My Songbird's Dream

5. Nostalgia in Neon Lights

Occupied Seoul
November 1944

The world seemed to bend itself readily enough to Park Ji-Tae's will. Or at least he attempted to secure this idea of truth in his mind repeatedly to obscure the cage's increasingly evident bars each year as filial duties and empire encroached.

Elbow propped indifferently on the intricately carved teak wings of the chair in his father's study, Ji-Tae glanced up when his engraved watch chimed, the familiar reprimand that the weekly estate meeting had...again stretched beyond acceptable limits of his patience.

His pointer finger tapped a rigid syncopation on the armrest, the lacquered wood worn smooth by generations. Near imperceptible in the discomfort, the brass Hall clock ticked a faint metronome, each click seeming to fall like stones in the pit of Ji-Tae's stomach. Outside the frosty November wind crept through the rice paper windows. Somewhere in the streets beyond the family's high stone enclosure, the shouts of Japanese soldiers pierced the night, harsh voices out of place in the land his ancestors had ruled for centuries.

Oblivious to Ji-Tae's smoldering glance, the current bitter volley continued between his mother and his wife over everything but estate matters. Ji-Tae shifted in his gilded seat, the cage of family duty and empire pressing down with suffocating force once more.

His long black hair rested neatly over his shoulder like silk, swaying slightly as he should his head, scoffing under his breath at yet another of his mother's callous comments. 

"You should have provided a proper son by now!" Mother Park gestured sharply with her wrinkled hand, the trailing sleeve of her colorful hanbok flicking through the air like a flag. She did not turn toward her daughter-in-law Miyoko, who hovered near at the heirloom desk, ink brush poised carefully over parchment as she recorded the estate meeting minutes.

"The doctors assured me if I simply take more Mugwort..." the younger woman demurred softly without meeting anyone's stare. Her voice was gentle yet strained, the pain of disappointment still an open wound even after months of marriage.

Miyoko's delicate hands trembled faintly as she recorded the heated discussion, a stray drop of ink marring a nearby document as if depicting the family dysfunction already blooming for generations. The parchment contained the ghosts of ancestors and unborn sons, a map of legacy that now weighed on her slender shoulders. She took a small breath to steady her brush.

"These damned inheritance disputes wouldn't drag on if you and Yong-su didn't try fighting each other at every chance..." Mother Park scolded, her usually harsh features softening a degree as she gestured for a tea service to soothe Miyoko's obvious unease.

The young wife kept her gaze demurely lowered, shame warming her cheeks though the critique was aimed at her husband. The room felt airless, the fragrant tea served in exquisite celadon ware no balm for the suffocating expectations enduring yet another fruitless meeting.

Seemingly oblivious to the barb, Ji-Tae continued surveying countryside acreage through the expansive window, thoughts clearly already over the estate walls. He turned the solid gold band on his left finger round and round unconsciously.

The matriarch exhaled sharply, redirecting her exasperation. "And you! Cat got your tongue suddenly, Miyoko? Speak sense into your wayward husband on producing some grandchildren before his father passes."

Before Miyoko could articulate a delicate reply, Ji-Tae's sudden focus whipped back to catch her wince as she worried one nail down to the quick. Their stares connected electrically across the charged room for an arrested moment before he looked away.

Clearing his throat, Ji-Tae adjusted already crisp suit lines, buying recovery time. "Isn't that a bit harsh, eomeoni?" The familial words came out wooden.