My🍫 cream🍧soldier 💂

Act 1:

Night: A boy's bedchamber in South Korea, in a small town near the bighit studio(?) A/N: Didn't know what to put there😅, late in the year 1885. Through an open window with a little balcony a peak of the Seoul, wonderfully white and beautiful in the starlit snow, seems quite close at hand, though it is really miles away. The interior of the room is not like anything to be seen in the south of Korea. It is half rich Korean, half cheap Vietnamese. Above the head of the bed, which stands against a little wall cutting off the left hand corner of the room, is a painted wooden shrine, blue and gold, with an ivory image of an ancestor, and a light hanging before it in a pierced metal ball suspended by three chains. The principal seat, placed towards the other side of the room and opposite the window, is a Japanese ottoman. The counterpane and hangings of the bed, the window curtains, the little carpet, and all the ornamental textile fabrics in the room are oriental and gorgeous: the paper on the walls is occidental and paltry. The washstand, against the wall on the side nearest the ottoman and window, consists of an enamelled iron basin with a pail beneath it in a painted metal frame, and a single towel on the rail at the side. The dressing table, between the bed and window, is a common pine table, covered with a cloth of many colors, with an expensive toilet mirror on it. The door is on the side nearest the bed; and there is a chest of drawers between. This chest of drawers is also covered by a variegated native cloth; and on it there is a pile of paper backed novels, a box of chocolate creams, and a minature easel with a large photograph of an extremely handsome officer, whose lofty bearing a magnetic glance can be felt even from the portrait. The room is lighted by a scented candle on the chest of the drawers, and another on the dressing table with a box of matches beside it.
The window is hinged doorwise and stand open. On the balcony a young man, intensely conscious of the romantic beauty of the night, and the fact that his own youth and beauty are part of it, is gazing at the snowy Seoul. He is in his nightwear, well covered by a long mantle of furs, worth, on a moderate estimate, about three times the furniture of his room.
His reverìe is interrupted by his mother, Mrs Jeon, a woman over forty, imperiously energetic, with magnificent black hair and eyes, who might be a very splendid specimen of the wife of a mountain farmer, but is determined to be a Vietnamese lady, and to that end wears a fashionable traditional gown on all occasions.

MRS JEON [entering hastily, full of good news] Jungkook! [She pronounces it as Jang-kook, with the stress on the oo]. Jungkook! [She goes to the bed, expecting to find Jungkook there]. Why, where---? [Jungkook looks into the room]. Heavens, child! Are you out in the night air instead of in your bed? You'll catch your death. Jimin told me you were asleep.
JUNGKOOK [dreamily ] I sent him away. I want to be alone. The stars are so beautiful! What is the matter?
MRS JEON. Such news! There has been a battle.
JUNGKOOK [his eyes dilating ] Ah! [He comes eagerly to Mrs Jeon].
MRS JEON. A great battle at North Korea! A victory! And it was won by Yoongi.
JUNGKOOK [with a cry of delight] Ah! [They embrace rapturously] Oh, mother! [Then, with sudden anxiety] Is father safe?
MRS JEON. Of course: he sends me the news. Yoongi is the hero of the hour, the idol of the regiment.
JUNGKOOK. Tell me, tell me. How is it? [Ecstatically] Mother! Mother! Mother! [He pulls his mother down on the ottoman; and they kiss each other frantically].
MRS JEON [With surging enthusiasm] You can't guess how splendid it is. A cavalry charge! Think of that! He defied our Russian commanders--acted without orders--led a charge on his own responsibility--headed it himself--was the first man to sweep through their guns. Can't you see it, Jungkook: our gallant splendid South Koreans with their swords and eyes flashing, thundering down like an avalanche and scattering the wretched North Koreans and their dandified Chinese officers like chaff. And you! You kept Yoongi waiting a year before you would be betrothed to him. Oh, if you have a drop of South Korean blood in your veins, you will worship him when comes back.
JUNGKOOK. What will he care for my poor little worship after the acclamation of a whole army of heroes? But no matter: I am so happy! So proud! [He rises and walks about excitedly]. It proves that all our ideas were real after all.
MRS JEON [indignantly] Our ideas real! What do you mean?
JUNGKOOK. Our ideas of what Yoongi would do. Our patriotism. Our heroic ideals. I sometimes used to doubt whether they were anything but dreams. Oh, what faithless creatures human are! When I buckled on Yoongi's sword he looked so noble: it was treason to think of disillusion or humiliation or failure. And yet--and yet--[He sits down again suddenly] Promise me you'll never tell him,
MRS JEON. Don't ask me for promises until I know what I'm promising.
JUNGKOOK. Well,it came into my head just as he was holding me in his arms and looking into my eyes, that perhaps we only had our heroic ideas because we are so fond of reading novels and because we were so delighted with the opera that season of Bucharest. Real life is so seldom like that! Indeed never, as far as I knew it then. [Remorsefully] Only think, mother: I doubted him: I wondered whether all his heroic qualities and his soldiership might not prove mere imagination when he went into a real battle. I had an uneasy fear that he might cut a poor figure there beside all those clever officers from the other court.
MRS JEON. A poor figure! Shame on you! The Northerners have Chinese officers who are just as clever as the Russians; but we have beaten them in every battle for all that.
JUNGKOOK [laughing and snuggling against his mother] Yes: I was only a prosaic little coward. Oh, to think that it was all true! That Yoongi is just as splendid and noble as he looks! That the world is really a glorious world for we who get to see its glory and those men who can act its romance! What happiness! What unspeakable fulfilment!
They are interrupted by the entry on Jimin, a very handsome and bit proud boy in a pretty Korean dress, so defiant that his servility to Jungkook is almost insolent. He is afraid of Mrs Jeon, but even with her goes as far as he dares.
Jimin. If you please, madam, all the windows are to be closed and the shutters made fast. They say there may be shooting in the streets. [Jungkook and Mrs Jeon rise together, alarmed]. The Northerners are being chased right back through the pass; and they say they may run into the town. Our calvary will be after them; and our people will be ready for them, you may be sure, now theyre running away. [ He goes out on the balcony, and pulls the outside shutters to; then steps back into the room].
MRS JEON [Businesslike, her housekeeping instincts aroused] I must see that everything is made safe downstairs.
JUNGKOOK. I wish our people were not so cruel. What glory is there in killing wretched fugitives?
MRS JEON. Cruel! Do you suppose they would hesitate to kill you--or worse?
JUNGKOOK [to Jimin] Leave the shutters so that I can just close them if I hear any noise.
MRS JEON [authoritatively, turning on her way to the door] Oh no, dear: you must keep them fastened. You would be sure to drop off to sleep and leave them open. Make them fast, Jimin.
JIMIN. Yes, madam. [He fastens them].
JUNGKOOK. Dont be anxious about me. The moment I hear a shot, I shall blow out the candles and roll myself up in bed with my ears well covered.
MRS JEON. Quite the wisest thing you can do, my love. Good night.
JUNGKOOK. Good night. [His emotion comes back for a moment]. Wish me joy [They kiss]. This is the happiest night of my life--if only there were no fugitives.
MRS JEON. Go to bed, dear; and don't think of them. [She goes out].
JIMIN [secretly, to Jungkook] If you would like the shutters open, just give them a push like this [He pushes them: they open: he pulls them to again]. One of them ought to be bolted at the bottom; but the bolts's gone.
JUNGKOOK. Thanks, Jimin; but we must do what we are told. [Jimin makes a grimace]. Goodnight.
JIMIN [carelessly] Goodnight. [He goes out, swaggering].
Jungkook, left alone, takes off his fur cloak and throws it on the ottoman. Then he goes to the chest of drawers, and adores the portrait there with feelings that are beyond all expression. He does not kiss it or press it to his chest, or show it any mark of bodily affection; but he takes it in his hands and elevates it, like a priest.
JUNGKOOK [looking up at the picture] Oh, I shall never be unworthy of you any more, my soul's hero: never, never, never. [He replaces it reverently. Then he selects a novel from the little pile of books. He turns over the leaves dreamily; finds his page; turns the book inside out at it; and, with a happy sigh, gets into bed and prepares to read himself to sleep. But before abandoning himself to fiction, he raises his eyes once more, thinking of the blessed reality].

A distant shot breaks the quiet night...