From Wonso Pond by Kang Kyong-ae

up?”
    Sinch’ol glanced toward the kitchen and shook his head. Okchom headed into the inner room.
    â€œCome inside then.”
    She pulled out a pink towel and tossed it into Sinch’ol’s lap as he sat down. He caught the scent of perfume in the air. Sinch’ol placed the towel at his side and stared into the backyard. There was a load of white laundry hanging to dry on the reed fence. It looked like a blanket of freshly fallen snow. His own white shirt stood out among the other clothes.
    â€œWho does the laundry here?” he asked.
    â€œSon . . .” began Okchom. “Granny does it. Why?”
    She stared at him.
    â€œYou’ve never done laundry, Okchom?”
    She hesitated for a moment before replying.
    â€œNo, I’ve never done it.”
    â€œWhy should she care about laundry,” chimed in her mother from the backyard. “You don’t think she does any housework around here, do you?” she chuckled.
    Okchom’s mother seemed to adore her, and certainly was proud of the fact that her daughter never worked. All Sinch’ol could do was smile. For some reason his smile made Okchom uneasy.

    Behind the sauce jars in the backyard the white balloon flowers hung their heads modestly. Behind them loofa vines climbed the fence, their tendrils beautifully extended and dotted with yellow flowers.
    â€œWhat kind of flowers are those?” Sinch’ol pointed to the white flowers.
    â€œThose?” Okchom replied. “They’re called white balloon flowers. You can make medicine out of them, you know. That’s why Yu Sobang planted them here.”
    â€œHe planted those loofas too?”
    â€œNo, that girl Sonbi planted all those.”
    It was her mother who replied this time. Okchom felt uncomfortable even saying the name Sonbi in front of Sinch’ol, who, for his part, was now so endeared to these flowers that he would have jumped outside to pick one of them and caress his face with it, had Okchom not been sitting there.
    Just then, from behind the fence, they heard the sound of children singing.
    I won’t hand it over—oh, but yes I will How about I catch a fly and offer it to you.
    They listened silently to the tune. The singing gradually approached the reed fence, then suddenly came to a stop. A dragonfly net rose to the top of one of the fence posts, and then the newly caught dragonfly flapped its wings. “Yay!” From the other side of the reeds came the sound of several children shouting gleefully.
    I won’t hand it over—oh, but yes I will How about I catch a fly and offer it to you.
    The song then disappeared into the distance.
    As the singing came to an end, it struck Sinch’ol that his own childhood was now over. He let out a gentle sigh.
    â€œI remember doing things like that, too, when I was young,” he said.
    Okchom stared at Sinch’ol with a twinkle in her eyes.
    That night, after they had stayed up late enjoying themselves, Sinch’ol wasn’t able to sleep when he finally lay down in bed. He tossed and turned, felt aches and pains all over, and was sweating profusely.
He couldn’t bear it any longer, so he got up out of bed, and quietly slid open the door to peer outside.
    The shadow of the eaves was crisply stenciled into the courtyard. Sensing that the moon must be bright, he tried peeking out from under the eaves to catch a better glimpse of the sky. But the moon had already ascended beyond the roofline, and he couldn’t get a good view of it. He threw on some clothes and went outside.
    When he checked on the inner quarters, everything was quiet. All he found was a pair of Okchom’s mother’s shoes placed at the entrance to the breezeway, white rubber shoes that glowed in the moonlight. Sinch’ol turned and started walking to the outhouse.

29
    When he arrived at the outhouse, he froze. The paper door to Granny’s room was aglow from the light of a lantern.