Page 13 of The Last Tiger

Eunji

When I was a child, Moonhee used to sit on the floor beside my bed mat, sewing, while she told me bedtime stories. One of them, an old folktale about the creation of our country, has stuck with me a long time.

It goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a bear and a tiger who desperately wanted to become human.

They prayed to a divine king to grant their wish and transform them into humans. The divine king heard their prayer and, wishing to test their resolve, ordered the tiger and bear to live inside a deep cave for one hundred days.

There, trapped in perpetual darkness, they would be given only garlic and mugwort to eat. The divine king declared that after the hundredth day of their eating these awful, paltry foods, he would grant the animals’ wishes and turn them, as they requested, into humans.

The bear and the tiger entered the cave.

As their trial began, they both ate nothing but garlic and mugwort, forcing down the bitter foods.

But after twenty days, the tiger grew restless.

And hungry. So it left the bear alone in the cave and ventured out into the sun.

Meanwhile, the bear obediently heeded the divine king’s orders.

After one hundred days had passed, as promised, the divine king granted the bear’s wish and transformed her into a beautiful woman. The moment she walked out of the dark cave into the light, the divine king was so struck by the woman’s beauty that he proposed to marry her, right then and there.

That bear-woman was the first human in our country.

Soon afterward, she gave birth to the divine king’s son. The divine prince would one day become the founder of our country, the Tiger Kingdom—named after his mother’s long-lost friend who left early from that fateful cave to wander the earth alone.

Growing up, I idolized the bear from Moonhee’s story.

How respectable, I was told, was her diligence and resolve, her ability to heed the divine king’s orders. As her reward for her obedience, she became the wife of a god and the mother of our country’s founder. What a handsome honor.

But nowadays, as I think back on Moonhee’s story, I wonder…

Why did the bear ever want to become a human in the first place?

Just to be a mother and wife?

Did she crave something else?

And, what’s more, I never really stopped to wonder whatever happened to that restless, impulsive tiger who snuck away into the night.

I’ve come to measure my life in Mondays.

Once a week, Seung arrives. As he cleans the house, I tutor him for the Exam, and he helps me sneak out into the village.

Prior to this year, my tutor constantly scolded me for scoring the bare minimum required to pass the Exam.

But ever since I began teaching Seung, my grades have been soaring.

And so has my mood. It’s a wonder what some time outdoors—and the right company—can do for the soul.

It’s the most fun I’ve ever had.

And it’s not enough.

Tuesday through Sunday, I sit by the window, watching the clouds pass in the sky above…

So I sing the praises of Seung’s extraordinary sweeping and shining prowess to Moonhee, who agrees to increase his pay…as long as he also agrees to work double shifts. Then triple. Until he’s showing up several times a week.

The weeks pass, and the late-autumn leaves fall one by one until the tree branches are bare.

Then the months fly by as the winter deepens around us.

Meanwhile, I learn to barter in the marketplace like a weathered ajumma, skip rocks like a pro, climb trees without scraping a knee.

I memorize the winding back route to the town square and play yutnori with local teens in dark corners of the village.

And I learn how to open up—how to break the polite facade I’m so used to showing the world and really share a version of myself I’m proud of.

Seung and I trade folk songs from our childhoods, competing to see who can come up with the silliest variation of a verse.

We break street bread into even halves, like partnered thieves, and toss macadamia nuts at each other, trying to catch them in our mouths.

We challenge each other with races and riddles.

Seung is incredibly observant. Along with the endless array of Exam facts and figures he’s learned, he comes to know exactly why I love crisped rice and skipping rocks, and precisely which of the restrictive Choi family social rules bother me the most. As time passes, I find Seung seems to know what I want to say almost before I do.

As if he can always sense exactly how I’m feeling.

Of course, things aren’t perfect, or always easy.

Too often, I find myself stumbling over my words as my mind scrambles anxiously for the perfect retort to Seung’s quick-witted banter.

More than that, we can never be too careful when we’re hanging out with each other, never let our guards down too much, lest we be found out and punished.

An element of danger, risk, crime hangs over every moment.

Which, maybe—if I admit it to myself—is somehow what I relish the most about the time we spend together…

But whenever I start to believe that we might be becoming true friends, Seung seems to pull away, his mind wandering off to some distant place.

Especially recently. I wonder where he goes in those brief moments when he stares into the sky, grin faltering.

I want to ask him, but I’m afraid to intrude, to cross a line.

And so I have to constantly remind myself that, while Seung may be the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best friend, for him, this is still just a deal. A mutually beneficial collaboration. A transaction.

But what I’m getting out of this deal? I’ve come to feel it’s worth its weight in gold.

It’s more than just a few nights outside, free from my family. It’s learning how to become free in a whole other way.

Often, nowadays, my mind wanders back to that night by the creek:

“I’m not really free,” I mutter. “It’s just an illusion.”

“Maybe,” Seung replies. “But what if you could be?”

I’ve come to feel that there are two versions of me.

There’s the Choi Eunji that my family knows—the one who sits still and obeys everything she’s told and doesn’t say a word unless spoken to.

And there’s the one Seung knows—who emerges only during our furtive evening outings to town, a Eunji who breaks the rules, who runs around at night with dirt on her face.

Two versions of Choi Eunji, as different from each other as a bear and a tiger.

Speaking of tigers…Although Seung and I have returned again and again to the creek where we first spotted the footprints, we’ve never been able to find it. I wonder where it wandered off to.

Maybe one day, we’ll find it again.

Before we know it, there’s only one month until the Exam.

“You’re late,” I quip at Seung as he ambles up the road, arriving at the base of the western compound.

“Not my fault.”

“Oh?”

Seung tosses a rag up at me, and I catch it.

“Your dad and your brother kept ordering me around the compound, telling me to dust this, clean that…then they made me and the other servants hang up like a million decorations in the garden.” Seung sighs, handing me his mop and bucket through the window before swinging around to the front—where I welcome him, sliding the door open.

“So if you’ve got a problem with my punctuality,” he finishes, “you’ll have to take it up with your father. ”

“We both know I can’t possibly do that,” I scoff.

“Lucky for me, then.” Seung grins, removing his shoes and passing the rest of his cleaning supplies up toward me. He inclines his head as he notices what I’m wearing this evening.

“So fancy.”

In place of my usual ordinary dress is a brilliant blue kimono printed with white flowers that my family ordered specially for this evening.

It’s beautiful; the skirt wraps around and comes together in the back in a large, ostentatious bow.

My hair is wound tightly into a formal knot above my head, lined with jade clips and white pearls.

“Yeah, about that,” I tell him. “There’s going to be people all over the house this evening. So you’ll have to study in here.” I slide the door open on my left.

Seung freezes, peering around the corner. “Isn’t this your…?”

“My bedroom, yeah. It’s the only place I can guarantee to be completely empty and free of prying eyes tonight.”

“Uh…” Seung hesitates. “I don’t know if—”

“Don’t worry,” I blurt, maybe a little too loud. “I won’t be in there with you!”

“Oh,” Seung says. “I wasn’t worried.” He pauses. “Actually, I was . But only because someone could get the wrong idea—I mean, if someone else saw—not that I—I just mean—”

A giggle bubbles within me as his cheeks redden. It’s the first time I’ve seen Seung look so flustered.

“So where will you be, then?” He pivots, entering the room behind me.

I sigh, resigned. “This is why I asked you to come early. My family is hosting a party this evening in celebration of the Dragon Empire’s Spring Festival. They’ll be expecting me to come out soon and get ready to entertain.”

“So that’s why they made us put up those lanterns.” He frowns. “And here I was thinking your dad was just really into Dragon decor.”

“Oh, believe me, he is,” I say. “Anyway, unfortunately this means we might not be able to go out as usual after the party tonight.”

“I guess I could use the extra time to study.”

“I can’t believe it’s only a month away.” A lump forms in my throat as I contemplate the end of our adventures. Somehow I had been hoping this year would never end.

Then again, I suppose, if this goes as planned, we’ll both be at Adachi Academy. There, we won’t have to hide. We’ll train openly and dine together in the mess hall. The thought of it almost makes me look forward to the future, for once…

Seung nods, absentmindedly running a hand through his tousled hair, causing a few dark, wavy strands to fall in front of his eyes. I resist an itch to reach up and push them out of the way.