Festival for Three Thousand Women Read Online Free Page B

and he imagined the sea beyond the hills and America over there, somewhere beyond the sea. God, what a night this had been. At the funerals of his parents he had marched carefully past their caskets, head bowed, tears welling in his eyes. That was the way funerals were supposed to be anywhere in the world, any fool knew that. Yet tonight he had gotten drunk and sung unconnected songs, and now he was stuck with this goddamn photograph, staring at him from the bridge railing like the photograph of a judge. He should have taken it back but now it was too late. He had felt like an outcast in America to be sure, but what did he feel here, standing drunkenly in the market like he was?
    The Goma tried to take his hand, but when Bobby pulled away he stood back, content to wait for a sign that Bobby was tired and finally ready to go home.

Gathering Together
    Nine in the second place means: If one is sincere it furthers one to bring even a small offering .
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    T he Monday after the funeral Bobby went to school tentatively, the woman’s photograph in a paper sack next to his lunch. Headmaster Kim was in his office and the teachers were in the teachers’ room when he arrived, so he went directly to the headmaster’s door and knocked.
    â€œEnter,” said Headmaster Kim.
    â€œGood morning, sir,” said Bobby. “The photograph of your uncle’s wife’s cousin is in this sack.”
    Headmaster Kim did not look up, but since Bobby had devoted most of his Sunday to learning his lines for this encounter, he knew they were correct.
    â€œPardon me?” said the headmaster.
    â€œThe photograph of your uncle’s wife’s cousin is in this sack.”
    Although the words were right, the headmaster wasn’t understanding. Bobby had practiced this sentence dozens of times on the Goma. What was the problem, then, with the headmaster?
    Bobby removed his lunch and laid the sack on the desk, bowing so that the headmaster would think he was contrite.
    â€œOh,” said Headmaster Kim. “Thank you very much.”
    He took the sack but did not open it, and Bobby realized that the headmaster thought it was a gift Bobby’d brought with him from America. Bobby bowed again and walked back into the teachers’ room where the morning meeting was about to begin. Were some of the teachers looking at him strangely? Were these the teachers who had been at the funeral and were they now telling the others what he’d done? Was stealing a dead woman’s photo some sort of sacrilege at a Confucian funeral? Bobby wished he were back in training where there were people who could answer questions such as these. He wished he hadn’t taken the photograph, of course, and he wished he knew why he had. But when the meeting began he sat down at his desk, losing himself in the drone of language, letting it take him and letting it lessen the already abating feeling that he’d gotten off on the wrong foot.
    The official name of the school was Taechon Boys’ Middle School and, though it was essentially a nonacademic school—students here ended their education after ninth grade—there were three English teachers besides Bobby: Mr. Soh, Mr. Nam, and Mr. Kwak. Of the three, Mr. Soh appeared to be the only one who spoke decent English. Mr. Nam, however, would not admit that his English was bad, and Mr. Kwak seemed so embarrassed by the fact that he spoke so poorly that he would have nothing to do with Bobby, whose desk, in the teachers’ room, was beside his own. Bobby’s desk was at the edge of the English department, and the desk to his left marked the beginning of the physical education department, which had two teachers: Mr. Lee and Miss Lee. Miss Lee was the only woman on the faculty and Mr. Lee was its youngest man. He was a martial arts expert whose nickname was Judo Lee, and he seemed intent on becoming Bobby’s friend.
    At the far end of the teachers’ room was a