too used to doing this with women, are you?”
“Ack, I’ll have you know I’ve been celibate for an entire year.”
“Does that mean you feel like a virgin again?”
“As renewed as the sunrise, yes.”
Gyuvin’s breath hitches when Gunwook pushes back against the tip of his cock, his hole waiting and eager for him.
“Well, what are you waiting for then, comrade?”
Gyuvin tightens his grip on Gunwook’s hips.
“Nothing, comrade.”
Pushed ever onwards by his fatal lust, Gyuvin begins pushing in. Carefully, with his thumbs, he spreads Gunwook wider to allow himself to enter, and slowly, he is able to inch himself deeper.
“Fuck.” Gunwook groans, head dropping forwards as his hole initially protests against the intrusion.
“Are you alright?” Gyuvin asks, worried.
“Yes, just…keep going.”
Gyuvin cannot see Gunwook’s face, not when he is faced away from him, but he can imagine his beautiful face contorted in pain and his bottom lip caught between teeth as he tries his best to hold his pained winces back.
Gyuvin does not want to hurt him, so he reaches one hand over to soothe circles over his back as he continues to push himself in, stiffly and warily, all until Gunwook’s hole gives way and Gyuvin’s hard flare is properly inside him.
“Fuck— comrade…”
“Park Gunwook, you…”
Entering Gunwook at full length sends Gyuvin into overdrive; there is nothing he craves more than to be inside him. He keeps pushing, shoving himself inside, using his hand on him as counterbalance as Gunwook lets out moans of both pain and arousal. Gyuvin fills him up to his limit, and lets out a sinful moan of his own at the heavenly feeling of being surrounded by Gunwook’s warm hole that grips him with the surprising strength of a vice and the softness of silkened honey.
Before either of them know it, Gyuvin’s cock is firmly buried to the hilt. The two of them remain in that position for a little while, surrounded by nothing but the other’s hyperventilation and feeling each other’s pulses through their forbidden union. And despite how little time they have spent together, Gyuvin did not know that such a level of affinity could come from a man who had just stepped into his life.
He feels closer to Gunwook than before, a special bond that is more than comrades in arms or the friendliest of pals. He can only describe it as being something beyond that.
Gunwook presses his arse against Gyuvin, applying more delicious pressure on his groyne. “Fuck me, comrade.”
Starry-eyed and misty-headed, Gyuvin looks down at where the two of them connect. Gunwook has taken all of him, and he is begging for more now. Gyuvin leans forward, arms on either side of Gunwook as his body drapes over him like a protective cover, his chest pressed against the heat of Gunwook’s back. And despite being barely taller than him, Gyuvin tilts his chin as far as he can to meet Gunwook’s lips.
Without breaking the kiss, Gyuvin begins moving his hips; short, but rapid ruts. At one point he finds himself needing to pause so he can moan, feeling an orgasm as Gunwook locks him in place, his muscles milking him, massaging him.
“It feels so good, comrade. Fuck, you’re good at this.”
“You feel so good as well,” Gyuvin groans out, lips against Gunwook’s ear as he lightly grazes his teeth against the lobe. “So, so good…I never knew I could find such sweetness from something like this…”
“And have your cravings been satisfied?”
“Very.” Gyuvin punctures the word with a sharp thrust. “Now I may be speaking out of my mind for a short moment, but I truly don’t understand why there aren’t any boat-men. Why only women, and why so many of them?”
“Who knows? Perhaps if there were any boat-men, the women would then have a much harder time finding clients.” Gunwook rolls his hips to Gyuvin’s tandem, a smile tugging on his mouth. “After all, we as men know how to please ourselves, and more importantly, each other.”
“Oh, fuck…Park Gunwook, you really are going to lead me to an early grave.”
Picking up the pace, Gyuvin’s thrusts become rougher and longer, and he closes his eyes to focus on his nether sensations— Gunwook’s naked body against his, the tight coil of his hole around his leaking cock, and the overall warmth he had missed so much.
The filthiest aspects of their coupling are not to be forgotten, either. Strands of sticky fluid from Gyuvin’s weeping cock hang between them, connecting Gunwook’s arse with Gyuvin’s hips and adding onto the slaps that sound when their bodies collide; the cacophony being a perfect representation of their actions.
Absolutely shameful.
And yet, Gyuvin loves it.
He loves the smell, their paradisiacal frenzy, and he loves the ecstasy Gunwook offers.
Gyuvin lowers one of his arms to Gunwook’s untouched cock, finally giving it some attention. Already hard and throbbing without prior stimulation, Gyuvin proceeds to wrap his fingers around his wide base and begins pumping it thoroughly.
“Comrade…”
Gyuvin’s arousal is complemented by what Gunwook has driven him to do. Laying with a man, sodomising a man, touching another man’s cock, fucking into a hole of no practical utility, of no reproductive value. His hand around Gunwook’s cock is quick as he continues to rut into him, and…
This should all be so wrong, but it makes Gyuvin feel so good. Perhaps it feels good because it is wrong, but he knows it just would not feel as good with anyone other than Gunwook.
What does this make of him?
He buries his face in the crook of Gunwook’s neck as his thrusting speed rises to a positively frantic level. Gyuvin fucks him furiously, senselessly, pounding into him as if his life depends on it. He relishes in the surreal glow of it all; there is no denying he enjoys this. He enjoys this profane act, this debauchery fit only for those shunned by society.
His climax is approaching, and Gyuvin knows well that there is no chance he will be trying to stop it.
“I’m close, I—”
“Inside,” Gunwook grits out, “do it inside. Don’t pull out.”
When the rope of pleasure finally snaps within him, Gyuvin thrusts inside Gunwook one last time before stopping, buried deep to his base, as he inseminates him. His nerves are alight with a white-flame glow of static shock as Gunwook’s own orgasm begins. It crashes through his body, brought on by his rectal pleasure and Gyuvin’s grip on his cock. He shoots his seed onto the sheets as Gyuvin feels him tremble from reaching release.
For a moment, Gyuvin’s vision is clouded by sparks aflutter before his eyes, losing control of his body as he sloppily rocks into Gunwook in a frenzy, a weird numbness setting into his toes and his fingers. He can barely think— the ecstasy is so overwhelming that it becomes all he knows for a little while as his mind is held up by the clouds. He loses track of time, and he is certain it cannot have been very long, but to him it felt like a lifetime passing before him, like a dream fading before dawn.
When Gyuvin comes to his senses, he is lying beside Gunwook. The touch atop his hand is gentle, almost as if all the sweat and filth on their bodies are absent. The two of them lie there, catching their failing breaths, neither of them having to say anything when their bodies had already done all the talking worth more than a thousand words. Their entwined fingers whisper of an act that can never be known, and the discretions it will hold.
“Darling?”
Or perhaps, not.
At the speed it takes for thunder to strike down an ancient tree and wipe it out of its homely soil and deface its history, Gyuvin sits up, sees his wife with a look of horror painted on her face, and feels as though he has just walked himself right into the gates of hell.
Before he can speak or reach out to her, Youngeun takes off, her feet brisk against the wood as she vanishes.
Face quickly losing the newly-dusted flush of fresh red that had just come from the pleasures of Gunwook’s vitalising form, Gyuvin feels everything crumble at the tips of his fingers. Heart hammering so quickly in his chest that it drowns out Gunwook’s voice, Gyuvin throws on his slacks and fumbles through the asymmetrically buttoned front of his shirt before he wrestles his feet into his shoes.
“I have to go.” His own voice is the only thing he can hear and is what breaks the ringing in his ears. He spares Gunwook one last apologetic glance before going in pursuit of Youngeun.
Oh, poor Youngeun.
What has happened to the two of them?
“Youngeun-ah!” Gyuvin calls out into the street as his feet beat down the busy cobble path. It is not long before he catches sight of her white-ream nape and raven-black bun, the lilac swab of the dress he had bought for her some time after their wedding, and the well-worn shoes that need replacing after living through her many experiences of both the farm and the city.
“Youngeun-ah!” Gyuvin repeats his cry, and he slows his feet as she stops in her tracks. She slowly turns around, and her darling face, disfigured by emotion, is not a pretty sight as her tearful eyes meet his reddened ones.
“Tell me that what I saw was a trick of the imagination.”
Gyuvin’s bottom lip quivers. He crumples his fists in guilt, and his silence is an answer of its own.
With a trembling breath, Youngeun turns around and resumes walking. Gyuvin follows her, fingers aching to reach out to her.
“Youngeun-ah, we must talk this out and reconcile.” When her speed escalates into that of a run, he asks, “where are you going?”
“Home.”
Shaking his head, Gyuvin follows her. “To the train station? Right now?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Youngeun-ah, the trains have stopped running for the day!”
“Well then, I’ll just walk home.”
“Youngeun-ah!”
Once the chase leads the two of them in a quiet area further from the river and closer to the buildings, Gyuvin stops Youngeun with a firm embrace around her waist before lifting her and picking her feet off the ground.
“Stop it! Let me go, I’m on my way home!”
“You cannot walk home, Youngeun-ah! I know you are distraught, but please, please listen to me—”
“Unhand me right now!”
“No!”
“Kim Gyuvin!”
He lets her go.
Gyuvin unspools his hold on her, and Youngeun takes a few steps away before turning to face him.
He cannot remember the last time she called him by his name. He had always been ‘darling’ to her.
“Youngeun-ah, I’m—”
“I’m sorry.” Inhaling sharply, Youngeun’s teeth chatter as she swallows thickly. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. If you think I am angry at you— I am not. This is the city’s fault. This is Buddha’s fault. I shouldn’t have been so determined to come here, I…” She stops to wipe her overflowing tears. “Oh, who am I trying to fool…this is all my fault. Mine and mine alone. I should never have left you, I should never have left to go to the temple today. I had prayed for good fortune and for the fire of our marriage to be rekindled, but…”
“Youngeun-ah—”
“No, this is all truly my fault. Don’t feel sorry, darling. Don’t feel sorry for anything at all. I had expected something like this to happen—”
“What happened was—”
“Inevitable. I understand that, and I am in no way cross at you. I only feel guilty for betraying you in one too many ways imaginable, and I can only imagine how you must have been feeling. I—”
“Stop this, Youngeun-ah. You are not to blame, either—”
“I was the one working in such a corrupt line of work. Any husband like you would have done the same, and I can understand why. Despite the money—”
Anything Gyuvin had been saying or had been attempting to be said was inessential, but now, he raises his voice.
“Damn the money, damn the fortune, damn it all! Damn everything! I don’t care about it! I truly, faithfully, from the bottom of my heart, do not give a damn about a single coin! I don’t care if we are rich or poor, I don’t care if we could never buy new clothes or if we could never afford to replace the broken chair we have at home or if we can never purchase any spare farming equipment in case any are to break! I don’t care!”
Taking Youngeun’s hands in his, Gyuvin continues, “I don’t care about any of that, Youngeun-ah. I never cared about living a luxurious life. All we had was the farm, Eumppappa, and our old-fashioned home in the quiet countryside. I was happy with that, but you were always so worried that we would fall into poverty. I know you came to the city for the sake of our livelihoods, but you don’t belong here, my love.”
Cupping her cheek to wipe her tears away, Gyuvin offers a lopsided smile, imperfect from his own stream of tears. “I just wanted to bring you home, and I still do. Why else do you think I came all the way here? One year apart from you was too much. And if you are still worried about money, then—”
“I’m not worried,” Youngeun quickly says. “I’m not worried at all. I don’t care anymore, either.”
Gyuvin laughs. “That’s adorable, but really, if you’re still worried, we can always sell the mill and start selling land of our own. We can buy land in Gangnam or any decent place you know of. We can start a new business where we no longer have to be apart from each other anymore.”
Quietly sniffling for a few seconds, Youngeun remains trembling, imbalanced from a sway of emotion, before she falls into his arms and holds him tight.
“I’d love that. I’d really love that, but I’m…I’m so sorry, darling, I’m so sorry for everything, I’m—”
“Youngeun-ah, don’t apologise. That’s enough.”
Petting her head as she gazes up at him, her torrent of tears tinged with the mess of her makeup, Gyuvin tries his hardest not to choke on a sob of his own, to keep smiling even though he feels like breaking down.
But Youngeun knows him well, and she gestures for him to bend slightly lower, to rest his forehead on her shoulder and to allow himself to cry as they hold onto each other.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she says softly, her voice free of any judgement, “and I want you to know that I am not repulsed, angry, or bitter by any means. You don’t have to feel ashamed.”
“But I do feel ashamed— and for the wrong reasons.”
“What could possibly be wrong about that?”
“I feel ashamed for being disloyal to you.”
“I was disloyal first.”
“No, you misunderstand me. I don’t feel as ashamed as I ought to be for sleeping with a man. The only thing I feel sorry for is being unable to control my desires, but…” Sighing, Gyuvin pulls his face away so he can look at Youngeun properly. “What do you think? Do you think this makes me a freak of sorts?”
She shakes her head firmly. “Not at all.”
Gyuvin feels himself growing frustrated, though he cannot seem to know why. “Why aren’t you cursing me out? Why don’t you feel repulsed by me? I don’t understand—”
“Darling, let me ask you this— would you feel guiltier if you had slept with a woman instead? You would, wouldn’t you? You’re over-complicating things for yourself because you just don’t want to believe that you can find yourself drawn to other men.” Youngeun takes his hand, squeezing it. “But that’s alright. I don’t see any fault in it, and neither should you, if what you felt back there was true.”
Gyuvin feels the entire world spin beneath his feet, far too quick for him to comprehend. He cannot understand his own feelings.
“You aren’t saying all this just to ease my mind, are you?”
“You distrustful man. When have I ever lied to you?”
He shrugs aimlessly. “But you do know that I still love you, right? I do find women— I mean you, appealing. It isn’t just men, I—”
Youngeun’s bright peals of laughter rise above Gyuvin’s frantic rambles at trying to establish himself as a ‘proper, upstate man’. He finds himself laughing at his own ridiculousness, too.
“You’re funny, darling,” she says. “Save those difficult thoughts for some other time. Just know that whatever it is you feel, I will always accept them. I promised on our wedding day that I would always love you no matter what, and I’ll keep it true. I love you.”
“Now, you aren’t just saying this because of your vows, are you?”
Youngeun huffs and lightly kicks his ankle before the two share another laugh.
“You’re terrible, darling! So terrible!”
Gyuvin presses a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you so terribly much.”
That night, Youngeun’s cabin remains empty for the first time in many whiles. The young couple board a neighbouring boat full of clamour and glee, with music and food to share, and Gyuvin, with an instrument in hand, strums its strings as Youngeun sings an old-folk song from their native village.
My darling, the wind, I have only to follow your words,
I desire that your heart should be as bright as the sun,
And therefore you will melt me in your sun’s heat,
And do not suffer yourself to be laughed at for being faithless,
And do not forget that I shall always come to you should you call.
The following afternoon, Gyuvin finds some time to ponder through things.
After a night of one too many drinks, blistered fingers from a festival-long play of music, and aching bones from falling asleep on the hardwood floor of the boat with Youngeun’s head on his lap, Gyuvin had only rose from his unsteady slumber when the water sheriff had shaken him by the collar to a point of considerable consciousness. And though his ears were still cotton-stuffed from a bleary awakening, he can remember the water sheriff telling Youngeun to report back to the boat owner, and for Gyuvin to light some firewood on Youngeun’s boat.
So here he is, sitting lonesomely as his thoughts race and run from him, refusing to be caught and controlled.
He has not returned to Youngeun’s cabin ever since the anticlimactic event that was the previous day, but frankly, Gyuvin is not in any hurry to return there, either. If possible, he would like to ask his wife for the favour of packing their belongings for their departure tomorrow morning, all so he will not have to lay sight of that particular bed ever again.
He simply fears remembering what he wishes he could devalue— Gunwook’s naked skin against his, the other man’s parted lips and hot lobe, his lowly, musky scent of midnight chypre, his ardent tongue, the tangle of their limbs and the twist and twine of their hearts.
Gyuvin does not understand himself. Humans are so complex, such palliative agents cursed to never have all their questions about themselves and the universe they live in, answered.
What is he feeling right now? Why cannot he stop thinking about Gunwook? Now that Gyuvin is past the point of berating himself over his already-accepted —albeit reluctantly— attraction for the man, his new palpitating question is if he only continues to think tirelessly about Gunwook because of the guilt that bleeds from their open-ended farewell the day before.
“I have to go.”
What a ruthless way to say goodbye; Gyuvin would even go so far as to say that such a phrase should never even be measured as a parting message. It would be insulting.
Gunwook deserves better, this he knows.
Gunwook did not deserve to be left in the cabin without another word from Gyuvin. He deserves, at the very least, an attempt to be found and bid with a proper farewell.
But Gyuvin does not know if that will be possible. As much as he finds this to be the end of the line for the two of them— an incomplete tale cut short due to the vastly different lives they lead, he does not know what more could be said between them if they are to meet again.
An apology would be an appropriate start, he knows, but other than yet another beg for forgiveness, Gyuvin is unsure if he is willing to wound himself more at the prospect of a proper goodbye, as selfish as it sounds. After all, such words would only seal the back-burned acknowledgement of an imminent parting.
Objectively, it also seems as though Gunwook will not be returning to the boat again. Gyuvin does not blame him if he wishes to leave things as is. It is not as if he will be searching for Gunwook through every group of wandering soldiers, either.
When a sudden sneeze of his own makes him jump, Gyuvin returns to his worldly surroundings to complete his current objective— to light the firewood.
Now is not the time to be swayed by such feeble emotions.
People have begun cooking rice on the neighbouring boats, which has caused smoke to spread evenly over the water like silk. It penetrates the surface as it rises to the highest of skies. Gyuvin concentrates and gives his best at kindling the wet firewood, but when he is unsuccessful, he is at a loss at what to do.
He hears the cook in a restaurant near the river beating the rim of a cauldron with a ladle, and he hears cabbages being poured in the cooking-vessels of another neighbouring boat, but after so many tries, Gyuvin still cannot kindle the wet firewood, and so the small iron furnace before him remains cold. He continues to try and try until he gives up.
He has had neither breakfast or lunch— the consequences of rising just after lunchtime and right before dinnertime. He is hungry, and there is nothing to eat. He sits down by a bench and drums his feet on the boards. He begins to think about Gunwook once more, but slaps himself square in the face before such thoughts can take root and blossom into a garden of hopeless conjectures.
To distract himself once and for all, Gyuvin tries yet again to light the firewood, but when all his efforts fall futile once more, he loses his temper and throws it all in the river.
“God damn you, firewood— go drown yourself in the ocean!” he exclaims.
The firewood, however, is then picked up by the people on the opium-boats only a short distance away. Gyuvin watches as they draw up the firewood from the water, and it seems that immediately afterwards they are successful with kindling a flame from their findings.
Gyuvin feels a mix of shame and vexation swirl within him. He walks off the dock in search of his wife, only to run into her in the cabin halls.
“Youngeun-ah…”
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry if I was keeping you waiting. I just need to ask one of the other women if they have some powder to spare.” Youngeun smiles at him, but Gyuvin’s eyes are occupied with the fascinating red-silk corset she is wearing as an undergarment. Noticing this, she shyly crosses her arms across her chest. “I…didn’t expect you to come looking for me, but I promise I’ll finish dressing in a matter of minutes.”
“No, it’s alright, you…look as beautiful as always.” Mindlessly caressing her cheek, Gyuvin adds, “and I think you already look wonderful without the powder.”
A light blush settles on Youngeun’s cheeks, but before she can speak, a sharp voice cuts through the air from the dock.
“Who washed the rice? Who stole the firewood?”
Then, followed by another voice, which Gyuvin recognises as the water sheriff. “Maybe he couldn’t kindle the fire…maybe that man only knows how to kindle pinewood.”
“Didn’t we get a bundle of firewood yesterday?”
“Well, it’s all gone now.”
“Then tell him to go to the bows and get another bundle.”
Over-hearing what is being discussed by Jiwoong and who Gyuvin presumes to be Choi Yujin, he grinds his jaw nervously and gives Youngeun a nervous smile.
“I should go fix my errors and help them with dinner.”
“You should have asked me to help you kindle the firewood, darling.”
“Ack— it’s too late now.”
Parting from Youngeun with a kiss to her cheek, Gyuvin follows Jiwoong to the bows before returning to assist Choi Yujin with a hearty dinner of steamed rice and beef.
Once a warm meal has been fixed for each and every boat-woman on board including the owner, the water sheriff Jiwoong, and Gyuvin himself, all members of the table begin exchanging stories throughout the feast. Once dinner nears its end and the night is still young, Kim Chaehyun asks Gyuvin, “can you play the song of the girl who was buried in the palace walls?”
The other women begin clapping and bustling with excitement, eager to sing their hearts out.
But Gyuvin, slightly unsure of himself, humbly says, “I can’t play.”
“Nonsense, of course you can. Youngeun says you play very well.”
Gyuvin raises a brow at his wife, who looks away with a poorly-hidden blush on her bare cheeks. In the end, she had decided not to powder her face, after all.
“Alright, alright,” Gyuvin says, and the floating household grows harmonious. The women sing very well, and the instrument sounds crisp and clear to the ears as its reverberating tunes quiver over the river. The small dinner party goes on for about an hour or so, and during then, Jiwoong takes his leave, Youngeun substitutes the task of instrument-playing, and sometimes, Gyuvin will join in on the choruses.
He has never felt happier. It is almost as if he is enjoying a New Year’s celebration, and his heart is blossoming. Here, with his wife, and her group of friends, he concludes that last night’s frolic of drinks and strangers are nothing compared to tonight’s dinner.
But it is not long before said happiness is interrupted by some drunken soldiers who heard the beautiful voices of the women from outside and have now come clambering onto the boat.
“Who is that singing?” they shout, their thick voices slurred as they begin latching onto the women. “What’s your name, eh? I’ll give you five hundred.”
The music comes to a halt as Gyuvin stops playing. The drunken soldiers begin to kick the boat with their feet, making a dull noise. Then they try to remove the awning, but cannot find the seams in their befuddled state.
“Pretending to be deaf, eh? Pretending to be dumb? Who the hell is enjoying himself here?”
Gyuvin wraps a protective arm around Youngeun as the soldiers’ angry shouts rise in volume. He hopes the water sheriff will notice the chaos and put a stop to it soon.
“Sirs, please,” the boat owner begins, “calm yourselves and we can talk this out—”
“Shut your trap, you old hog. Well, who was it? Who was singing and playing here? You over there—” the loud soldier points at Gyuvin, “go on, play for us!”
Gyuvin knows that if this were to take place two days ago, he would meekly nod and get to playing. But now, that fretful child of the country has grown stronger in just a matter of hours, and with his wife behind him, he knows he cannot let anything happen to her or the other boat-women.
“No, I refuse.”
His answer is only met with roars of laughter and mocking derision. “You must be out of your mind, you tortoise! Look here, I’ll give you a thousand. Even the first hero of the world wouldn’t be so generous. I’ll give you a thousand red potatoes— that’s what I’ll give you.”
“I said I won’t play. Now, please leave this boat. We won’t accept customers who treat the women without thought.”
The mouthy soldier steps forward, levelling his shoulders to look larger than he is, and fixes Gyuvin with a glare. “I don’t know who you think you are, boy, but you better not make me angry. If you don’t play right now, I might as well burn this boat over your heads, you hear?”
“You wouldn’t, and most definitely not when you’re in uniform. I’m confident it will only lead to your dishonourable discharge.”
Face red with fury, the soldier grabs Gyuvin’s collar and yanks him closer. “God strike you, you rat! Start playing now, or I’ll beat you, I swear I will!”
Sensing that the situation is growing ugly, Youngeun gently pats at the soldier to distract him away from a stiff-framed Gyuvin. “Sir, I hope you can understand that we were just having a dinner party and were not expecting any guests. You see, I haven’t even got any makeup on. So if it isn’t too much trouble, I promise you our availability tomorrow—”
“Pipe down, you whore!”
Gyuvin watches it unfold in the blink of an eye. One length of a heartbeat, and he is still unable to stop it from happening. He watches as the soldier turns to Youngeun and delivers a tremendous backhanded cut that catches her smack on her hot cheekbone, and he watches as she falls to the ground from the impact, with Kim Chaehyun barely catching her in time before her elbows and head can hit the hardwood floor.
Without any hesitation, Gyuvin returns the deed sevenfold. He lands a sharp uppercut jab to the soldier’s lower jaw. Once his collar is released and the soldier takes a few staggering steps back, Gyuvin delivers a fistful of power right into his nose, a satisfying, audible crack sounding from it. The soldier heaves as he yells, his nostrils emitting a soundtrack of painful snorts.
And then it is Gyuvin’s turn to be met with a strike across his face by one of the many other drunks in the boat. He takes two powerful punches to his face before he manages to direct a swift kick to the soldier’s side to push him down before stomping on his back squarely.
“You rotten bastard!”
Another soldier lunges at Gyuvin, striking him hard enough to throw him against the wall with a dull thud before grabbing his collar to land several heavy blows to his ribs, causing Gyuvin to taste nothing but malt metal on his tongue as he coughs blood.
Nevertheless, he still insists on having the last word.
“Maybe your comrade over there shouldn’t have touched my wife, you spineless dog. I worry for the future of our nation if people like you are the ones defending those back home.”
To puncture the hole further, he spits a glob of blood right onto the soldier’s polished boot, the crimson seeping into the skin of the material.
With a growl, the soldier lands another blow to his ribs, and before Gyuvin can try and wrench himself free out of the vice-like grip, the soldier who hit Youngeun rises and joins in the hounding. He punches Gyuvin square in the face, who winces as blood trickles down from his split brow and renders him one-eyed for the moment.
That does not stop him from fighting back. In the midst of the crying, the uproar, and the pleas to stop, Gyuvin does what he was once scolded for as a child.
He aims for the spot between his attackers’ legs, and kicks away.
In the same way it is easier for him to please another man due to familiarity with the other’s anatomy, it would seem that there is a connection with fighting another as well— he knows exactly where to aim the hard tip of his boot at.
Immediately, the soldiers cease their blows and begin howling in pain, clutching their privates as they fall to their knees, twitching and trembling.
“You madman! Only cowards like you play cheap tricks such as that!” one of them exclaims.
“Oh, get over it, you drunkard. You lot are the real cowards for putting your hands on women—”
“Comrade!”
Gyuvin turns to the source of that voice, that call he thought he would never hear again. He turns around to see Gunwook standing in the front of a crowd he does not remember being as large as it is now.
“Park Gun—”
“Come with me.”
Taking his hand, Gunwook leads him into the after-hold, the very setting of their first meeting, through the crazed crowd now aiding the soldiers who had just taken shemful damage from a simple country man.
Once through the crawl-space, Gyuvin lets himself breathe. He allows himself to catch his breath with parted lips and the sensation of a painful inhale whenever he sucks his bruised stomach in. The adrenaline rush of such a primal, rage-fuelled fight leaves him feeling strangely giddy, but still slightly rueful over all his accumulated wounds.
“Comrade,” Gunwook finally says after a patient while, “you really are a madman.”
Gyuvin laughs at that, a few sore, throat-scratching breaths before he has to clutch his stomach and wipe some blood away from his lips.
“I know I am.”
Gunwook shakes his head incredulously, eyeing his roughened state. “You’ve only arrived no longer than three days, and you’ve already swung your fists at the soldiers who known to be a terror to the boats.”
“The way I see it, I simply gave them a well-deserved beating. And besides, one of them dared to lay a hand on my wife.”
Gunwook sighs, but smiles in understanding. “While I have nothing but respect to commend you for your act of bravery, I do find myself worried for you.”
“You really shouldn’t…but it is a pleasant surprise for me to see you again,” Gyuvin admits. “I’ve also been meaning to apologise to you about yesterday, though I was unsure if you’d ever want to speak to me again. I want to say I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly—”
“Comrade, no. Don’t apologise.” Gunwook shakes his head, his voice sharp and his tone final. “I understand all your reasons, and I’ve also been meaning to apologise to you for my set of faults. I now foolishly realise, after an embarrassingly long while, that I should not have led you astray from your marriage. I know you were nothing but a wonderful husband to your wife before we crossed paths, and—”
“You fool. You’re a fool, Park Gunwook. Are you hearing yourself with your own ears?” Gyuvin wheezes out another hollow laugh before the pain becomes too much, and Gunwook hurriedly retrieves a small cloth from his pocket, dips it into the cold river waters below, wrings it, and applies it to Gyuvin’s ribs, now painted black and blue.
Gyuvin curses, face contorting in pain and eyes closing to let Gunwook wipe away the blood from the cut on his eyebrow. He reopens them once his skin is clean from the grime, although he can already feel an ugly shade of purple blooming on his cheek and jaw.
“Ack— it hurts!” he coughs out when Gunwook dabs the cloth on his ribs once more, spreading the fabric and letting its coldness soothe over Gyuvin’s sore skin.
Gunwook smiles softly. “The things you do for love, eh?”
Gyuvin cannot hide the frown that persists on his face. “All that I have done, I did it out of my own will. You need to know that, Park Gunwook. You did not ‘lure’ me into being unfaithful to my wife. Everything I did, I did it because I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. I wanted to touch you, so I did. I wanted to explore you and let you explore me, too, so I let it all happen. I wanted it to happen, and I have no regrets.” Strangely, he feels a sense of sadness wash over him. “You…really shouldn’t hold me up to such noble assumptions, either. As I’ve said before and will say again, I am not a perfect husband.”
“Comrade, you are someone I think a soul will only ever encounter once in countless reincarnations. You know how to love— it is your strength. And even though we may not have been fated to be together until the end, you made me feel as though I have been loved so tenderly and fiercely my whole life.”
Gyuvin does not know what to say to that. He stares at Gunwook, soul so touched by those words of his, that he thinks no response can be held at a worthy level to his confession.
“You know I cannot stay,” he settles on saying instead, because Gyuvin is aware of how much of a fool he is. He was a fool for letting Youngeun go to the city, and now he is a fool for entangling himself with another soul.
Gunwook’s eyes shine with knowing sadness, though his smile does not falter. “I won’t try to make you stay, comrade. I know you must go. If not for yourself, then for your wife. I understand.”
“Park Gunwook, stop—” when Gyuvin blinks, he is surprised to find tears running down his face, “stop thinking of me so highly, please, I—” he shakes his head, contemplating if he should or should not voice his next words before ultimately deciding to.
“I was once a horrible husband. I haven’t told another soul this story, but I used to raise my voice at my wife whenever I would lose my temper. I only stopped after this one instance where I had lost a small sickle. We are poor and cannot afford replacements for tools lest we withhold our next planned payment for food. So when I had lost the sickle, I swear that I searched for it everywhere— under the bed, in the doorway, in the barn. I thought it had been hidden away and misplaced, so I scolded my wife for it. She wept, but we didn’t find it. And finally, after half a year, I finally found it. Do you know where it was?”
Gunwook shakes his head. “In the mill?”
“No, not at all. It was in a rice-basket. It had been lying there for months, and when I found it, it had already begun rusting like a scab. And do you know why it was there? It was there because I used it to sharpen a bamboo stick that I would childishly use to play as a makeshift sword. But that day, I cut my hand. I was bleeding, and I was so angry that I threw the sickle in the rice-basket and left to acquire some aid before forgetting all about its whereabouts.” Gyuvin chuckles bitterly. “I haven’t yet told my wife about it. She can’t have forgotten how she cried.”
“I’m sure she will understand, comrade. Money is scarce for many, and prized tools such as your small sickle are valuable items.”
The corners of Gyuvin’s eyes burn from the sting of tears, but he tries his hardest, and fails, to keep them at bay. “I don’t want to remind her of it anymore. I used to suspect she had dropped it into a stream, so I would say I was going to push her into said stream to cruelly frighten her into finding it. Of course, I was never going to do such a thing, but she would always become really frightened whenever I would get angry. I was a terrible man when I was younger.”
Gyuvin lets out a shuddering breath as Gunwook dries his tears with the gentlest of touches. His heart twists; here he is now, admitting that he once hurt his wife to the man he is now hurting.
What a selfish creature he is.
“If your wife has forgiven you, then there is no need for you to allow yourself to be consumed by such guilt.” Gunwook takes his hand. “And I know you are a changed man. You would not be receiving the love you do now if you weren’t worthy of it. Believe in yourself, comrade.”
Throat tight, Gyuvin covers his face with his other hand and breaks into tears. “Park Gunwook, I don’t know what I have done to deserve meeting you.”
“Now you are holding me to a degree too high,” Gunwook gently teases. Gyuvin shakes his head, trying to wipe all his tears away.
“No, what I say is true. I do not regret every second we have spent with each other. I told myself that I was only in lust with you, but I’m certain that had we met under different circumstances, I know that I really, truly would have loved you.”
“Kim Gyuvin…”
“Ah— that’s the first time you’ve called me by name, is it?”
With tears of his own shining in his eyes, Gunwook nods. His smile is now crumpled by a visible attempt at trying not to cry. “Kim Gyuvin, I know what your answer will be, but is there really no hope for us? Tell me only this.”
It pains Gyuvin to do this, to have to say it with his chest and his voice that his body has already nearly forgotten the damage taken to his eathly form, but he does.
“No, I’m afraid there isn’t. I’m sorry, Park Gunwook. It’s terribly unfair to you, I know, but you must know that there is someone out there who will love you with all the life they have in them. Someday you will meet that person, and I promise you that you will look back on this night with a sheepish laugh and nothing more, because by then, you will have someone who will stay by your side long after the stars return to dust.” Gyuvin kisses Gunwook’s lips, salty from droplets of sorrow but still as soft as ever. “You deserve as much love as you give, my dear Park Gunwook. You were born to be loved.”
In the early morning before most of the boat-women rise from their slumber and during the time where market vendors hurry to prepare their stalls with their fresh stalks and stock of game, the water police arrive at a particular flower-boat, led by the water sheriff Jiwoong.
A solemn stillness holds in the air, and even the crows and hedge-sparrows are hushed into silence. The sun has just barely kissed the horizon of the crystal rivers and all its glimmering waves. Four policemen watch at the brow while Jiwoong and a single police officer enter the cabin.
Choi Yujin, the woman who has taken the role of her fellow boat-women’s older sister, turns up the lamps to answer the men. Having just risen from sleep, she quickly finds herself at the unfortunate receiving end of several questions.
“Who is the man that was engaged in a brawl with the soldiers last night?”
“Seo Youngeun’s husband,” she answers. “He’s newly come up from the country, but I promise that what happened last night is not as exaggerated as people make it out to be. Gossip is easy to blow out of proportion.”
“And what was the reason for his place in the fight?” the officer continues, disregarding her words.
“Some drunken soldiers interrupted our dinner party. They insisted that he play some songs for them, but when he refused and Seo Youngeun herself tried to de-escalate the situation, one of the soldiers hit her, and so the fighting began.”
“So it’s true that Seo Youngeun’s husband was the first to strike?”
Choi Yujin blinks. “No, absolutely not. If anything, it was the soldier who initiated the fight. He raised a hand to Seo Youngeun and could have gravely injured her!”
The officer looks at her, and then at Jiwoong, who nods in favour of Choi Yujin. The officer then begins to take his leave to search the other boats. “I will return soon to examine Seo Youngeun and her husband once they have awoken. Do you understand?”
Jiwoong, however, uneager to accompany the officers in a lengthy investigation when all can be over and done with through a series of quick decisions, raises a hand in disagreement.
“No, I say we rouse them from slumber to question them now. There is no point in wasting any more time.” Turning to Choi Yujin, he asks, “will you show us to their cabin?”
With no choice but to comply, she leads the men to Youngeun’s cabin door, where they rap their knuckles on it and call out for an answer.
“Seo Youngeun, we have some questions you must answer! This is an officer speaking!”
But after long moments of seeking out a voice or a response of any kind without receiving any, the neighbouring cabin occupied by Kim Dayeon is swung open, and the woman steps out of her lodging with a displeased frown. “What is all this noise about?”
“The police are here to investigate the disastrous dinner party we had last night,” Choi Yujin says.
“Well then, why are they knocking so incessantly when the door isn’t even locked?”
At that, the officer tries the knob, and when it does not appear to be halted by any locks or bolts, he kicks the door open…only to reveal an empty cabin devoid of any people, clothing, or belongings of any kind. All that remains in the room aside from furniture are a small container of chestnuts.
“Where have they gone?” Jiwoong asks.
“None of you knew?” Kim Dayeon sighs. “The two of them have returned to the country already. They set out before the sun could even rise.”