Magnolia by Agnita Tennant

Author:Agnita Tennant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Renaissance Books
Published: 2015-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

PART II

Chapter 9

Confession

‘Ladies and gentleman, we are now approaching Anp’yŏng. Passengers for Anp’yŏng are requested to check their belongings and prepare to alight.’

The clear voice of the bus conductress jerked me out of the reverie that seemed to suck me into eternity. From the start I had felt no sense of the nervousness such as might accompany a first trip to an unknown place. On the contrary I had felt as the bus started moving that it was a long journey at the end of which some one was awaiting my arrival.

I stepped off the bus into the darkness of an early winter evening. It looked like a market place. All around was dark except a couple of shops still open, lit by carbide lamps. Rain sprinkled down making the clayey ground underfoot extremely slippery.

I walked into one of the shops and asked if there was an inn nearby.

‘An inn, did you say?’ A woman in her thirties replied in a serious, incredulous tone of voice, as her eyes examined me from top to bottom. I knew the way that country people unashamedly stare at strangers. All my relations in our ancestral village Susim were like that. A young woman with loose, shoulder length hair, wearing high heels – I was obviously an oddity. I bought a couple of apples and a small exercise book just to ease the tension.

‘There is just one place I know of but I am not sure whether they could take you in,’ and she kindly led the way. After turning round a couple of mud and stone walls, she stood before a dimly lit room.

‘Jaya’s mother, there’s a guest for you,’ she called, and as she brought herself closer to the door spoke in a lowered voice, ‘She looks like a miss.’

I was shown into a cold room. The hostess explained that even though they were inn-keepers, they rarely had guests in the winter months, so they left the rooms unheated. I did not have to wait long before the room became warm and a meal table was brought in.

‘Are you from Seoul?’ Her voice implied that I should explain myself.

‘Yes,’ I said and told her that I had some business at the Anglican Church there. ‘Do you know that there is an English clergyman there?’ I asked. At this her expression brightened at once, ‘Of course, I do.’

‘Are you a church member?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Our family are not believers but everyone knows him around here. We call him “Saint”, you see.’ Now she was quite cheerful and friendly.

After supper, guided by the hostess, I found the clergy house. Sitting in an upstairs room with a matted floor in Japanese style, he was in the middle of consultation with his church warden, Mr Lee, a kerosene stove between them. He received me calmly but I felt that he was pleased to see me. He introduced me to his warden saying that I was the daughter of Chun-gŏl Yun, the warden at Seoul Cathedral. Mr

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