The Plain by So Jong-in
Translated from the Korean by Brother
Anthony, of Taizé
A train was drawing in. The ticket
salesman came crawling out of the tiny booth where he had been sitting hunched
up like an animal. He had a pair of old fashioned spectacles perched on the tip
of his nose. Short of stature, with back bent, aged about fifty or so, the man
looked like a hunchback as he gazed indifferently toward the approaching train,
apparently not expecting many people to get off. All told, there were three
people waiting for the train. They had been waiting for more than half an hour,
sitting on the two long wooden benches beneath the slate roof supported by iron
pillars. Two of them had bought tickets, the other one was there to meet somebody.
This last was the eldest son of the late Master Kim from Sangch'i village, who
had been a low-grade official back in the old days; it looked as though Master
Kim's youngest grandson was coming home after completing his three years in the
army. Nowadays they were at a level not much above starvation, yet back when
they were children, why, Master Kim of Sangch'i village had been a rich man
with a harvest of five hundred sacks a year. There was not a soul in the entire
neighborhood, himself included, who had not earned a living by cultivating a
patch of Master Kim's land. The two who had bought tickets were youths; one of
them was undoubtedly the second son of the Chong family, from Hach'i village,
but he had no idea at all who the other might be. Kids look different every
time you see them when they're growing up; if they don't show a sign of
recognition first, there's no knowing them; my, my, I don't know what the young
are coming to nowadays, they don't seem to give a damn for their elders. Ah, how
the years have flown.
The train came to a halt. The great
red iron colossus emitted a series of panting gasps. The top half of the train-
driver's body could be seen, like some kind of accessory attached to the
locomotive. The agent from the welfare association, who sold raw and
hard-boiled eggs, jumped down from the rearmost coach, while from somewhere in
the middle a newly demobilized soldier got down. The egg salesman would be
boarding the train that would soon arrive, coming from the opposite direction.
With a great clatter, the train began to writhe like a snake. The conductor
showed not so much as the tip of his nose; he was probably busy extorting
two-pence a head from the fish merchants. The train disappeared around the
hill. The sky was clouding over, it looked as though it might soon start to
snow.
"You must have had a hard time.
Come on, let's be going home. It's a cold day."
The thirty minute wait had irritated
old Kim, but he could not help feeling proud at the sight of this son of his
returning home looking so swarthy and grown-up, when he had not yet rid himself
of the impression he was still nothing but a kid and downy as a peach. The
youth was wearing the bluish outfit provided on discharge, the lower part of
the jacket projecting from under the belt, with black basketball shoes, and he
was carrying a large paper envelope.
"Why, Dad, aren't there any
taxis here yet?"
"Taxis? What do you mean,
taxis? Why, this bit of road only got made because the local people all slaved
together to build it last summer."
The man wearing glasses, who had
been lingering beside the ticket office, beneath a single gaunt wild apricot
tree that had lost all its leaves, came sidling up, bending his already bent
back even lower as he did so.
"You must have seen hard times?
Still, you're looking fitter?"
"Don't you recognize him? It's
old Chang from Rocky Valley."
"He was only a kid when he saw
me before, how should he remember? It's a cold day, what about going over there
and taking something to warm us up? You were waiting ages in that cold spot,
your feet must be frozen?"
"Why, it's only two miles.
Better to walk a couple of steps home and then warm up on the hot floor. Come
on, let's be going."
Old Kim clasped his hands behind his
back, coughed hoarsely, and set off along the path between the fields. His son
followed silently behind him. He was not very tall, but of taut, stout build.
In the city, if you say somewhere is
a couple of miles away, that means three or four bus-stops down the road,
whereas the same distance, ten li, across fields takes you through empty
country, or if you pass some hamlet all you see are bamboo fences, or a few
stray chickens at best, and it does not seem so far. Yet out in the middle of
the fields old Kim suddenly stopped. It seemed, as he had said, that one step
was not enough, two were needed. He gazed into the distance. His son who was
standing behind him did not realize it, but he was staring with blurred eyes at
a piece of land that had once belonged to him. Certainly Kyong-ch'ol, his son,
was not unaware of the fact that the place where he was standing had once been
their land. Still, he had nothing to equal the emotions of someone who, with
the harvest from that land, had fed and raised children, had married them off,
had washed his parents' dead bodies and dressed them in their shrouds, and
buried them in one corner of the ancestral burial ground.
"I've got much weaker lately;
even walking just a few steps is no easy matter any more."
Old Kim muttered the words as if
speaking to himself, and set off walking again.
"But why did you come out? It
would have been alright if nobody had come, but if someone had to, surely there
was someone else besides you?"
"Who was there to come? Your
mother, perhaps? One of your elder brothers is away from home, the other's so
sick he hasn't left his bed in three days."
"Have Hyong-woo and Pong-woo
gone somewhere?"
"It may look like a big family,
but when there's work to be done, there are not enough people to do it all. One
of them is off fetching something to treat his father's condition, I think that
the other has gone to their mother's home for some reason or other."
Kyong-ch'ol was on the verge of
asking what had brought his father out, but restrained himself. For a while the
two of them walked on in silence. The stubble in the paddy-fields had turned
white, but once they climbed the gentle rise, barley was sprouting green in the
sloping fields, while faded mounds of straw rose beside the spiny orange
hedges.
"Today just take a rest. Then
tomorrow early you can go and pay your respects at the tombs. On your way back
you should call in at your uncle's house, and your aunt's too."
"I won't be able to call in
anywhere on the way back. After visiting the graves I have to go straight to
Chonju. I'm not completely discharged from the army yet, you know. It'll only
be finished when I visit the reservists office and get my discharge papers."
For a while his father said nothing
more. He had been thinking that there would be a tremendous amount of things to
say once his son got back. Yet now the only thing to be heard was the slip-slap
of his own rubber shoes and his son's basketball shoes on the ground as they
walked along, sounding unusually loud, while his head was completely empty. It
was not that a thought never struck him, but it was as if the twigs had all
been cut off, the leaves had all fallen, so that the branches stood stretching
bare, nothing was worth talking about. It was probably because he had been
thinking too much in terms of "my son". And what had finally appeared
was no abstraction, something called "my son", "my
youngest", but a very solidly concrete object, an independent mass of
flesh, a huge lump of protein.
"So which of my brothers is
sick? The younger one?"
"No, your oldest brother. A few
days ago the old in-laws over in Yangp'yong lost a son. I suppose he caught a
chill on the journey there and back in the cold wind."
Who the hell were the in-laws in
Yangp'yong? Using his foot, Kyong-ch'ol pushed aside the withered twisted skin
of a bitter orange. A peasant dressed in threadbare clothes nodded a brief bow
in greeting to old Kim as he passed. They walked on again for a while without
speaking; more sand and gravel began to appear, covering the earthen path; here
and there heaps of dog dung struck the eye, even human excrement. There were
all kinds: some fully formed, some crumbling, some pulped, some dark colored,
some pale, some faded. Then at every fifth step they came across a dung-pit
roughly screened with a stone wall and a layer of thatch, while at every tenth
step they encountered night-soil storage tanks full of greenish stagnant water
littered with ramyon wrappers, screwed up cigarette packs, torn cement sacks
and such. They were passing beside the village before theirs. Inside the houses
the grown-ups might be twisting ropes or having their fortunes told, there were
only children out in the alleys. Two kids that looked as if they were in second
or third grade of primary school were competing for possession of a
clothes-pole that got kicked in Kyong-ch'ol's path. He stopped, turned about,
and fiercely kicked the clothes-pole in the direction he had come from. The
pole rolled away, rattling. Neither of the kids made any move to go after it,
but one of them called Kyong-ch'ol a "bastard" in audible tones, and
stared hard at him. Kyong-ch'ol had no chance to go chasing after him, because
the child never thought of running away. He thrust his clenched fist under the
kid's nose. He simply pulled his chin back, with a "What's wrong?",
and remained motionless. Kyong-ch'ol dashed back and seized the clothes-pole.
Just then a three or four month old pullet came shooting helter-skelter like an
ostrich out of a nearby alley, squawking for all it was worth, perhaps chased
by a cock, or by a puppy, and just as he was placing the pole on the ground, it
dealt a glancing blow sideways to the chicken's leg. At which the chicken,
perhaps wounded, perhaps not, perhaps simply scared out of its wits, half flew
half scrambled over the stone wall to one side of the path, making a great
commotion, and disappeared. Kyong-ch'ol threw the pole at the feet of the two
kids as they stood facing him and went rushing after his father, who was
already leaving the eastern limit of the hamlet behind him.
From that village on, there was a
highway with buses travelling along it. Until they reached home, old Kim had
nothing much more to say. Kyong-ch'ol had the feeling he was checking things
off one by one somehow. On the whole, expectations are never completely
satisfied, and of course he had come home on furlough several times, yet
returning here after three years spent living elsewhere, he found nothing that
was in opposition to his expectations or his memories: one pile of stones at
the street corner, one set of crooked tiles crowning the stone walls. Without
the slightest trace of surprise, everything corresponded exactly with what he
had expected. If something had slightly changed in some way, it was absorbed
into his expectation that had anticipated just that degree of change. It was as
if, had there not been that change, his expectation that had anticipated a
change would have been contradicted and he might have experienced some slight
sense of astonishment. But the changes too were all exactly as he had
anticipated.
When they reached home, the second
son, Hyong-ch'ol, had arrived. Old Kim had four sons: Son-ch'ol the eldest
lived in the house and worked the land; Hyong-ch'ol was the second, he spent
most of the time travelling around the local towns serving as a middle-school
teacher; the third, Hwan-ch'ol, counted the wads of money at the farmers'
Co-operative. Emerging from the kitchen, Son-ch'ol's wife said that Mother had
gone to fetch makkolli. Old Kim went in to the main room to roast his back on
the hottest part of the floor. Little Shin-ok greeted her uncle from behind her
mother's skirts where she was hiding. When he asked her what class she was in,
she seemed to reckon that after being away her uncle seemed to want to be
affectionate and coming forward a few steps replied that she was in fifth
grade.
"What, in fifth grade and still
not able to run errands, so that Grandmother has to go to fetch makkolli?"
Kyong-ch'ol bellowed. Old Kim's wife had just that moment come into the yard
and standing behind Kyong-ch'ol explained, "If the kids go, they water it
down first." With that she handed the big brass kettle full of makkolli to
her daughter-in-law. Shin-ok moved from the folds of her mother's skirt to
those of her grandmother's. Old Kim's wife stroked her grandchild's head and
after enquiring if the train had been much delayed, and remarking on how cold
the weather was, pushed the second and fourth sons, who were standing out in
the yard, ahead of her into the room.
In the room on the opposite side the
eldest brother, Son- ch'ol, was sitting with the eiderdown ibul spread over his
legs. As befitted someone who has earned a living by working the land for
twenty years, his face, that of a middle-aged man, was deeply wrinkled and
tanned the color of the earth. The drink was brought in but he refused to take
any, saying that he could still feel the effects of the cold about him. Like
most farmers, he was foolish, honest, awkward and naive. He was also highly
talkative. He talked so busily, it was a wonder he had survived in silence so
long, then when the glasses in front of his brothers were empty he did not fail
to remark "The glasses are empty. Drinking's no pleasure if you don't keep
urging people to have some more." His brother knew that because he had
kept on farming, his life had become increasingly difficult. At the same time,
it seemed that he himself knew just why it was, because he had kept on farming,
that his life had become increasingly difficult. And he also seemed to know
how, by farming, life might be made better. Only when Hyong-ch'ol asked,
"Then why don't you do it?" he replied, "How can I, there's no
money." Then Kyong-ch'ol, who had so far been merely tossing back his
drink, remarked, "If only there's money, anyone can do it. It's because
there's no money that you can't," at which his brother flew into a rage,
"You mean I ought to do things that someone else dares not?"
Unlike his elder brother,
Hyong-ch'ol had no interest whatever in farming. He had been teaching for ten
years already; since the previous spring he had been serving at Imdong Middle
School and had had to work rather hard the year before to gain first-class
certification as a teacher. He was not specially fond of hardship, but as
things now stood with him he had felt that, in life, if you set yourself some
kind of goal, or purpose, becoming a kind of education supervisor, for example,
something good since it offers profit, and glory, and the possibility of
shortening the time required to get there, but the cost is high and success is
difficult; yet although I have not given it up, as a longer term objective,
there would also be the possibility of a headmastership or something like that.
Now in order to become a headmaster, he needed the proper qualifying
certificate and in order to obtain it, although that still lay a long way off,
he first needed to upgrade his second-class teacher's certification to a
first-class one. In order to obtain the first- class certificate he had taken
two sets of courses during the winter and summer, and in order to take those
courses he had had to be nominated; in theory nomination was automatic, based
on seniority, but the supervisors often played tricks and money changed hands,
not only to help jump the queue, but also to keep on the list. During the
winter break he had been nominated without incident and had taken the course,
but when the summer break came, although he had been supremely confident, his
name had been dropped from the list of participants. It was stupid to be left
having taken just half the course. It was worse than not having taken any part
at all, because of the wasted effort entailed. There was nothing to equal those
bastards. Information duly taken, it seemed that a certain person living in a
certain place had handed over ten thousand Won. He duly invested twenty
thousand and at the very last moment his name appeared on the list.
"Doesn't that mean you jumped
the queue?"
Kyong-ch'ol put down his glass as he
spoke, he was already getting slightly drunk.
"Of course, originally. But
once I was included in the first-class candidates' list there was a new order,
wasn't there? I'd been displaced from that new order."
The first-class teacher finished his
supper and set off for Imdong. Then Kyong-ch'ol went across to a room in the
outer wing where a warm fire had been specially kindled and lay down to sleep
although it was still quite early. His first day out of uniform had ended
quietly. Nothing special had happened. He felt as if he had merely been off on
a chicken-raid with some friends. He had killed a lot of people in Indochina.
But that felt like something that had happened a very long time ago. In any
case, it had been two thousand miles away from there as the crow flies. He
blinked a few times, then fell asleep.
Kyong-ch'ol did not go to visit the
family tombs the next morning. Neither did he go on the following day. Instead
he stayed at home, holed up in his room, and slept. It was only on the morning
of the fourth day, and already about ten o'clock, that he asked his father for
the fare, saying that he ought to go to visit the tombs. Old Kim added a hundred
Won to the return fare, and gave him two hundred. His wife handed him a bundle
holding a large bottle of soju she had bought a few days before, a dried
pollack, and a brass cup.
"Make the offerings," his
father ordered, "then give what's left to old Chong."
Chong was the grave-keeper. He took
the money and the bundle and left the house.
Once outside, he headed straight for
the nearest store. The woman recognized him and was eager to gossip, but he
ignored her, jerked the bottle from his bundle, and asked, "How much do
you sell these for?"
"Kumgang twenty proof? That's
two hundred Won."
Kyong-ch'ol set the bottle on the
counter. The warped pine board was covered in white dust.
"Give me two hundred Won,"
he said, "I'll bring the money back and collect it again later. The woman
stared at him, but he simply held out his hand just in front of her nose, at
which she reluctantly drew back and opened a little wooden box that was black
from being handled. She took out two hundred Won notes and gave them to him.
He took them and stored them away,
together with the money his father had given him, in the inside pocket of his
coat. He took out the cup and held it in one hand, rolled the pollack in the
wrapping-cloth and stuffed it into the back pocket of his trousers, then left
the shop without glancing back. The air was nearly at freezing point but the
sunlight was dazzlingly bright. He strolled slowly toward the highway. As he
went, he met a number of neighbors, who invariably stopped in their tracks,
poised to make a fuss over him. But Kyong-ch'ol did not stop. On each occasion,
he would greet them with a polite "Good morning" and continue on his
way. Rather put out, they would peer back after him as they continued on their
way. It was the same at the highway pharmacy that doubled as the bus stop. As
soon as he entered, the pharmacist came rushing toward him with both arms
outstretched, apparently feeling obliged to look delighted to see him. He made
no response to the pharmacist's intentions, simply said, "It's been a long
time," and heading for the telephone above the desk, seized the receiver.
He addressed the pharmacist over his shoulder: "Ok if I use the
phone?"
"What do you want?"
"To use the phone."
"No, where are you
calling?"
"I want to get a car."
"A taxi? One went in to the
next village a few minutes ago. It'll be coming out soon."
Soon turned out to mean ten minutes,
but the car did finally emerge. At the store beside the pharmacy, Kyong-ch'ol
got a small bottle of thirty-proof soju on credit, then climbed into the taxi.
The driver looked none too happy on being told to go to Sambong but refrained
from any remark as he started off. Sambong was a locality some three miles
away, in the opposite direction to the township. The township was about three
times that distance away. After driving a short distance, the driver turned off
the meter. Kyong-ch'ol took no notice. He had scarcely time to settle in his
seat before they reached Sambong. When he asked how much he owed, the driver
replied, without glancing back, "Three hundred Won will do."
Kyong-ch'ol gave him two hundred.
"The fare's a hundred and
fifty. Take this and be thankful."
The driver did not say thank you,
neither did he grumble much, as he turned the car. Kyong-ch'ol took out the
bottle and held it by the neck in one hand, while he pulled out the pollack and
carried it by the tail in the other. Then following a drainage ditch as it
slashed red through the barren land, he sauntered a mile or more up into the
hills. The family tombs were surrounded by a thick grove of pine trees, inside
which a stretch of neatly tended grass formed a sunny space; down the slope,
beginning at the top, stretched three tomb mounds in a line. Each of the mounds
was surrounded by a ring of granite blocks, with a marble table for offerings
set in front of it, together with a mossy slab bearing the name, and it was
only on reaching here that Kyong-ch'ol could sense that his grandfather had been
an official. It took barely ten paces to cover the distance from the lowest to
the highest tomb, but either on account of the slope or as a result of having
walked all the way up, his legs felt stiff as he climbed to the top.
"Damn it all! It's better than
Vietnam, though."
He climbed to the highest mound. He
was sweating and out of breath. He took off his shoes, and went in his socks to
the slab for offerings, on which he laid the bottle, the dried pollack, and the
cup. Then he turned and inhaled deeply as he gazed out at the hills that lay
blue-tinged in the distance. The sunlight was very warm, but a cool wind was
blowing that dried his sweat in a moment. He turned back and poured some soju
into the cup. Then he knelt and bowed his head to the ground twice. The second
time, he remained prostrate a little longer and murmured, "Grandfather,
it's Kyong-ch'ol, I'm back. Judging from how things are at home, I really think
you must look after us a bit. Still, thanks to you I have come back safe and sound,
and as you've taken care of me so far, you're going to have to take even better
care of me now. You will, won't you, grandfather?" Then he rose, advanced
and picked up the cup. "Grandfather," he said, "I'm not sure how
many cups you used to drink, but you must drink three at least, now. The wine
from this cup I'll drink, grieving for you, unworthy descendant though I
am," and he drained the cup. He then poured out and offered a second cup.
After a moment's pause, he emptied that one too. He offered a third cup. After
a moment's pause, he emptied that cup too. Suddenly his stomach grew warm. As
the heat spread through his whole body, the world began to look a little bit
worth living in. Again he made a double prostration, before gathering together
bottle, fish, and cup, slipping on his shoes, and moving to the tomb below.
Just as he was depositing the bottle
and cup on the offering table at his great-grandfather's tomb, a sound rose
from the pine grove. Actually, a few moments before, as he was making his final
bow, he had seemed to hear a sound suggesting someone was near. Grasping the
dried pollack by the tail, bending low, nimbly as an animal he sped across the
grass toward the trees. A sound could clearly be heard. Cautiously pushing the
pine branches aside, crawling on all fours, he headed for the spot from which
the sound was coming. Someone with his back turned to him was cutting off
branches with a sickle. Kyong-ch'ol quietly crept closer, then without warning
cried, "Scoundrel!" and brought the pollack down on the back of his
head. At which the fellow exclaimed, "Who did that?" and looked round
sharply. It was the son of the grave-keeper.
Kyong-ch'ol knew a lot about the
grave-keeper's son. He was some two years younger than Kyong-ch'ol and for some
reason, perhaps because he found the job of grave-keeper humiliating, his
father, old Chong, had done his utmost to provide him with an education; only
once he was attending the middle school in the main township some dozen miles
off he had found himself inclined to use the money for his school fees on
visits to the movies, then he sold his books to buy waffles and red-bean soup,
staying away from school every few days, before he got himself a shoe- shine
kit and headed for the nearest big town, only finally returning home at the end
of a month when he was completely penniless. Old Chong had shrugged
philosophically and given up, reflecting that everyone is born with their own
way to happiness.
Still, he had been a close friend of
Kyong-ch'ol's. Hitherto in life, Kyong-ch'ol had done little that had made his
father glad, but if there was one thing that had, it was the way he had loved
going to play up in the hills. While he was attending middle school, he had
gone up into the hills almost every Sunday, and no matter how late it was when
he got back home, he had only to say that he had been up in the hills, his
father would murmur a contented "Ha..." and that would be all. During
the school holidays, summer and winter alike, he virtually lived in the hills.
He and the grave-keeper's son together would roam all over the hills, and if
Kyong-ch'ol took with him a gun he had made that fired acorns, the other would
bring a pocketful of acorns and follow cheerfully behind him, saying, "These are nearly as
round as bullets," with the gentle voice of a thoughtful grown- up. They
had never once taken a rabbit or a pheasant, but they had gone running after
any number of both. Once, busy sawing at the stump of a huge pine tree, they
had forgotten that night was falling and old Chong had come looking for them,
shouting in that voice adults have when they are particularly frightened. It
was true that in the hills it was dark as soon as the sun had set. On one ridge
of the hills there was a spring whose water ran warmer the colder winter grew,
so that if they went and towelled themselves down with it before sunrise it
felt like a hot bath, not a cold one.
"You bastard, it's you,
Odd-jobber!"
"Well! If it isn't Kyong-ch'ol.
When did you get back? You know, you hit too hard."
"Why were you cutting off
healthy branches?"
"Well, if they're too close
together they have to be pruned out."
"If they're to be pruned, you
get permission first, then you prune. You think you can prune as you
like?"
"Heh heh, don't speak so
roughly."
He raked together the branches he
had cut off, moved away, loosened the belt of his trousers and pissed.
Meanwhile, Kyong- ch'ol returned to his great-grandfather's tomb. There he briefly
examined the pollack he was still holding, laid it on the offering-stone, and
poured out the soju. "It can't be helped, grandfather. After all, you're
supposed to pound dried pollack before eating it, aren't you? Really, I ought
to have brought three of them but I don't think grandfather up there at the top
has eaten all of it. I hope you leave a bit, too, and don't eat it all,
grandfather. I've still got to make offerings at the tomb of grandfather down
below."
As before, Kyong-ch'ol performed a
double prostration.
"Grandfather, I already asked
great-great-grandfather up there, but I hope you will help us too. According to
my eldest brother, there's no way he can get a minute's rest unless he can get
money from the bank, on account of the exorbitant interest that private lenders
charge."
He rose to his feet, advanced,
and took up the cup of soju from the stone slab. "Grandfather, the wine
from this cup I'll drink myself, unworthy descendant though I am," and
drained the cup. He offered two further cups. As he gathered together the
offerings after making the final prostrations and headed down to the lowest
tomb, his legs trembled a little. The grave-keeper's son had bound up his
bundle of wood and brought it to the edge of the grass where he had propped it
up, and sat squatting beside it. Kyong-ch'ol arranged the offerings and poured
out the soju. Then, while he made the double prostration, he prayed that they
would be able to get a loan from the farming co-operative. "We got through
last year thanks to a few cents we borrowed as support to raise pigs, only
before that money went into any pigs' snouts it all got swallowed up feeding
people. That means there's no prospect of us getting any more farming support
grants, we'll be needing a standard loan, and that's tremendously
difficult." He stood up. "Grandfather, you must drink three cups too,
just like your father and grandfather did." He divided the soju that
remained into two parts and as he lifted them in offering, some of the liquor
spilled over. He was happily drunk. After making the final prostrations, he
packed the cup into his pocket, recovered his shoes and slipped them on, and
headed down to where Odd-jobber was waiting, carrying the pollack.
"Is your father home?"
"He went into the village.
Someone's getting married. You want to tell him I was cutting off healthy pine
branches?"
"That too, and to say hello,
that was what I was thinking, but it's just as well like this. You can tell him
that I've been here and gone back home. And take this fish; give it to him and
say he's to eat it."
"Heh, that pollack's served a
lot of different purposes. Ok. You're sure you'll just go home without calling
in at our house?"
"I'll just go home."
"If you don't see Dad, I'll be
the better off for it, but I'm sorry."
"Tell him that if he finds
anyone cutting off healthy branches, he's to give them a good hiding."
"Here, you bet, no one's going
to dare take healthy branches in a hurry. Have a safe journey back."
Kyong-ch'ol tottered back down the
hill. He slipped into the water a few times as he was crossing streams, but he
merrily continued until he emerged at the side of the highway. If a bus was
going to come, it would soon arrive, but otherwise he might have to wait half
an hour or an hour. A jeep went past, a taxi sped by in the opposite direction.
He had only to wait a little longer before a truck passed, followed by a taxi.
On inspection, it already had passengers. But it had barely gone a few yards
beyond Kyong-ch'ol when it screeched to a halt, and came reversing back
impatiently. The window was wound down and a voice emerged, "Hey, it's
Kyong-ch'ol! Come on, get in!" It was Tok-su. He was sitting in the back
together with a stranger. Kyong-ch'ol got in beside the driver.
"Scoundrel! Surely I'm your big
brother, the first person you should visit coming back? You prick."
It sounded as though he had been
drinking a bit, too.
"How have you been, Ttok-swoi?
You're always talking your way. Is my younger brother's wife well? And all my
nephews?"
"How come a kid who's not even
got himself a bride dares smart-lip adults? Why don't the two of you say hello
to one another? This is the grandson of Master Kim from Sangch'i, so he's on
the way to becoming a nephew of mine. While this fellow here is on the way to
become a younger brother, he's Haeng-ch'ul from the township. You'll get to
know more about each other by and by."
"We might as well wait until
next year to shake hands. Seeing each other face to face like this is greeting
enough, I reckon." Haeng-ch'ul made no attempt to raise himself from the
seat in which he was deeply ensconced, and as he spoke he eyed Kyong-ch'ol obliquely from his place in
the front.
"My, the wise guy sure talks
smart," Kyong-ch'ol glanced back at him over his left shoulder as he
spoke.
"Hey, you call someone 'wise
guy' the first time you meet him? You'd better clean up your smart tongue a
bit, before it gets damaged."
"Go on, fight, fight away. Kids
grow up by fighting."
A few moments later they passed
Sangch'i village but Kyong- ch'ol made no move to get out and Tok-su (or
Ttok-swoi, as he pronounced it) made no move to stop the car. They rode on as far
as the township.
"How much shall I give you,
driver?"
Tok-su spoke as the car came to a
halt in the town center.
"Whatever you feel like;
nothing if you like."
"I liked the last bit.
Haeng-ch'ol, give him the price of a pack of cigarettes."
They handed over a hundred Won and
got out. They headed for a tea-room on the opposite side of the street. The
owners seemed to have a taste for contradictions, since the tea-room's name was
"The Royal Palace".
"What about resting here for a
moment first, then getting a bite of something to eat, and going to see a
movie?"
"Ah, Ttok-swoi still likes
watching movies. What about having a drink when evening comes?"
"Great. That's when the smart
talk really gets going well."
"Can't you talk any other way
than smart talk? Ttok-swoi, if you're going to take him round with you a bit,
you'd better teach him proper talking first. I must just call in at the Co-
operative."
"Be sure to bring plenty of
money back with you."
Kyong-ch'ol emerged, leaving the two
youths in the tea-room. The town hall (as they called the regional
administrative office), the Central Theater, as well as a few branches of
different financial institutions, some stores, hairdressers, and such, were
doing their utmost to look like a town, but in the smugly shining sunlight it
became immediately obvious that it was not really a town at all. Kyong-ch'ol
headed for the Co- operative.
His elder brother was over by the
teller's window, counting money. His hair was oiled, he was freshly shaved,
elegantly dressed, he looked really smart and clean. He took Kyong-ch'ol to the
Co-operative's coffee shop. The coffee shop, which also served as a canteen,
was as gloomy as a temporary classroom shack.
"Why, that's my suit you're
wearing, and the tie, and the shirt."
"The shoes are yours too."
"That's fine, fine. If you've
come to withdraw some money, don't waste your breath. There's not a cent left
at present."
"When will there be some? And
say something about the hard time I had in the army."
"You had a hard time, a hard
time to be sure. I'm at death's door, too. I don't know how much you know about
the way the family fortunes stand, but I'm repaying from my monthly salary the
money the family borrowed last year from the Co-operative."
"Well, that's only as it should
be."
"As it should be? Do you know
what it is to be fleeced, kid?"
"Then you should offer to make
a loan."
"Lend my money? Why, last year
I intervened and got a loan for stock breeding."
"There's nothing odd about a
farming family getting the money it needs from the Co-operative. You should
help this time too."
"This time it won't work."
"Is it your own money?"
"If you want to do it without
passing by me, go ahead, try."
"Who's the fellow in charge of
loans?"
"Ordinary loans are arranged by
the loans section. The top people are decent enough folk, it's the assistant
manager who's the problem."
"The assistant manager? In the
loans section? So if we can bribe him everything'll be ok."
"I rather think that father
reckons it will take about five percent. That, and then if you take him out
drinking, a cheap place won't do. I'm thinking all kinds of thoughts too. It
makes my head ache. You'd best be thinking about getting a job quickly."
"Which bar does the fellow like
best?"
"What fellow? The assistant
manager for loans? There's certainly no special place to go. He often goes to
the Okp'o bar. There's a doll called Yon-pyong there. He's keen on her."
"Won't you even give me the
fare home?"
"You can have your lunch here
before you go. I'll order something."
He handed Kyong-ch'ol a five-hundred
Won note.
"I wish you'd give me money
instead of lunch. I'd rather just be off."
He emerged from the Co-operative. In
the tea-room the other two had each ordered a cup of tea of which they had
drunk about half and were now waiting for him. They left, had lunch, and went
to watch a long film from abroad that was supposed to last a full three hours.
By the time they came out from the
movie, the weather that had been so fine had grown very cloudy.
"Ttok-swoi, what about buying a
drink for me today?"
"I'll drink if you pay;
otherwise, I'll pay."
"So whichever way it goes,
today we're going to go drinking."
Haeng-ch'ul gazed heavenward as if
scrutinizing the secrets of Providence as he spoke. They sauntered back to the
tea-room.
"Now let's think; the kid's out
of the army after all this time, so where shall we go?"
"Where we go is where we'll go,
the biggest place of course."
"If we run out of money, will
you fork out, Haeng-ch'ul?"
"You ought to be ashamed. Drink
first, then talk about that; first of all, if we're going, it has to be the
best place, surely?"
"Let's go to the Okp'o
bar."
"How come you know about the
Okp'o bar, Kyong-ch'ol?"
"If we go there, they have a
pretty girl, called Yon-pyong."
"Hoho, he knows all about
Yom-byong already. It sounds as though he and I have both been in the same
bed."
"Don't worry, pal. I heard
about her from my brother when I was at the Co-operative just now."
"So it seems that your brother
is fond of Yom-byong?"
"Not at all. It seems it's a
certain assistant manager who's fond of her."
"Assistant manager? What kind
of skinny, twisted wretch is that?"
"Our family's very life breath
depends on him."
"The wretch is good at
squeezing wind-pipes."
"It seems that if he wants, he
can supply money."
"Ah, you mean in loans? Let's
take the fellow along with us."
"I've suddenly lost my
appetite, for drink I mean."
"Haeng-ch'ul, you're from a
well-to-do family, you don't know about what goes on inside bank people, it
won't do you any harm to get to know one of them. Our family is talking about
getting a loan or something, too. Well, ok. If he drinks, how much will he
drink? Surely not much?"
"I don't mind bringing him
along, but on one condition."
"Always a tail stuck on
behind!"
"When we start to be drunk
there must be no getting carried away; we have to stay in tune with the way
that fellow is feeling. Otherwise it will be a waste of drink, a waste. And not
just a waste, it will be a futile purchase of ill-will."
"That's as it may be. I'm not
sure that I can."
"Let him keep out of our
way."
"Ok. Let's just try.
Ky'ng-ch'ol, you call him down. If it doesn't work, we'll squash him, the
bastard."
The assistant manager seemed to have
some kind of urgent business to attend to that very day, so that Kyong-ch'ol
had to keep pleading with him to please come and drink with us before finally
succeeding in dragging him along to the Okp'o bar.
"Sir, please be seated here. It
seems to be the warmest place."
"Why, you don't have to take
such pains."
"These are my friends. This is
the son of the headmaster of Kalkum primary school. And this is Cho
Tok-su..."
"I'm Cho Tok-su. Thank you very
much for coming when you're so busy."
The assistant manager scrutinized
the three of them, and the impressions seemed to be unfavorable; he soon began
to look uneasy. He cleared his throat uncertainly a couple of times before
venturing to ask Kyong-ch'ol, who looked the most reliable of the group:
"You've been discharged, you say? recently?"
After a moment the drinks were
brought in, and they were followed by two girls, one of whom was Yon-pyong.
They made her sit between Kyong-ch'ol and the assistant manager, on the warmer side
of the floor, the other girl taking her place on the side nearer the door,
between the other two. A few glasses were duly emptied. The assistant manager
seemed gradually to be growing happier. Why not, after all? The young men,
although they could hardly be said to look very elegant, handed him his glass
in a courteous manner, while Yon-pyong sat beside him and filled it.
"Well, yes, it's not something
I haven't already heard, but you can say that the loans situation is in a bad
way."
People are strangely forgetful
animals. As glass followed glass, the assistant manager lost sight of any
feelings of distance, timidity, fear on meeting strangers for the first time.
He gradually began to grow arrogant in proper assistant managerial fashion.
"Discharged, you say? Ah, you must
have had a hard time, for sure. Now you must get yourself a good job. Young
folk can't afford to be idle."
Unfortunately, the assistant manager
was not the only one who was getting drunk. First Haeng-ch'ul spoke up,
half-closing his eyes: "Well done, very well done." Ttok-swoi
meanwhile kept staring fixedly at the assistant manager's hand as it grew
increasingly bold in its exploration of Yon-pyong's private parts while she sat
beside him, the while murmuring in accompaniment as if to himself: "Nice
game, playing's pretty." Kyong-ch'ol was sitting apart, concentrated
wholly on drinking. Yon-pyong was entirely focussed on the assistant manager,
the other girl served the remaining three.
"Hey, Yon-pyong, you're
supposed to be filling that guest's glass too, you know."
The other girl spoke in a slightly
vexed voice. At which Yon-pyong moved, as if she had only been waiting for a
cue, away from the assistant manager's roving hand in the direction of Kyong-ch'ol.
"Hey, where are you going? Come
back here, come on."
The assistant manager spoke. At that
moment, Ttok-swoi thrust his own empty glass under his nose, saying:
"Here, manager, let me pour you a drink in my glass."
"How dare you be so
insulting?" the assistant manager fired back. From that moment the words
exchanged went soaring. Still, there was a limit to how high they could go.
Since the assistant manager was confronting the three others, things could not
keep going higher indefinitely. That upper limit was in direct proportion to
the combination of real courage and dutch courage inspiring the assistant
manager, and in inverse proportion to that of the other three, so that they
still seemed far from reaching that point, but then Haeng-ch'ul said,
"Something hot had better come out of that nose of yours,: and Ttok-swoi
added, "Ah, it's all blocked up; perhaps we'd better open it a bit,"
at which the assistant manager exclaimed, "You mean you've brought me here
because you want a loan?" and stared at Kyong-ch'ol, only Kyong-ch'ol
seemed not to hear but kept patting the behind of the girl sitting beside him,
and said, "Yom-pyong, pour out some more drink for the assistant manager
there, give him something to drink. That's the only way I'll get a loan,"
at which everything became clear. Once the assistant manager had paid for the
evening's drinks and rapidly scuttled away, they gave each of the two girls a
few coins and emerged from the Okp'o bar.
"I'm sorry, Kyong-ch'ol."
"It's alright, Ttok-swoi. If
you hadn't started, I surely would have."
Kyong-ch'ol slept with them in the
town that night.
When the next day dawned,
Kyong-ch'ol grew very depressed. He could not possibly go back home. He went to
the reservists office, where he received his discharge papers and pay. For a
whole week he idled away his time in the town to keep off thoughts about his
desire to go rushing off somewhere far away. At last he could endure it no
longer. On the eighth day after he had left home, he came creeping slowly back.
"Kyong-ch'ol's coming,"
his mother exclaimed, on first spotting him. His father immediately threw open
his door. "Where have you come from? Did you go to the reservists office?"
he asked. Kyong-ch'ol sat on the far side of the wooden maru and answered
"Yes" in a feeble voice.
"So did everything go
alright?"
"Fine, form the start there was
nothing wrong. They simply gave me my discharge papers in the usual way, that's
all."
"Ah, you don't often find things
work in the usual way in society nowadays, do you? It's cold, come on indoors
quickly. Your mother's got a chicken all ready, to give you when you come, and
she's been doing nothing but look out at the gate in case you were
coming."
"A chicken?"
"Yesterday Hwan-ch'ol came
bringing money. The day after you left here, the assistant manager speeded up
the paperwork and the money became available a couple of days ago."
"What money is that?"
"Why, the money we applied for
from the Co-operative, what other money could it be?"
"You mean the loan you applied
for from the farming Co- operative was actually granted?"
"And he said you treated the
assistant manager to an evening of drinks."
"Kyong-ch'ol went into an
outside room. There he made no attempt to undress, but lay with his head on his
arms, staring up at the ceiling. He reflected that now he could confidently
leave for somewhere far away, and he felt at once a sense of relief. That
evening, after enjoying the chicken gruel his mother had cooked, he left home,
taking not a penny with him.