It was winter and she was still young when she lost her ability to speak for the first time. Without any indication, without a specific reason. What made her start speaking again was a word from another, foreign language, French.
The same woman, who later divorced, lost custody of her child, and lost her speech again, decides at some point to engage with Ancient Greek. At that time, she meets a professor whose eyesight is diminishing day by day. He, having his own existential dilemmas rooted in the past, observes closely the silent and unsmiling woman who studies at the Academy, but despite his compassion, he also feels terror in front of her impenetrable silence.
And although they do not seek it, nor even hope for it, the worldly miracle takes place. Two wounded people manage, they manage together, rediscover the desire to communicate, and gradually come closer to each other.
Han Kang, the most famous writer of present-day South Korea, uniquely narrates the particular journey of two wounded souls towards the light.
I put my hands in front of my chest. With the tip of my tongue, I moisten my lower lip. My two hands, gathered in front of my chest, move nervously. My eyelids tremble, like insects violently rubbing their elytra. I immediately open my dry lips again. Stubbornly, I inhale and exhale deeper. When I finally pronounce the first syllable, I close my eyes tightly and then open them again. It's as if I am preparing for the possibility of everything disappearing when I open my eyes again.
[Excerpt from the text]
