WeTried Translations

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◈ The Hunting Genius of the Japanese Colonial Era

Chapter 8

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The Path Only I Know (1)

In a place he could not name, Han San opened his eyes.

He was alone. Swaying incense smoke blurred the boundary between sky and earth, and through it came a clamor of sounds.

Ttaeng-ttaeng! Ttae-dae-daeng ttaeng! Ttaeng-ttaeng! Ttae-dae-daeng ttaeng!

A gong rang out. A small brass gong and a daegeum flute[1] shrieked.

[Old Woman Wangdae], the Upper Hamlet shaman famous for being huge as a mountain, was leaping up and down on the edge of a sharp fodder-chopping blade[2].

"Ihi! Ihi! Aha, hoo! Aha, hoo!"

Bells shaped like baby faces shook in a wild rattle, and cloth in three colors, blue and white and red, sliced through the air. From Old Woman Wangdae's gaping mouth burst a hoarse, rasping voice.

"The Great Lords descend! Aha! They descend upon Sebeom Valley!"

Sebeom Valley. The valley said to be home to three tigers.

In his hazy mind, Han San recalled the legend bound up with the Seonangdang shrine tree.

"Three Great Lords descend upon Sebeom Valley!"

One commands water, the [Water Tiger][3]. When it roars, the valley bursts apart and the mountain crumbles. Whatever is caught in that gaping maw, man or beast or even a corpse, is swept away and nothing remains.

One whose shadow is never seen, the [White Tiger][4]. No sound, no footprints. Everywhere and nowhere, so no one can dodge those teeth honed pure white.

One that burns and crackles, the [Fire Tiger][5]. When it stamps down with a scrawny forepaw, the ground splits open and the rivers run dry. Those struck by its breath are left as skin and bone alone, collapsing in a loud heap.

"When the three Lords fall, ha! The King shall be revealed! Aha!"

The exorcism rite was rushing toward its peak.

"Ihi, ha! Ihi, ha!"

Just then, a bald, thick-lipped, muscular man pushed his way into the rite. A face he knew. Old Woman Wangdae's loyal servant, Park Il.

In his hand was a golden axe, gleaming bright yellow.

"Take it! Take it! Let the traitor receive his punishment!"

Old Woman Wangdae snatched the golden axe from Park Il's hand. She sprang off the chopping blade and, with a thud, crouched right in front of Han San's nose.

"Huh?"

Han San came to his senses with a jolt.

Flustered, he tried to back away. But his arms and legs would not budge. Only then did he realize he was shut inside a small box.

That was not all. Looking down at his own body, a small thing sprouting coarse, mat-like feathers, with only his neck stretched out, he was unmistakably...

"A chicken? I turned into a chicken?"

Old Woman Wangdae took one big step closer. She spread fingers like logs and seized Han San by the neck.

The golden axe rose high, flashing.

Han San's eyes bulged until they seemed about to tear, but Old Woman Wangdae paid no mind and cried out.

"The Great Lords descend!"

She brought it down.

There was a crash.

His vision was painted over in turns with blue, white, and bloody red, and a moment later it shattered to pieces.

"Hck!"

Han San bolted upright.

Cold sweat ran down his spine in streams. His heart pounded as if it would kick through his ribs and burst out.

He hurriedly groped at his body, at his neck above all.

It was still attached. No feathers, no beak. Proper human skin was right there.

"...Damn it..."

Han San started to spit out a curse, then caught the sound of his sleeping family's breathing and dropped his voice.

He looked around. A cramped room sunk in darkness. The smell of earthen walls. The damp scent of wood drifting down from the ceiling.

Beside him, his father and mother slept clutching each other, and over in the far corner he could see his little brother, who had kicked off his blanket and rolled away, shivering all alone.

Sebeom Valley, April 1933.

His home.

"Hoo..."

Han San let out a long breath. The unease pressing on his chest melted softly away.

He pulled the blanket up over Bada, then carefully stepped out of the room. Moving with a tread so soft that even the worn-out porch couldn't notice, the seasoned mountain man quietly set his feet down in the yard.

His breath hung white in the air. April. Mount Seorak was still gripping the tail end of winter.

As his sweat cooled in the dawn mountain wind, the [now] and the [here] became solid and certain.

'It wasn't a dream.'

He didn't mean that nonsense dream from before.

The truth was, right up until he fell asleep, he had been afraid. Maybe that was why a part of his mind had thrown itself so hard into making plans.

He had filled his belly with meat and laughed and talked with his family, but in one corner of his heart, terror had been lurking.

'What if all of this... was nothing more than an old man's final dream?'

What if, when he opened his eyes, there was no family at his side, only a bare Seonangdang shrine tree standing there?

What if he had gone back to that desolate future, where only his parents' empty mock graves, their bodies never even recovered, sat forlorn on the mountain across the way, and where he could truly never meet his brother again?

Han San ran a hand down his chest.

'...Be grateful.'

Even if it had turned out that way, he would not have railed at the heavens.

Because he had seen those beloved faces again. Because he had taken in the sight of his brother, still untouched by the world. That alone was a blessing beyond what he deserved, and he was far too old to throw a tantrum demanding why it was being taken back.

But.

'Truly, be grateful.'

That it hadn't been a dream, that all of this within reach was real, made him maddeningly happy.

He was still young, his family was beside him, and the chance was in his hands.

He drew several deep breaths and watched the rippling first signs of daybreak in the distance.

He went to the kitchen. The hearth. He lifted the lid of the pot, which still held some warmth.

"...Mother."

In the middle of the pot, in shallow water, sat one large bowl. Inside was porridge made from badger meat broth with mashed potato stirred in.

His mother, Ham Ssang-sim, had prepared it for the son who would set out on the dawn road. Thanks to the double-boiler principle, the potato porridge hadn't gone cold in the April night wind. It was still warm.

"Slurp."

Han San stood where he was and ate the porridge down. The rich grease mixed with the starch of arrowroot and potato, filling his stomach with warmth.

"Thank you for the meal."

He took the empty bowl to the spring, washed it, then scooped up a dipper of water and drank it down in one long pull. "Kreuh!" A coolness sharp enough to prickle the inside of his skull jolted his body and mind fully awake.

"Good."

Han San got himself ready fast.

He layered on the thick cotton clothes his mother had taken out beforehand and set near the hearth. He put on a wide-brimmed hat to keep off the night dew, and around his ankles he bound leggings reinforced with strips of bark.

He tucked the bottle of badger oil his mother had rendered through the night into his coat, then shouldered the A-frame carrier that stood in a corner of the yard, and his preparations were done.

He bowed his head slightly toward the inner room.

"I'll be going now."

Leaving the breathing of his deeply sleeping family behind him, Han San set out on the road.

The skirts of the mountain began to glow a faint blue with the color of dawn. Han San pressed into it without a shred of hesitation.

Sabak, sabak.

The sound of his straw sandals treading the soil was light and brisk.

'In that old body, even going to the outhouse was a whole ordeal.'

Every time his heart pumped like a piston, the vitality coursing through his veins flashed like lightning.

'It feels good.'

Han San ran. He almost flew.

Before long he had nearly crossed the Lower Hamlet and reached the spot where he could see the side path lodged like a thorn in Sebeom Valley.

'Follow this side path up a good ways and it connects to the new road. From there the new road runs on to Inje... but going that way means circling around far too much.'

He wasn't leading a donkey, just carrying a single A-frame on his back. Was there any need for that?

'A little way in, there was a shortcut, wasn't there?'

Han San decided at once. Go straight across.

Around the time Han San made that decision...

Tssss.

A red ember burned down, cutting through the dawn air. It was the yard of Go Tae-chon's house, clinging to the very outermost edge of the Lower Hamlet.

Sitting on the edge of the porch with a rumpled face, Go Tae-chon drew long on a cigarette.

"Hoo..."

After that uproar yesterday, his kid had cried so hard that calming him down had left Go Tae-chon completely drained. If his wife hadn't held him and comforted him, he probably couldn't have even gotten up.

But even so, as time passed the rage flared up again, and he couldn't sleep at all, which was why he had come out to sit here.

"Damned bastards. Half-evolved, savage, ignorant bumpkins."

Go Tae-chon spat on the ground.

"You catch a badger, so what are you gonna do with it? Huh? You think it just turns into coins all by itself? You think it transforms into rice and salt? You've got to circulate it, distribution! Distribution! And those savage, crippled-legged, ignorant bumpkins..."

In the end they'd have to come crawling to him, wouldn't they? Son and father, the pair of them, bowing their heads and begging, 'Uncle Tae-chon! Please, sell it for us!', 'Brother Go, no, Elder Go! I beg you!'

"We'll see then. Da-amn, I'll slap a real special distribution mar-gin on it."

That was when it happened. Past the fence, a shadow slipped through the dawn mist and caught Go Tae-chon's eye.

A man with an A-frame on his back. Tall and trim, with solid shoulders.

Go Tae-chon's eyes narrowed.

"Huh? That's the San brat."

What's he doing at this hour? Carrying an A-frame, no less.

So he'd thought it over, found it gnawing at him after all, and come even now to practice the advanced culture of the Mainland, the dogeza[6], before him?

No, if that were it, that brat wasn't heading for his house; he seemed to be trying to take the side path out...

"...No way?"

Go Tae-chon shot to his feet.

"Did he already render the badger oil? No, that's one thing, but... don't tell me he means to head straight to town?"

Look at this brat. Did he dare to skip the customary procedures formed by the tacit knowledge within the so-ciety of this Sebeom Valley, the producer making direct contact with the retailer to close some kind of deal on his own?

"Hah! Will you look at this?"

Go Tae-chon let out a flabbergasted, empty laugh.

"Running wild like he doesn't know how scary the world is. Fine, go ahead. Go on."

Go Tae-chon's laugh turned greasy. In his head, the Rag-na symphony he'd heard at a Gyeongseong kissaten was ringing out.

"You think the herbal-medicine dealers in town would so much as glance at savage primitives like you lot? And on top of that..."

Go Tae-chon, who had ended up rolling all the way out here after working a new road construction site, knew it well. To get from Sebeom Valley out to Inje town, there was one pass you had to cross no matter what.

'Tears Pass.'

A treachery among treacheries, where bands of robbers pitched camp practically every other day, where wild beasts came and went like it was their own house, where even automobiles routinely broke down.

And a young brat meant to cross a place like that alone?

He'd gone to town once or twice in a pack with the local young men, Bae-chil, Taeyang and the like, and now the whole world looked easy to him.

"He'll only come to his senses after getting wrung dry to the bone."

Go Tae-chon snickered, savoring it just from imagining it. He could picture it clear as day: brushed off by the dealers, chased by beasts, scrambling back in a hurry, bawling waaah like some small, cute little creature.

Then he'd show up like a savior and take the badger oil off his hands for a pittance, and that would be that. As long as the brat hadn't been robbed clean by bandits and left with nothing, anyway.

"Suffer a little, you cocky brat."

Drunk on his sense of victory, Go Tae-chon smiled with satisfaction and crushed out his cigarette butt. He turned to go back into the warm bedding and opened the door.

So Go Tae-chon didn't see it. He didn't see Han San, after going a little way up the side path, cut straight off into the mountain.

Han San took the ridgeline where the animals traveled. His steps were as easy as if he'd come out for a stroll.

When seventy-four years of seasoned eyes read the terrain, the fresh eighteen-year-old body answered at once.

When a boulder appeared he sprang clean over it, and brush that blocked his way he slipped through like a snake.

Ordinary Lower Hamlet folk like Go Tae-chon, of course, but even a fair-skilled native ginseng digger would have gone wide-eyed at the sight.

The whole time he worked his way along the mountain, an abacus clicked away in his head.

'Half a bottle of badger oil. If they price it well, three won fifty jeon.'

He called up the prices of this era. One seom of rice (144kg) ran around twenty won, and the retail price of one doe of salt (1.5kg) was somewhere near twelve jeon, wasn't it?

This was an age when a day's wage for a dock laborer doing heavy labor was barely one won thirty jeon. Even a skilled, professional carpenter earned only about two won a day. Even with an ethnic special bonus tacked on for being Japanese, it came to a little over three won.

Three won fifty jeon. It was not a small sum.

He could buy salt, buy candy to give Bada, and buy rice by the doe as well.

But Han San wasn't satisfied.

'Not enough.'

He was making the trip into town anyway. He had the A-frame on his back. It would be good if he could buy a little more.

'Let's see, things on the mountain that turn straight into money...'

Of course, he wasn't suddenly planning to go dig up some wild ginseng.

He knew a few of the spots. But there was no real market to sell through, and even if someone would buy, he couldn't sell yet.

Because it was too expensive.

'If I had three won in my hand right now, my day would be a comfortable one.'

Han San thought it through coldly.

'But if I had thirty won? I'd lie awake at night worrying about thieves. Three hundred won? The ones trying to take it would have knives in their hands. Three thousand won? Then even my family would be in danger.'

Wealth that outstrips one's vessel kills its owner in the world's most wretched fashion.

Han San, who had survived an age where the fist was closer than the law and the soldier's boot stood above the fist, knew this better than anyone.

'Exactly one won.'

Han San reached his conclusion.

'Not so much that it draws the eye, not so little that it pinches. Right around one more won is what I need.'

Where to get that one won? As Han San sat lost in thought, a light flickered across his eyes.

'Come to think of it, those things were there.'

Han San changed direction. He stepped up a steep slope, tok, tok, like a mountain goat.

His destination was up above. The scree field where a boulder had shattered and slid down.

By rights, it was a place no human foot would touch for decades to come.

[1] The daegeum (대금) is a large Korean transverse bamboo flute with a buzzing reed membrane, used in court and ritual music.

[2] In a Korean shamanic rite, a possessed shaman dances barefoot on the upturned edges of fodder-chopping blades (작두, jakdu); coming through unharmed is taken as proof the spirits have truly descended.

[3] Water Tiger: 水虎, literally "water tiger."

[4] White Tiger: spoken as the white tiger, but written with the characters 永虎, "eternal tiger" — fitting for a beast said to be everywhere and nowhere.

[5] Fire Tiger: spoken as the fire tiger, but written 旱虎, "drought tiger," whose breath leaves the land withered to bone.

[6] Dogeza (土下座) is the Japanese act of kneeling and pressing one's forehead to the ground, a gesture of utmost submission or apology.

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