by Seong-nan Ha
The days passed quietly. Disputes were never brought to the station. The village elder gave the verdict and everyone seemed perfectly happy to go along with the decision. Ungok-ri was as quiet as the inside of a fishbowl. His daily routine consisted of keeping watch at the station and patrolling the teahouse and market. He signed a couple of patrol books and came back to the station; this went on. No one spoke to him.
He was passing the bean field on his way home when he came across an old woman. She had flattened herself on the ground as soon as she’d seen him, but she hadn’t been able to conceal herself completely in the shallow field. Initially he’d intended to keep walking, thinking she was merely weeding, but something stopped him. Assuming he was gone, the old woman got up and resumed digging with a hoe. There were several small holes along the path behind her. They were full of beans; she’d probably picked them from the field. There were beans even in the folds of her dirty clothes. She was dressed in a thin, traditional dress not suitable for the weather, and wore a half-slip over the skirt. She also had on a men’s fur vest. She dug quickly. She slipped some beans in the hole, as well as in her mouth. She had trouble chewing with her two remaining teeth. Half of the beans spilled onto her skirt.
“Halmoni, what are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m burying my gold.” Sounds escaped through her gummy mouth.
Her breath reeked. She grabbed a fistful of beans, along with some of the half-chewed ones that had fallen out of her mouth, and put them in the hole, covering them up with dirt. Her eyes, crusted with sleep and boils, met his, and glinted suddenly. There was a flash and something struck his forehead. He felt a sticky warmth trickle down his face.
The old woman was already past the field, fleeing toward the mountain. In the furrow among the scattered beans shone the hoe she’d hit him with. As he stood up, pressing his palm to the wound, he stumbled and tripped into one of the holes.
•
The path was always foggy. The fog rolled in regardless of the season or time of day. He kept losing his sense of direction. There were no signs or buildings that could serve as markers. Everything looked the same. He groped along toward the station in the thick fog. He couldn’t even see his feet, but he heard the gravel crunch under his feet. When he heard light footsteps over his own, he stopped. Steps approached, and then a form materialized right before him. It was a young woman, barely twenty years old. Her eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t come across a young woman in the village until now, other than the ones who worked at the teahouse. Her hair looked damp, as if she’d been walking in the fog for a long time.
He meant to step out of the way, but got in her way instead. In Seoul, he’d frequently bumped into people, because he’d reacted too quickly for his own good and they’d ended up misreading his movements. Although he possessed outstanding marksmanship and an unusually quick reaction time—all requirements to be a police officer—these turned out to be disadvantages in this case.
It was best to stand still. She nodded at him and passed by. Quickly, the fog wiped away every trace of the girl, as if he’d dreamed her up.
He couldn’t just wait for the fog to clear. He was forced to rely on the gravel. All he had to do was make sure he stayed on the gravel, since the path led to the station.
By the time he arrived at the station to begin his shift, he was wet, as if he’d been caught in a drizzle. The station was empty, save for a few reservists guarding the armory. The door to the night room was in the back. Though its small window looked out to the front of the station, the door opened onto an empty field. A pair of shoes—Officer Lim’s, he was guessing—lay outside the door. He knocked. “All right,” Lim said from inside a moment later. “Why don’t you go wait in the station?”
He went into the field, sat down, and took out a cigarette. He was about to light it when the night-room door opened a crack. A hand reached out to set a pair of women’s shoes by the door, followed by a pair of legs that fumbled for the shoes. The woman then said something into the room, causing Lim to laugh. After making sure no one was around, she got to her feet. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lipstick was smeared as though it had been rubbed out with an eraser. The night room wasn’t big enough for two adults to lie next to each other. Her footsteps faded into the fog. She disappeared in the direction of Cheongbong village. He could tell, even though the fog was thick. The door opened once more and this time, Lim put on his shoes. He stretched lazily. To the man, Lim was like the fog—a natural part of the town.
As the fog cleared and the day went on, the scene outside the station window came to life. He could now see the post office, and even all the way to the market entrance. The girls returned to the teahouse on their scooters and once again hid themselves inside.
When Lim came back to the station around 6 P.M. to relieve him, the man led him to the bar across from the station. Scattered around the bar were several stainless steel tables with little fire pits in the center. The man ordered a green onion pancake and a bottle of soju. Only he drank, since Lim had to be on duty soon. Lim patted him on the shoulder, as if he understood all too well.
“I know it can get lonesome being stuck in a place like this. It must be completely different from what you’re used to. You’re too good to waste away here.”
The soju disappeared quickly. He tipped backward on his stool. The other customers stared at him. He struggled to get up, but couldn’t. “Damn it, what’s wrong with this soju?” he slurred. “Tastes like shit.”
The customers whispered, leaning toward one another. Should the police be drinking like that? Who knows? But why did he even come here in the first place? Isn’t it obvious? This was the only post he could get.
“I had no idea you were having such a hard time,” Lim said, pouring him some more soju. “Other people might not understand, but I do.”
He couldn’t remember how he managed to get home. At the entrance of Cheongbong, he vomited up everything he’d eaten.
It seemed that the commotion he’d caused at the bar had already spread to the village women. Although they’d never smiled at him or even spoken to him, they had at least acknowledged him. But now the women who had been joking and laughing while weeding suddenly fell silent and turned their backs on him. He walked past them as he headed to the police station. The next day, he discovered maggots squirming in the pile of vomit that he assumed was his.
•
It was after lunchtime, so everyone was working out in the fields and all the houses were empty. If she hadn’t been humming, he would have walked past the neighbor’s house without a second glance, like all the other times before. He was exhausted from the night shift. Through the wide-open front gate, he saw a tap and rusted pump in one corner of the yard. A young woman squatted beside it, washing her hair. It seemed the soap wasn’t rinsing out easily. Because of the tangles in her hair, her comb got caught midway. She swore all of a sudden. She’d rolled up her skirt at the hem, knotting it above her knees so that it wouldn’t get wet. The pale legs peeking out from beneath her skirt didn’t look like the legs of a farm girl. She filled the basin with clean water, keeping her eyes tightly shut to prevent soap from getting in them. He stood rooted to the spot, planning to leave before she opened her eyes, but he kept delaying. She grasped her hair in both hands and wrung out the water. She then took down one of the towels from the clothesline and wrapped it around her head like a turban. He took in her narrow chin. She slowly opened her eyes. She walked toward the narrow living room porch, feet squishing in her wet rubber flats. All of a sudden, she looked back and glared out at the gate. Their eyes met. Hers widened in shock. It was the same girl he had met in the fog.
He fled. Rubber shoes squeaked behind him and the gate slammed shut. Still, he kept running. His heart didn’t stop racing even after he’d shut himself in his room. He liked feeling his heart race.
•
Whenever he’d search for a target among the pine trees, he broke out into a sweat
. For the first time in ten years, the hunting ban had been lifted. The police chief took down the rifle he’d laid to rest a decade ago and cleaned it. He called the man over. “I heard you’re a dead shot,” he said, handing him a rifle.
The chief liked to shoot birds, but the man preferred to keep his senses alert and sneak through the woods looking for game. Silent hunting, they called it. A rabbit jumped out from behind a bush. He took a shot, but the bullet hit the base of a pine instead. He reloaded the double-barrel gun. Luckily, he was standing in a headwind; the rabbit wouldn’t be able to pick up his scent. He waited for it to come out from the bush again. It finally appeared in his range. He counted to a hundred in his head. Run, Rabbit. I’ll give you to a hundred. After that, I won’t go so easy on you. It scampered off into the woods. His eyes tracked the rustling noise. It couldn’t be too far. He held his breath and took aim. Right then, a gunshot rang out that shook the forest, and the rabbit hid somewhere else.
The cock pheasant that the chief hit fell out of the sky, crashing down into the branches. But the rabbit wasn’t the only thing spooked by the gunshot. A woman’s head popped up from a low hill covered with bushes. Several buttons on her blouse were undone, her bra dangling loosely beneath it. Dried grass clung to her tangled hair, which was flattened to the back of her head. A man’s hand sprung out of the bushes and pulled her back down. Just by a single glance, he could tell it was the same woman, who had come out of the night room and walked into the fog with short, mincing steps. He heard the police chief draw near, running toward the fallen bird. His flushed round face appeared between the pines. He poked the pheasant with the muzzle of his gun.
“You enjoy the meat, since I enjoyed the hunt.”
The man shoved the dead pheasant in the gunnysack he’d brought along. He slung it over his shoulder and trudged toward his lodgings. When he was almost there, the girl from the other day stepped out through her front door. Her socks, which were folded down at the ankles, were blinding white. He looked at her in greeting.
“I heard shots coming from the woods. Was it you?” She glanced at the sack he was carrying. “What did you catch?”
Her eyes brimmed with curiosity. He put the sack on the ground and untied the rope. She looked inside.
“Poor thing! So you’re a crack shot?”
“Nah, I was aiming for a rabbit, but it got away.”
“Why were you spying on me the other day?” she said, as she peered into the bag. “Is a police officer supposed to do that?”
She was so close he could hear her breathing. He had no time to respond. She turned on her heels and brushed past him.
•
There was a long line of trucks loaded with goods. These trucks, which occupied every corner of the market, were instantly transformed into shops when their tailgates were opened. When it started to grow dark that evening, a driver came running into the police station. The man followed him to the market and found the old woman lying on the ground right in front of the truck’s front tires. Based on the clothing that littered the ground, it seemed she had caused quite a commotion already.
“It’s no big deal about the clothes, but how am I supposed to go home if she doesn’t get out from under there …”
The old woman gave off a piercing stench. He crept up to her. “Halmoni, why are you lying here? What happened to all your gold?”
Her eyes snapped open. He pointed at the scar on his forehead to remind her who he was.
“You’re the one who stole my gold! You saw where I buried it, didn’t you!”
She jumped to her feet and lashed out at his face, catching him off guard. His head snapped to the left, and his hat was knocked to the ground. She seized him by the collar. He could hardly breathe. Where did this old hag, withered like some ancient tree, get that awesome strength? She wouldn’t let go, shrieking at those passing by. She lost a tooth in the racket, leaving her with only one bottom tooth. Her foul breath hit him in the face.
“This bastard took all my gold! Call the police, call the police!”
“Old woman, I am the police.”
It was only then that she noticed his uniform. Her grip loosened. A crowd had gathered around them, but no one tried to help. He heard a whisper: She might be crazy, but she wouldn’t accuse just anyone, right? He gazed at the faces around him. Not a single person was on his side.
The truck driver pulled the old woman off him. She swung her arms wildly, clawing the truck driver’s cheek. Blood began to seep from the wound. In a panic, she picked up her rubber shoes and scampered away. One by one, the onlookers began to leave.
“Three years I’ve been coming here, but I just can’t figure these people out. You noticed there aren’t any dogs around here? Know why? ’Cause you don’t need them, that’s why. This whole goddamned place turns into one big, nasty dog when a new person shows up. There was a man from Seoul who moved here to start farming. He couldn’t make it and eventually had to leave.”
The man brushed the dirt off his uniform and picked up his hat. He bent the brim and set it back on his head. He made eye contact with the girl, who had been peering at hairpins on display. She picked up a few and put them back, as though they weren’t to her liking. Right then, the woman trying on a pin next to her looked up. It was the woman he’d seen coming out of the night room, the same one he’d seen in the bushes when he’d gone hunting. She followed the girl’s gaze and saw him. The two women exchanged glances and whispered to each other. The woman moved onto another display case and the girl hurried into the post office. He realized then the girl must work there.
•
The old woman’s body was found in the bean field. The cause of death was a gunshot wound in her leg. A farmer who had gone out to the field in the early hours had discovered blood dotting the gravel, ending at the woman’s corpse. The furrow was dark with her blood. Although Ungok-ri wasn’t known as a hunting site, hunters did sometimes come by. For the past few days, the fog had been heavy. The old woman often wandered through the woods, and hunters could have mistaken her for an animal. She’d been alive until she came to the furrow. If she’d been discovered earlier, she could have been saved.
Something needed to be done about the body; they couldn’t simply wait for her son to arrive from Seoul. The people from the neighborhood began the funeral preparations. Together with Officer Lim, the man paid a condolence visit. He noticed that the people’s stares weren’t so friendly. They sat at a table in a corner of the yard.
“They think maybe you shot the old woman. No one does any hunting round here except you and the chief. Plus, there was the incident at the market the other day. This is a small town, and news travels fast. There’s nothing you can do once you get on their bad side. Why didn’t you try to get to know them a little?”
Lim poured him drink after drink, and he gulped down several shots in a row. Because he drank so quickly on an empty stomach, he was drunk in no time. “I don’t get it—I can’t seem to handle the liquor here,” he muttered.
But Lim didn’t hear what he said. He was too busy swatting at the flies that buzzed around his face.
•
The fog had settled heavily over the whole neighborhood. He slipped on the gravel and fell down several times. When he pulled himself together at last, he found himself standing in front of the house where the girl lived. He tried the front gate; it wasn’t locked. The rubber flats she’d been wearing sat on the stone step outside a bedroom door. Because there was only one pair of shoes, he was certain she didn’t share the room with anyone else.
The bedroom door was also unlocked. His courage bolstered by alcohol, he crept inside, removing his shoes and putting one in each coat pocket. He heard her steady breathing, and glimpsed even teeth gleaming between parted lips. He quieted his breathing and peered into her face, but thick fog covered the moon, and he couldn’t make out her features. He moved his fingers over her face and found her mouth. He’d planned to leave after listening to the sound of her
breathing. He was about to put his ear next to her lips when she reached up and dug her fingers in his hair. He was overcome with sleepiness. She pulled his face toward hers, and her hot, moist tongue thrust past his chapped lips.
•
It was his landlord who woke him up. His wife was probably out in the fields already. The man had come back from the girl’s room at dawn, when the fog hadn’t yet cleared. He sluggishly put on his clothes. The landlord told him to come to the house next door and left. The man’s head ached from the drinking. But the memory of what had happened the night before was vivid.
Many elders from the neighborhood sat smoking in the main room. The air was thick with smoke. He kneeled before them. The girl’s father, with his back turned, sucked on his cigarette impatiently. The man’s landlord, who was the girl’s uncle, spoke quietly.
“This is a very small town. How could you, to a girl who isn’t even married—” He pursed his lips together, as if he found it shameful to even speak of the matter.
The elders glared at the man. When a rabbit gets cornered in a dead-end, it somehow senses its predicament and freezes.
“I guess it’s too late now, since what’s done is done,” said a man he’d sometimes seen working in the field. “We have to take care of this before word gets out. I’m sure you had some kind of plan when you snuck into her room.”
Right then, he heard a woman burst into sobs in the adjoining room. He figured that the village women had gathered there.
“Stop that!” shrieked an older woman’s voice. “You did nothing to deserve any sympathy. There’s not enough men around that you’d go and be intimate with someone you barely know? What are you going to do now? How’s your father going to show his face around here?”
Amid the shrill cries, the man heard someone console the weeping girl. “Sister, don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”
He recognized that voice right away. It was the girl from the post office. In that instant, he realized something was very wrong. The girl from the post office should have been the one who was crying. She was the one he’d spent the night with.
