This week’s Translation Tuesday transports us to sixteenth-century Korea in this excerpt from Hong Sŏkchung’s historical novel Hwang Chini. In this particular passage, our titular protagonist dons a disguise and explores the common neighborhoods of her city. Raised within an aristocratic family but soon to be made aware of her mother’s outcaste status, Chini is shocked and frightened by this formerly hidden underbelly of society. The legendary figure’s wit and daring are outpaced only by her curiosity, but the more she sees and hears, the more she is overwhelmed and unprepared. In language that is comedic, anachronistic, and surprisingly transgressive, Hwang Chini offers a contemporary take on a legendary historical figure. The novel’s fame also breaks political precedents: author Hong Sŏkchung received the Manhae Literature Prize, marking the first time a major South Korean literary award was bestowed upon a North Korean writer.
Part One, section 12
After Chini has offered greetings of the evening to her mother she visits the kitchen maid’s room. This room has been kept heated, even now in the dog days of summer, ever since the maid suffered a stroke. Granny is there trying to sweat out a cold.
Chini feels a blast of heat as she opens the door to the cavernous room. Granny has burrowed into her bedding on the warmer section of the heated floor.
“How are you feeling?”
“Well, look who’s here! You came by earlier, and here you are again?” But Granny, face streaming with perspiration, is happy like a child at the sight of Chini.
“I gave Igŭm some ch’ŏngshimhwan for you,” says Chini. “It’s supposed to work miracles—did you try it?”
“I did! And I’ve broken into a good sweat and feel much better. But I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep without me tonight. You’ll have Igŭm, though.”
“That’s fine. Just make sure to take care of yourself!”
Chini stops in the kitchen to ask the maid to look after Granny, then leaves for her quarters. The moment she sets foot in the rear gardens, her proper-young-lady persona evaporates and the seething vigor and bursting vitality of a curious teen reveal themselves in a naughty, sparkling grin. She scurries off.
“Hey Igŭm, where are you?”
“Right here, missy.” The door to the large room in Chini’s quarters bursts open and Igŭm’s face, round as the full moon, looks out. With one hand she brushes bits of thread from her other hand, which holds an article of clothing she looks to have just finished repairing.
“You mended the split in the armpit?”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s getting late. Let me have it.” Chini hops onto the shoe ledge and removes her shoes, then snatches the garment from Igŭm and goes into the smaller room.
“Igŭm, can you help with my hair?”
Igŭm puts down the sewing basket she was about to stow and disappears into the room where Chini is, and before long, giggles and friendly jokes can be heard. And then the door opens to reveal a young man dressed neatly in a man’s summer outfit—it’s Chini!
“Missy!” Igŭm’s pretty face is about to break into tears of concern. She must have been pestering Chini as she brushed Chini’s hair. Without responding, Chini pulls out a pair of men’s straw shoes from behind a dresser in the spare room, and dusts them off at the shoe ledge.
“Missy!”
“No, you can’t go with me.”
“But Granny won’t know—she isn’t here.”
“All the more reason you need to stay. Who is going to answer if Mother calls for me?”
Igŭm snorts in disapproval. “All right, missy.”
“Listen—you have to know when you can follow me and when you can’t. And, you don’t have a man’s clothing to change into. Don’t act like a kid, and just remember, if Mother calls for me, tell her I went for a walk in the woods. And never, ever tell Granny I went out. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“When I get back, you and I can play paduk all night, or better yet, backgammon?”
“Whichever.”
Igŭm is gentle and sweet and doesn’t know how to make stubborn demands, no matter how Chini accepts and cherishes her. It doesn’t take long for Chini to convince her, and now Igŭm is gracing her with a beaming smile. Chini for her part is enchanted by Igŭm’s beautiful face, which to her is like a bud that has just blossomed. Playfully she pokes Igŭm’s cheek. Igŭm is so happy she draws Chini close and won’t let go.
“I have to go! I’ll be back!”
With Igŭm seeing her off, Chini quickly slips out the gate in the back wall. Taking the deserted alley to the foot of Mt. Chanam, she arrives at the main road to the South Gate and blends in with the crowds hurrying to exit before curfew.
The rashest element of Chini’s disposition is her curiosity, which she appeases with a foolhardy passion and plenty of nerve. The passion is more than you would expect from a proper young lady and drives her to focus on writing and music. Her curiosity once led her to pilfer the I ching from the bookshelves in her brother’s quarters, and through the night she wrestles to understand it in the light of her candle lantern.
Satisfying one’s curiosity is like drinking salt water: the more of it you take, the thirstier you become. And knowledge is like a pair of wings: the more you learn, the larger the wings grow and the more you want to soar into the vast sky.
So it is with Chini. For some time now she’s felt like a bird in a cage hanging from the high-walled rear gardens, which feel so confining compared with the blue sky beyond. She’s been gathering up her courage and waiting to steal a moment to launch herself into that sky.
But she can’t stand on one leg, nor can she clap with one hand. But with Granny, Chini has a second leg on which to stand and a second hand with which to clap.
Some ten years earlier Chini, riding piggyback on Nom, had gone to the Buddha’s Birthday lantern festival, where she had endured the terrifying experience of being abandoned by that very same Nom. But never had she forgotten the brilliant lanterns. And two months ago, wearing boy’s clothing fashioned by Granny and Igŭm, Chini had ventured out to that same festival, with Granny as a guide. For the first time, she could compare the sorrow of wellborn women confined behind the walls and the happiness of commoner women free to go about as they wished.
Once a baby hawk flaps its wings and tastes the vast sky, it can no longer keep to its nest. Ever since that lantern festival Chini has coaxed Granny to go with her to Manwŏl Pavilion, among the ruins of a Koryŏ palace whose foundation stones lie scattered and neglected, to listen to the sorrowful cuckoo calling beneath the paulownia tree with the trunk so large you can’t join your hands around it. And on one rainy day Chini sneaked out the Ojŏng Gate with Granny to Tumun-dong, a former hideout for seventy-two Koryŏ loyalists.
If you want to encourage someone to take action, the best tactic is to prohibit that very activity. During her several outings with Granny, what Chini heard most until her ears hurt were warnings to avoid the Ch’ŏnggyo district no matter how itchy her feet. Listening intently to others, she had learned that this “blue” district in the foothills of Mt. Yongsu was populated by women who purveyed drink and sex; it was a den of beggars, thieves, young waifs and strays, song-and-dance men, pickpockets, and all manner of other undesirables. Why can’t she take a peek? she would ask Granny. Was it an underworld from which she would never come back alive? Granny would answer clearly and firmly that there was no hell more terrifying than the Ch’ŏnggyo district, not even the legendary eight hells of Buddhism.
Granny’s words have fueled Chini’s curiosity and impulsive passion. She has become quite daring and is eager to free herself of Granny’s grip and escape beyond the back wall. And now with Granny fighting off a cold, her golden opportunity is at hand.
Chini is through the inner South Gate and midway along the road lined with drinking houses to the Ojŏng Gate, by which one exits Songdo. Just before the Ojŏng Gate a fork leading west to the Ch’ŏnggyo district will appear. At this time of night the strip of drinking houses is always doubly crowded with those who want to exit the city before curfew. The aromas of rice brew and soup and the stuffy odor of sweat permeate the air. Above the roofs of the dwellings clustered all the way to the Ojŏng Gate towers majestic Mt. Yongsu, the thick, milky fog that drapes its lower reaches turning gold in the waning light of the setting sun.
How wonderful! This dusty, bustling road cannot compare with her refreshing rear gardens with their beautiful scenery and clear air, except for one crucial difference: here lies freedom. Oh, freedom! As anyone can tell you at the drop of a hat, a free ghost is better than a fettered mountain spirit, and starving freedom is preferable to fattened servitude, but one has to experience this contrast to the bone to appreciate its significance. Intoxicated by freedom, Chini grins in spite of herself.
But as soon as she enters the Ch’ŏnggyo district she begins to regret her reckless curiosity. Something is different here. The area abounds in color and it smells sweet, but the chromatic colors and sweetened smell somehow draw her and at the same time make her cringe—just like a magically painted poisonous mushroom or a beautifully patterned venomous snake evokes in her a chill.
The sun is still not down, but from every open gate there hangs a scarlet lantern. Young women in spectacular floral outfits sit in a row outside the gates, chatting and giggling. It is peak time for the local libertines to infest the district, like goblins gathering around a honey locust. As they filter in they become fodder for conversation among the women perched at the gates, the exchange of off-color jokes and suggestive smiles a prelude to the shameless fondling that ensues when the men deign to go inside.
“Will you look at him! How could we be so lucky? A fine young master visiting us here?”
“Fine-looking indeed. And a schoolboy for sure!”
“He’s so cute, I’m dripping down below! Forget the money, just let me get him on top of me so I can rock him to kingdom come!”
At first Chini has no idea that she is the object of the heckling. Startled by the boisterous laughter, she looks about and notices the women arrayed before the gates shooting looks at her, as well as the libertines sizing her up.
“Forget it. He’s just a baby in a nice outfit. Like they say, a pretty girl has nothing but hair down below, and a pretty boy has nothing but a pair of balls. Strip him and you’ll see what I mean—a lad with a tinkle bell.”
This produces another round of cackling. Chini is in a fix. Out of place in the middle of the alley, she has become the object of competition for the women with their obscene tongues.
“So what if it’s a tinkle bell? My guy Kim is half size, but wait till he gets in the saddle and starts spooning—he just can’t get enough of me.”
“Hello, young master! Don’t worry about your little cucumber and get yourself over here!”
Chini’s face is on fire. The indecent leering and the brazen remarks make her feel she’s being stripped of her outfit and left naked for all to see. Heart jumping and legs trembling, she is about to collapse.
“Ya ya ya, he’s just a beginner. Go grab him before he faints. What good is the good-looking boy if his tool gets squashed?”
Chini turns and starts running back the way she came. Giggles follow her.
A group of men reeking of booze spread their arms to block her. Chini finds herself surrounded by the repulsive smell and a mass of bloodshot eyes.
“Look at this poor excuse for a boy! A greenhorn already hanging around the whores’ den?”
“What a laugh. His tool must have been pickled by one of those bitches.”
“What’s the rush? Not paying your girl and trying to fly off, are you?”
“You’re so good-looking I’m starting to build an appetite myself. How about a little nip from yours truly? I can wake you up for sure.”
Chini turns pale. The roiling contents of her stomach want to come up. Retching, she covers her mouth. Then with all her might she rams into the nearest guy and runs off.
She runs until she has lost her bearings, then comes up short at the sight of Hawk Boulder on Mt. Yongsu. Panting, she takes a flustered look around. The sun has set and dusk is settling. Steam rises from the drinking places clustered at the foot of the mountain; bluish smoke from grilling meat spreads through the air. What’s that dark shadow squirming over there? Out of the blue, a topknot whose hair is bushy like a bird’s nest appears with a tray bearing a small bowl of something.
“Have some moju! It’s nice and hot and tasty and cheap!”
Startled, Chini tries to avoid him and backs up against a shabby bush-clover fence, behind which a dog is barking. As she rebounds from the fence the topknot grabs her.
“Hey, young man, you need to pay for this moju. You think you can get away with a free drink, easy as yanking a leper’s dick off? I got you!” the topknot barks.
Hearing the commotion, dark-faced hoodlums swarm in like ghosts and surround Chini.
She is panicky but manages to clear her head enough to read the situation. The drunkard intends to extort her, and the bums around her are his helpers and they’ll beat her and maybe even rip off her clothes if she tries to escape. What if they find out the stripped lad is a girl?!
Chini is choked with fright. Her pulse pounds in her ears. Cold sweat runs down her back. She closes her eyes, feeling as frantic as she did ten years ago when Nom abandoned her at the lantern festival.
“What the hell is going on here!”
She can’t believe it. It’s a familiar voice, arrogant and beholden to none! She opens her eyes.
The bums have disappeared. There before her, holding a torch, is Nom. Yes, Nom. Sooty face, tight lips, braided hair, shadowy, unshaven face, penetrating stare, intimidating look—just like the storied Yaksa, horrible and hideous, who saved the soul of consigned-to-hell Yŏmun.
Covering her face, Chini bursts into tears. When finally Nom recognizes her, his eyes grow round.
Chini bawls like a child, joy and relief surging within her like the flaming of Nom’s torch on this dark night. But then this dreadful, humiliating experience ignites in hatred—it’s all because of Nom. What’s worse, he has now witnessed Chini dressed in a boy’s clothing. She is isolated, dejected, and flustered, and again he has “saved” her.
“Missy!” shouts Nom in the confusion of the moment. He steps toward her. Chini scowls fiercely and the next instant slaps him with all her might.
Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton
Hong Sŏkchung was born in Seoul in 1941 and since childhood has lived in the People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea), where his grandfather, Hong Myŏnghŭi, author of the celebrated ten-volume novel Im Kkŏkchŏng (1928-39) moved after the liberation of Korea from Japanese colonial rule. After completing his obligatory military service in 1964 he graduated from Kim Il Sung University in Pyongyang in 1969. He made his literary debut in 1970 with the story “Pulgŭn Kkotsongi” (The red blossom). Among his representative works is the two-volume novel Nopsae param (The northeast wind).
Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton are the translators of numerous volumes of modern Korean fiction, most recently the novels Mina by Kim Sagwa (Two Lines Press, 2018), The Catcher in the Loft by Ch’ŏn Un-yŏng (Codhill Press, 2019), and One Left by Kim Soom (University of Washington Press, 2020). Their translations of Korean short fiction appear in journals such as The Massachusetts Review, Granta, and Asymptote. Bruce Fulton is the inaugural holder of the Young-Bin Min Chair in Korean Literature and Literary Translation, Department of Asian Studies, University of British Columbia.
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