Daytime moon
By Lim Yeong-ae
I'm on my way to the forest. A jet plane is passing noisily overhead. While looking up at the sky I see a daytime moon at the end of the plane’s vapor trail. It's a half moon and it looks lonely like an uninvited party guest.
Three old men who have suffered strokes are walking slowly at the foot of a hill. As their left bodies have been paralyzed, they have difficulties moving that side of their bodies and have to rely on canes. Their motions are quite similar; a painful synchronization.
They remind me of my late father-in-law who also had a stroke. He lived with my family for three years until he passed away. I feel great pity for them because of him. Their withering figures resemble the daytime moon. However, sharing the experiences of their suffering must help to dull the pain. Three shades of sorrow might have evaporated into the air upon hearing their unexpectedly cheerful laughter.
There were occasions when my father-in-law laughed like them. When he was given meat dishes to eat, his usually gloomy facial expression became bright like a full moon. Although it was harmful for his health, he frequently asked for pork. Unfortunately, pork was my least favorite meat. As a young housewife I was afraid of even touching it because of its gross color and texture.
There was a gloomy contrast between a daughter-in-law who hated pork and a father-in-law who was crazy about it, between a night owl daughter-in-law who was getting thinner as if anorexic and an early bird father-in-law who was becoming fatter by the day. While this unstable cohabitation continued, the moon seen from my window always looked like a sorrowful daytime moon.
One scorching summer day I was taking my father-in-law to the hospital carrying my toddler son on my back and holding my four year-old daughter's hand. After waiting for a long time we flagged down several taxis, however they refused to take us. A stroke patient was unwelcome even as a passenger. On my back, my baby cried as we stood for a long time under the burning sun without any parasol. My father-in-law began to cry, too, whether out of self-pity or sympathy for family members. Tears must be contagious.
When I saw the moisture in my little girl's big eyes, I couldn't resist shedding tears, too. But I didn't have any right to cry. I looked up to the sky to hide my tears. The half moon with its pale complexion was looking down on us. The wandering lonely moon in the blue sky mirrored us crying on the quiet roadside.
Just as the daytime moon played the main role in the sky the previous night, my sick father-in-law used to play leading roles at various times in the past. When young he dreamt of shooting up like an ad balloon, now, all that remained for him was despair and anger.
We gave up on going to the clinic and were about to go home. Suddenly a taxi stopped in front of us. The driver got out of the car and began to pick up my father-in-law. At first he carefully moved his body into the seat and his left leg on the floor. After that he moved his right leg into the car. It was more like moving a load than picking up a fare. Furthermore, this Good Samaritan driver would not accept any payment.
I had thought that there were only people who loved a full moon in a dark sky. I might have been wrong. I was glad to know that there are some people who have an affinity for the pale daytime half-moon.
After taking a walk, the old men are leaving by electric wheelchairs, one-by- one. Though their facial expressions are still bright owing to the effortless speed, their temporarily forgotten grief may plunge into their hearts as soon as they get home.
All of a sudden, the loneliness and sorrow of my deceased father-in-law is hitting my heart. If only he had had a friend or an electric wheelchair like them. Old sympathy and remorse, having been hidden in a corner of my mind arises. I'm trying to run fast to get rid of this painful feeling.
I'm looking at the moon again. It is a waxing half moon. I hope that the moon in the three men's minds will also grow, too, as time goes by even if it is a sad daytime moon.
The writer is an essayist and professor at Incheon JEI University. Her email address is annielim31@naver.com.