The moon soared above the rooftops, its luminous glow spilling like water on the narrow paths and tilted eaves. Soo Young was lying on the mat with her eyes open, hearing Jun Ho's voice in the back of her head. He didn't say much, he never actually does, but there's something about him: his quiet and sure words always leave an impact on her.
"I'll walk with you tomorrow," he had said before leaving.
Such a simple promise, yet it felt like a true rhythm, something her life had not known in a long time.
She changed her side towards the paper-covered wall, fingers gently touching the woven edge of the blanket. She was struggling with sleep and hearing the sound of wind continuously rattling loose bamboo outside. Then she heard a light knock, one after another.
At her mother's door.
She got up.
She could hear her mother whispering in a low voice to someone outside, but she couldn't understand what she was saying as there were just hushed tones and silence for a while..
When her mother came back inside, she quietly entered the room holding a hot kettle of barley tea. But something was different about her. Her mother's eyes were wet, somewhere far away, as if she weren't mentally present, lost in her thoughts.
"Eomma," Soo Young muttered, "Is everything alright?"
Her mother blinked, shrugged off the fog of her thoughts. "Yes. everything's fine," she said, though her voice did not support her words. She poured barley tea into a cup and gave it to Soo Young, but her hands trembled slightly.
"Was it… Someone from the village?"
After a pause. Her mother nodded slightly. "Mrs. Kim. She came to say… Dae Sik's old boat washed up near the southern shore."
Soo Young froze.
Uncle Dae Sik.
Years ago, on a normal day, he vanished and never returned from the sea. Some people said he left. Some said worse. But no one knew where he went. His name disappeared from daily talk, secreted in the corners where misery and doubt met.
"What does it mean?" Soo Young asked, putting her cup down.
Her mother took a deep breath, as if the weight of a decade was still clinging to her. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe… It's time for things to come to the surface."
Her words spoke multiple meanings, and Soo Young could tell her mother wasn't only pointing at Uncle Dae Sik.
As she watched her mother, something deep stirred within her, a feeling of anxiousness that hadn't shown itself in a long while.
"Do you ever miss Appa?" Soo Young softly asked.
There was deep silence, and it seemed like the question froze time. Her mother unhurriedly sat, resting her hands on her lap.
"Every day," she replied, eyes faraway. "Especially when it rains and when the radishes bloom like they did that spring before we lost him."
Her voice was low, and there was no resentment in her tone. Only memory. Her mother lowered her eyes to the floor.
"Your father… he laughed easily. Even when money was tight, even when work was back-breaking. I remember one evening, he came home soaked from the fields, holding a single fish he'd bartered from the old man near the river. We had no salt to season it, but he cooked it anyway and told us it was the best feast in the world."
Soo Young slightly smiled. It's one of the many stories buried in the walls of their home.
"But then he got sick," her mother continued, but her voice turned croaky now. "And we had no doctor close enough, no money fast enough. I watched that laughter fade. I watched the man I loved leave bit by bit until he didn't wake up."
The air in the room hung heavy with sadness. Soo Young held her mother's hand gently. "You kept us together," she whispered.
Her mother gave a weary smile. "Only because I had to. Not because I always knew how."
The mother and daughter sat in silence. While the village outside was still and quiet, except for the rare cry of a night bird.
By morning, peace was restored in the house. But Soo Young couldn't help but think about last night's conversation as she stepped outside into the sunny weather.
The village buzzed with the news, which spread like fire about Uncle Dae Sik's boat. The boat was found undamaged, tangled in seaweed, and not very far from where the tide washed off the rocks below the cliff. And a few old men stood near the shore with arms crossed, whispering theories.
Few said he got drowned.
Few said he ran away.
Few said the sea returned what it had taken.
Jun Ho met her by the well, and a burlap bag slung over his shoulder.
"Did you hear?" he asked.
"My mother told me." She nodded.
Looking towards the cliff road, he said, "I went down there this morning. The boat… It's aged, but the inside looked dry. Like it hadn't been at sea all this time."
She looked up.
"You think someone kept it?" she asked.
Jun Ho didn't respond immediately. "Maybe. Or maybe your Uncle Dae Sik never left it willingly."
The silence in the village's air thickened; it felt like everybody was watching each other a little too closely.
Later in the afternoon, Soo Young and her sister made their way to the edge of the market with baskets of dried herbs in their hands. The familiar noises of the market should be comforting: the shouts of bargaining women, the continuous rattle of fish baskets, the smell of soy paste and red pepper, but even in all the noise, hush lingered. The sellers talked, but they kept looking at the southern coast every few minutes.
Soo Young spotted an elderly man sitting near the rice stand, taking slow puffs on his pipe. Mr. Hwang, who once sailed with Dae Sik in their youth.
She bowed respectfully.
"You're Soo Young, aren't you?" he asked, with eyes squinting at her. "You've grown like a willow tree."
"Yes, sir," she replied, crouching beside him. "Were you close to Uncle Dae Sik?"
Mr. Hwang laughed quietly, but it was a dry and bitter laugh. "Close enough to know he was restless. The kind of man who looks at the sea and sees a way out instead of a way home."
He looked down at the firm ground.
"They say his boat returned, but I wonder if it ever really left."
Soo Young felt a shiver run up her spine. "What do you mean?"
He didn't say another word. Got up, took out his pipe, and stepped away.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, turning the rice fields golden, Soo Young sat outside her doorway, looking out.
Jun Ho arrived quietly and sat beside her.
"They'll talk more about your Uncle now," he said. "Some might come to your mother."
"She can handle it," Soo Young replied. "She's had to handle worse."
Jun Ho looked at her, his eyes intent.
"So have you."
The wind picked up again,
The wind picked up again, making the hanging dry chilli threads dance in the breeze. Somewhere far, a dog barked twice, then stopped.
"I think something's coming," Soo Young said. "I don't know what, but it's like the ground's waiting to shake."
Jun Ho didn't say anything. He remained by her side, silent and unshaken, as he always does when the world feels uncertain.
And during that quiet moment, something swirled, like a shadow emerging just past the edge of memory.