Lost Souls

by Hwang Sunwon

  The realtor was perspiring freely. Was it that difficult for him to have to ask for a commission?

  Rain finally arrived. The dry spell had lasted so long it was as if the people were as parched as the landscape, and even after a few days the steady rain hadn’t worn out its welcome.

  Hyŏnse and his family were happy to see it. The other refugees had also been looking forward to the first soaking rain and the refreshment it would offer. So when they saw nursing babies blowing out through their mouth the way nursing babies do, they would say to each other, “Look at the little darlings, it’s amazing, they knew it was going to rain, but enough’s enough and now they should make it stop,” and they would laugh and laugh. But then a week went by and still it continued to rain. Normally the monsoons didn’t arrive until a month later, and by now the adults who had been predicting the rains were about to stop no longer laughed at the babies blowing out through their mouths, took no pleasure from talking about them, and instead did nothing but lie pathetically in bed. For the women the only refuge was the kitchen, where they gathered once or twice a day to prepare meals and to vent their pent-up emotions.

  Those who ventured out returned with the alarming news that Map’o was under water, P’yŏngt’aek was under water, and this was going to be the worst monsoon season in 40 years, with more rain expected. More astounding still were the reports that not even 500 wŏn could buy a sack of rice—there was no rice to buy—and that to buy enough potatoes to feed a family of four for two days running you’d have to pay 80 wŏn.

  As Hyŏnse lay in bed he would tell himself the war was supposed to be over, but for him and his family it was still going full tilt. The news that Map’o was flooded and P’yŏngt’aek was under water sounded to him as if those places had fallen to the enemy. And that’s why they were refugees—refugees in a place that didn’t seem like their homeland.

  The refugees who had found work on road construction crews and as street sweepers, and the children who would normally be playing outside in the daytime, were now indoors out of the rain, thronging the large room of the refugee house and making it feel cramped. Now and then Hyŏnse heard the moans of the sick. The lot of them presented a graphic tableau of ill refugees.

  Hyŏnse braved the rain to visit the man, a native of Seoul, who had been a neighbor in Beijing and had returned to Korea on the same boat as Hyŏnse and his family—the man he had earlier approached about finding construction work. The man’s only response was for Hyŏnse to try and wait a little longer.

  One day Hyŏnse’s wife, large with child, complained of itchiness and began to scratch repeatedly at her elbow. She must have shown the affected elbow to someone because she now reported that it was poison ivy, that people didn’t die from scabies but they died from poison ivy, and it would be her good fortune if a worthless thing like her could drop dead on the spot. Hyŏnse found this unsettling. Recalling that you were supposed to treat poison ivy by washing it with water that had been used for boiling a black hen, he figured it would be a good idea to buy a chicken, which he could then feed to his family. But he couldn’t afford a chicken and so he decided on the next best thing—to apply egg white to the affected area. Braving the rain, he brought back an egg, which his wife cracked before transferring the white to a small bowl. From the way she applied the egg white back and forth over her elbow it seemed she wasn’t so eager to die after all. Their little daughter pestered her mother to steam the yolk. Looking in turn at his wife and his little girl, Hyŏnse told himself that people don’t die from things like poison ivy; they only die from starvation.

  The moaning of the ill increased by the day, and among the moans would be voices saying that this damned rainy season was going to kill off every last one of the refugees. And when the sound of the rain softened, Elder Kim could often be heard upstairs singing hymns. His voice when he sang was by far the clearest and most resonant voice to be heard. Ever since the monsoons had started, Elder Kim had refrained from asking the refugees to vacate, but it seemed only a matter of time before he started up again.

  As if Hyŏnse didn’t have enough worries already, he found himself wondering if the other house was taking in rainwater, as old Snake Neck had said it would. With two days left until the move-out deadline Hyŏnse grew anxious about whether the tenants would all vacate, and he took advantage of a lull in the rain to visit the realtor.

  As before, he found the elderly broker sitting on his veranda, looking up at the sky with a watchful eye. “Come on in,” he said in delight. “I was hoping you might drop by today. You know, those tenants—I just got back from seeing off the ones in the room beside the gate. But old Snake Neck in the room across the veranda is making a stink. The day after tomorrow is the deadline for moving out, right? Well, I told them it was today. To speed up the process, you know? So the room beside the gate’s empty. But old Snake Neck is going to put up a fuss right to the end. Her grandson and his family live with her, and the grandson is the reasonable one—he realizes as long as the house has been sold and the new owner wants all the rooms, it makes sense us asking him to vacate. So he and I went out and got him a room in Hwa-dong, the other side of the hill there, but the old woman flat out said no, she wasn’t leaving. I think I can understand why she’s being so ornery—there was a time when the owner wanted to raise the rent, so he told a lie, said he had sold the house, and then he asked her and the other tenants to leave. So this time she’s not having any of it. The way she talks, I suspect she’d move out easily enough if you gave her some money, but don’t worry, sir, you just leave it all to me—everything will work out. Just remember that commission, sir. All right, let’s you and I go up there now and get this over and done with.”

  And out the realtor went.

  As Hyŏnse followed, he recalled what Tugap had said about not letting anyone suspect that he was performing a little act. Now that the realtor was asking the tenants to leave, Hyŏnse finally began to understand that his little act was saving the owner from having to pay the tenants to move out.

  As the realtor led the way up the gradual slope to the house, he kept saying, “We’re not going to give any sign that we’re going to ease up on them. In a matter like this, once you drag things out an extra day or two it becomes endless.”

  They arrived at the house to find the veranda filled with what appeared to be the belongings of the owner. So, the owner must be part of the act, thought Hyŏnse. The man was certainly being careful to avoid giving it away.

  Outside the room across the veranda stood a young man gazing up at the sky. This must be old Snake Neck’s grandson.

  The realtor approached the young man. “Now think about it—today is the deadline for moving out, and here we have the buyer of the house. So let’s do what’s right for both sides.”

  The realtor seemed to be expecting an argument, but all the young man did was turn toward him in acknowledgment; he said nothing. But then the door to the room slid open and old Snake Neck’s head appeared, her hair white as a scallion root and tangled as a scouring pad, her neck stretched out longer than ever.

  “I don’t care if it’s the man in the moon who’s asking us to leave!” she shrieked. “We’re not leaving!”

  This was evidently meant for Hyŏnse and not just the realtor.

  “We’re not leaving! Where’s a sick person supposed to move to in the middle of the rainy season? We may not have a home of our own, but we’re still human—just because someone wants to kick us out doesn’t mean we’re going along with it!”

  Sure enough, the old woman was bringing into play the lies of the owner when he had wanted to raise the rent. And now that the house was actually being sold, she intended to give the owner a hard time and demand moving expenses, as the realtor had warned Hyŏnse. At this point the owner might have been expected to appear, but there was no sign of movement in the main room, his living quarters.

  The realtor had prepared for this, and he turned to the young man and spoke loudly enough for the old wo
man to hear: “Like I said, the purchase has been completed and the house has a new owner.” The point being that the old woman could resist all she wanted, but she was mistaken if she thought she was going to get some money from the previous owner.

  This brought worse shrieking from old Snake Neck: “I don’t care whose house it is, we’re not going!”

  “I’m sorry to be meeting you like this,” said the young man to Hyŏnse, “but could you give us a day or two? With my grandmother the way she is, I’d like to calm her down, and if you can give us a day or two I promise we’ll vacate.” His words were practically a plea.

  Hyŏnse, thinking that sympathy would be dangerous at this juncture, said, “You have your situation, but consider our situation too: my family and two other refugee families have been living on the streets waiting to move in.”

  The young man seemed to realize there was nothing more he could do. Going inside their room, he spoke, evidently to his wife: “Get our things together; I’m going to take Grandmother before the rain starts up again.” Whereupon he reemerged, his back turned to old Snake Neck so that she could ride him piggyback.

  But instead old Snake Neck began beating on the young man’s back with her bony fists. “Cussed boy, go if you want; I’ll die before I leave. Taking your sick old grandma to a place without a heated floor, you want to kill me? Then kill me where I am, kill me now!”

  Finally the young man hoisted his grandmother to his back and rose, absorbing the blows. He said something more to his wife, but it couldn’t be heard, not so much because of old Snake Neck’s fuss as she continued to beat him, but because his voice was choked up and muffled. As he stepped down to the yard Hyŏnse could see that his eyes had reddened.

  By now old Snake Neck seemed too tired to beat her grandson; her shoulders heaved as she tried to catch her breath, but she continued to shriek: “I hope all of you are struck by lightning and drop dead; I hope the rains wash this damn house away!”

  Hyŏnse stood mutely as this scene unfolded.

  As old Snake Neck’s grandson approached the main gate, she buried her face in his back, seemingly exhausted, then cried out one last time: “Wash away this damn house! Drop dead, all of you! I want to die! Take me to the public graves, you wretched people, and bury me! Bury me!”

  Head bowed, the young man silently went out through the gate and was seen no more.

  Hyŏnse couldn’t erase this scene from his mind. At the same time, his thoughts turned elsewhere. The fact was, the young man and his family had a place to go. What would have become of Hyŏnse had he not encountered Tugap?

  Blinding shafts of sunlight fell between lingering layers of clouds. Summer was here to stay and the sun’s rays were strong and hot. This was the day to pay the balance of the purchase price, and Hyŏnse was on his way to the tearoom to meet Tugap. The sun had been out for a while, and with every shaft of light his legs felt wobbly. It was as if the sunlight had a life of its own, and when the rays hit the backs of his knees he felt he had to struggle to stay upright, and that made his legs feel shaky.

  And when his legs felt shaky, he wished he could get rid of the light bundle he was carrying. But the next moment he would grip the bundle as if it were a lifeline. Inside the wrapping cloth was another suit he had to sell, along with a sack for the potatoes he would then buy. After today, of the suits he had brought back from North China—which were pretty much the sum of his assets—only one would be left. It made him feel sick inside.

  This suit had to fetch a better price, he told himself. And he had to find the cheapest potatoes, which were so absurdly expensive this monsoon season. The thing was, the same marketplace sold the same potatoes for wildly differing prices. Difficult as it was, he had to make the rounds of all the markets in order to find the best price.

  Before long he would see freshly boiled potatoes steaming before his eyes. Believe it or not, someone else had said he was sick of potatoes, but Hyŏnse thought, wouldn’t it be nice to eat them until his stomach bulged, blowing on a nice hot one to cool it off? No matter how warm the day, potatoes had to be steaming hot. Oh boy, if he could stuff himself just once, blowing on those nice hot ones to cool them off.

  Once again sunlight broke through the clouds and once again Hyŏnse’s legs felt wobbly. He looked like someone just discharged from the hospital, or else on his way there—complete with a bundle of belongings.

  The tearoom was practically empty—the hour was still early—but Tugap was there, wearing a dress shirt, holding up the fan to signal him. Hyŏnse joined Tugap, who then ordered milk for him.

  With his other hand Tugap rubbed his forehead and the back of his neck, from which he had already mopped perspiration. “Here’s the balance,” he said, retrieving two bank drafts from inside the suit jacket slung over his chair, “and the commission.” He indicated a bank draft for 1,000 wŏn; the other draft was for 95,000 wŏn. Like the bank draft for the earnest money, both drafts had a line drawn across them.

  Hyŏnse pocketed the drafts. “Is a thousand going to be enough? The broker is talking like he expects a healthy commission.”

  “The old man’s being unreasonable. The owner said he gave him a proper commission the day he made up the purchase agreement, and then the night before last the old man was pestering the owner to give him some money for helping the renters move out. So the owner had to cough up another hundred wŏn. And the people who actually found a room for the renters, you don’t think they offered their services for free, do you? He’s like a leech, and he’s going to stick to us for all he can get. You get soft with people like that and there’s no end to it. You got to tell him flat out, no. What did the old man do for us? Tell me.”

  Did that mean the realtor had lied to him when he said he hadn’t received a commission from the owner? Hyŏnse asked himself.

  The milk soon arrived and when Hyŏnse had finished it Tugap said, “Want to go over there now?” Hyŏnse picked up his bundle and rose, whereupon Tugap added, “I’ll wait here. I have to meet someone.”

  In spite of the glass of milk Hyŏnse felt the same as before, legs wobbly every time the sun came out.

  Hyŏnse reached the realtor’s home in Samch’ŏng-dong to find the old man nodding off on his veranda, reed fan in hand. At the sound of Hyŏnse’s arrival the realtor opened his eyes.

  “Huh—oh, it’s you. . . . Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll go fetch the owner.”

  That wouldn’t be necessary, Hyŏnse said, thinking their little act was over now. He gave the larger bank draft to the realtor.

  As he sat fanning himself while waiting for the realtor to return, Hyŏnse felt his mind go hazy. His eyes closed and he began to nod off.

  “You must be all worn out” was the next thing he heard, and it brought him wide awake. “You should have laid yourself down and used the wooden pillow.” Hyŏnse realized he hadn’t heard the realtor return.

  The realtor handed Hyŏnse a receipt, then picked up his fan and, seating himself a respectful distance from Hyŏnse while he cooled off, began fanning himself and Hyŏnse in turn.

  “The owner has already made a copy of his seal imprint, so he’s ready to transfer title anytime you want. Oh, and he told me he’d arranged with you to occupy the house for a few more days—is that correct?”

  Hyŏnse nodded, knowing he had no choice in the matter. “That’s fine.” And with that he rose. He had already walked out the gate when he heard the realtor’s voice.

  “Uh, sir,” he called out in an awkward tone. “I hope you won’t mind my bringing this up, but the fact is, we’ve run out of grain and I need to go out and buy myself some rice.”

  Only then did Hyŏnse remember the commission. “Well, I guess I still haven’t woken up yet.” So saying, he reached into his pocket.

  “Sorry about this, but like I said, we’ve just run out of grain.” The realtor accepted the bank draft from Hyŏnse and examined the amount. Instantly his face hardened. “Don’t do this to me, sir—you need to give this
some more thought.”

  “Can’t we leave it at that?”

  “You know as well as I do, sir, that you just got a swell deal on that house. Just yesterday a house out back there sold for fif-teen-thousand a k’an. Compared with that, you got your house practically for free! It’s your good luck, sir, but I had to work every trick in the book to get a cheap price for you—think about it. And you’ll remember me mentioning that I make the sale and what do I get from the owner? Not one copper! And that’s not all—I know you’re war refugees, so I worked it out for you and your family to move in early, which means getting the renters to move out—I’ve gone to all this trouble. You were with me, sir, so you know how cantankerous that old woman was. Can you imagine how many times a day I had to put up with her pestering? I feel like I’ve been to hell and back, I tell you! I’m not bragging when I say that if it wasn’t for me, those renters never would have left. But I got them to leave, and I did it so you and your family could move in early—and you know that. I want you to take all this into account, sir.”

  He wasn’t denying that the realtor must have had difficulty removing the renters, thought Hyŏnse, but if Tugap was correct, then hadn’t the realtor received not only a commission from the owner but also a fee for helping the renters move out? Yes or no, Hyŏnse wished only for this business to be ended.

  “We are refugees, after all.”

  “So you say. . . . But that’s beside the point. Compared with a man like you, sir, we’re the refugees. I have a lot of mouths to feed—fourteen to be exact. Here I am an old man and the only breadwinner—my son was helping out a little, but darned if he isn’t sick in bed now. And on top of that, the day before yesterday his wife had a baby. So as long as I’m healthy I’ve got to see that the sick ones get their gruel and the new mom gets her seaweed soup, don’t I? Think about it, sir, and don’t do me wrong.”