sympathy when she acted vulnerable. And when she acted courageous and unbending, the audience saw a brave little sparrow fly into the eye of a typhoon. They began calling her “The Queen of Tears.”
Then Soong Nan got pregnant. Putting her career on hold, she stayed at the house and relaxed in the garden. She read books, worked on learning Japanese, and ate grapes to her heart’s content. She did not really have any of those strange cravings that many pregnant women do, except during the summer of her pregnancy, when the purple grapes in the garden grew plump. Every day she ate them by the dozens. After the vines of the gardens grew bare, she ordered them from the markets all over the city. Though they were expensive, Dong Jin did not care; he doted on his pregnant wife so vigilantly that whatever she needed she got without complaint. She knew he would have grapes from France imported for her if she ate all the ones in Seoul.
During those months in the garden, her skin turned a light tan. Though she spent most of the time underneath a big umbrella, the sun managed to touch her every now and then. She did not care. Besides, her skin did not seem to darken as quickly as it did when she was a child. A fall and winter indoors would quickly take care of the tan.
Soong Nan was content. Sitting underneath the umbrella, she thought about the incredible turn her life took, and smiled. She no longer feared the things she used to. Her fears changed from threatening to trivial. Instead of fearing hunger, she now feared riding in her husband’s car when the driver accelerated too quickly. Instead of fearing a life of prostitution, she now feared the occasional plane trip to Tokyo. Instead of fearing the exposing of her foreign blood, she now feared the pains of childbirth. Her fears became those that every human being should have the luxury to own. And she owed it to her husband, Dong Jin. Sitting under the umbrella, many times she asked herself if she loved him.
When she asked herself this question, the answer she came up with was always the same. Yes, she loved him. But her relationship with him was completely unlike the relationships she portrayed in her movies. Her marriage lacked the irrationally charged emotions that her characters felt. If her older husband died before she did, which he probably would, she would not lose her mind and commit suicide. Their relationship was not like that. Instead she would honor him by caring for his children and making sure they knew what a great man he was. Because her marriage was unlike those of her movies, she wondered how she could pull off faking love and passion so easily when performing in front of the camera. She thought maybe it was because deep down inside she craved the craziness.
But during the summer in the garden, she would not have traded her situation for anything in the world. All she wanted was the devotion of her husband, a healthy child, and a bucket full of sweet purple grapes. When her daughter was finally born in August, she had all three.
After two months of caring for her child, whom they named Park Won Ju, it was time to go back to work. After the grueling search for a nanny whom Soong Nan felt she could trust, Dong Jin was ready to start filming. After an appropriate caregiver was found, one of the most qualified women of Seoul with the required bent back, they started on the next movie. It was another historical drama. It would be the first of many.
Park Dong Jin was losing money, and Park Soong Nan’s career was stagnant. For two years, they worked seventeen hours a day, making about a movie a month. Park Soong Nan was still a star, but a star whom the critics and audience felt was wasting her talent on mediocre scripts and subpar directing. Most of these films were historical dramas, and considering that Korean history was five thousand years old, there was not a shortage of stories. Most of the films Dong Jin made depicted aristocratic regimes from the
Then Soong Nan got pregnant. Putting her career on hold, she stayed at the house and relaxed in the garden. She read books, worked on learning Japanese, and ate grapes to her heart’s content. She did not really have any of those strange cravings that many pregnant women do, except during the summer of her pregnancy, when the purple grapes in the garden grew plump. Every day she ate them by the dozens. After the vines of the gardens grew bare, she ordered them from the markets all over the city. Though they were expensive, Dong Jin did not care; he doted on his pregnant wife so vigilantly that whatever she needed she got without complaint. She knew he would have grapes from France imported for her if she ate all the ones in Seoul.
During those months in the garden, her skin turned a light tan. Though she spent most of the time underneath a big umbrella, the sun managed to touch her every now and then. She did not care. Besides, her skin did not seem to darken as quickly as it did when she was a child. A fall and winter indoors would quickly take care of the tan.
Soong Nan was content. Sitting underneath the umbrella, she thought about the incredible turn her life took, and smiled. She no longer feared the things she used to. Her fears changed from threatening to trivial. Instead of fearing hunger, she now feared riding in her husband’s car when the driver accelerated too quickly. Instead of fearing a life of prostitution, she now feared the occasional plane trip to Tokyo. Instead of fearing the exposing of her foreign blood, she now feared the pains of childbirth. Her fears became those that every human being should have the luxury to own. And she owed it to her husband, Dong Jin. Sitting under the umbrella, many times she asked herself if she loved him.
When she asked herself this question, the answer she came up with was always the same. Yes, she loved him. But her relationship with him was completely unlike the relationships she portrayed in her movies. Her marriage lacked the irrationally charged emotions that her characters felt. If her older husband died before she did, which he probably would, she would not lose her mind and commit suicide. Their relationship was not like that. Instead she would honor him by caring for his children and making sure they knew what a great man he was. Because her marriage was unlike those of her movies, she wondered how she could pull off faking love and passion so easily when performing in front of the camera. She thought maybe it was because deep down inside she craved the craziness.
But during the summer in the garden, she would not have traded her situation for anything in the world. All she wanted was the devotion of her husband, a healthy child, and a bucket full of sweet purple grapes. When her daughter was finally born in August, she had all three.
After two months of caring for her child, whom they named Park Won Ju, it was time to go back to work. After the grueling search for a nanny whom Soong Nan felt she could trust, Dong Jin was ready to start filming. After an appropriate caregiver was found, one of the most qualified women of Seoul with the required bent back, they started on the next movie. It was another historical drama. It would be the first of many.
Park Dong Jin was losing money, and Park Soong Nan’s career was stagnant. For two years, they worked seventeen hours a day, making about a movie a month. Park Soong Nan was still a star, but a star whom the critics and audience felt was wasting her talent on mediocre scripts and subpar directing. Most of these films were historical dramas, and considering that Korean history was five thousand years old, there was not a shortage of stories. Most of the films Dong Jin made depicted aristocratic regimes from the
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