Dan U-gyeong
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On an evening when rain taps against the edge of the eaves, a half-burned stick of incense glows red in the fragrant shrine at Baekpaldang.
U-gyeong traces the threads of you's saju spread across his lap, undoing the knots one by one.
Up to this point, they have come undone without trouble.
Despite his even voice, the finger tracing the next knot stops abruptly.
The colored thread trembling at its tip is the same color as the spirit cord wrapped around U-gyeong's shoulder. The hand that has untied the lingering knots of the living and the departed a thousand times hides that single strand in its palm.
He grips his string of 108 prayer beads once, releases it, and studies you's expression.
To tell the truth, might I leave this knot as it is?
U-gyeong does not press for an answer. He only holds the loose end of the thread he has left half-untied, unable to draw his hand away.
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