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◈ The Hunting Genius of the Japanese Colonial Era

Chapter 52

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The Club: South Jade Pavilion (3)

"Thirty thousand pyeong, huh."

Kim Mal-ja chewed the words over. She picked her cigarette back up and muttered, as if thinking out loud.

"Do you even know how big that is, saying it so easily?"

"Of course I do."

It was the area of fifteen soccer fields. A straight-line distance that would have left even the soccer star Cha Beom-geun[1] gasping after a single crossing, multiplied length by width to get that span.

"Where exactly are you planning to buy?"

"The Meokbawi Valley area."

"Meokbawi Valley..."

The owner of South Jade Pavilion knew the place, of course. Right next to Sebeom Valley, where her younger brother and Pi Sun-dae were staying. Land with nothing to it but a stream running through.

'A rocky gorge without even decent timber to log...'

He wanted to buy up thirty thousand pyeong of a place like that?

"Could it be," Kim Mal-ja said, leaning forward and whispering low, "that there's gold coming out of there?"

Should he call it quick wits, or just the obvious conclusion?

In these times, if someone was buying up forest in Gangwon, there was only one reason for it.

'A bonanza.'

There was talk that placer gold poured out like sesame from some river a day laborer had bought. Talk that a gold vein lay buried like a dragon's bones in some mountain a factory waitress had bought, and so on. With the whole world economy, the United States included, squabbling over the gold standard, Koreans who'd scraped a few coins together also wandered Gangwon in search of gold.

And this place.

Meokbawi Valley, right next to Sebeom Valley.

'It comes out, all right.'

A very thick gold vein was buried in there, and Han San the returnee knew it.

But was there any need to say so out loud?

Gold was a beast with no feet. It didn't run away.

Digging it up next summer, after that great flood passed, wouldn't be too late.

'No, it would be more accurate to say it can only be dug up after that great flood passes.'

Because only after the land got churned up by the flood would the gold vein, lodged deep in the earth, finally show its face.

For now he had to focus on nothing but raising weirs and building dikes. He had to take that terrifying force of nature, the so-called tribulation that had swept away his parents in his past life and threatened his family in this one, and steer it so that it helped lay the gold vein bare.

So Han San kept a face that might or might not have been a smile.

"I couldn't say. I just don't want to hear talk about illegal harvesting or poaching."

"Hmm. Owning the land doesn't automatically make harvesting and hunting legal, you know."

"But at least I'd have something to say for myself, wouldn't I? And to a country bumpkin like me, land is romance, isn't it? Romance."

"Romance, huh."

Kim Mal-ja watched Han San through narrowed eyes, but she didn't press any further.

"All right. The Meokbawi Valley area. We'll work out the finer details later once I bring out a map."

"Sure. The funds will be enough."

"Hold on a moment."

Kim Mal-ja worked the abacus beads in her head. Before long she looked at Han San with a curious expression.

'Isn't his estimate a little too precise?'

For one, his asking figure of 0.3 jeon per pyeong for the land was uncanny.

In these times, useless ground in the Gangwon mountains where farming, never mind logging, was impossible went for exactly about this much.

Could you really call it useless ground when a slash-and-burn village like Sebeom Valley sat right there in front of it?

That was precisely why it was useless ground.

Again, it bore remembering that the Government-General was pouring administrative muscle into the Rural Revitalization Movement—the slash-and-burn settler clearance project.

In this era, a slash-and-burn village meant an illegal, large-scale, unlicensed group of squatters!

By any common sense, land like that couldn't be expensive.

The kind of sucker who walks into a property auction house for the first time and thinks, "Huh? This is dirt cheap. I don't know what a failed-bid count is, but it must be some discount rate, sweet," then wins a disaster of a lot—well, such people weren't unheard of in this era either, but Kim Mal-ja, third daughter of a thug dynasty, was a pro who'd been through fire and water.

Ninety won for all of Meokbawi Valley. A reasonable price.

'His incidentals math is staggering too.'

In any era, in any country, civil servants share one trait of their species.

Making a thing that can't be done get done is harder than dying, but blocking a thing that can be done from getting done is as easy as eating gruel.

A stamp fee added every time a stamp gets pressed, a greeting fee every time someone gets met, an express fee every time papers get passed along—only then does the administrative procedure move forward.

'One household register and one company. Lining the pockets of civil servants, plus their handling fee.'

A hundred and ten won in all.

So ninety won for the land and a hundred and ten won in incidentals came back together to two hundred won.

Somehow the cost of greasing the procedure ran twenty won higher than the price of the land itself across thirty thousand pyeong, but in this era, well, that was just how it was.

'Still...'

Kim Mal-ja blew out a long stream of cigarette smoke.

She held up a single finger.

"One condition."

"A condition?"

"This company's equity. Will you give me some?"

Han San lifted an eyebrow a fraction.

"My, you really love your equity. Pi Sun-dae said the same thing."

"It runs in our family. Maybe because we ran a spoon trade, we love finding a place to set a spoon down."

Kim Mal-ja laughed boldly. It called to mind an owl that had spotted its hunting ground. Eyes like a bird of prey's glittered.

Well, the nature of a thug dynasty didn't just vanish.

"Equity, huh."

Han San repeated it as if he were genuinely agonizing, but inside he was cheering.

'This works in my favor too.'

Wasn't it just a scrap-paper company you could blow away with a breath?

Hanging up one ghost register with the ink not even dry on it, versus having the owner of South Jade Pavilion seated in a director's chair. The weight the company carried differed by heaven and earth.

It was just like the way the rotten stars of his past life had lined up to slot into advisor seats at big corporations. When someone came picking a fight, the three syllables of Kim Mal-ja's name would make a sturdy shield.

'No matter what anyone says, a group bound by profit is the firmest there is.'

Of course, he showed not a hint of that on the outside, and Han San simply spoke as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Honestly. Brother Pi Sun-dae and now sister Mal-ja both. To go grubbing after equity like this."

"?"

"Do you grub after equity because you love your equity so much?"

"...? ...? ..., ...??????"

The owner of South Jade Pavilion failed to follow for a moment, then jumped as if a centipede had landed on the back of her neck.

"You... what did you just say?"

"Hm?"

"No, the hell, you... no, hey, you! What the—a joke, you, an eighteen-year-old talking like he reeks of some damn old man, ah, what are you even on about!?"

How could this be? He'd gone to the trouble of laying out the finest comedy program of his past life, the kind tuned to young people's tastes, a whole stage of laughs-bring-blessings, and yet she recoiled in utter horror.

'I suppose refined jokes like wordplay are hard for someone from a thug household to get.'

"Hey! You—ah, you're thinking something messed up again right now, aren't you!?"

"I wasn't thinking anything."

Han San gave a sullen little cough.

"Anyway, um, how much do you want? The equity, I mean."

Kim Mal-ja was still looking at Han San with a shudder. The urge to fire off another barb burned in her like a chimney, but the fear that this bastard might suddenly freeze everything around them again won out.

She moved the conversation along.

"...Thirty percent."

"Thirty percent, huh..."

Han San crossed his arms and sank into thought.

Steep. But considering the shield he'd spoken of, it wasn't entirely overpriced.

Of course, there was no need to accept the first offer straight off either.

"Twenty percent."

"Twenty-five percent."

"All right. But I can't give you voting rights. I'll handle all the management myself."

"Fine."

Kim Mal-ja let out a sigh. Only then did that damnable wordplay, which had been creeping and circling like the smell off a belly button, finally seem to fade.

That was when Han San held up three more fingers.

"And get me three more household registers."

"Three more?"

"Yes. One eight-year-old boy. One for my father. One for my mother. Bundled together as a family."

Pull the ox's horn while the iron's hot, as they say. Since the talk of equity had come up, he meant to handle his family's registers along with it.

"Hmm, all right. I'll do it however you want."

Kim Mal-ja thought it over, then nodded soon enough.

"As for the company... rather than make a new one, let's do this. My second sister's holding a company that went under from family management. On paper it's still alive. Tie that together with the family registers and revive it, and it'll be perfect."

The dark fantasy peninsula of 1933 was a terrifying land where necromancers of paperwork roamed freely like that.

Han San made one thing clear.

"The method's fine, whatever it is. My family, the company, the land purchase—any of it. Just make sure not a single piece falls out of alignment."

"What do you take me for? Trust me and leave it to me. If I botch it, my second sister covers it; if my second sister can't cover it, my eldest sister does; and if my eldest sister can't handle the after-service, my mother takes responsibility."

A thug dynasty had staked a family guarantee. The fact that Kim Tae-yang's name was absent from the list of guarantors was, if anything, reassuring.

"All right. But... um."

Han San's gaze turned, as if it had only now occurred to him, to the woman standing behind Kim Mal-ja—Mrs. Go.

"This whole conversation—the fact that this auntie heard all of it bothers me a little..."

Mrs. Go planted the backs of her hands on her hips, looking dumbfounded.

"Ha, honestly. Open your mouth and it's auntie, auntie... Hey! You think you'll stay young a hundred days, a thousand days? Huh?"

"At least right now I'm fresh and green. Are you past thirty, auntie? For me to hit thirty, why, a whole zodiac cycle has to come around."

"I'm not thirty yet, you hear? The nerve. Mal-ja. Get me a household register too. Hm? A sweet sixteen, in the bloom of youth."

On the surface it looked like two ill-tempered slash-and-burn bumpkins bickering, but the substance was different. A probing match between a camouflaged beast and a hidden hunter.

Only Han San knew it was a probing match, though.

Even Kim Mal-ja waved a hand and laughed.

"Don't worry. Sister Anna keeps her mouth shut."

"Can the words 'keeps her mouth shut' even be used with that auntie? I'm from the same village, so I know—"

"I said it's fine. Sister Anna worked with my sisters too. At least on this matter you can rest easy."

"Haah... I'll just trust you, then, sister."

Han San said it as if backing down against his will, while inside his head he silently raised his guard toward Mrs. Go another notch.

"Good. So, shall we have a round each to mark founding the company?"

Kim Mal-ja snapped her fingers. Fresh waitresses came in from the corridor, and the waitresses who'd been entertaining the surveyor Hajama over in the corner came back too, and in an instant the room turned lively and crowded.

Watching the lavish drink tables come in, Han San crossed his arms.

"You're treating, right, sister?"

"You... isn't the dinner bill the boss's to pay?"

"Come on, it's the executive who pays. And as it happens you've become an executive yourself, a director... ah! Director and executive, that reminds me—a really funny joke just came to me that would lift the mood—"

"I'll pay. Just drink it down. Say one more word beyond that and I'll kill you."

Han San shut his mouth, sullen-faced.

The drinking ran late into the night.

The mood was thoroughly merry. Fine liquor, tasty side dishes. The latest amusements, mahjong and billiards included.

If there was one snag, it was the murderous bar tab, but even that the owner of South Jade Pavilion shouldered in full, so there was nothing to do but enjoy it.

Only, the moment Han San so much as tried to lift the mood, Kim Mal-ja and every last waitress would join forces and flare up, eyes blazing.

'Strange.'

Only the surveyor Hajama played along with the fun, and this moved Han San.

'Men really do grow close while drinking, after all.'

Honestly, Han San didn't know much about it either. What would a solitary old man know, whose only maintained relationship had been with a younger brother he'd all but cut ties with? He knew a thing or two about feeding bribes and buttering people up, that was all.

Filmed, his life would leave nothing but a monologue going, "The truth is, I've never made a friend either..." Not really so different from Sawada.

The aftermath of a lonely life was that frightening.

In any case, by the time the gathering ended, the night air had already blanketed the town.

Kim Mal-ja held out a single document folder.

"Here, this. The household register you'll use."

"Huh? It's ready already?"

"Our family's a bit of a nationwide operation. We keep a few of these in reserve for when there's a rush."

Han San raised one eyebrow.

"Then isn't that really valuable?"

"It's valuable."

Kim Mal-ja pressed that valuable folder into Han San's hand.

"And when you need to use it, you've got to use it, don't you, boss?"

"...Thank you."

The mistress of South Jade Pavilion was generous, all right.

After thinking it over for a moment, Han San decided to leave a town contact while he was at it.

"Surveyor Hajama-nim. When you've got business with me, leave a message here, at South Jade Pavilion. I'll check it every time I come down to town."

"Good!"

They parted on that pleasant note, and he decided to stay in town that night. Thanks to the clean register, he could secure a respectable inn without paying extra.

In the inn room, Han San slept soundly.

The date rolled over.

May 3rd, 1933.

"Shall we start another day!"

Han San came out scrubbed and refreshed, and as he basked in the spring sunlight he checked inside his wallet.

Of the 300 won bounty, he'd handed over 200 won for the land and the company, and the remaining 100 won he'd split into tens and ones for easy spending. Adding to that the roughly 200 won he'd earned from the tavern business, the total he had left came to...

'Around 280 won!'

"Let's go shopping!"

Han San headed first for the gun shop.

Han San's body was eighteen years old. His build was splendid and his gaze ran deep, but a boyish softness still clung to his face.

The gun shop owner gave him a puzzled look.

"You here on an errand? You've got to come in person for this."

"No. I'm here to buy my own."

Han San smiled and pointed to one side of the display case.

"That one over in the corner. Give me one Murata hunting gun."

"A Murata hunting gun..."

"Yes. Gun and rounds together, will 10 won do it?"

The gun shop owner looked troubled.

"It'll do, but... you got a permit? Without one, you'll have to wait a good two weeks until the station chief's approval comes down..."

Tok, tok.

That was the sound of Han San laying down two 10-won bills.

"One's for the gun and rounds, the other's for the paperwork."

Then he set the register Kim Mal-ja had given him on top.

"As for the permit, get it on my behalf, would you?"

The gun shop owner's expression changed again.

He looked the register over first. A document with every entry filled in flawlessly in tidy handwriting. The seal, too, was pressed in its proper place.

Ideological vetting, criminal record check, asset verification—all without a hitch, and a top-grade register that had been renewed not long ago at that.

Only then did the gun shop owner pocket the bills Han San had held out, smiling. Both of them.

"Come back in two hours, young man. I'll have everything ready."

[1] Cha Beom-geun (차범근, b. 1953) is a legendary South Korean footballer who later starred in West Germany's Bundesliga; the narrator invokes him anachronistically as a byword for athletic stamina.

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