WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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Chapter 83: Cult (3)

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That was how they decided to take a picture together.

They left the role of photographer to Hajama the Second. He was the only one around here with a portable camera, after all.

There were two reasons they did not go to a photography studio.

The first was that it would be embarrassing.

"It would damage my dignity."

That was what Sawada said, and Han San agreed in the broadest sense. Crossing the threshold of a photography studio alone with this bastard would have been more than embarrassing. It would have been downright miserable.

The second reason was that a photography studio simply was not the right place.

"What do you mean?"

When Sawada asked that, Han San scratched hard at the back of his head and clicked his tongue.

"If we're going to take a picture, shouldn't we make it fit the purpose?"

Sawada looked like he did not understand, but Han San did not care. He had not forgotten Sawada's true nature.

'The kind of man who'll never get ahead.'

Whether Han San himself had a talent for climbing the ladder was debatable, but he was confident he would do better than someone who had stayed stuck in Inje until the end of World War II.

And so, the next day, people gathered before the retaining wall of the new road that had collapsed in the typhoon. Military police, Korean assistants, and the whole Han's Myriad Commerce crew held long banners with Japanese and Korean written side by side.

[ Japan and Korea Join Forces for Disaster Recovery! ]

[ Brothers of Northeast Asia! Let Us Prosper Together! ]

[ Imperial Subjects Will Defeat the Typhoon Together! ]

In the middle of it all, Sawada stood with a pickaxe raised. He raised his one-eyed gaze as though none of this made sense and asked,

"Why do I have to pose like this?"

See? A man who would never get ahead.

Standing beside Sawada and bracing an A-frame carrier loaded with dirt, Han San spoke patiently.

"I heard your superiors told you to meet me because they'd heard I gathered the villagers and put in some work on this disaster recovery effort."

"And?"

"Then we take a picture of exactly that and send it up the chain."

That was right.

Having lived under a military dictatorship, the old man could roughly read what the Chuncheon military police commander wanted.

'[Acting the part!]'

Did those lofty men really take notice of him and tell Sawada to meet him?

And if he was truly such useful talent, would they make an exceptional appointment and entrust him with disaster recovery?

'As if.'

If they told him to do it, he could. To be honest, he was even confident he would do it well.

But to do that, he would need access to the disaster recovery budget.

'How much would that budget be?'

Han San recalled an article from last month.

The typhoon damage in far-off Namhae County alone had come to 700,000 won. Even excluding private losses and counting only public damage, it could not have been less than 300,000 won.

What did that mean?

It meant the Government-General would spend at least 300,000 won in tax money to restore Namhae County.

'Just a month ago, I was pleased with myself for making 500 won, thinking, [Wow, I might actually be good at business]. And the tax money needed to restore a single county like Namhae is 300,000 won. At minimum.'

Of course, Namhae County was on the coast, so perhaps the damage had been worse there. Even after accounting for all that and cutting it down to a tenth, the tax money sent to Inje would not be less than 30,000 won.

Could he get his hands on a budget of 30,000 won?

'Let alone me, even this self-proclaimed lord of Inje in front of me might not get so much as scraps. At best, he'll skim a little pocket change by shaking down merchants.'

In an era like this, budgets like that existed so the so-called [inner circle] could throw themselves a money feast.

[ Disaster recovery is all about vested interests. ]

Just as Teacher Han Bada had said again and again in Han San's past life.

Even the restoration of Middle Hamlet, which was only a third the size of the slash-and-burn settler village, had brought Han San enormous profits as its leader. He had created value ten to twenty times what he invested, and in the long run, nearly a hundred times as much.

If tax money alone going into Inje's recovery amounted to 30,000 won, then the vested interests tied to it were beyond enormous.

'And the one who brought this up was the Chuncheon military police commander. Chuncheon isn't even in the same league as Inje...'

It was true that Han San's 【standing】 had risen after Typhoon 3383 and after he bound the residents of Middle Hamlet together as one. Maybe Ayame really did think Han San was a capable man.

But if she had brought it up because she truly thought Han San could play some role, then she was viewing the world far too idealistically.

'That means [acting the part] is the right answer.'

The answer had been right there in the words of that battalion operations officer or whatever he was. All they had to do was give them something presentable to put in a report for their superiors.

They did not need to actually accomplish anything. Trying to do something would only mean, without reading the room, reaching for the bowls of food set before their betters.

You had to do the math right.

Han San did not explain every last detail of that living truth he had learned through the military regime, blood and sweat, and Teacher Han Bada's special lectures. He was not Sawada's babysitter.

He only explained enough for Sawada to understand, in the manner of, [This is just something that happened in our ignorant little slash-and-burn settler village...]

Even so, Sawada furrowed his brow.

"Is this really all right?"

Han San nodded firmly.

"This is how it has to be."

"No, but..."

Sawada started to say more, then recalled his superior's voice asking, [Isn't that right?] and shut his mouth.

"Yes, Commander. Raise your chin just a little more. Ah, that look in your eye! It feels downright murderous... no, determined. Very good."

"..."

Click, flash!

Hajama the Second's camera preserved that moment forever.

After some time had passed, Hajama the Second, Han San, and Sawada gathered before the developed photographs.

"Wow. These came out better than any pictures I've ever taken. This is no ordinary photograph. It is, in fact..."

"Yes, yes, Surveyor-nim. Wow, but they really did come out well."

A whole world had been completed inside the print.

At its center stood Sawada with his pickaxe raised. True to a man who would never get ahead, he could not pretend to save his life. With his shoulders squared and his lone eye opened wide, he looked as though he had declared war on the natural disaster itself.

Beside him stood Han San, bracing an A-frame carrier. He wore an innocent smile, or, in Sawada's words, a smile that made people sick.

Behind them, people were scattered around the collapsed retaining wall.

Sawada's adjutant gestured urgently as if giving orders, while military police and their assistants bent over to select stones in response.

The Han's Myriad Commerce employees were planted here and there like beans in rice, waving banners with slogans like [harmony between Japan and Korea], [Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity], and [we will do it]. The slanting afternoon sunlight even lent a hand, creating a splendid composition that called Millet's The Gleaners to mind.

And in that sacred tableau, none of the Chuk brothers from Han's Myriad Commerce had their faces visible.

They were perfectly hidden by the waving banners, had towels pulled low over their heads, or bowed at incredible angles...

Han San could only marvel.

'These people haven't lost their instincts as wanted fugitives.'

Thanks to that, Im Baechil was the only Han's Myriad Commerce employee whose face showed clearly.

His massive frame, holding a boulder in his arms, sturdily anchored one corner of the shot. Unlike Han San, he possessed true innocence, making him a scene-stealer in his own right.

Anyone who saw it would think, [Wow... the recovery effort is really getting underway.]

The truth was that everyone put down their tools and scattered the moment the shutter clicked, but in an era like this, what did the truth matter?

"Will this really do?"

"Ah, don't worry, Commander. There won't be any problem."

Han San put on a show of confidence. Sawada gathered the photographs with an even more complicated expression and left.

After his back had disappeared into the distance, Han San took a few photographs for himself.

'I should put them in frames, hang one in the office and one at home.'

They were the finest charms against bad luck. No talisman drawn by Old Woman Wangdae could possibly compare to a photograph taken with a Japanese military police officer in this era.

Naturally, Han San did not neglect risk management either. He casually brought it up to Hajama the Second.

"Surveyor-nim, you know the photographic plates?"

"Plates? Ah, these?"

"Yes. Could I buy those from you? I only want to keep them as souvenirs. It's absolutely not because I might quietly get rid of them in about twelve years..."

"Ha ha, what a strange thing to say. Why would you do that?"

While that conversation went on between Han San and Hajama the Second, Sawada got into a car and headed for Chuncheon.

At the Chuncheon military police headquarters:

[ Company commander, you've finally learned how to do your job.

Yes, this is exactly what we needed. Exactly this. ]

[ You bastard. You've finally become a proper man.

See? You can do it when you try. ]

Sawada received praise after praise from his superiors. On top of that, he was invited to a work dinner.

'I didn't get invited to a dinner even after catching Ginsei...'

They clicked their tongues at him after he spent a month chasing a beast through the mountains, but after spending one hour taking a picture on the road, suddenly he knew how to do his job.

Clack, clack.

The man who would never get ahead rolled a pair of steel balls in his hand and said nothing. It felt as though he had stumbled into one of the world's secrets against his will.

It was September.

Whether Sawada felt disillusioned in Chuncheon or not, Han San's schedule continued to roll on.

Han San had to keep doing steady business.

And doing steady business also meant collecting every bit of payment owed for work done.

'Staging fee!'

The photograph itself, useful for throwing his weight around, was excellent compensation.

But could that not count as his appearance fee?

He had even given this man who would never get ahead a little political consulting on top of it. Did that not call for something extra?

'It's not like this bastard is particularly lovable.'

Even Han San did not know exactly how much it was worth, but he knew it was expensive. When he received payment, he delivered the real thing.

"Commander."

Thus, turning back time a little to before Sawada departed for Chuncheon, Han San had rubbed his hands together and opened the conversation.

"Haven't I put my whole heart into helping you, Commander? It doesn't bother me that I'm still just a common peasant, but I worry it might not reflect well on you..."

"Get to the point."

"Could you give me a post?"

Han San got to the point very quickly. Sawada glared at him through his one eye.

"A post?"

"Yes. Specifically, assistant forest warden for this area. A contract appointment would be enough."

He was asking for a position roughly equivalent to a forest guard. Such appointments were non-regular contract positions.

Sawada might not have the ability to get a spoon into the disaster recovery feast, but that did not mean the commander of the military police detachment was a mere figurehead.

During the whole Ginsei uproar, Sawada had pulled in available forces from the surrounding area and set up camp. A considerable share of the credit belonged to Tono, who had been backed by the central command, but Sawada calling himself the lord of Inje was not entirely empty boasting.

"A contract assistant forest warden."

"Yes. You saw it when we caught Ginsei, Commander. I'm rather good at hunting. I won't hold you back in looking after the forests in your territory.

And I help Surveyor Hajama a great deal, so it would help with that too.

Besides, our company does peddling work. If we run into robbers while crossing the mountains... well, wouldn't having a post like that at least let us scare them off?"

And naturally, it was also for the [right to roam the mountains].

Whether he was hunting, digging medicinal herbs, or carrying out future work in Meokbawi Valley.

How convenient would it be if, whenever someone asked, [Why are you here?], he could shout, [Can't you see this?!] and flash an assistant forest warden badge?

'The contract part matters too.'

The drawback of being a civil servant was being tied to the state. But if it was a temporary job obtained through the back door, a position held in name only, then he could cut ties and walk away the moment the Japanese authorities started acting suspicious...

At that moment, a strange light entered Sawada's lone eye as he looked at Han San.

"I heard your people travel back and forth between Sokcho and Inje, doing escort work."

Han San did not flinch. Instead, he puffed out his chest proudly.

"The Misiryeong Pass robbers have been making trouble. Don't we have to travel in a big group so those bastards will avoid us? The escort work is just an excuse, an excuse to travel together."

"Hmph."

Sawada snorted. He did not look as though he believed a word of it.

Han San had not expected him to. Sawada might never get ahead, but he was not a fool.

That was why Sawada also knew his country's proverb about [putting a lid on something that stinks]. The fact that the Misiryeong Pass robbers had steadily appeared less often before the typhoon did not run against the interests of a man who called himself the lord of Inje.

Of course, if he ever wanted to open that lid, he would. But he had not caught this slippery Joseon bastard carrying out private executions of robbers. Even if he did investigate, Han San would slip away this way and that.

Sawada clicked his tongue.

"I'll speak to the township office."

Footnotes:

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