Seoul, the late 1960s · The Last Ledger
Sowol’s Ledger
of Two Birth Charts
She laid two birth charts side by side and told every couple where they stood in a single line.
Seoul, the late 1960s.
At a hillside banquet house above the city,
a young singer named Sowol
sang for the dinner guests.
But what most people came for
was to have their birth charts read.
After dinner, she wrote down two birthdays
and laid out her counting rods in two rows.
Someone just back from a blind date.
Someone about to get married.
Someone who couldn't get over the one who left.
There was always a line to see her.
When she was done, she told them one of three things.
“There's still a thread between you.”
“The thread passed you by.”
“This one has run its course.”
She never told people what they wanted to hear.
And she always told them when to make their move.
Sowol died in the winter of 1972.
She was twenty-five.
She read everyone else's love life, people say,
and never her own.
All she left was one ledger:
every couple she read for,
and how it turned out for each of them.
Before we start
If it’s over,
I’ll tell you it’s over.
I don’t just read your chart. I lay it next to theirs and tell you what I see, even when it isn’t what you hoped.
If there’s still a thread, I’ll say so. If it’s run its course, I’ll say that too. If you’re hoping for a certain answer, set it aside for a minute.