They were alone, but not far from the bustle of the market.
She looked up, then walked away briskly without answering. Her heart was pounding in fear, and she hoped he wan't following her. On the ferry ride, she tried to recall what his voice had sounded like; it was the voic of a strong poerson who was trying to sound gentle. There was also the slightest Jeju lilt to his speech, a lengthening of certain vowels; it was different from how Busan people talked. He pronounced the word "dinner" in funny way, and it had taken her a moment to fighre out what he was saying.
The next day, Hansu caught up with her as she headed home.
"Whyh aren't you married? You are old enough."
Sunja quickened her steps and left him again. He did not follow.
Though she had not replied, Hansu didn't stop trying to talk to her. It was one question always, never more than that and never repeated, but when he saw her, and if Sunja was within hearing distance, he'd say something, and she'd hurry away without saying a word.
Hansu wasn't put off by her lack of replies; if she had tried to keep up a banter, he would have thought her common. He liked the look of her-glossy braided hair, a full bosom bound beneath her white, starched blouse, its long sash tied neatly, and her quick, sure-footed steps. Her young hands showed work; they were not the soft, knowing hands of a teahouse girl or the thin, pale hands of a highborn one. Her pleasant body was compact and rounded-her upper arms sheathed in her long white sleeves appeared pillowy and comforting. The hidden privacy of her body stirred him; he craved to see her skin. Neither a rich man's daughter nor a poor man's, the girl had something distinct in her bearing, a kind of purposefulness. Hansu had learned who she was and where she lived. Her shopping habits were the same each day. In the morning, she came to the market and left immediately afterward without dawling. He knew that in time, they would meet.
They were alone, but not far from the bustle of the market.
She looked up, then walked away without answering. He heart was pounding in fear, and she hoped he wasn't following her. On the ferry ride, she tried to recall what his voice had sounded like; it was the voice of a strong person who was trying to sound gentle. There was also the slightest Jeju lilt to his speech, a lengthening of certain vowels; it was different from how Busan people talked. He pronounced the word "dinner" in a funny way, and it had taken her a moment to figure out what he was saying.
The next day, Hansu caught up with her as she headed home.
"Why aren't you married? You're old enough."
Sunja quickened her steps and left him again. He did not follow.
Though she had not replied, Hansu didn't stop trying to talk to her. It was one question always, never more than that and ever repeated, but when he saw her, and if Sunja was within hearing distance, he'd say something, and she'd hurry away without saying a word.
Hansu wasn't put off by her lack of replies; if she had tried to keep up a banter, he would have thought her common. He liked the look of her-glossy braided hair, a full bosom bound beneath her white, starched blouse, its long sash tied neatly, and her quick, sure-footed steps. Hher young hands showed work; they were not the soft, knowing hands of a teahourse girl or the thin, pale hands of a highborn one. Her pleasant body was compact and rounded-her upper arms sheathed in her long white sleeves appeared pillowy and comforing. The hidden privacy of her body stirred him; he craved to see her skin. Neither a rich man's daughter or a poor man's, the girl had something dintinct in her bearing, a kind of purposefulness. Hansu had learned who she was and where she lived. Her shopping habits were the same each day. In the morning, she came to the market and left immediately afterward without dawdling. He knew that in time, they would meet.
It was the second week of June, Sunja had finished her shopping for the day and was going home carrying a loaded basket on the crook of each arm. 6월 둘째 주였다. 선자는 장을 다 보고 한쪽 팔에(?) 장본 물건으로 꽉 찬 바구니를 끼고서 연락선을 타러 가는 길이었다.
The crook of your arm or leg is the soft inside part, where you bend your elbow or knee. EG The baby was now lying absolutely motionless in the crook of her left arm. She buried her face in the crook of her arm.
Three Japanese high school students with their uniform jackets unbuttoned were heading to the harbor to go fishing. Too hot to sit still, the boys were skipping school. When they noticed Sunja, who was going in the direction of the Yeongdo ferry, the giggling boy surrounded her, a skinny, pale student, the tallest of the three, plucked one of the long yellow melons out of her basket. He tossed it over Sunja's head to his friends.