Warrior Gentlemen

The Cold I

"It is a truth universally acknowledged...."

Holding a crinkled paperback to a floor lamp, Kyung tripped over this line ten times, each time stumbling on a familiar word. Knowing the meaning of words was not enough, one had to enunciate them properly to be understood. Tucked into bed on a wintry December night, he practised his reading and pronunciation with his tutor who though patient, scowled bitterly at every failure.

"Ack -noledged. Not a-noledge."

Mr Adam's precise accent cut English words into syllabic parcels, ran over them smoothly, and added an appropriate 'ed' for the past tense without the slightest effort. His 'truths' were not 'truffs', his 'thats' were not 'dats', and his 'possessions' were sounded with a rising 'po' and a running 'sessions' which dropped from his tongue with minimal friction. 'In possession' means to 'own' or 'to have'. If a man is single and has a good fortune, he must want to own a wife. Like the people back home, Englishmen can only possess one wife at a time. The wealthier ones may maintain mistresses in separate homes. However, a man's property and title belong to the sons of his lawful wife. No wife, no heir. A man's other possessions – houses, horses, land – would be confiscated by the state in such cases.

"Hence, a man in possession of a fortune must want a wife."

The English tutor shut the book and placed it beside their mattress. He'd spent the autumn rushing out commission after commission and looking for a new home. Finding a suitable nest proved even an thornier task than expected. His faithful friend, Weiss, had a thousand errands to attend to and had little time to help him with house hunting. As such, master and pet had to remain in their cheerless, hearthless attic. The two of them had tried sleeping in the kitchen, next to the hearth. Their trial lasted a night and a half. In the winter, most houses on their street had rats. The plunging temperature drives them indoors; no dwelling escaped them. Comforted by the fire, one had to put up with the scratching sound of vermin teeth chewing on wallpaper, tiny feet scampering over the blanket, and once, a bite on the pinky finger. Bitten, Mr Adam got up to sanitise his wound with pitcher water and a bottle of gin. Waking his friend, he told the boy they were moving back upstairs.

Upstairs, the chilly nights began with a bedtime story which served as reading practice. Tutoring was fine and dandy, until the kid started pestering his attic-master with questions. Where does the four thousand pounds a year come from? How are unmarried girls allowed to dance with men? What are balls like?

The last question was answered in brief: none of your business. Being the son of a high-ranking diplomat, Adam had been invited to an English ball once. He knew exactly what it was like and he would not tell for, in his brute words:

"Balls are for ladies, not laundry boys."

Putting out the lamp, the tutor wriggled into bed and turned his back towards his laundry boy. The boy had just scrubbed this man's soiled garments that morning, straining his slender back in the process. For no pay. There were professional launderers who took money for such jobs, but he wished only for food, shelter, and teaching. Alas. One who takes teaching from an attic master must have an iron heart.

When the wind blows
The grass bends
It stands up straight tomorrow

Writing these lines in his mental journal, Kyung tucked himself into bed. The blanket was pulled over to master's side, for he said he was very cold. Shivering, the laundry boy made do with a holey rag, which had been in some distant past, a widow's mourning shawl. Lately, Lady Fortune had been mean to them. Meat rations fell from five times a week to two and Master even had to ration candles to afford a new pair of boots. Accordingly, his behavior had gotten worse. Petting did not ensue when Kyung made potato omelettes with ketchup on top. Seeing a tomato smile, the master blamed his cook for wasting money. It wasn't his money. The cook had borrowed a bottle of Heinz from Mr Shing, who was a most generous man when he wasn't peeping.