[CYM] 8 – Outcast

Beodeul was told, “You’ve had it tough.”

She replied modestly, “It’s nothing.”

On her way home, she helped out at a neighbour’s house. It was Mrs Geum’s place, who, with no one else to help and her son having injured his ankle, had grabbed her jeogori* pleading for assistance.

*Traditional Korean jacket.

Though it was meant to be a brief task, she ended up working so much that her clothes were covered in dust and her back was as bent as a garden hoe left beside a field.

“If only I had a daughter, I would take our Beodeul as my son-in-law,” Mrs Geum lamented.

There it was again, that son-in-law talk. Had she been a son-in-law, she surely would have worked him to the bone.

The woman’s hearty laughter grew as rich as the fields she had cultivated herself. But that smile left her feeling melancholy.

“I’m planning to re-thatch the roof soon, could you lend your skilled hands then as well?” Mrs Geum asked.

The payment, unsurprisingly, was just two leftover apples. Was it better than working for free? Or could this really even be considered an improvement?

Feeling bitter, she rounded the corner of the fence, only to see someone staggering towards her with a bottle of liquor in hand. Initially, she thought she was seeing things. The son who was supposed to have a swollen ankle was swaggering robustly.

Upon seeing her, he veered off like a thief with a guilty conscience and ran off as if his tail was on fire. Like mother, like son. The sweet taste of the fruit in her mouth soured that evening.

Deep down, both she and her mother knew very well that their status in the village hadn’t improved.

After crushing the apple she had been eating beneath her foot, her anger subsided a little. She regretted not being able to throw it at the retreating figure of the deceitful son.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✦ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

“Why the sigh?” asked the young master annoyedly, disturbed by her heavy breathing.

“What’s the use in telling you? It’s not like you can solve it,” she replied.

“What are you doing now?”

She had inevitably ended up at the Geum household again. By the young master’s side, she had found a new way to pass the time: sewing. He disliked her sighing but showed interest in her trivial sewing.

“I’m helping Mrs Beom with her work.”

“Do you make a living off wages?”

“A rich young master like you wouldn’t understand, but that’s the reality for most villagers,” especially for those living in poverty like her.

In this rural village, social class distinctions existed. Even among commoners, there was a divide between those who lived in the impoverished outskirts and those in the centre of the village. She and her mother were clearly among the lower class.

“How much do they pay you?”

“I just do it.”

“Without any compensation?”

“I received food.”

As she spoke, shame washed over her. The villagers knew of their struggles, so there was no need to admit that they survived on the food given by others. Yet, confessing it aloud made her ears burn.

A deranged laugh irritated her ears. She turned her angry gaze towards the young master lurking in the darkness. His piercing blue eyes seemed to swirl.

“You really put up with a lot.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your mother’s speech is quite different from the local villagers.”

“So?”

“You’re from another region, aren’t you? That’s why you don’t fit in here.”

“...”

“Is your hometown near Mount Heebaek in the south?”

“What are you talking about...”

She forced a smile, though he seemed to speak nonsense at times, occasionally he was unnervingly sharp. From just her accent, he had deduced their outsider status and even guessed their hometown.

For someone considered mad, he was certainly astute. Perhaps his madness enabled him to perceive things others could not.

Near Mount Heebaek, there were three villages. One had been destroyed by a demon’s attack, leaving only Punglim and Sorigul. When he mentioned Mount Heebaek, she nearly fainted.

“Why don’t you walk around the yard instead of staying cooped up inside?” she deflected, offering him a new snack. He quietly ate the candied fruit she had prepared.

His hands, unblemished by the sun, were white, and his fingers were long and firm as a man’s should be. She could hear the crisp sound of sugar coating being chewed. Today, he was unusually compliant. If only every day could be like this.

She enjoyed the blooming flower garden and deeply inhaled the last fragrant breath of spring. A year ago, when she first greeted the village chief of Muritmaegol, it was also a bitter late spring. He was the one who suggested she seek work at the Ki household.