A Prose of Human Life
by Lee Hyo-seok (1936)

Why is the street so chaotic?

In nearly thirty years of walking these streets, they had never seemed this cluttered to his eyes. The streets of human life were a kind of chaos.

Munoh wished he could simply close his eyes. If he shut his eyes, covered his ears, closed every sense like a clam, perhaps the disorder of the street would fade away, and a quiet peace would settle into his heart.

The street reminded him of a messy room — dust piling up, books toppled, papers scattered. People built these streets themselves, yet never learned to keep them clean, living on and on in the mess they'd made.

Suddenly he bumped into something and opened his eyes. He'd walked straight into a trash can at the corner.

Damn this trash-can of a street. In frustration, he kicked the can and kept walking.

Why were the roads so crooked and uneven? That tilted shop sign should just be torn down. Collapsing houses — this was exactly what frayed a person's nerves like wood shavings.

What is the mayor of this fine city even doing? Munoh muttered to himself. A wise mayor ought to put the buildings of this city in order before anything else.

The shaggy hair of young men, pockmarked faces, limping gaits — everything he saw seemed to grate on his nerves.

Munoh's mind buzzed like a jar full of trapped bees. The disorder of the street had ground his nerves to pieces.

People always try to put life in order, but they will never reach the final point of that order and unity.

Even the philosophy he had studied for nearly ten years offered no key to this chaos. In the end, perhaps human affairs were simply left as they were, while people merely circled the surface of things, licking at the rind without ever reaching inside.

And lately, there was another matter tangling his thoughts even further.

What will become of Miye and me?

Miye and Munoh's relationship was not an honest one. Miye already had a husband, and the two of them carried on their meetings in his shadow. This tangled thread of the heart could not easily be undone.

Nearly exhausted, Munoh quickened his steps toward the place where he'd arranged to meet Miye.

The two of them often met at that quiet little tearoom on the street.

Walking through a chaotic street to meet a chaotic love, Munoh suddenly felt he was glimpsing something like fate itself.

Once seated in the tearoom, Miye asked in a low voice,

"How many minutes do you think a person can bear having their throat held?"

"Well, they say even a snake can come back to life after dying."

"Then human life must be about as tough as a snake's. I once endured five whole minutes."

Munoh looked at her, startled. On her neck was a faint bruise, shaped like fingers. Knowing that her suffering — because of him — had only grown worse recently, his heart sank.

"He keeps demanding I tell him the name. I can hardly stand it."

"Then just tell him plainly."

"That would be terrible. He'd probably challenge you to a duel."

"A duel..." Munoh shrugged. The word sent a chill through him, but at the same time, it struck him as perhaps the simplest solution of all.

"What should we do?"

Instead of answering, Munoh dipped his finger in spilled tea and began doodling on the table. Writing something, erasing it, then starting to draw instead.

"What are you drawing?"

Miye watched for a while, then turned away, blushing.

"Nothing improper. It's your eyes, Miye. The iris, the lashes. And this — these are tears, falling drop by drop."

Munoh had something important to tell her today.

"Why tears?"

"Because once I say what I'm about to say, I think you'll cry just like this."

"What do you mean? You're not about to tell me you're leaving me, are you?"

"In the end, that may be exactly what happens."

Miye's tone shifted instantly. Munoh closed his eyes and spoke.

"I'm leaving Seoul. It was decided so suddenly, I haven't had the chance to tell you until now."

Munoh had left his position at the university research institute and taken a job at a company in the provinces.

"When will you leave?"

"Once everything here is settled."

Miye's lashes grew heavy, as though veiled in mist.

Just then, the tearoom's owner brought over a plate of sweets. Munoh noticed, for the first time, that her left hand was missing a finger — something he had never realized despite being a regular customer for so long.

"You both look a little gloomy. Let me put on a record for you."

She walked kindly to the phonograph. A French song began to play — about a woman with two lovers — though it had little to do with what Miye was feeling in that moment.

Even as the song played out, Munoh's mind kept circling back to that missing finger.

On his way home, Munoh stopped by his friend's clinic. Lately he'd been dealing with a private problem — a rash that had spread across his skin. It had started with some small insect bite, but the ointment he'd bought carelessly at the pharmacy had only made things worse, and now red spots covered much of his body.

"I could just take a sharp scalpel and peel this skin right off — that'd feel better."

"Why must you always think in such extremes? You've clearly got a bad case of nerves these days."

His doctor friend spoke with concern.

"Set philosophy aside for a while. This new job of yours might actually be a blessing. Living for a while in a world where two plus two always equals four — that kind of clarity might do you some good."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I'm quite serious. Give it time, and things tend to sort themselves out."

His friend administered an injection of disinfectant and said,

"Depending on your constitution, you might get a fever or chills. Best to go home and rest early tonight."

Munoh did as he was told and went straight to bed.

Some time later, he woke up shivering uncontrollably. His back felt ice-cold, his teeth chattered, and his whole body shook like a leaf. No matter how he tried to steady himself, he couldn't find his center — like a shipwrecked vessel tossed by the waves.

"What's wrong?"

Startled by the voice, he realized Miye was sitting beside him. Having heard he wasn't well, she had come to see him despite the late hour.

"I'm so weak, I can't seem to gather any strength."

Miye's hand found his, firm and reassuring.

"Press down on me a little. I think it might help."

Miye leaned over and pressed gently against him. Bracing himself against her, Munoh gradually felt steadier.

"What on earth happened?"

"I got an injection, and this is what came of it."

Munoh suddenly remembered what his friend had said at the clinic — something about waiting for a lover, whether she showed up or not. It seemed strangely fitting now that Miye had appeared, just as his friend had half-joked.

Having kept his skin condition hidden from Miye and avoided seeing her closely for some time, Munoh now felt there was no more reason to hide it. He told her everything. Miye listened, then smiled gently.

"So that's why you've been so distant and cold lately."

"There are some things in this world that people must keep hidden from each other."

"Even from me? Did you think I'd recoil the moment I saw your skin?"

Miye leaned her face against him. In her warmth, Munoh slowly felt his heart ease.

As his departure approached, Munoh busied himself packing. Old furniture was sold off, old documents torn up. In this decisive act of clearing away the unnecessary, he found an odd sense of satisfaction.

But greater matters loomed beyond the packing — farewells, departure, a new post, and finding a place to live.

Parting with Miye was especially hard. Though they spent several hours together at the tearoom the night before he left, Miye wept as though it were a final goodbye.

Shaken by the train ride and arriving at his destination, Munoh still felt unsettled. The unfamiliar city struck him as busy and disordered, and a quiet loneliness crept over him.

In this new city, too, Munoh found the same disarray he'd known before — crooked roads, crumbling houses, tilted signs. And somewhere in this chaos, he had to find a place to live.

He wandered for days with real estate brokers, but no suitable house appeared. Meanwhile, his skin slowly began to heal. Each morning, flakes of dead skin would be scattered across his bedding.

About four days later, a colleague from the company told him a house had finally been found — quiet, with trees in the yard. After all his trouble, it seemed like a relief.

When he returned to his lodging, the innkeeper handed him a telegram.

"Arriving this afternoon. Miye."

He felt not so much joy as a heavy weight settle over him. Just as things were beginning to fall into place, here was another burden arriving.

Was she coming briefly, or for good? What had happened with her husband? All manner of anxious thoughts crowded his mind.

But the Miye who stepped off the train looked nothing like what he'd imagined. Her expression was bright and light.

"All the worry is gone."

"Did he follow you here?"

"There's no need to worry about that."

"Then what happened to your husband?"

"I ended things at home. He's gone off to Tokyo to become a pilot."

Miye let out a relieved sigh and continued.

"You can't keep someone tied to a broken home forever, so in a way, everyone came to their senses. He always had a certain recklessness in him — probably wanted to blow through some money too. But at least being reckless suits being a pilot."

"Someday he'll look down on us from his plane."

"Then we'd better wish him luck so he doesn't fall."

It had been a long time since Munoh had made a joke like that. Unexpectedly, the very knot he'd feared Miye would bring had instead unraveled into something peaceful.

A home, and Miye. These two settled matters filled Munoh's heart. All his other worries — the itching skin, the missing finger, the chaos of the streets — faded like shadows before this quiet happiness.

Walking beside Miye, he glanced up and saw the deep blue-gray sky above. It had always been there, unchanged, but today it seemed to shine into his heart with unusual clarity. For a moment, all the confusion and unease drifted far away, and there was nothing left in the world but a calm, clear peace.