The Bear and the Tiger

Variation on a Foundation Myth

She gently padded her large foot onto the grey floor. As she squeezed through the subway door, a horde of people pushed impatiently into her rump. When her tail end finally popped through the entrance, she nestled into the last open seat. Children cowered from her behind their mothers’ legs, while cabbage-faced grandmothers glared at her, for little did Ungnyeo know, she was occupying the section of the subway reserved for the handicapped and elderly.

Ungnyeo and the Tiger had clambered to the summit of Mt. Taebek and pled for Hwanung, the son of the heavenly god Hwanin, to make them human. “Go to the capital,” he commanded them, “and stay there for 100 days. You must eat only vegetables. Do not allow even the smallest drop of anchovy oil into your diet. After this, you may become human.”

Ungnyeo slowly rotated the plastic green token between her great claws as she looked out the window. She could feel a breeze from the motion of the subway quivering her ashy brown fur. Her stomach growled. For a bear, eating vegetables was not a problem, but the lack of fish left her appetite perpetually unsatisfied. The Tiger was having an even more difficult time.

“I checked every restaurant in the area,” the Tiger reported as Ungnyeo wriggled through the turnstile. “Even the soups are fish based. I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.” The beasts plodded down the sidewalk, their howling stomachs like bicycle horns as they parted the crowd while scooters zipped around them so closely that they almost toppled to the pavement. At Namdaemun, they purchased ginseng and seaweed and radishes the size of rabbits and every other vegetable they could get their paws on from the market stalls. Instead of stars, neon lights of every color decorated the open air above them.

Days passed, the animals wandering through the mountain-contained sprawl of the city, dodging errant drivers and dancing cell phone saleswomen. Finally, the Tiger had enough. Against Ungnyeo’s urgings, he fled to the remoteness of the mountains, and Ungnyeo was left to face the bustle of Seoul alone. She became gaunt and fatigued, but her endurance was rewarded. After just 21 days, Ungnyeo shed her massive body and became a beautiful woman. She had only one more wish, which Hwanung fulfilled when he blessed her with a son.

Ungnyeo opened a Laundromat to support her new family. The time that she was not washing linen and clothing she spent toiling away in their cramped apartment. Ungnyeo awoke early each day to prepare rice and soup and delicious side dishes, and each night, when her son came home from private academy, the table was spread with a steaming dinner. Sometimes, Ungnyeo dreamed of returning to the mountains, but instead she sent her son to Seoul National University to become a great businessman, and soon Ungnyeo grew old and tired. The Tiger quickly forgot about Seoul and his desire to become human as he ran freely across the forested peaks.

* * * * *

In the actual myth, the bear and the tiger are commanded to survive 100 days in a dark cave with a bundle of mugwort and 20 cloves of garlic. Great happiness comes to Ungnyeo when she is transformed into a beautiful woman and blessed with a son, Dangun, who becomes the forefather of Korean people. This myth reminds me of the vision I had of Korea before I arrived. I imagined the Far East to be a land of Zen mysticism steeped in ancient wisdom and a slow appreciation of life’s simplicity and beauty. In rare instances I have encountered this sensation – at a temple, on a quiet mountainside in the morning fog. But the purpose for my variation on the myth, aside from describing the fact that Korea is not the most accommodating for strict vegetarians to live (I have several friends who have to forego staple foods like soup and kimchi because of the anchovy oil), is that Korea has become a quick-paced, crowded, often stressful country. Even the mountains are generally people ridden, sometimes equipped with concrete steps to the top with modern restrooms and even restaurants along the way.

Korea is advancing quickly, but its difficult past still has a strong hold on the Korean people. Although women are gaining in equality, and even sometimes considered more powerful than men in the family, the responsibilities of the household almost always fall solely on the woman, who is also expected to cook for and take care of her in-laws. The not-so-long-ago financial hardships have not yet been forgotten by Korea, and although Koreans are eager to show off their new wealth through Gucci handbags and abundant side dishes, they are at times more hesitant to indulge in travel or pursue a job that they like rather than one that will bring them financial security. Nor has Korea forgotten its unlucky history. A U.S. military presence, an influx of North Korean refugees, and tension with Japan, such as the current territorial dispute over Dok-Do, an island in the East Sea, are reminders that Korea carries the baggage of a historical victim. It makes sense, then, that Korea is a proud, hard-working, and progress-focused country.