Familiar Things

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  Bugeye pointed at Baldspot and nodded.

  ‘That’s it! Let’s talk to Scrawny’s mama.’

  The boys went back to the shack and snuck into their room so they could eavesdrop on the grown-ups in the other room. The night before, Bugeye’s mother and Baron Ashura had been fighting and raising a ruckus, but now they were all soft whispers and giggles.

  ‘You boys back?’

  At the sound of the Baron’s voice, Baldspot’s eyes widened and he shrunk his head down into his shoulders.

  Bugeye whispered, ‘I told you to shut the door quietly last night.’

  The boys went into the other room. The Baron didn’t look angry. His voice was loud, but his face was relaxed.

  ‘You scamps! Little young to be sleeping away from home already. Were you out roaming around all night?’

  ‘We slept in one of the empty shacks.’

  The Baron looked at Bugeye as if he’d expected as much, while Bugeye’s mother cut her eyes at the Baron.

  ‘Who are you to scold them when you’re the one who caused so much trouble last night? C’mon everyone, let’s eat breakfast. I made seaweed soup with meat.’

  The Baron threw his head back and laughed, and took two bills out of his back pocket and handed one each to Baldspot and Bugeye.

  ‘The work team is going into the city today to have some fun. Buy yourselves something good to eat, and stay out of trouble.’

  Baldspot and Bugeye gleefully tucked into their middle-class breakfast of moist white rice and seaweed soup and chonggak kimchi, and even a piece of grilled hairtail fish.

  Whenever the grown-ups went across the river and into the city, they had to bathe a day in advance, or else they wouldn’t be allowed into any decent establishments. If they got on a bus or went into a restaurant, the other people would plug their noses and look around, wondering where that awful smell was coming from, and when at last the epicentre was identified, everyone would back off to a safe distance or get up and change seats. Not long ago, a request had been made to the management office to install portable shower rooms. The residents of the island were still using a public bathhouse in the village across the stream, but the days leading up to major holidays like Chuseok were strictly reserved for the locals. Trash pickers weren’t allowed in until the day of the holiday itself. Since it was the only place around for thousands of local residents to get a good scrub, it was high season at the bathhouse. Children and grown-ups would be packed in like sardines from morning to night, and since the women’s section always had more kids, it took longer to finish bathing, and there were never enough water dippers to go around. Only after a great fuss and much scrubbing of their dirt-covered bodies did the people of the shantytown turn into normal, everyday locals, just like everyone else.

  And yet, no matter how well they bathed, the smell would have worked its way deep into the fibres of their clothing, so the next thing they had to do was change into new clothes. It was impossible to keep anything clean and decent in a landfill shack. The clothes they wore as they worked and slept and relaxed at home had all been selected from among the rags they pulled out of the trash. There was always the odd foreign-made brand-name article of clothing to be found among the still-wearable items, but the smell was a constant problem. Once one of them found a decent set of clothing in the trash, they would take it to a dry cleaners near the bathhouse, where everyone from the island was a regular, and leave it there for laundering and safekeeping. Anyone who didn’t own their own set of going-out clothes simply borrowed from what the others had left at the dry cleaner. Though they were always instantly identifiable on the intercity bus, once they lost themselves in the city crowds, they became indistinguishable from everyone else. Every now and then, one of the couples who’d gone into the city would return to the island still dressed in their going-out clothes to show off. Invariably, their crewmates would fail to recognise them, and the folks who’d been clinking soju glasses and cussing up a storm in the clearings would awkwardly switch to a more formal register or start throwing honorifics into their sentences.

  Bugeye’s mother had been to the bathhouse on her own a couple of times since they’d moved there, but though she pleaded with the Baron to take the boys with him when he went, he shook his head each time and said that he didn’t want to have to scrub those two brats. Bugeye’s mother was always saying how much better she would feel if she could take them there herself and give them a good scrubbing and get the smell of old trash off them, but she couldn’t since they were too big to go into the women’s side now.

  Around noon, Baron Ashura’s work team slowly began to gather in the clearing. They were already as giddy as children. They couldn’t stop talking about how they were going to scrub off the dirt and get dolled up and head into the city, maybe see a movie, enjoy some bulgogi for dinner, with drinks of course, and then sing their hearts out at noraebang. One of the guys told the others about how some of the people from the private sector had gone with the truck owner to some cabaret or hostess bar, and got sloshed and blew all of their earnings in one night. He described how the men had ironed their wrinkled money out flat before tucking it into the inside pockets of their jackets. ‘Know why?’ he added. ‘Because otherwise, man, the bills won’t fan out right when they whip all that cash out of their pockets.’

  Since it was a day off for the pickers, every part of the landfill, with the sole exception of the area in front of the shop, was quiet and tranquil. There was no heavy equipment or trucks making their way up and down, and nearly half of the trash pickers had flown the coop for the day, leaving the paths and clearings of the shantytown bereft of grown-ups. Bugeye and Baldspot had left the path, the box of ramen tucked under Baldspot’s arm, and were headed for the hideout when they heard someone call to them from behind. Bugeye turned to see Mole and two other boys walking towards them, each carrying a plastic shopping bag.

  ‘What’s that? Instant noodles?’ Mole asked, giving the box an indifferent poke. ‘You got that from the church, didn’t you?’

  Bugeye peeked into the other boys’ bags.

  ‘You’re not planning to make that Flower Island stew again, are you?’

  Bugeye didn’t hide the derision in his voice when he referred to the stew Mole had made for them last time from discarded fish. The adults called everything cooked with foodstuffs scrounged from the landfill ‘Flower Island stew’.

  ‘Watch it, man. Don’t you know who I am? I’m the youngest member of the Co-op!’

  The Environmental Co-operative was the crème de la crème of all of the private truck sectors, the one the Baron was forever envious of, as it covered the U.S. military bases, the factory districts, and the private residential areas. Along with three districts south of the river, the permit fee for the Co-op was many times higher than anywhere else. The military bases were known for ruthlessly tossing out food the second it was past the expiration date, regardless of whether it was still edible or not, and there were other items, from clothing to military supplies, in such good condition that the pickers couldn’t bring themselves to sell it all off by weight. As for the factory districts, those were a paradise of scrap metal, plastic, Styrofoam, vinyl, cardboard, and other recyclables. Mole was able to work on the second line thanks to his father and older brothers, who had been the first to arrive on Flower Island. Mole was carrying two plastic bags stuffed with small boxes.

  ‘You’re all gonna think you’re in heaven today, thanks to me.’

  The boys took Mole’s bragging in stride. When they reached the hideout, the first thing Mole did was give the roof poles a light kick, tap the plastic door, and walk all around so he could get a good look at the place, behaving as if he were the rightful owner.

  ‘The roof looks good. But didn’t I say to add a window on each side?’

  ‘Whatever, man. Don’t talk to me about windows. It took a whole day just to make that door.’
r />   ‘Fair enough. Weather’s getting colder anyway.’

  They left the door wide open, went inside, and sat in a circle.

  ‘Hey, this is nice … Whose blankets are these?’ Mole asked, as he lay back with his arms behind his head.

  ‘They’re ours,’ Baldspot said with a giggle.

  ‘We slept here last night,’ Bugeye explained. ‘The grown-ups were fighting …’

  Mole gave him a knowing laugh and said, ‘Your mum and his dad, right? Don’t sweat it. A lot of kids here don’t live with their parents. My dad lives in one place, and my hyung and I have our own place.’

  Though Bugeye was put off by Mole’s assumptions, the customs of Flower Island dictated that Bugeye had to laugh it off. Just as Bugeye had expected, Mole was different from the other kids. He looked like he could get by on his own without grown-ups’ help; he would never find himself sent to an orphanage. Two more boys appeared in the doorway. Bugeye was familiar with the two who had accompanied Mole, but these two were new to him.

  ‘Oy, Cap’n, long time no see.’

  The boy who spoke was tall, and looked like he might be older than he appeared. He gave Bugeye a dirty look as he sat across from Mole. Bugeye had told Mole he was fifteen so he could stand his ground against him, but he found out later that the boy giving him the stinkeye was fourteen, a whole year older than Bugeye’s actual age. After everyone was seated, the belated introductions began.

  ‘This is the new kid,’ Mole began, pointing at Bugeye. ‘I told you all about him last time. His name’s Bugeye, and he works, too, like me.’

  ‘Bugeye? That’s a fucked-up nickname … Not that mine’s any better. Everyone calls me Stink Bug.’

  Mole chuckled and added, ‘His nickname can go both ways. You can call him either Stink or Bug.’

  The boys all laughed. Bugeye was annoyed at how the kid had so rudely told him he had a fucked-up nickname, so he made a point of laughing extra hard and smacking the ground with his palm. Stink or Bug or whatever he called himself looked caught off guard by Bugeye’s reaction: even though he’d shown no hesitation in revealing his nickname, he immediately started to scowl. They all went around and introduced themselves by their nicknames. The two boys Bugeye had met before were chubby-cheeked Toad and Scab, whose face was crusted over from eczema. Then there was Beetle, a short, dark-skinned kid the same age as Baldspot. Even though Bugeye had earned his nickname from a cop back home who’d smacked him with rolled-up police reports, he still felt that, compared to the other boy’s nicknames, there was something dashing, manly even, about his own.

  Stink Bug lowered his head and looked up menacingly at Bugeye.

  ‘You laughin’ at me?’

  Everyone got quiet. Mole looked back and forth at the two of them as though he was enjoying himself. Bugeye stopped laughing.

  ‘C’mon man, I was only laughing because you were laughing.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  As soon as the kid scrambled up off the ground and made to kick at him, Bugeye leaped up. Mole jumped between them.

  ‘If you’re gonna fight, then at least take it outside and make it a real fight.’

  The boys spilled out into the yard in front of the hideout. Bugeye was no stranger to fights, having been through dozens back home, and he knew that boys like Stink Bug, who were quick to anger, always had a weak spot. He stood at ease, not bothering to adopt any particular boxing stance, his hands loose at his sides, while Stink or Bug or whatever started showing off his footwork, raising his clenched fists aloft and bouncing around like he was looking for an opening. Bugeye never dragged out his fights. He always threw the first punch, and could zero in on any weakness and lay the other kid out in just a few moves. When Stink Bug came at Bugeye with a high kick, Bugeye didn’t dodge out of the way, but instead grabbed Stink Bug’s leg with one hand and socked him in the face with the other. Stink Bug fell flat on his bum, and Bugeye followed with two swift kicks to the ribs. Stink Bug curled up on the ground, and gasped and hacked for air. It was almost disappointing how fast the fight had ended. Bugeye crouched down and patted Stink Bug on the back.

  ‘Hey, man, you okay?’

  ‘Get him some water,’ said Mole.

  Beetle poured some water from the plastic jug and tried to hand it to him, but Stink Bug shoved his hand away, scrambled up, and ran towards the field. Beetle tried to go after him, but Mole stopped him.

  ‘Leave him alone, he’s just embarrassed. He’ll come back soon enough.’

  Bugeye felt proud that he’d demonstrated to Mole and the others that he was not to be trifled with, but outwardly he acted as if it were no big deal.

  ‘What’s the point in fighting?’ he said. ‘We should’ve just laughed it off.’

  ‘Well, that’s why we call him Stink Bug. He’s always making a stink over every little thing.’

  Since the boy in question was gone, the other kids felt free to laugh. Mole pulled four small boxes out of the plastic bag. He opened one to reveal several cans and a chocolate-coloured packet. Toad craned forward to steal a peek.

  ‘What is that?’

  Scab leaned in knowingly and said, ‘I’ve had one of those before. It comes from the U.S. army base. It’s got all sorts of stuff.’

  Mole tore open the packet without comment. Several more packets of various shapes were inside. There was a round piece of chocolate covered in silver foil, crackers in foil packets, butter, cheese, jam, square pieces of gum, even a few cigarettes, coffee, cocoa, sugar, milk, and more, but the boys simply crowded around Mole and stared down at the items. Mole fished two can-openers out of the bag. One had a longish hole drilled through one end, while the other had a curved edge like a gardening hoe. Before opening the cans, Mole took a quick glance around.

  ‘Hey, if we’ve got any newspaper or cardboard, bring it here.’

  Beetle scampered away and came back with some scraps of cardboard they’d been saving for kindling. Mole slowly opened the cans. One contained a chunk of ham; the other, chicken noodle soup.

  ‘This is called a C-ration. We get them sometimes in our hauls.’

  Mole opened up all four boxes of C-rations, grouped the items together on the cardboard, and distributed them equally. The four round chocolate pieces were snapped in half, and a piece was given to everyone, followed by three pieces of gum and two cubes of sugar each. The canned foods were all dumped together into their one cooking pot. They splashed in some water, set the pot on top of their makeshift stove, and lit the fire; soon, a mouth-watering aroma filled the air. When the pot came to a boil, they added the instant noodles. They could tell just from looking at it that they’d cooked up something amazing. Mole served the food. They lined up in front of the pot, holding an empty can each and a pair of disposable chopsticks that had been used far more than once.

  Bugeye slurped up a chunk of meat and a mouthful of noodles, and asked Mole, ‘Why do people throw away perfectly good food?’

  ‘Beats me. This stuff is delicious.’

  ‘I wish I could eat this every day,’ Baldspot giggled, as he polished off his can of soup and ladled a second helping into it.

  The boys were happy. Mole sat back, the perfect image of a captain, puffing away leisurely on a cigarette and gazing contentedly at the boys as they slurped down their food. When the feast ended, the boy they called Scab suddenly pulled something out of his pocket, as if he’d forgotten all about it until then, and held it out.

  ‘I brought this for HQ.’

  Mole looked the item over and gave one of the buttons a push. A tinny electronic melody started to play. A brick wall appeared on the screen, and as a small round dot began to ricochet back and forth, the bricks disappeared one by one.

  ‘This is a brick-breaking game,’ Mole said. ‘But only pre-schoolers play it. Nowadays everyone is into Super Mario.’

  ‘What’s Super Mario?
’ Scab asked.

  ‘I found one at work once,’ Mole said. ‘It was broken, though, so I just threw it away.’

  Mole handed the game back to Scab, and the youngsters—Beetle, Baldspot, and Toad—sat together and took turns playing it. Mole and Bugeye went up the hill behind the hideout and looked down at the sunlight sparkling on the river’s surface.

  ‘Have you been to the city yet?’ Mole asked.

  ‘I used to live there, but I haven’t been back since we came here.’

  Mole’s mood seemed to sour at hearing that Bugeye had lived in the city.

  ‘Hey, man, you said you lived in the slums. I’m not talking about that, I mean downtown, as in, the middle of the city. I ate a hamburger there once.’

  ‘I only passed through. There was a department store and a movie theatre and a bunch of bars.’

  ‘The place the grown-ups go is just the outskirts of the city. Let’s you and I cross the river someday and go downtown for real.’

  Bugeye laughed.

  ‘And do what? Without money, we can’t do anything.’

  *

  The big, round full moon floated over the river. Bugeye and Baldspot snuck out of the hideout. They knew where they were going without having to say it out loud. They crossed the farm and the hill, and headed for the field on the other side of the shantytown. They could see a single speck of light way off in the distance and hear the occasional bark. As they approached the house, the dogs in the greenhouse began barking noisily. The door opened, and they heard the voice of Peddler Grandpa.

  ‘Come right in, boys.’

  Bugeye and Baldspot went inside. Scrawny yapped fiercely before leaping into Baldspot’s arms and wagging her tail. The other dogs all pressed their noses to his feet and whined. Scrawny’s mama was in the middle of cooking dinner.

  ‘The little uncles are back!’ she exclaimed. ‘Where’ve you been all day? Did you eat?’

  ‘Of course they haven’t eaten,’ Peddler Grandpa said. ‘Sit down and eat with us.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Bugeye said honestly. ‘We’ve been snacking all day, so we’re not hungry.’