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17 The Lady Barber Na To-hyang Na To-hyang (pen name of Na Kyông-sôn; he is sometimes referred to as well by another pen name— Na Pin) was born in 1902 in Seoul. After an abortive attempt at studying literature in Japan, he returned to Korea, where he made his literary debut in 1921 with the story “ Ch’u ôk”(Remembrances). The following year he allied himself with the literary journal Paekcho, which published his story “ Ch ôlmΔni Δi shijôl”(A young man’s life). Thus began a productive but short-lived life of letters. By 1926 heavy drinking and a peripatetic lifestyle had begun to take its toll on Na’s lungs, and he died the following year. Na’s works reflect a youthful romanticism, evident in “ The Lady Barber,” but at the same time a keen eye for the social realities of his time, as in “ Mullebanga”(The watermill, 1925). Am ong his other well-known stories are “ Chagi r Δl ch’atki chôn”(Before she found herself, 1924), “ P ôngôri Samyongi ”(Samyong the mute, 1925), and “ Ppong”(Mulberries, 1925). “ The Lady Barber”(Y ôibalsa) was first published in 1923 in the literary journal Kaebyôk. e took his cotton pajamas to the pawnshop and came away with a single fifty-sen silver piece. Recently minted, it had a hefty feel. As he clutched the serrated coin, he felt as if he were suddenly rid of the bothersome melancholy that had clung to his face like a tangled cobweb. He crossed Ochanomizu Bridge and passed the girls’ high school nearby, then turned down a side street bordering Juntendo Hospital and headed for Hongo. He looked into every single window he passed along the way, and there beneath the straw hat that had yellowed in the sun was the reflection of his shaggy hair. It lay in snarls like a bramble thicket, reminding him of John the Baptist; soaked with sweat, it resembled a frog hopping about in the monsoon rains. H 18 N a To - h y a n g “Time for a haircut—no way around it,” he muttered. Again he removed his hat and patted down the hair that crept every which way beneath his ears, then returned the sweaty-smelling thing to his head. He stopped at a building with a sign reading “Certified First-Class Barbershop.” But, determined as he was to have his hair cut, he couldn’t muster the courage to enter such a place. To have his hair cut there would have cost him all his money. But after moping about for several hours before going to the pawnshop and managing to obtain the modest sum of fifty sen, he didn’t relish the idea of spending the entire amount within the hour. If he could keep just ten sen, perhaps the sound of it jingling in the corner of his pocket would help fill the emptiness in his mind. He left the classy barbershop with its electric fan whirring so proudly and impressively, its scintillating sterilizers framed in stainless steel, and walked on. The breeze from Tokyo Bay bathed his forehead with warmth, but the intense heat radiating from the ground made him feel like an animal in a boiling cauldron. A sprinkling cart passed by, but before the drops of water could run off they were absorbed into clumps of earth that resembled earthworm leavings. He wandered along, wondering if there weren’t a third-class barbershop in the area. At these tokoya, as the Japanese called them, you could have your hair cut for twenty sen—and a haircut that cheap would be good enough for a struggling student like himself. He would then have thirty sen left over. Thirty sen—more than what he would pay for the haircut. That thought was somewhat reassuring. And the idea of having thirty sen in his pocket reminded him of the business at hand. Coming upon a tokoya with two lone chairs and a zinc washstand , he looked inside. The proprietor sat half asleep, nodding off in fits and starts, his head lurching like a watermill pestle in a drought. One hand held a newspaper, the other a fan with which he swatted flies. He took heart at this scene and swaggered inside. “Hello!” His greeting brought the barber to life. Apparently embarrassed at having been caught napping, the man sprang to his feet and, bowing repeatedly, offered his customer straw sandals...

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