In the shadow of a large apple tree, sitting on a straw mat, my sister, Sŏnhi and I were playing at being grown-ups. She was six, two years older than me. She was always the mother and I had no choice but to be the father. While she prepared the dinner, mixing up clay, bits of flowers and leaves, and chopping up raw apples that had fallen off the tree, and arranging them on the dinner set, I sat behaving myself, stroking a dust pan and pretending it was a briefcase. I even remembered to cough lightly as if clearing my throat.

‘Dinner is ready.’ She brought in a wooden board loaded with plates and bowls stuffed with pretty ‘food’ not a scrap of which was edible.

‘You must say “it looks good”.’ She kept instructing me. As I said it I pressed my lips tight so as not to show a smile. The new tea set that father had brought with him from Seoul yesterday was very pretty and came in very handy, but I was dying to have done with this tiresome dignity and run wild.

‘You must say, “It was delicious”. Don't you know how to be dad? Shall we swap it now, and you be the mum, and I’ll show you how to do it properly.’

‘Oh, no thank you,’ I said to myself, ‘I’ve had enough of being grown-up.’

When the long, long summer day was over and the sky in the west was blushing deep it was time for the real dinner. Round the corner of the house, mother appeared carrying the baby strapped on her back.

‘Come on, dears, dinner time. Go and wash your hands first.’ Her voice was so gentle. I don't remember her face ever showing anger. While Sŏnhi packed the play set, I shook dust off my skirt and ran off to the cowshed where my father was giving out some instructions to the workers.