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◈ The Hunting Genius of the Japanese Colonial Era

Chapter 62

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The Way to Sokcho (2)

A little while later, a hearty spread was laid out on the wooden platform in the yard.

White rice heaped high in mounds, eggs fried crisp in oil, and gorani[1] meat that Han Man-seok had taken with a trap just the day before last.

"Right! Everybody dig in!"

The [justified-true-belief] that gorani tasted like nothing crumbled to dust before Ham Ssang-sim's cooking. Even a man of butcher stock, who'd lived eating only the finest cuts, was left clicking his tongue in disbelief.

"This seasoning is downright revolutionary!"

"Hwa! Just a little more, ma'am!"

The men quite literally drank the meal down. Slurp, smack, slurp, smack—it was a fine, tasty table.

Han San watched the young men eat so heartily with the contented look of a seventy-four-year-old elder, and said,

"Once you're done, let's start by building a house. See that ground over there that Hong-cheol-ajae and I cleared next to the servants' quarters? We'll put up two more in a row. The materials are all here."

Chuk Jun-ha and Chuk Hyeong-don nodded at once.

"Yes, boss!"

"Good, good. You heard the terms from Comrade Hong-cheol, right? You get the same.

For now, six months at thirty won each. During that time I'll see how you do, and you'll see how I do. If we keep from crossing each other's lines and it works out, let's keep going.

I'll feed you while you're here, and as I said, we'll build the houses together. And on Chuseok or Seollal[2], if I've got some to spare, I won't leave you wanting."

For a hired arrangement in 1933, with these terms—and considering both men were fugitives—it was an extraordinary deal.

"Leave it to us, boss!"

"We'll work hard!"

A truly hearty answer.

Han San nodded with a slight smile. Then he pulled Chuk Hong-cheol aside out back.

"Ajae, take this."

Han San drew one won and then another, two won in all, from his coat and handed them to Chuk Hong-cheol.

"Boss, what's this money?"

"What do you think? A finder's fee."

Han San patted Chuk Hong-cheol's shoulder—tap, tap.

"You picked good men, ajae. One look and you can tell they've got some strength, and no reactionary streak about them either. Very good."

Chuk Hong-cheol looked back and forth, bewildered, between the two won in his hand and the two comrades still eating.

'Taking money like this, it feels like I've turned into some broker peddling people, which sits a bit wrong with me...'

When Chuk Hong-cheol hesitated, gnawed by an uneasy feeling he couldn't name, Han San went on.

"From now on, Comrade Hong-cheol, you're the chief."

"Ch-chief?"

Chuk Hong-cheol blinked.

"That's right, Comrade Chief. If you don't like that, you can be General Secretary. Or Party Secretary, maybe."

What was this? These titles that tickled the soul of the little red soldier in his heart? Without realizing it, Chuk Hong-cheol felt his chest swell grand...

"In exchange, you've got to manage the men properly. Divide up the work. Keep discipline. Report to me if there's trouble. Got it?"

At that, Chuk Hong-cheol snapped back to his senses.

"No, um, we're all equal worker comrades..."

"Come on. You came first, ajae. You and I knocked Deok-tae's gang flat together, didn't we? Call it a bonus.

And with a crowd of men living together, there's got to be some order. Comrade Chief."

"Aigo, really... calling me by such a... revolution-soaked title, really... I..."

Chuk Hong-cheol smacked his lips. Inside, he was thinking that 'chief' really was the best of the titles after all. It slid into his ears so smooth, like it had been oiled.

'And it's not wrong to say there's got to be order...'

In the end, Chuk Hong-cheol pocketed the finder's fee Han San had handed him.

Han San gave his shoulder a pat and raised one finger.

"Just one thing to watch out for!

As you can see, this is a slash-and-burn settlers' village, right? They're especially sharp-eyed about outsiders.

You can't help being noticed, but don't stick out and snag like a nail head poking up. Use your judgment, especially with how you talk—each of you keep an eye on it.

Comrade Chief, if you catch anyone slipping, give them a warning."

"Tsk, got it. I'll make good and sure we only use words like revolution and reactionary when it's just us."

Chuk Hong-cheol nodded and went back to the comrades he'd brought along. Somewhere along the way he'd naturally clasped his hands behind his back, breathing the breath of a chief.

Exactly how Chuk Hong-cheol managed it, no one knew, but the two newcomers of Team Hong-cheol were tight with discipline. There was no need to widen the yard, and four sturdy, strong men put up two servants' quarters in just a few days.

The calendar turned over.

The morning of July 2nd, 1933.

At that point, exactly one year out from the Great Flood of the Gapsul Year, Han San gathered the hired hands in the yard. Even Nureung-i, who until now had only been roped in for the spring plowing and hauling Bada around, was harnessed to the cart.

"Everybody ready?"

Han San asked as he slung the Murata hunting gun over his shoulder.

Chuk Jun-ha and Chuk Hyeong-don each held a spear. Chuk Hong-cheol, too, was armed, with a leather-reinforced shield and a freshly sharpened butcher's knife.

"Where are we headed, boss?"

To Chief Chuk Hong-cheol's question, Han San smiled.

"Sokcho."

It was time to try a new way of making money.

Misiryeong Pass.

In this era, when no tunnel had yet been bored, the old pass route stood firm between Inje and Sokcho.

Winding and tangled, with gorges nested all along it, it was nothing short of heaven-sent ground for robbers.

Halfway up that Misiryeong Pass, three men crouched hidden in the brush, sniggering.

"Ah, why are there no customers today?"

"My point exactly. The ones we do spot are these big group customers—awkward as anything to take."

One robber holding an axe grumbled and spat, thwip.

The robber with the bow suddenly let his eyes gleam.

"Why don't we just head down to that new road below and hit a car for once?"

"Are you mad? Get hit by that iron horse and they won't even be able to gather your bones."

"We just drag a log over and block the road, don't we? And what's this here—a bow, isn't it? With this we just plink the wheels and the windows, easy. No?"

"Like it'd go that smooth."

"Why wouldn't it? They say the Inwang Gang[3] boys hit cars like that and rake in piles of money."

At the bowman's words, the other two robbers furrowed their brows. The Inwang Gang. Those crazy bastards who went around with the In character wrapped on their headbands came to mind.

"Where do they even sell a car they've robbed?"

"Dunno. Some say they drive it all the way to Chuncheon and sell it, some say they load it on a boat and ship it to Primorye..."

"So do you even know how to drive a car? And where's the boat, anyway?"

At the jab, the bowman clicked his tongue, ssip.

"Ah, even if you can't sell it whole, it's a lump of iron, isn't it? Just bust it up and take it for the scrap value—wouldn't that be a jackpot? Especially that bone-frame under the car. They say if you hammer it out a bit and work it, it makes one hell of a tool."

"I've heard that much, sure..."

The axe-wielding robber put on an interested look. So did the pitchfork robber beside him.

It didn't last long. The axe robber soon frowned.

"No, but they say you don't go grabbing cars carelessly. Not those—where's that—the Inwang Gang crazies. Anyhow, you know that pass a good ways up, the one toward Wonsan?"

"There is. What about it?"

"There were fellows up there who used to rob cars. But two times, was it? Right off the military police came down, and they all died, every one."

At the words "military police," the robbers shuddered. The memory of a couple of months back, when a pack of military police had churned through this whole area over the wolf uproar, still lingered as a nightmare.

The pitchfork robber narrowed his brow.

"Is robbing a car that dangerous?"

"The ones with cars are the ones with money, and the Japs put a high value on the ones with money."

"Then how do the Inwang Gang boys grab cars? No—how do they grab cars and come away unharmed?"

"Those bastards are a bit off to begin with, aren't they. I saw one of their bosses from a distance once..."

About the time the talk had gotten that far,

"Moooo."

Carried on the wind, the faint lowing of an ox drifted up.

The robbers' eyes changed. The easy mood, like coworkers chatting in the middle of a job, vanished in an instant, and out came the growl of apes that know the taste of blood.

"Customer coming!"

"An ox cart! There—that one!"

Up along the winding pass road, a single yellow bull came ambling, hauling a cart. Out in front of it, two men were visible.

"No cargo?"

"All the better, then. Whether they've already sold their load or they're on their way to buy, doesn't it mean their pockets are stuffed with money? Even if they're empty cans, just with the bull and the cart, ooh boy..."

The axe robber chuckled at that. The pitchfork robber, meanwhile, was watching the two men leading the ox closely.

"Ssp. Their builds are kind of, solid. They've got spears too."

One look told you they were no pushovers. With those broad frames and grim faces, somehow they looked more like robbers than these three did.

And those spears in their hands.

"What's that? Not roughly whittled—they've gone and set iron blades on the spear tips. Where'd they get hold of stuff like that?"

"Wherever they got it, what's it matter. It'll be ours soon enough."

"Ah, right. Hey, would you look at that. I finally get to be free of the pitchfork."

"Me too, me too. The axe—the feel of cracking a skull wide open is good, but it's just too heavy."

The axe man and the pitchfork man were already delighted, as if the spears were theirs already.

The bowman spoke as he drew out an arrow.

"You two go out and draw their eyes for a bit."

"How do we draw them? Do the 'hand over your money, don't move' bit?"

At the axe man's words, the pitchfork man grinned wide.

"Let's do that other one! You know, that time—you pretend you're being chased and I pretend I'm chasing. Then they all just go, what's this? What's this? and stand there gawking."

The bowman laughed too.

"That's a good one. Tie them up like that for a moment, and I'll loose one clean shot and blow one of their heads off."

"That's a fine plan indeed."

"Ah, of course." "A fine plan, no doubt." "The three of us have done this work for how long..."

The three robbers, all nodding in unison, suddenly froze.

The voice that had just chimed in agreement was unfamiliar.

"But how about this plan?"

That unfamiliar voice went on.

"I fire that one shot, and your head's the one that flies."

"Wha—"

The instant the bowman, startled out of his skin, started to turn,

Bang—!!

With a thunderous gunshot, crack!! The bowman's head burst apart right there.

A red blizzard swept up. The axe man and the pitchfork man froze, drenched in the blood and flesh and bone shards.

They could see their surroundings, they could hear the sounds, but none of it registered in their heads.

Before the eyes of the two, gone blank, the young man moved his hands like lightning.

Cha-chak, cha-chak!

The bolt of the hunting gun worked back and forth, and the loading sound of a fresh round being drawn into the chamber rang out around them.

Then—bang...!! The gun spat fire, and the pitchfork robber's chest burst open, ribcage and all.

Left alone in an instant, the axe robber finally grasped the situation.

"You..."

They had thought they were the hunters, and the ox cart down below the prey.

But the ox cart was the bait, and they were the prey! And this man before their eyes was the very [hunter] who had circled around and struck them down!

That hunter smiled. The smile was white.

"Chief, come on out."

As if in answer to the call, another shadow sprang from the woods. A hulk with a leather shield and a butcher's knife.

The hunter set down the gun and picked up the slingshot and a stone.

"Got to save the bullets too. We've got things to ask him, so let's take that one with a tool."

So said the hunter.

[1] Gorani (고라니) is the Korean water deer (Hydropotes inermis), a small, fangless deer native to the Korean peninsula and eastern China, prized more for its pelt and medicinal oil than for its bland-tasting meat.

[2] Chuseok (추석) is the Korean harvest festival, celebrated on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month, and Seollal (설날) is the Lunar New Year — together they are the two most important traditional holidays, when employers customarily gave bonuses or gifts in kind.

[3] The Inwang Gang (인왕단) was a fictional-historical bandit confederation operating in the Gangwon mountains under the banner of the character 仁 ("In," benevolence); their boldness in attacking automobiles and rumored ties to Righteous Army remnants made them notorious along the old pass roads.

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