"Haerin, you look like Tomie." This came up one evening at a Western-style restaurant in Itaewon where we'd stopped after seeing a Junji Ito movie.

"Oh?" She didn't seem particularly pleased. She looked at me quizzically, as if to ask why I should say such a thing out of the blue.

"Don't you think so?" I persisted.

"I don't know if I look like her or not, but I read that manga and know that Tomie's personality is very scary."

"So you don't like people calling you Tomie?"

"No, I don't like it," she replied firmly, a hint of unease flickering in her expression.

I cleared my throat, trying to change the subject.

"To begin with, you have an unusual name. Who gave you a name like 'Haerin'?"

"I don't know."

"Your father, maybe, or your mother?"

"I'm not sure . . ."

"Well, what does your father do for a living?"

"I don't have a father."

"And your mother?"

"I have a mother . . ."

"How about brothers and sisters?"

"Oh, I have lots—a big brother, a big sister, a little sister . . ."

These subjects came up again from time to time, but whenever I asked about her family, she'd look annoyed and give evasive answers. When we went someplace together, we usually arranged to meet at a certain time at a bench in Namsan Park or in front of Jogyesa Temple. She was always on time and never broke an appointment. Sometimes I was late for one reason or another and would worry that she might have gone home; but she was always right there waiting for me.

"I'm sorry, Haerin. Have you been waiting long?"

"Yes, I have."

She didn't seem to be particularly resentful or angry. Once we were to meet at a certain bench when it suddenly began to rain. I wondered what she'd do. When I got there, I was touched to find her crouching under the eaves of a small pavilion near the pond, waiting for me.

On these occasions, she wore a well-used silk hanbok—probably a hand-me-down from her sister—with a colorful ribbon sash. Her hair was done in a traditional style appropriate for her age, and her face was lightly powdered. On her little feet, she wore simple cloth shoes, patched but nonetheless neat. When I asked why she did her hair in the traditional style on holidays, she just said, "Because they tell me to at home." As usual, she didn't offer a full explanation.

"It's late. I'll walk you home."

I made this suggestion a number of times, but she always said, "That's all right. I can go by myself. It's not far." When we reached the corner by the Han River, she'd say goodbye over her shoulder and run off toward the alleys of Mapo.

**************

I almost forgot. There's no need to dwell too much on the events of those days, but we did have one rather intimate, leisurely talk. It was a warm evening at the end of April; a gentle rain was falling. Business was slow at the cafe, and it was very quiet. I sat for a long time at my table, sipping an Ice Americano. To pass the time, I'd ordered it on a whim, knowing it was a popular choice, and was nursing it slowly, one sip at a time. When Haerin brought my food, I asked, "Won't you sit down here for a minute?" I was somewhat emboldened by the calming atmosphere.

"What is it?" She sat down obediently beside me.

"You can talk for a few minutes, can't you? You don't seem to be very busy tonight."

"It's hardly ever like this."

"Are you always busy?"

"Morning to night. I don't have any time to read."

"Do you like to read, then, Haerin?"

"Yes, I do."

"What do you read?"

"I like all kinds of magazines. I'll read anything."

"I'm impressed. If you enjoy reading so much, you ought to go to school." I said this deliberately and looked into her face.

Perhaps she was offended; she turned up her nose and stared off into space, but the sad, helpless look in her eyes was unmistakable. "Haerin, would you really like to study? If so, I can help you." She still said nothing, and so I added in a more cheerful tone, "Speak up, now. What do you want to do? What would you like to study?"

"I want to study English."

"English, and... anything else?"

"Music."

"Well, then, you ought to go to school. I'll pay your tuition."

"But it's too late to go to girls' school. I'm already 18."

"18 isn't too late for girls. And if you just want to study English and music, you don't need to go to school. We could hire a tutor. How about it, Haerin—do you feel like going into this seriously?"

"Well, yes... Would you really do that for me?"

"Yes, indeed. But you couldn't go on working here. Would that be alright with you? If you're willing to quit this job, I wouldn't mind looking after you. I'll take full responsibility and help you become a splendid young woman."

"Yes, that would be fine," she said without the slightest hesitation. Her prompt, definite answer startled me.

"Do you mean that you'll quit your job?"

"Yes."

"That might be all right for you, Haerin, but you ought to ask your mother and brother what they think."

"I don't need to ask them. They won't say anything."

So she said, but I was certain that she was more concerned than she appeared to be. Unwilling to give me a glimpse of the inner workings of her family, she was pretending there was nothing to worry about. I didn't want to pry when she was so reluctant; but to fulfill her desires, I'd have to call at her home and discuss things thoroughly with her mother and brother. As our plans progressed, I asked her repeatedly to introduce me to her family, but she was strangely unenthusiastic. Invariably, she'd say, "You don't need to meet them. I'll talk to them."

There's no reason to make Haerin angry by airing all her family linen; she's my wife now, and for her sake, for the sake of "Mrs. Kim's" good name, I'll dwell as little as possible on the subject. It'll all come out someday; and even if it doesn't, anyone will be able to guess what sort of family hers was, if they consider that her home was in Mapo, that she was sent out to be a cafe hostess at the age of 16, and that she didn't want anyone to see where she lived.

Not only that: when I finally prevailed and met her mother and brother, they weren't at all concerned about their girl's chastity. I told them I thought it would be a pity to leave her at the cafe when she'd expressed an interest in studying, and I asked if they'd consider entrusting her to me. There wasn't much I could do for her, but I didn't bring her home so she could cook and clean for me; I could easily hire someone for that. She would be treated like a little princess, both literally and figuratively.

I'd see that she got an acceptable education in her spare time. Of course, I told them frankly about my circumstances and that I was still single.

When I'd made my appeal, they responded with something anticlimactic, like, "That'd be wonderful for her." It was just as she had said. There was no point in meeting them.

The world has its share of irresponsible parents, I thought; but to me, that made Haerin's case all the more touching and pitiable. From what her mother said, I gathered that Haerin was a bit more than the family could handle.

"We were going to send her to work as a performer," her mother told me, "but she wasn't interested, and so we sent her to the cafe. We couldn't let her just go on playing."

The fact was that it would be a relief for them if someone else took charge of Haerin and brought her up. After talking with the family, I finally understood why she always went to the movies on holidays. She hated to be at home.

***

As soon as I reached an understanding with her family, Haerin gave notice at the cafe and joined me every day to look for a suitable apartment to rent. We wanted a place as convenient as possible to my office near Gangnam. On Sundays, we met early in the morning at Seoul Station—on weekdays, we met right after my office hours—to explore neighborhoods like Seongsu, Apgujeong, or Yeongdeungpo. On the way home, we dined together, saw a movie, or strolled along the vibrant streets of Myeongdong. Then she went back to Mapo, and I returned to my apartment in Gangnam.

We went on this way for about two weeks. Apartments were scarce at the time, and we had trouble finding what we wanted. Haerin had visited my apartment once, and it seemed she felt a bit uncomfortable staying there. Perhaps it was the cold, impersonal atmosphere of a space designed purely for practicality. I decided it was time to find a new apartment, one that would suit us both. More importantly, I wanted to find a place that Haerin would absolutely love—somewhere she could feel completely at ease, so much so that she wouldn't mind staying in all day if she wanted to.

If anyone took notice of us—a professional woman and a modestly dressed girl with her hair in a simple bun, walking side by side through the leafy neighborhoods of Seongsu on a bright spring morning—what might they have thought? I called her "Haerin," and she called me "Ms. Kim." We could have been mistaken for employer and employee, relatives, or even friends. We must have made an unlikely pair as, a little shy with each other, we wandered happily on a long, late-spring day, hunted out addresses, admired the views, and stopped to look at blossoms along the roadside or in a garden.

Sometimes, as we passed by a florist or a greenhouse, she would stop and exclaim with delight, "Oh, how beautiful these flowers are!"

"Which flowers do you like best, Haerin?"

"I like tulips best," she replied with a soft smile.

Her longing for gardens and fields, and her love of flowers, must have been a reaction to the cramped, dingy alleyways of Mapo where she had grown up. Whenever we saw wildflowers—violets, dandelions, or primroses growing along a riverbank or at the edge of a field—she would run over eagerly to pick them. By the end of the day, she'd be holding several little bouquets. Even on our way back, she would carefully cradle them in her hands.

"They're all wilted now. Why don't you throw them away?" I asked one evening.

"Oh, they'll come right back if you put them in water," she said, her eyes bright with certainty. "You ought to keep them on your desk, Ms. Kim."

Without fail, she handed me the bouquets when we parted for the day.

Search as we might, a good place wasn't easy to find. Eventually, we settled on a small Western-style house in Yeongdeungpo, just a few blocks from the train station. It was a modest place, but modern and simple in design. It might have been what people nowadays would call a "Culture Home," though the term wasn't yet common at the time. More than half of the structure consisted of a steep roof covered with red slate. The white exterior walls made it look like a matchbox, with small, rectangular windows scattered across its surface.

The house had a tiny yard in front of the entrance porch, giving it an oddly charming appearance. The interior, however, was far from practical. On the ground floor, there was an oversized studio space, a small entryway, and a cramped kitchen—nothing else. Upstairs, there were two small rooms with low ceilings that felt more like attic spaces. These rooms were connected by a narrow staircase that opened onto a landing overlooking the studio below, much like a box at a theater.

Haerin was delighted the moment she saw the house.
"Oh, it's so modern! This is exactly the kind of house I want," she said with a childlike enthusiasm that made her eyes sparkle.

Seeing how much she loved it, I agreed to rent it without hesitation. The whimsical design—it looked like something out of a storybook—seemed to appeal to Haerin's youthful curiosity, even if the layout was far from practical. For us, though, it was perfect. The house was just right for an unconventional pair like us, who wanted to live freely and avoid the rigid formalities of a traditional household. It seemed as though the artist who had originally designed the house had envisioned exactly this kind of playful, carefree life for its occupants.