“You look quite authentic. Please deliver one-jeon worth of bean sprouts and a basket of bean curd to my house.”
“Right away, ma’am! Where do you live, ma’am?”
“In Namsangol, where pine cones are strewn. Don’t forget to bring chopped green onions to decorate the food!” Gyeong-ae burst out laughing.
Pil-sun, standing by, threw in, “I don’t know how you deliver groceries when you have to drag your bicycle alongside, rather than riding it.” Flailing her arms, she mimicked Byeong-hwa’s clumsy bicycling.
“His riding is not too bad for a young man who’s done nothing but study. Do you happen to know how to use an abacus?” Gyeong-ae asked in a jesting tone.
“In the abacus department, allow me to introduce a star graduate.” Byeong-hwa pointed to Pil-sun, who, smiling abashedly, turned away. She had been practicing all week.
Byeong-hwa said to Gyeong-ae, “How about taking off your coat and helping us out here? A girl decked out in Western garb lounging around like that won’t be good for business.”
“Business will be good when you have someone like me sitting here. The Japanese hire women for their cigarette kiosks and bathhouses to attract customers, don’t they?”
“You might as well climb out on to our roof and sit there.”
A Japanese maid from a boardinghouse several doors away came in with a credit booklet and bought a bunch of green onions and six hundred grams of dried anchovies. Soon after, an old Japanese woman bought three eggs and half a cup of red beans. Though not a rice store, they had put other grains on display, as Japanese grocers often did. Byeong-hwa measured the red beans, and Pil-sun handed over the eggs. The old woman gave them a won note, Pil-sun clicked the abacus beads, clanged open a small steel box, and returned her change.
“How much did you give back?” Byeong-hwa asked.
“Seventy-nine jeon. Nine jeon for red beans and twelve jeon for the eggs. They’re four jeon each. Right?”
“Perfect!” Byeong-hwa smiled.
“You two are the very picture of a harmonious husband and wife. You’re so good at it one would think you had years of experience!” Gyeong-ae roared.
Watching the two selling goods so amicably, Gyeong-ae felt a pang of jealousy, wondering whether their rapport would really last and they’d become inseparable. She felt for them, though, understanding their fear that their inexperience might lead to bungling. But observing Byeong-hwa’s renaissance — his sleeves rolled up, eager to work — Gyeong-ae was secretly pleased. She figured he could do anything he put his mind to; he would never starve, even though this project was established for a purpose other than making money. There weren’t many young men who had so much vitality, she reflected, who couldn’t care less about money and household affairs, and yet had the willpower to do something grand and ambitious. Her trust and affection for him grew, and she found him endearing, as if he were a little brother. She could talk to him. All the same, a vague jealousy toward Pil-sun raised its ugly head, although she was usually able to drive away such idle notions with a smile.
Despite her concern, she had no desire to take control of the store. Though it was she who had been most enthusiastic and who wanted to hurry things along, she didn’t have the courage to jump into it. It had all begun when they had the idea of opening a small cosmetics store or a general store, or maybe a fabric shop near a girls’ school carrying mainly yarns and laces. She approached Sang-hun for capital, and he was for the idea, indicating he’d supply the money if Gyeong-ae were to manage the store. He half consented, believing that he would be able to get his hands on several thousand won if his father died, though the plan would fall through if the old man didn’t pass away soon.
When they were heatedly debating what sort of establishment to open, the proprietor of Bacchus asked, in passing, if they’d be interested in buying a tidy grocery store, one that was run by a Japanese acquaintance of hers, who was thinking of selling it out of anger after her husband had gone bankrupt from gambling. The decision was made quickly. The asking price was two thousand won for the building, three hundred for the telephone, and five hundred for the inventory, but in the end they agreed to rent the house for forty won, buy the inventory for four hundred, and lease the phone. They were far from being at a disadvantage, as the seller was eager to rid herself of the store. Both parties wanted to act as quickly as possible. The grocery was located in a quarter that was rapidly turning into a Japanese residential area. Byeong-hwa put down four hundred right away, but for the rest, Sang-hun had to get hold of his father’s money. Now that the old man had finally succumbed, it seemed that they would be able to buy the building after all.
Byeong-hwa’s four hundred had come from Pi-hyeok, but the store and the payment were in Gyeong-ae’s name. Byeong-hwa should have been ashamed to open a grocery with Pi-hyeok’s money if he possessed even a modicum of conscience. Pi-hyeok hadn’t come such a long way and put himself at such risk to let a stranger become a businessman, lead a comfortable life, and get fat.
It had been a mistake on Pi-hyeok’s part to give him the money through Gyeong-ae. If anyone else had been chosen to watch over Byeong-hwa, he would have been beaten to a pulp by now, and news of the betrayal would have spread far and wide. Byeong-hwa would be either in a hospital or at the police station, and the Sanhaejin Grocery’s signboard would have been pulled down.
Actually, the signboard had not yet been put up. None of Byeong-hwa’s comrades knew that he had opened a Japanese grocery store, nor would they be able to fathom how he had managed to do it. Byeong-hwa had firmly made up his mind to turn his back on all of his comrades, and if they ever came to see him, he’d make sure they wouldn’t set foot in his store.
This attitude worried Pil-sun. “How can you banish your friends? They’ll take it personally and make more of a nuisance of themselves, and there’s no knowing what they’ll say or how they might interfere.” What’s more, she was concerned that he would give the cold shoulder to her own acquaintances.
“Doesn’t matter. How dare they come and interfere in my affairs?” Byeong-hwa’s stubbornness evoked trust, but hadn’t he encouraged Pil-sun to run away to Moscow less than a month ago? Instead of feeling relieved, she was frightened and even a little contemptuous.
Pil-sun’s family had moved into the store. Although Byeong-hwa hadn’t set up the business only to make it possible for Pil-sun to quit the factory or as a means for her family to make a living, Pil-sun’s family nevertheless felt as if they had been given a second chance in life. And, indeed, they were ideal shopkeepers; Pil-sun watched over the store while her parents kept house behind the scenes. Gyeong-ae was against the idea at first, feeling that Pil-sun’s family was too large, but she ended up agreeing, for it was better to use them than unknown hired hands.
Though it was the middle of winter, Pil-sun got up with the rattle of the first streetcar, and quietly removed the plank door and arranged the goods on display, making an effort not to wake Byeong-hwa, who slept in a room inside the store. But he also rose early and worked in tandem with Pil-sun, riding his bicycle in his usual clumsy way on the icy road to the Namdaemun Market to purchase goods. Pil-sun’s father had decided that his Korean clothes didn’t seem to go with the store, so he now wore a warm, if worn-out, Western jacket and pants obtained from a secondhand shop and sat beside the stove. Everything they did felt a bit awkward, like a trial run, but they were excited because it was peaceful, and a bright future seemed to beckon.
Pil-sun went to bed only after the last streetcar had passed. Though exhausted, she had a hard time falling asleep, her head full of the prices of the goods they carried and strategies for better ways to sell them. She had forgotten her desire to study. The thought of Deok-gi struck her from time to time, and she imagined how embarrassing it would be if he came to the store. At the same time, she wouldn’t mind showing off how skillfully she could sell groceries in her pale blue uniform, if only he wouldn’t catch sight of her red, frostbitten hands below her rolled-up sleeves.