Yeong-hye was four years younger than her, enough of an age gap for them not to have been in competition with each other growing up. As small children their young cheeks were frequently left throbbing by their heavy-handed father, and Yeong-hye had provoked in In-hye a sense of responsibility that resembled maternal affection, a need to expend all her energy in looking out for this younger sister. She had watched, marveling, as this same sister, once up to her elbows in the dirt
and suffering from a recurring heat rash on the backs of her knees, grew up and got married. The one thing that caused her distress was that, as she got older, Yeong-hye became more and more taciturn. She’d always had this side to her, of course, but she had also been perfectly cheerful and sociable when the occasion called for it. Somehow—not suddenly, but over a period of time—she became
difficult to read. So difficult that there were times when she seemed like a total stranger.
A day or two after Ji-woo was born, when Yeong-hye came to the hospital to say hello to her first nephew, rather than congratulating her sister she had simply muttered to herself, “I’ve never seen such
a tiny child…so this is what they’re like when they’ve just been born?”
There’d been something faintly unsettling about the quiet smile playing around Yeong-hye’s mouth. What seemed to be happening was that Yeong-hye was retreating from herself, becoming as distant to herself as she was to her sister. A forlorn face, behind a mask of composure. This was clearly nothing like the melancholy that sometimes afflicted her husband, and yet in certain respects they were both baffling to her in exactly the same way. They were both descending further into silence.
The Spider and the FlyŞiir
"Will you walk into my parlor?"
said the spider to the fly,
"Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy:
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
"Oh, no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up to your winsing stair can ne'er come down again."
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around: the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh, no, no," said the Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, ever wake again, who sleeps upon your bed!"
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have whitin my pantry, good store of all that's nice:
I'm sure you're very welcome- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh, no, no," said the Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"
"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome is your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you'd step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
