The man kneels on the suitcase, trying to push the lid down, but it is completely full and it will not close. Suddenly, the door opens. A woman enters.
The man looks up.
-What happened?
-Surprised?
-You don't look well.
The woman walks over and sits at the piano.
-Did something come up? We were going to meet at the station. What's the matter?
-You're just now packing and you ask me? I've already gotten my things together.
-The train's at 10:44. There's still over an hour left.
-Twenty minutes is plenty of time to get to the station.
-Your face is so pale.
-Maybe it's because I've been out in the night air.
-Really, you look pretty bad.
-Kuhyon!
-Yes?
-Play the Requiem for me, please.
-The Requiem?
-Yes, Chopin's Requiem.
-Why that all of a sudden?
-When we've gone away we won't be able to listen to the piano anymore. The first thing I heard at your recital was Chopin's Requiem. Now that we're leaving for a new world I want to hear it again. It's still so clear to me. It was a spring evening. A dreary rain had been falling for days and it had finally stopped. The weather lifted. That evening I brought my husband a cup of coffee as usual. He was absorbed in studying for the law boards. He didn't notice me coming in; he just kept turning the pages with that exhausted look. So I put some sugar in his coffee and placed it a little closer to his hand. Finally, he picked up the cup and took a sip, then he turned his eyes back to the pages of his book. Never once did my husband say whether the coffee was too strong, or too weak, or just right. Whether I put cream in it or left it out -not a word. Our marriage was like that. We weren't in love with each other, and we didn't hate each other. My husband never involved himself in my affairs. He never even noticed things like the color of my clothes. In this monotonous comfort, if you could call it comfort, I would have preferred it if we had at least hated each other. That's how much I longed for a life with some sort of excitement. To ease my husband's fatigue that evening, I thought of going out with him to the pine grove or to the river, but I gave up the idea. If I had asked him to go he would have come without a word; I knew it wouldn't have been any fun at all. When I came out with the empty coffee cup, Nani happened to be there. She wanted to go to a recital together. I didn't think of the recital at first. What I wanted to do was to relieve my gloom by being with cheerful Nani. I followed her out. There was no hurry. It didn't matter to me what sort of recital it was going to be. On our way, Nani told me it was a piano recital by a friend of hers. It was your recital, Kuhyon. When we entered the hall your fingers were already striking the keys. You were playing Chopin's Requiem. I sat all cramped in one corner of the packed auditorium and listened without knowing whether your playing was good or bad, its sound was so enchanting. I felt my heart beat for the first time in ages. I thought the soprano, in that frail pose of hers, had a voice too sharp and cold in comparison with your music. Nani was so upset that she couldn't be the vocalist because of her cold. She's so straight-forward and charming that way. On the way home, she grabbed you and said over and over again that you must be properly congratulated for your success. Each time Nani said this I was surprised to find myself thinking that I would be able to meet you if only we went to her house together.
-Chongsuk, when I first met you at Nani's house I imagined you were one of the statues there. And when Nani introduced you as the wife of a future lawyer, suddenly I felt jealous of your husband though I'd never even seen him. It was the first time I had ever felt that way.
-Nani stressed the word future so much I was surprised myself that I was going to be a lawyer's wife. I barely suppressed a laugh just then.
-That night when we played "Catch the Joker" with Nani, my holding the joker was what brought us closer.
-That's what made things turn out this way, isn't it? Nani was the first one out that night. The joker passed between you and me. I think our relationship would have been different if I had been the one stuck with the joker. As we stepped out into the street, didn't I ask you to play Chopin's Requiem for me because you had the joker? My heart was pounding so hard as I said those words. I was so glad Nani agreed with me, even clapping her hands. So we ended up here, didn't we? When we arrived, Nani came in even before you did. She threw back the curtains and opened the piano top. She made such a big deal of it, carelessly pounding the keys and hoping it would somehow turn into Massine's Elegy as she touched the bandage she wore around her throat because of her cold. Nani didn't sing the Elegy, but she urged you to play the Requiem. I stood in the blue-black shadow of the piano, and strangely, I couldn't help the jealousy I felt towards her. And Nani, as if she'd suddenly remembered, looked at me, then at you. She said I'd been famous for my alto during my schooldays. If it had been any other time, I would have given her a sharp glance or run over and pinched her the way I used to when we were girls, but that night I couldn't even look at her. I felt myself starting to blush. And to you, sitting in front of the piano, I said, "Forget Chopin's Requiem." I asked you to play Massine's Elegy instead, and I told Nani I didn't want to hear the Requiem because I'd suddenly changed my mind and wanted to hear the Elegy instead. Actually, I had already decided to myself that I would hear you play Chopin alone when Nani wasn't there. After that night, I would come here without Nani's knowing.
-When you told me you had a daughter, Chongsuk, I even felt jealous of her. You told me that for the first time in the summer when we went up to the mountains. I was surprised, but I felt jealous of the child who would take part of your love. Just in front of where we were sitting, a boy who looked about nine-years-old was sketching the scenery. Next to him stood a girl who looked like his little sister, licking an ice cream cone with the tip of her tongue as she intently watched him draw. Naturally, it was a childish sketch. The tree trunks were much straighter than nature and smaller branches sprouted chaotically from the larger ones. The leaves were all too spectacular and the bird perched on the branch was as large as the tree trunk. When the boy stopped drawing and looked up at the girl, she held the left-over ice cream up under his chin. The boy quickly stuck out his long tongue and licked it up. I wanted to be happy as I watched this beautiful scene, but I couldn't help the image of your child, whom I had never seen before, superimpose itself over the face of that girl. I came to myself when you said you wanted ice cream. I purposely ran down the steep slope, oblivious of the heat. When I returned with the ice cream the boy was doing a portrait of his little sister. In the portrait, her eyes were twice as big as her mouth, but once again, as I looked at it, I had a mental picture of your child whose eyes were as large as yours. I couldn't be happy. That's how badly I wanted you all to myself.
-My relationship with my daughter is the same as my relationship with my husband. Maybe even worse since it's come to the point where my daughter thinks her nanny is her real mother. It's true what they say -your mother is the one who nurses you. There are times when I completely forget she's my child. It seems like the nanny is constantly trying to teach her that I'm her mother, but my daughter never once calls me that. Something happened as I left the house tonight. I wanted to hold her for one last time, but it wasn't with the feeling of a mother wanting to hold her child. I just wanted to see some kid who happened to be living in the same house. When I stood in front of her and held out my arms, she suddenly jerked backwards, and cowering with frightened eyes, she screamed, "Mother! You scared me!" Without realizing it, I shoved her aside, and I said, "What do you mean, you're afraid of your own mother?" She fell into a heap and started to cry. And as I looked down at her -she had called me mother even while she was afraid of me -my whole body shook as I thought how frightful my face must have seemed. I even wondered if I -a frightful mother and a horrible wife -should go off somewhere and die. But then I heard a voice in my mind ask me if I was miserable enough to die. I didn't even shed a tear. When I was about to leave the house, my daughter was asleep. Her tears still hadn't dried. I pulled the blanket up and covered her. As if our relationship went beyond mother and daughter, as if it were between two women, I prayed that she wouldn't become a frightful mother or a horrible wife in the future. But that doesn't mean I regret the time when I first held your hand, Kuhyon. And I don't regret the day you threw the metronome and shattered the hanging mirror that I was afraid would reflect my face. The day I asked you whether you were too close to Nani and your piano, you said you and Nani knew each other so well that you completely forgot you were of the opposite sex. It's too bad I couldn't understand such a relationship, but to tell the truth, I was happy just hearing you say those words.
-No, the true happiness begins now. Isn't that why we're leaving? We have to bury everything that has to do with the past. Even the small past happinesses. There's a way to a new life waiting for us now.
-Last night as we wandered down those unfamiliar streets, you decided we would go away to a far-off village in the mountains. My heart pounded again. We'd been thinking of it for such a long time. We walked the dark, cold and windy streets feeling content. It was when we left those back-streets that we heard the shriek of a trumpet and the beating of a drum from a circus nearby. We went towards it as if something were drawing us there. An old tent flapped in the wind. Even in the cold, the monkeys were sitting huddled in their cages waiting for people to throw them peanuts. We weren't really interested in going in, but in the end, we did. Inside, a horse was just leaping through a hoop of fire. A girl in red stood in the middle of the ring, holding a whip with a long rope attached, and she snapped it -crack! crack! - as if to hit the horse each time it passed through the flaming hoop. When I looked closely, I saw the old horse was limping. The trumpets and drums were playing sad pop songs from the past. I regretted coming in. The horse left the ring, limping badly, and next a girl came out to juggle a barrel while lying on her back. She stood the barrel up then made it lie down - she played with it any way she pleased, as if it were a ball. But then the girl stopped the barrel as if to rest her legs. From inside the barrel, which I thought was empty, a thin hand crept out. As I watched anxiously, another young girl in faded red crawled out, stood on her thin legs on the top of the barrel, and spread her arms. I was startled then. The barrel was spinning under her feet! The girl balanced herself with her outstretched arms and moved her feet to the rhythm of the barrel which seemed like it would fall at any moment. I couldn't look directly at her. This time when the barrel stopped, the girl held onto it and did a headstand. With her arms trembling, she raised her face in my direction. She was blind. I stood up without realizing it. We left, and you looked like you regretted having gone in on the spur of the moment, too. We heard the sound of clapping from the audience that barely filled half the tent. Shivers ran up my spine. The monkeys outside were being dragged in to appear in the next act. The streetlights hadn't been lit yet and a cold wind was blowing in the darkness. I began to wonder if the girl didn't realize the danger of doing handstands because she was blind. The thought gave me goose bumps all over. I couldn't stand it. It seemed the incident with the blind girl was an evil omen when we were about to leave for the mountains.
-That's a silly thought. Chongsuk, when we finally leave this place you'll realize your fears were groundless. Forget everything and think of the new life we'll start together. Think of the grain ripening in the fields, the flowers in the hills, the distant sky.
-But Kuhyon, it won't take you long to realize I'm someone else's wife and a mother to his child. By then you won't feel jealous of my daughter, but you will know I'm a horrible wife and a frightful mother. You'll regret you shattered the mirror with the metronome. Finally, I'll just be a horrible woman. Maybe then it will be time for me to die.
-You're so pale, Chongsuk. You didn't -
-It's the fate of a horrible woman, isn't it?
-No, did you take -
-No. Don't worry. I didn't take any poison. The horrible woman's gotten tired. I just wanted to get some sleep. I took some sleeping pills. While I'm asleep you make up your mind about what's ahead. What I said about dying was a joke. Even if you think of me as a horrible woman, I won't die, Kuhyon. It's the truth. Even if you repack that suitcase that won't close and go off alone to some unknown place while I'm asleep, I won't die. I know in my mind that I'll just ask myself again if I'm happy enough or miserable enough to die. When I wake, I'll tell my husband everything. He passed the bar. He'll probably take his wife's case before he takes anyone else's. He'll win it quickly with no trouble at all. He'll win the case on simple moral grounds. Then, soon, he'll get rid of his horrible wife and start a new life. The child will lose her frightful mother. That's the way it will have to be. Kuhyon, you make up your mind while I'm sleeping. It's fine if you write off the past as the prank of the joker you accidentally pulled from the deck. How many minutes now?
-It's ten after ten.
-There's still plenty of time to make the train.
-What's happening? I can't seem to grasp what's going on.
-If you sleep on it, you'll understand everything. Oh, let me hear the Requiem one last time.
-Come to your senses, Chongsuk.
-I'm sleepy. Come on, let me hear the Requiem.
With trembling fingers, the man begins to strike the piano keys but before he is even half through, the woman says,
-Stop. This time let me hear the story of the new life we're waiting for far away under the mountains. Before I fall asleep -quick.
-Calm yourself. We'll get a small house in a tiny village under the mountains. You put the rice on and I stoke the fire. In the daytime we go up into the mountains to pick flowers. We bet who can pick the most varieties, and I always lose to you, Chongsuk. On moonlit nights we walk through the shadowy fields. I tease you that the shadows on the stacks of grain are ghosts, and though it's the same shadow each time, you're frightened again and again. You come into my arms for comfort.
-The wind must be cold.
-Yes. I wrap you in my cloak.
-And it has to snow. And if we pass the long, dreary winter, spring must surely come.
-It's fine to stay there until spring.
The woman quietly lowers her head onto the piano keys, striking a dissonant chord whose echoes drag on and on. The man anxiously tries to catch her; but the woman, resting on the keys, silently shakes her head and closes her eyes.