The Perfect Women - A Fairy Tale

By Josephine deBois

"I cannot make sense of this data from Sine," said John Djerassi, the genomic profiling expert. He looked at Samuel, slightly puzzled. "I have never seen so much woman in any sample before." He gave a lopsided smile and continued, "Looks like the perfect woman."*****It should have been an easy case for Samuel, a New York traffic police officer. His boss told him to just get rapid closure with a perfect report, something to bolster his résumé for a transfer to a better post. But when Sine died a violent death, Samuel suddenly finds himself embroiled in a scheme far beyond anything he ever dreamed—murder, human trafficking, and more, a sinister use of modern biological sciences to unleash a viral war leading to the extinction of all people. Except those of a certain kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662423178

Book preview

Episode 1

Korea, Remote Satellite Town, Late Evening

Back in time

From high, high up in the air, we see the Korean peninsula. As we zoom in, getting closer, we notice the brightly illuminated south and begin to hear the buzzing sounds of a busy, vibrant life. Continuing toward the north, the lights and sound fade, and as we pass a river in a dense forest area, we glimpse the last reflections of light in the flowing water. We continue in the pitch-dark until we spy a large, weakly illuminated town surrounded by other such barely visible towns. Here we zoom in further, landing on a narrow street between desolated small dark wooden houses. In vain, we look for signs of life as we walk up the street. At last, we hear a woman’s voice, feeble and distant, singing a Korean lyric song accompanied by a kayagum. Encouraged, we follow the sound toward a dimly lit house. As we get closer, we notice several sleek, colorfully dressed young Korean women standing with their backs leaning against the rough black wooden walls of the dilapidated houses along the alley. Our gaze meets their tired, blank eyes as they seductively inhale and blow cigarette smoke high in the air from full, carefully painted red lips. We finally enter the house, where noisy, drunken voices almost totally overshadow the gentle Korean song. On a small wooden stage in the middle of the room, we see Jo Chin-Sun, a young Korean woman dressed in a supposedly traditional Korean dress, sitting on the rough stage floor. Her thick, beautiful black hair reaches the floor around her and almost covers her face, hiding its fine features. All around the small stage are drunken men entertained by numerous young Korean women and girls, whom they are constantly grabbing and forcefully kissing. The packed room is dense with smoke, limiting visibility. Rudimentary curtains separate this room from several other small rooms. There is a constant flow between the rooms as girls and women are pulled, pushed, or carried inside after brief interactions with the male customers. Intertwined with the drunken clamor and Chin-Sun’s feeble singing, we hear rutting groans and interjections from behind the vibrating curtains and occasionally see naked women’s feet peek through. We take a seat close to the stage to listen to Chin-Sun’s song, the only glimpse of goodness in the darkness of desires that permeates the place. We watch her fragile fingers as they move softly over the strings of the miniature kayagum, noticing broken nails on some and how she suppresses pain when pressing the strings. As she bends forward over the instrument, ruffling her dress, we notice dark, fresh bruises on her lower neck. We see the bad condition of the kayagum, the wood damaged and several strings broken. We see how Chin-Sun gently touches the instrument, as if to comfort it in the terrible surroundings; it’s possible to sense how, from time to time, she speaks to the instrument as a friend. We see her eyes blank from restrained tears, but we feel her finding relief from the desperate situation in the essence of her music, with its deep sincerity and beauty. When she looks down at us and our eyes meet, we also sense relief as the music magically carries us away and displaces the cruelty and misery around us with a dreamlike, pleasant feeling. Suddenly, from behind, a hand grabs her shoulder firmly. She instantly stops singing but remains sitting on the stage, looking straight into the dense cigarette smoke around her. The man behind her, Kim Choon-Jae, about forty, an unkempt and unappetizing pimp, leans forward and speaks into Chin-Sun’s ear while digging his fingers into her shoulder.

Choon-Jae (in Korean). It’s time. Get to the back of the building. Now!

With his knee on her back, Choon-Jae brutally pushes Chin-Sun forward. She falls on the stage over the kayagum. Rising quickly, she snatches up the kayagum with a shaking hand, gathers her clothes around herself and the instrument as to protect both from the surrounding cruelty, and rushes to a room in the back. Choon-Jae steps down to the floor in front of the stage and stalks through the room, seeking five other young women and girls. One after the other, Choon-Jae grabs their necks from behind, pulls them away from their drunken customers, whispers a demand, and pushes them toward the back. Holding their scarce clothes around their otherwise naked bodies, the women and girls rush fearfully to the back of the room, as if hunted.

Korea, a Remote Satellite Town, Behind Building, Midnight

Chin-Sun and the five girls are standing behind the building. They pull what scraps of clothing they have tight around their bodies, suppressing shivers that have little to do with the frigid air. In nearly total darkness, they are directed to walk down the narrow alley to a slightly wider street. They reach the street and huddle together, waiting in silence. They take deep, shuddering breaths, squinting down the street as dazzling headlights appear, piercing the gloom. Choon-Jay walks to the middle of the street and, waving wildly with both arms, signals the vehicle to approach. He shoves the women aside to make room for it. As the vehicle, a minibus, stops next to the brothel, four rough, unkempt men of about twenty-five jump out. Mercilessly, with no concern for any pain or damage inflicted, they seize the women and force them into the rows of seats inside the minibus. Choon-Jay takes the seat next to the driver while the four men squeeze in among the women. With evil, expectant smiles, they caress the women, licking their necks and cheeks, roughly running their hands over their bodies and placing brutal, greedy kisses on their slack, resigned lips. The car pulls away. From his seat next to the driver, Choon-Jay hands the men four large unlabeled bottles of colorless liquid. The men immediately start drinking, forcing the ill-smelling liquor on the women as well. Choon-Jay leans back in his seat and rapidly chugs from his own massive bottle. The car drives out of town and continues down a rough, bumpy road through the open landscape. Inside the car, the men’s aggressive advances intensify as they force the women to keep drinking until they start to pass out. Their captors continue the uninhibited abuse even then. As the car enters a dense forest and the regular road ends, it charts an extremely bumpy course along rudimentary ruts pretending to be a path. Branches violently scrape along its sides while, inside, the passengers are thrown back and forth, sometimes even hitting the roof. The inebriated, terrified girls can’t hold on and are slammed repeatedly into the seats and walls. Finally, the car stops close to a river. Choon-Jay immediately jumps out and opens the door to the back. He violently pulls the women out of the car, one by one, points to the riverbank and orders the women to gather at a small clearing. As the drunken men follow, Chin-Sun, as the last woman, is about to exit the car. Choon-Jay pushes her back inside, follows her, closes the door behind them, and forces himself upon her. While Chin-Sun endures the rape, she firmly holds her hand on the kayagum as if to gain strength from its presence. Trying to look anywhere but at her attacker, she glances out the car window and witnesses the rape of the young girls and women at the river edge by the drunken men. Satisfied, Choon-Jay rises on his knees between Chin-Sun’s legs. He wraps his right hand firmly around her throat and beats her with his left hand as a grim, evil, ugly smile spreads across his vicious features. He spits in her face before leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

Choon-Jay. Do not forget all the good I have done to you (raises his voice), and do not forget to behave over there. Be a good wife. Otherwise (pauses before continuing to shout)…otherwise you know what happens, my little sow (pauses before continuing to shout). You know what happens, right?

Choon-Jay again beats Chin-Sun. She nods desperately while enduring the pain. Choon-Jay rises and, half-upright in the narrow space within the car, pulls his trousers up and slides the car door open. Chin-Sun waits a beat, then exits, soaked in tears. Holding her torn clothes and the kayagum tight, she runs to the clearing. The women huddle together by the freezing water, shivering and surrounded by the deafening rush of the wind, the crash of the river, and the roar of a nearby waterfall. Gathered menacingly around the women, the drunken men pull their clothes in place, satisfied sneers on their lips. One man picks a young girl from the pack, grabs her by the neck, and forcefully kisses her, burying his tongue deep in her mouth before he whispers close by her ear.

Man (in Korean). Good journey, my little friend. Be good over there. Otherwise you will see me again, and it may not be that pretty.

As the man pushes the girl back to the group, Choon-Jay walks down to the river edge and signals to the opposite side with a flashlight. After a short while, he sees flashes from the other shore. He turns toward the men.

Choon-Jay. They are coming. Get them ready. (shouting) Down to the edge. Now!

The men push the women to the very edge of the river, where a wooden rowboat approaches. Standing at the bow is Sun Young-Jun, a very small, muscular, evidently harsh man of about thirty, in tight black waterproof clothes. Behind him are four wretched young men struggling with their wooden paddles to bring the boat close to the riverbank despite the dangerously seething water. Young-Jun jumps onto the embankment, walks over to the women, and inspects them one by one, grabbing each and forcing her to turn and display herself before shoving her behind him and moving to the next. Chin-Sun is the last to be inspected. As he grabs her, he notices her clutching the kayagum.

Young-Jun. Throw that thing away. No space in the boat. (He notices Chin-Sun’s reluctance and shouts.) Now!

Chin-Sun falls on her knees in front of Young-Jun, looks up at him with tearful, pleading eyes, and bows her head before she speaks softly, barely audible over the roar of the water.

Chin-Sun. It is to please my future husband.

Young-Jun looks at Chin-Sun with angry disdain, grabs her by the arm, and pulls her up to stand face-to-face with him.

Young-Jun (hissing). You know how to please a husband, right?

Chin-Sun looks Young-Jun straight in the eyes for an instant before looking down and nodding slightly. Young-Jun shoves her over to the other women behind him then walks to Choon-Jay.

Young-Jun. Quality is okay.

Choon-Jay. You know you can trust me.

Young-Jun. The girls—virgins?

Choon-Jay. Maybe one of them.

Young-Jun. Maybe? Next time you better be sure. Maybe is worthless. It means no. (smiling evilly) Better money with the virgins, much better. You know that.

Choon-Jay. Next time, guaranteed. I know where to get them. The parents are desperate for money. (grim laughter) Sick, you know. Life or death.

Young-Jun. Hm. (cynical) Never, ever again give me a woman thinking of other ways to please men. Understand? Don’t waste our time.

From inside his shirt, Young-Jun takes a large bundle of bank notes and hands it to Choon-Jay, who signals his men to proceed. One by one the women are pulled to the very edge of the river, where the men in the boat haul them on board by the arms. The fragile boat sinks dangerously under the increasing weight. One woman, slipping and falling into the water, is pulled up into the boat and sits, soaked and shivering, in the freezing wind. At last, Chin-Sun, still carrying the kayagum, is pulled on board. Finally, Young-Jun steps onto the boat and pushes off from the riverbank with his foot. The men paddle desperately against the rushing current to reach the opposite edge. Choon-Jay and his drunken crew watch briefly before they walk back to the car and drive away. In the boat, the women stare at the approaching shore with huge, terrified eyes. Trees loom above, their skeletal branches reaching out over the river like enormous arms ready to seize their prey. As they get closer, flashes of light guide the men to a spot where a small truck stands ready. They hit land. Young-Jun and two of his men jump ashore and pull the boat closer. The women are wrestled onto the shore and into the waiting truck. The men carry the boat on land and hide it and the paddles in a carefully camouflaged shelter before they walk to the car. Finally, Young-Jun climbs in. As the car drives away, dawn breaks in the distance.

Korea, Remote Village, Midday

In a small wooden house on the outskirts of a remote village, Young-Jun is sitting on a fragile wooden chair by a simple wooden desk in a small office-like room. Midday light shines into the room through a tiny window behind him. The room is unfurnished except for the desk and a tiny wooden cabinet by the opposite wall. There are no decorations. The only door to the room creaks open. Escorted by one of Young-Jun’s assistants, Kim Han-Jun, a small, muscular man of about fifty, enters; he is poorly dressed, unkempt, extremely hairy, unappetizing, with a face marked by hardship. Dense, long eyebrows spread across his entire forehead above a broad, flat hairy nose. His large dark-skinned hands have solidified into a permanent grip, paying witness to years of hard, unrelenting physical work. While Young-Jun focuses on a few papers without looking up, the assistant leads Han-Jun to stand in front of the desk and leaves the room. Han-Jun stands motionless while Young-Jun continues fussing with the paperwork. Finally, Young-Jun puts the papers aside and, still without looking at Han-Jun, holds his open hand toward him over the desk. Han-Jun takes a bundle of banknotes from his pocket and hands it to Young-Jun, who finally glances up briefly. He counts the money with eyebrows lifted and smooths some curled notes, holding them away from his face as if to avoid a bad smell, before he again looks up and addresses Han-Jun.

Young-Jun. You remember the conditions, right? No return, right. And if anybody learns how (cutting his throat with two fingers stretched)—you and her. (shouting) Right?

Looking down, Han-Jun nods. Then he inhales and looks Young-Jun straight in the eyes, opening his large hands as far as their palsy will allow. Young-Jun put the money in his inner pocket and shouts to the man outside. The door opens. The assistant enters, pushing Chin-Sun in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. She walks with her head bowed, taking tiny steps. They stop next to Han-Sun. As the assistant exits, Han-Jun remains motionless; Chin-Jun stands with her head down and her eyes fixed on the floor. The door closes. Young-Jun lifts his hands, palms up, toward Han-Jun with an encouraging, quizzical glance. Han-Jun finally turns toward Chin-Sun, still standing with her head bowed. He places his huge hand under her fragile chin and tilts it to face him. They stand for a while face-to-face with Chin-Sun’s eyes still locked on the floor. At last, she looks up, and their eyes meet. In a moment of eternity, with nothing moving and with no sounds around them, they stand as if paralyzed, trying to read each other’s minds. The moment is broken when Young-Jun, irritated, abruptly pushes his chair back to crash into the wall. Chin-Sun instantly looks down again, shaking and terrified. Young-Jun walks swiftly to the exit, opens the door, calls the assistant, and beckons Han-Jun over. As Chin-Sun continues to stand motionless, the assistant grabs her arm and pulls her toward the door. She echoes her entrance, taking tiny steps with her head bowed as he guides her forward with a steely hand on her arm. The door closes behind them. Young-Jun rises, walks to the small window, and watches Han-Jun and Chin-Sun being escorted to a waiting car, which immediately drives away over the flat, futile land in the direction of the remote village. Finally, he turns around, puts the chair in its place by the desk, exits the room, and closes the door firmly. We stay for a moment in the room and watch Young-Jun get into a small truck and drive away in the opposite direction before disappearing behind a cloud of dust.

Korea, House Han-Jun, Night

In a corner of the only room of the small wooden house, Chin-Sun lies on a tatami mat on the floor. With a groaning Han-Jun atop her, Chin-Sun, totally unengaged in the act, looks around the depressing room with its undecorated rough wooden walls, kitchen area with leftovers, overfilled garbage bins, small cabinet packed with dirty clothes, tiny windows delivering minimal light to the inside. It boasts only a few lamps with ragged shades and a rough wooden table surrounded by a few dilapidated chairs. The kayagum is lying within reach next to her. Her meagre clothes are spread all over the floor as witness to a swift and violent encounter immediately following their arrival at the house. Her naked legs are stretched and lifted up from the floor, while her delicate arms are firmly held above her head by the heavy, hairy hands of Han-Jun. As Han-Jun finally exhales and relaxes, his heavy weight crushing down on Chin-Sun as he falls into a deep, snoring sleep, she reaches out to the kayagum. She touches the wood gently as to comfort and console the instrument in its terrible new environment. She smiles as she feels the contours of the wood and its engravings and listens to the kayagum whispering to her. As she brushes her fingertips over the few strings and hears their soft sound, her eyes close while a bright white light floods the room to gradually erase the contours of everything around her. We see her smile as she walks into the light; her body relaxes when the sunlight embraces her, and she enjoys its gentle touch. She continues smiling as she feels the tender warmth of the soft sunrays enfolding her. The sound of the kayagum accompanying her singing gradually emerges and finally fills the space. We dwell in the beauty of the music as it overshadows the terrible experiences and surroundings, and we are carried away, enjoying every note, as Chin-Sun’s beautiful, smiling face emerges out of the light, and she sings with the kayagum in her arms.

Transition forward in time. Music carries over.

Korea, Village, Late Afternoon

Chin-Sun is sitting amidst tall, soft dark-green grass on a small hill overlooking the village with Maya, her six-year-old daughter; she has delicate Korean features like her mother and long black hair that falls softly over her shoulders. It is autumn, and the landscape is painted with warm colors, leaves falling from the trees around them. Maya is leaning her head lovingly on her mother’s shoulder while she watches her gentle hands playing the kayagum and listens to her softly singing a Korean lyric song. As the song comes to an end, Chin-Sun strums a final soft cord and touches the instrument gently, thanking it. Maya looks up at Chin-Sun, stretches her arms toward the kayagum, and caresses it with her small hands.

Maya (in Korean). Sing it again—and play. One more time. Please.

Chin-Sun (in Korean). We have to get back before dark. (begins to rise, takes the kayagum, and reaches toward Maya)

Maya (pulling Chin-Sun back). Please. Just one more time.

They sit down in the grass by the kayagum, and as Chin-Sun sings the girl’s favorite song, we take a seat a little further up the hill and enjoy the soothing music. As it continues to fill the space, we watch Chin-Sun and Maya rise and walk, hand in hand, down the hill toward their house in the distance. Immersed in the beauty of the moment and the music, we cannot help but wish that time would stand still and their deep happiness would stretch on forever.

Korea, House Han-Jun, Evening

As Chin-Sun and Maya enter the house, they are surprised to find Han-Jun sitting at the table, clutching an unlabeled bottle of colorless liquor. He rises and staggers drunkenly toward the stunned Chin-Sun, still holding the bottle. With his free hand, he roughly grabs her chin and jerks her face close to his, screaming at her incoherently. The terrified Maya, frightened out of her wits, hides behind Chin-Sun, balling her hands in her mother’s dress.

Han-Jun (shouting). Where have you been, you useless wife?

As Han-Yun continues holding her chin firmly in his massive hairy hand, Chin-Sun desperately attempts to speak, while Maya instinctively tries to pull her mother back, away from Han-Sun.

Chin-Sun. We were up at the hill. I played for her. It makes her happy. She is pleased.

Han-Jun. You have only one person to please here, useless wife.

Han-Yun slides his hand from Chin-Sun’s chin to her neck, digging his fingers into her throat. He pushes her in front of him around the room, viciously strangling her with the pressure before shoving her onto the bed and starting to rip her clothes off. Eyes wide with horror, Maya wraps her arms around the kayagum, seeking safety and protection from the beloved instrument, and runs with it toward the exit. Han-Jun rises from the half-naked Chin-Sun, stomps drunkenly to Maya, and wrenches her away from the door.

Han-Jun (shouting). Give me that thing. Get rid of it.

Maya cries helplessly as Han-Jun tears the kayagum out of her hands. As he is about to crush the instrument, Chin-Sun, only half dressed, rushes over and squeezes herself between his arms. With Han-Jun still holding the kayagum behind Chin-Sun’s back, she kisses Han-Jun seductively before wriggling out of her dress entirely. She pushes him toward the bed, motioning behind her back for Maya to take advantage of the opportunity to edge away. Seduced, Han-Jun lets the kayagum go, pulls Chin-Sun down on the bed, and rapes her while Maya, face scrunched in terror, eyes closed and head bowed, sits in the corner of the room with her arms around the kayagum. When Han-Jun finally exhales and falls into a drunken sleep next to Chin-Sun, she slips away from the bed and walks over to Maya. She takes her by the hand, walks to the cabinet, and gathers their clothes in a small bag together with whatever food she can find in the kitchen. Finally, from the bottom of the cabinet, she gathers a few banknotes, takes half, and puts the rest back. Picking up the kayagum and the bag, she takes Maya by the hand and exits the house. As she closes the door, she casts a last look into the house and the snoring, drunk Han-Jun. Outside, she walks down the hill toward the village under the silver moonlight, holding Maya’s hand tightly. She continues walking to the highway and takes up her position to hitchhike. A truck stops next to her; the driver gets out and helps the pair into the back. As the truck drives away under the glimmering moonlight, we pray that, at least for now, they are in a safe place.

Forward in time

Korea, Homeless Shelter, Evening

Chin-Sun and Maya are in a homeless shelter, a sparsely illuminated, high-ceilinged hall with weary-looking people splayed out all over the floor. Throughout the large, unfriendly room, the homeless are pulling blankets and clothes tightly around their bodies to withstand the bone-eating chill. Chin-Sun and Maya are on the floor by the wall and seeking cover, the best they can, under a single gray blanket. Chin-Sun wraps an arm around Maya. Both of them are touching the kayagum resting on their legs under the thin blanket; it’s unclear whether they’re comforting it or drawing comfort from it. From time to time, Chin-Sun, thinned by hardship, poverty, and hunger, shivers violently. She pulls Maya protectively against her side as she takes a small piece of bread from under her dress and breaks a tiny piece off for the girl.

Maya (looking up at Chin-Sun). You are shivering, Mother.

Chin-Sun (smiling weakly). Nothing to worry about. It will go away with the spring.

Maya. But your hand is so hot, Mother.

Chin-Sun. It will go away too, dear. (pulling Maya closer) Don’t worry.

Maya. Please play the kayagum, Mother. Just a little bit. I can dream then—dream about the time when you were singing on the hill in autumn, and all the trees were dressed in their most beautiful clothes. It was all so warm and wonderful. Please, Mother.

Chin-Sun smiles to Maya, pulls the blanket over their heads, and touches the strings gently. They both smile as the soothing music gradually fills their makeshift cave. The dingy blanket fort is filled with light, transforming into the colorful autumnal landscape from the hill above their former home as Chin-Sun continues to caress the strings. Together they fade away in sleep with their heads leaning toward each other, their eyes softly closed and with gentle, exhausted smiles on their lips, dreaming for once of their moments of happiness.

Korea, Major City, Street, Early Evening

In the early evening, Chin-Sun and Maya are on the broad walkway of a busy shopping street. Playing the kayagum, Chin-Sun is sitting with her back against a large, brightly lit window exhibit. Maya stands in front of her on the walkway, holding a small, scarred ceramic bowl out toward the rushing passersby and begging for alms. The sound of the kayagum and Chin-Sun’s soft singing are almost lost against the noisy street; the people scurrying by barely notice the pair. A large, evidently wealthy Korean man hurries past carrying a load of luxury shopping bags. He hits Maya, knocking her down, but pays no attention as her bowl shatters and its few meagre coins roll off down the walkway. Maya rises, runs after the coins, and again is hit by rushing pedestrians as she tries to rescue them on her hands and knees. With tears in her eyes, she runs back to Chin-Sun and hides her head in shame on her lap. Chin-Sun stops playing, bends forward over Maya protectively, and sits immobile while the rush around them diminishes, darkness falls, and the light in the window behind them is switched off. It starts snowing. Shivering, Chin-Sun rises, takes Maya by the hand, and starts walking slowly down the street toward the shelter, bent forward against the cold and hardship. The kayagum is tucked close to her under her dress. We stay behind and watch the two black silhouettes fade away down the white walkway while massive snowflakes fall, obscuring the scene from view.

Korea, Music Shop, Evening

Chin-Sun and Maya are walking down a shopping street, eyeing the luxurious displays in the brightly lit windows. As they approach the end of the street that houses the less impressive stores, Maya suddenly pulls Chin-Sun to the window of a modest music shop, which displays a few instruments. Visible behind them, inside the shop, is a full-size kayagum. Maya presses her face to the glass, cupping her hands against her eyes for a better look. She pulls back and turns to her mother with excitement blazing across her face.

Maya (excited). Mother, look! It’s a real kayagum. So large, so beautiful. Let’s go in and see.

Chin-Sun. No. We can’t go in, we cannot buy anything.

Maya (putting her hand on the door handle). Please, Mother, please.

As Maya impetuously pushes the door open, Chin-Sun reluctantly follows her inside. The shop appears empty; there are no customers or clerks in sight. Chin-Sun stops in her tracks at the abundance of musical paraphernalia crowding the small room: wooden shelves from floor to ceiling are packed with music books, scores, instruments, vinyl records, sculptures of composers, spare parts for instruments and every imaginable tool for instrument maintenance and repair. While she stands paralyzed, as if in a dream, Maya darts over to the full-scale kayagum and stands with her hands lifted above it for a moment. Slowly, she rests her palms on the beautifully ornamented wood. Eyes fluttering closed, she snaps to abruptly as the shop owner appears from behind a desk at the back of the room covered with piles of books and music scores. Maya runs over to Chin-Sun and hides behind her, childishly pulling at her dress. The shop owner, an old, fragile stooped man with thin gray hair, pushes up the metal-framed glasses falling down his nose. He raises an eyebrow at his poorly dressed guests but smiles as he sees Maya hiding behind Chin-Sun and speaks soothingly to her.

Shop Owner. Did you touch it? Was it good to you?

Maya (scared). Yes, but—

Chin-Sun (interrupting). I am very, very sorry. I told her to stay outside, but she dashed in before me and—

Shop Owner (interrupting). You don’t need to be sorry. It is good to touch. (To Maya, smiling) How was it? Did it tell you something? It knows so many things.

Maya (shy and very quiet). It was good…so nice…so warm. (talking into Chin-Sun’s dress) It was wonderful.

Shop Owner. Did you tell it something in return?

Maya looks up at him and shakes her head.

Shop Owner. Can you play it?

Maya (again shaking her head). No, but Mother can.

Shop Owner (to Chin-Sun). Please. (sweeps his hand toward the instrument)

Chin-Sun (hastily). We are very sorry to bother you, we—

Shop Owner (interrupting and smiling). Please.

As the shop owner again sweeps his hand invitingly toward the kayagum, Chin-Sun reluctantly walks over to the large instrument, settles on the floor behind it, and sits with her hands on her lap, gazing at the instrument dreamily as the world around her fades away except for Maya. Chin-Sun touches the strings of the kayagum hesitantly, then with more confidence. Soothing music gradually fills the space, and as she softly hums the melody of a traditional Korean traditional song, her beauty and joy shines through all the weakness and exhaustion branded on her face. Astonished and impressed, the shop owner listens raptly, taking a seat next to Maya by the instrument, while we withdraw to the back of the shop to enjoy the magic of the moment and the music. As the song ends, Chin-Sun strikes a last chord, leaving her hands lifted elegantly as the sound fades to nothing. She rests her hands in her lap. Tears of joy slip down her cheeks as she gazes fondly at the instrument before her. The shop owner walks over behind Chin-Sun and gently rests his hands on her shoulders. Touched lovingly for the first time in her life, Chin-Sun gazes straight ahead in a trancelike state.

Shop Owner. Let me show you something.

The shop owner walks over to the shelves, takes down a record, and puts it on a player. He smiles to Chin-Sun as the same Korean song fills the room, with Sohee singing with a fully orchestrated accompaniment. Toward the end of the recording, the shop owner lowers the volume to speak.

Shop Owner. I must admit, somehow I prefer your version. (smiling) So deep with so little. (looking at the kayagum, smiling wider) It listened to you, and I think it told you something.

Chin-Sun sits with her head bowed, entranced.

Shop Owner. You know, you may hear her in real life one of these days. She holds concerts over in the hall, and I know this piece is often on the program.

As Chin-Sun glances up and smiles weakly, the shop owner is reminded of her obviously beleaguered situation.

Shop Owner (in a low voice). If you walk over to the backstage door, just before the concert starts, you may get lucky. Sometimes they let a few people in from the queue.

Chin-Sun (rising, bowing politely and speaking in a weak, exhausted voice). Thank you so much. (fighting a bit with dizziness to stand upright) Thank you so much. (breathing heavily) We have to go now.

Chin-Sun takes Maya by the hand and walks over to the exit, where the shop owner opens the door for them. He stands for a moment, watching Chin-Sun and Maya walk slowly down the street and fade away in the softly but densely falling snow. He turns around, gazing at the kayagum, and we once again hear Chin-Sun’s poignant song as he closes his eyes and rests his hands on the instrument, dreaming.

Korea, Outside Concert Hall, Evening

Maya and Chin-Sun are walking slowly, hand in hand, up the walkway of a broad alley leading to a large concert hall visible in the distance. It is a monumental building ensconced in a large park with wide snow-covered lawns, huge statues of political heroes, and broad alleys crisscrossing the entire area. In the bitter cold and blowing snow, Chin-Sun and Maya are the only pedestrians to be found. As they get closer to the concert hall, Maya tugs eagerly at Chin-Sun’s hand, pulling her forward. Shivering and bent nearly double from cold and weariness, clutching the miniature kayagum tight, Chin-Sun tries, with great difficulty, to walk faster but must stop, panting. Maya stands next to her and looks up at her snow-covered face. Chin-Sun smiles weakly, trying to catch her breath and hide her pain. After too long standing motionless in the bone-chilling cold, they continue toward the broad staircase leading from the street up to the concert hall. Wracked with pain and unable to continue, Chin-Sun again attempts to smile to Maya as she slumps onto the stone stairs. Inches away, festively dressed couples stream up the stairs toward the bright, busy foyer of the concert hall. Expensive cars pull up and disgorge their elaborately dressed passengers, assisted by numerous servants who guide the audience up the stairs. Chin-Sun and Maya go unnoticed. The cold only deepens as the last people enter the concert hall. It starts snowing heavily. Struggling to keep warm, Chin-Sun and Maya huddle together. Maya leans her head into the crook of Chin-Sun’s shoulder and rests her hand atop her mother’s, which cradles the battered little kayagum. Chin-Sun closes her eyes. They