When Myŏngsŏk and I were together we often fought like devils, but he was my own brother, sharing the flesh and blood of the same mother and father. No sooner was the moment of wild fury over than I felt silent remorse and pity. The thought of my own mother chastised me. Were she alive, would she allow all these sad things happen to her darling son, let him fall into becoming an unloved, and humiliated hanger-on?

He was being difficult mainly because he was denied all his basic needs, and partly because he was too immature to come to terms with reality. But I thought, the time would come, sooner rather than later, when he came to his senses and pulled himself together. Then he would want to be independent. About six months before, I had started a little saving scheme to be able to hand over to him a small lump sum when he showed a desire for independence, whenever that might be. I pasted up a large tin with paper, made a slot on top and wrote on the side ‘For Myŏngsŏk.’ I kept it behind the sliding door leading up to the attic room. On returning home each day I emptied my purse and put in all the loose change. Sŏnhi was touched. As a sign of her support she put in not only loose coins but now and again notes as well so that it was getting quite heavy by now. When it was full, I would empty it at the bank and start again.

The twentieth of June was Sŏnhi's birthday. For the last two months, since Sŏnhi's meeting with Mr Kwŏn I had felt like being on probation. An awkwardness had settled in between the two of us. We were cautious with each other and rarely had intimate talks. The promised day when his secret would be revealed had already passed a week ago but she had not yet pointed this out.