Love of Dunhuang

Author: (Korean) Yoon Ho-ming / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: I woke up as usual on that broken iron bed. It was an old bed, but no matter when you slept on it, you could have a dreamless good night's rest. I had worried for a long time about how to endure the cold winter with the cold kang in the room, but I discovered that bed on an old junk dealer's cart. While bargaining with the junk dealer, H, who had recently started living with me, kept tugging my sleeve, saying it would be better to buy a three-section sofa bed. "What's the point of buying a bed for a rented house? It's a relic that can't even be called a 'bed'!" The look she gave me conveyed these two meanings. However, after installing a thick sponge pad bought from the South Gate Market and laying down a blanket, it turned out to be a passable bed. That winter was especially cold. A couple squeezed onto that narrow, broken iron bed, and they managed to avoid the terrible cold from the kang, only then realizing that nothing could be better. Without spending a penny on heating, but when I climbed out of the warmth of the bed in the morning and the bed gradually cooled, it felt as if the electric heater had been running in vain, which was a real pity. In any case, no matter who slept on the outside, it was truly amazing that no one had ever rolled off the bed. My eyes were open, but the alcohol I had drunk the night before had given me a pounding headache. I didn’t know when it started, but after drinking, the memories of that moment would break apart like centipedes and be tossed into the past. Even memories related to that person were no exception. However, in a daze, I seemed to recall singing. So the scene, like a rewinding videotape, slowly appeared before my eyes. The one who first suggested singing was also that person. He said he had recently developed a habit of singing every time he drank, which was driving the neighbors crazy—how terrible. He even diagnosed himself as completely mad. But when I said it was a blessing that the neighbors were quiet and hadn’t protested, that person kept complaining to me: "They have no reason not to complain! It’s just that our family is an old neighbor, so they don’t want to report it. But behind their backs, they say I’m like this because I can’t get a wife. Can’t get a wife, drink and sing, so I’m mad. Hey! Can’t get a wife, so you should drink and sing? Drinking and singing means you’re mad?" "It’s possible!" I said expressionlessly. That person probably got even angrier: "What? What? What? If I had children back then, you’d know what grade you’d be in elementary school now?" He slammed his hands on the table, as if he wanted to jump up. I remembered these things so clearly, which seemed to mean I wasn’t that drunk back then. It was just a roadside bar, but the tent was even painted with the words "Daphne Hotel." "Ah! There’s nothing to worry about. In a peaceful era, it should be like this. When Silla was strong, didn’t Seondeok also sing all night?" Hearing my words, he exclaimed: "What? Silla era?" His eyes blinked as if asking: What are you talking about with such a ridiculous topic? "But why did Silla fall?" He raised his glass. "Fall? What are you talking about? You idiot, Silla unified the three kingdoms!" I pretended not to know and cut him off. P3-4