38-68

Chapter 68: Preparing Roots 

What we were working on was a root similar to cassava, which we usually ate for breakfast and dinner. After peeling and boiling them, these roots were the staple food that provided the tribe’s carbohydrates. The woman suggested we prepare the roots together. I took the knife she handed me and sat beside her to start working. 

Today, I wanted to do hard labor. My mind was so tangled that I wanted to tire myself out physically and fall asleep exhausted. In any case, this work required moving my body, so I tried to focus on it and clear my head. The woman kept talking as she worked. I found it a bit annoying, but I answered all her questions, albeit haltingly. 

Time passed, and quite a while went by. The sun grew increasingly hot, almost unbearably so, and sweat began to pour down my face. The sweat stung my eyes. I wiped my forehead and straightened my back. Just then, my wife and that man from yesterday walked into the village side by side. Both of them were carrying armfuls of the very roots I was preparing. The two of them were chatting and laughing affectionately. 

They approached and set down the roots they’d brought. My wife smiled brightly at me and said, 

“There you are. Did you sleep well last night?” 

She was sweating too, but her expression was genuinely bright. She looked to be in great condition. I thought to myself that I’d rarely seen her look so happy, even back in Seoul. Despite her bright face, she was sweating as much as I was. Her sweat made her breasts glisten even more. I still hadn’t decided how to deal with her, so I just gave her a small, awkward nod. 

“I didn’t see you at dinner last night?” 

She nodded naturally. 

“Yeah, I was with Moi.” 

At that moment, the man next to her nudged her with his elbow and gestured with his chin. She turned to him, nodded, and then said to me, 

“There’s still a lot more to bring. We’ll dig up and bring back more.” 

She quickly walked off to catch up with the man, who was already heading out. Their backsides moved side by side as they disappeared from the village, chatting and laughing. I kept watching them until they were out of sight, dazed, until the woman next to me snapped me out of it. 

“The white woman… you’re with her, right?” 

Startled, I turned to look at her. She kept working, wearing a gentle smile, never stopping her hands or looking directly at me as she continued. 

“She’s very pretty. Her skin is so smooth.” 

I didn’t reply. She went on, 

“That man is the strongest in our tribe. That’s why the women like him so much.” 

I still didn’t react, just focused silently on my work. 

“I’ve been with him too. He didn’t let me sleep all night. I slept in late the next day.” 

I found it unpleasant to hear. My wound was still fresh. 

“It’s nice to see the best man and the best woman in the village together.” 

I looked up at her. She was still smiling. 

“That woman is my wife.” 

She raised her head, still smiling, and looked at me. 

“Wife? What’s that?” 

I tapped my chest. 

“My wife. My woman. She’s not supposed to do that.” 

Her smile faded a little, and she tilted her head. 

“Your woman? What does that mean? Why isn’t she supposed to do that?” 

I felt the same frustration I’d felt talking to the shaman before. 

“We’re married. She’s not supposed to do that with anyone else. She’s only supposed to do it with me.” 

She still looked puzzled. 

“Why? Why only with you?” 

I was too frustrated to continue. She turned back to her work and said, 

“Are you saying you want to do it with her? There’s an event tonight, and she’ll choose that man. It looks like she was with him last night too, so of course she’ll pick him over you.” 

I couldn’t listen anymore. I stood up. 

“I’m going to take a break.” 

She called after me, 

“If you don’t have a partner, should I choose you at the event later?” 

I didn’t answer and walked toward my house. She spoke as if she was doing me a favor, which made me feel even worse. I went home, rummaged through my bag, and took out a cigarette. I’d smoked all the ones I’d brought, so this was a local brand Ho-cheol had picked up in the city. It was so strong I rarely smoked it, but I lit up outside the house. 

I still felt a high wall between myself and these people. It wasn’t a language issue, but a conceptual one. To them, men and women were just animals, drawn to each other and enjoying each other freely. If a child was born, the village would raise it. What else could you call this but animalistic? 

But my wife seemed to have become one of them. Especially after last night, it seemed she had crossed the final line. Not just physically, but she had let go of the last thread of our civilization’s customs and norms that had held her heart. Here, it seemed, there were no more rules or morals to restrain her. She had become completely one with them. Maybe this was what she meant all along when she said she wanted to assimilate with them. She had pushed me aside, the last obstacle in her mind, and even torn down her final internal wall. 

I exhaled deeply with my cigarette. In the distance, by the bonfire, the woman was still working hard. By the time I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out, my wife and the man appeared at the village entrance again. My wife was carrying an armful of roots, while the man carried even bigger ones at his side. They walked together, laughing and chatting. The man naturally squeezed my wife’s buttocks, and she didn’t resist at all. She laughed loudly and dropped a few roots she was carrying. The man picked them up and added them to his own load. 

As he tried to take more from her, his hand brushed her breast. She giggled at him. The man took the extra roots and brought them to where we were preparing them. 

I jumped up and went over to where they were. By then, my wife and the man had gone to the jars, filled bamboo cups with water, and were drinking. I grabbed my wife’s arm and pulled her aside. The man grabbed my arm and stopped me. His grip was so strong I thought my arm might come off. When I glared at him, my wife said to him, 

“Bu-chi. It’s okay. I’ll just talk for a moment.” 

As soon as she said that, he let go of my arm. I stood with my wife a little distance away. 

“What is it? Again?” 

I glared at her. I knew this was a turning point. If I got angry and confronted her about her behavior, she wasn’t the type to just bow her head. Even if I said nothing, her own guilt would kick in, but admitting it and apologizing to me was something she could never do. She would definitely get angry too, and that guilt would make it even harder for us to recover our relationship. 

In the end, it seemed inevitable that our relationship would end. The future I’d dreamed of with the woman I loved would vanish like a bubble. That alone was hard enough to bear, but now my professorship-the position I’d dreamed of all my life and was almost within my grasp-would disappear too. I wouldn’t be able to stay in academia; I’d have to leave and get a job at a research institute or regular company. All the effort I’d put into chasing this dream would disappear in an instant. 

“Honey, you said you had something to say? Why aren’t you saying anything…” 

I stood there, overwhelmed by thoughts beyond my ability to process. I saw my wife’s face, eyes wide, and then a vision of my middle-aged self, surrounded by students and smiling. 

“You’ll be with us tonight, right?” 

She stared at my face, probably trying to figure out what I was getting at. She didn’t let down her guard as she replied, 

“I suppose so? Why?” 

“Tonight… after dinner…”