Chapter 40
* * *
“Brother! Will you stay with us from now on?”
At Hyeongseo’s bright question, Yun-seo’s steps faltered. He looked down at Hyeongseo for a moment, then swung their joined hands back and forth vigorously. Hyeongseo burst into loud laughter. Looking at the child who, despite his considerable size, remained as pure as a much younger child, Yun-seo’s lips softened involuntarily.
“What should I do? I must leave soon.”
“Really? Where are you going?”
“Far away. Very far away.”
Hyeongseo’s face immediately grew gloomy. Seeing how his protruding lips revealed his emotions without any attempt to hide them, Yun-seo wanted to embrace him tightly. He slipped his hands under the child’s armpits, lifted him up briefly, then set him down.
“Oh my… you’re quite heavy.”
Half serious and half joking, he feigned distress while massaging his forearms, making Hyeongseo giggle again. Hearing that laughter made his mind, which had been as wrinkled as crumpled fabric, feel somewhat smoothed out.
“Although I must leave, I won’t forget you, Hyeongseo.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course. Our names are similar, so we’re like brothers.”
“What? Deok-yun and Hyeongseo aren’t similar at all.”
“Ah…”
Realizing his mistake, Yun-seo bit his tongue sharply, then smiled nonchalantly.
“I mean you feel like my brother enough that our names seem similar.”
“I feel the same way!”
“I never had a younger brother. I always wished for one… Perhaps that’s why I met you.”
Hyeongseo turned around and suddenly embraced Yun-seo tightly. Surprised by the child’s unexpected strength, Yun-seo let out a small sound. Soon, the child loosened his grip and looked up at Yun-seo with a smiling face.
“You’re really a good person, brother.”
“Thank you.”
“I heard you have someone waiting for you?”
He must have overheard conversations or perhaps Eun-gang had told him. Yun-seo steadied his expression, which had almost faltered, and nodded.
“Yes.”
“Sister says waiting is futile, but I think differently. When I was at the shrine, I waited and waited for her. And then you appeared and brought me to her, didn’t you? So you’ll definitely meet the person you’re waiting for.”
The child’s brave and composed words pierced through the tangled threads of Yun-seo’s heart. Through the gap that opened, tears threatened to burst forth, tears he had barely managed to contain. Yun-seo smiled brightly and embraced Hyeongseo tightly.
“Yes. Thank you. Thank you.”
Hyeongseo’s hands patted Yun-seo’s waist. Yun-seo held the child for a long while before resuming their walk to escort him to Eun-gang’s house.
After sending off the chattering Hyeongseo, the silence surrounding him felt even more profound. Returning to the pavilion, Yun-seo took the nearly completed pouch, sat on the outdoor platform, and basked in the autumn-ripened sunlight.
Today was the fifth day. Hwi had not returned, nor had he sent any news.
Firm trust and desperate hope had been shattered into pieces and disappeared, while resignation swelled and consumed Yun-seo. The sense of helplessness made even moving his hand difficult. Only the unidentifiable embroidery remained—neither a turtle nor anything else—mocking him, asking what he had truly wanted.
Yun-seo sat like an abandoned stone statue waiting for a husband’s return, thinking nothing, just painfully aware of the passing time. What tormented Yun-seo most wasn’t Hwi’s absence. It wasn’t even that he hadn’t returned on the promised day.
It was the fact that he had reached the point where he could no longer believe in the time they had spent together—brief but more special than any other—and in Hwi himself.
Yun-seo closed his bloodshot eyes from lack of proper sleep, then opened them again with a hollow sigh.
The sunset was now burning red, staining the blue sky as if spitting blood. Yun-seo pressed the pouch to his forehead and repeated over and over:
“You’ll come, won’t you? You promised. You said you would come.”
But his weakened voice reached nowhere, merely shattering into pieces. He wanted to believe that truly unavoidable circumstances had only delayed Hwi, but now, as the fifth day was passing, such faith was useless.
If he had truly cared, he would have sent at least a letter. He could have sent that man from the lodge who ran as swiftly as if flying.
If it were someone else, Yun-seo might have worried about their safety, but was there anyone who could harm even a single strand of Hwi’s hair? How could he be so flawless and solid that he made even futile rationalizations impossible?
Perhaps this conclusion had been determined since the moment after their kiss, when Hwi acted as if nothing had happened. Perhaps after impulsively kissing a servant with nothing to his name, Hwi’s future had seemed uncertain.
If that were the case, he shouldn’t have looked at him with such caring eyes. He shouldn’t have made him harbor false illusions. He shouldn’t have reached out his hand so hesitantly.
Finally, as complete darkness covered the sky and salt-like grains of stars adorned the night, tears burst forth. Having grown too much to cry pitifully like a child, Yun-seo forced his sobs back down his throat, swallowing his sorrow as he wept.
The night of waiting for someone who didn’t come was mercilessly long, and his endlessly wet cheeks glistened in the moonlight.
But seen from afar, this too was merely a picture; time did not pity Yun-seo and escaped from his desperate hands that wanted to hold onto it, continuing to rush forward without stopping.
* * *
“Come anytime if you need help.”
“Yes. I’m grateful just for your words.”
Gyeong-ae left the village first, saying she couldn’t leave the teahouse unattended for long. Gripped by a hollow feeling, Yun-seo wandered outside for a while before returning to the pavilion. Inside the room, the luggage he had packed before dawn was waiting for him.
Yun-seo had decided to leave today. He had waited twice the promised three days, concluding that was enough, but when the time actually came, leaving wasn’t easy.
Futile attachments held his ankles—perhaps Hwi was on his way, perhaps if he left now, they would miss each other on the road. Unable to escape these ghost-like attachments, Yun-seo ultimately left a letter.
He had to read and reread it many times, as every fragment of his sentences—saying he couldn’t wait any longer and would leave first, expressing gratitude for everything, hoping for a day to repay the kindness—seemed to reveal his emotions. But there was nothing he could remove, so he folded the paper and placed it on the table.
Outside, a bright sky and warm sunshine greeted Yun-seo. The day was too beautiful for his steps to easily depart. He decided to sit on the outdoor platform for just a moment and blankly looked up at the sky.
I should go, I should go, he repeated to himself several times, but he couldn’t get up. The premonition—no, the foolish hope—that Hwi would arrive just as he left, causing them to miss each other in vain, persisted tenaciously.
Like an old man blaming his body for not moving as he wished, Yun-seo pounded his knees with his fists while meaninglessly muttering, “Let’s go now, let’s go now.”
Before he knew it, the afternoon sunlight had ripened. The sunbeams that had shone through the lush leaves of the pavilion tree were fading. The still air, with not even a breeze, surrounded him as if choking him. Yun-seo let out an empty laugh, dusted himself off, and stood up.
He took one last look at the pavilion where he had stayed for six days and took a step.
Thinking it would be good to say goodbye to Eun-gang, Hyeon-song, and Hyeongseo, he was slowly heading toward their house when:
“Yun-ah.”
That unforgettable voice, cruelly impossible to forget, reached his ears like coarse sand in the wind. Yun-seo’s feet stopped as if caught on something.
Yun-seo didn’t immediately turn around and kept his mouth shut.
He had thought he would only feel joy and gladness when the man he had been waiting for returned, had resolved to greet him with a bright smile and ask if he was well, but when the moment actually arrived, his emotions conflicted, making it difficult to face him. As tears threatened to well up, Yun-seo tightened his eyes and took a deep breath.
“You’re very angry.”
The voice, unchanged from usual, irritated his tense nerves. Afraid he might say presumptuous and harsh words contrary to his heart, Yun-seo struggled to calm his rough emotions.
“I’m too late.”
The gentle tone was like his hand stroking Yun-seo’s head. In truth, even if he hadn’t kept his promise, Yun-seo couldn’t blame him, and as this person tried to comfort him, the pointed resentment that had risen from all his waiting subsided without a trace.
“…I thought you weren’t coming.”
A slightly trembling voice flowed between his lips like a complaint. Not wanting to act like a child, Yun-seo wiped his eyes, sniffled, and composed his face.
“Didn’t I say I would come?”
Yes, he was a man who never broke his word, so why couldn’t Yun-seo have waited happily instead of being so anxious? A flash of regret swept through him.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
