by Junghyo Ahn
FOUR
Squatting on the walnut stump before the Chestnut House, watching the village which loomed bluish in the moonlight, Mansik wondered about his mother’s recent behavior. He was not sure what exactly was happening to her, but there was no doubt that some change was taking place in her life. Why did she leave home secretly at night, and where did she go?
She had sneaked out of the house again tonight. Pretending to have fallen asleep early, Mansik had been waiting for her to make a move to confirm his suspicion. He became alert a little past nine when he heard his mother quietly rise from her bed in the next room.
She crawled to the children’s room and listened through the paper door to the sound of their breathing. When she was sure that Mansik and Nanhi were sound asleep, she stepped down into the yard and noiselessly approached the twig gate. Mansik crawled to the door and watched his mother through a chink. She looked up and down the path before skulking out of the house.
Mansik quickly slipped out of the room; he had gone to bed with all his clothes on. There was a half moon in the sky over the Three Peaks and he heard the faint sound of music wafted by a breeze from the islet. Mansik saw his mother hurry to the ferry. He followed her down to the tobacco-curing shed, but he could not go any farther because the rice paddies provided no concealment. He did not need to shadow her any more, for he had a fairly clear idea where she was heading.
This was the third time that Mansik caught her sneaking out of the house at night. He was awakened the first time at midnight by the dogs barking somewhere in the distance. A while later he heard someone cautiously open and close the twig gate of his house. Suddenly frightened, recalling the night a month earlier when the two bengkos had attacked his mother, he crept to the door and peeked out. The boy was so relieved to see it was only his mother that he did not even wonder why she had been out of the house in the middle of the night. He went back to sleep and completely forgot next morning to ask his mother why she had gone out and scared the dogs.
The next time, however, he was stricken with an uncanny premonition when he heard the dogs barking. He was wide awake and very alert by the time his mother came up the footpath to the house. He watched her through the chink of the door as she tiptoed to her room, carrying what looked like a bundle of clothes. He had an urge to open the door and ask her where she had been, but somehow his whole body stiffened in fear and his throat was paralyzed. He feared that she might give him an answer that he was not yet ready to hear.
This morning when he went to his mother’s room for breakfast, Mansik noticed a strange smell. He could not tell where the smell was coming from—her clothes or the room itself—but he recognized the sour odor of wine and vomit. But his mother had never touched a single drop of rice wine even when her husband used to drink it at home. During breakfast, she tried to avoid Mansik’s eyes and he recalled that she had been nervous for the past several days.
Mansik also found that the rice jar in the kitchen was half full. Lately their meals had consisted of nothing more than a handful of boiled wild greens with little grain. Suddenly there was plenty of rice to eat. The side dishes were remarkable too; for the first time in years, Mansik enjoyed such delicacies as acorn curd, buckwheat jelly and even cow tripe. His mother would have had to go to Central Market to buy such things and Mansik was not sure when she had managed to find time to go to town and where she got the money to buy them.
After lunch—they never missed the noon rice these days—while Mansik was looking for a coil of hemp string, he accidentally discovered four bengko C-ration cans in the straw basket hanging on the kitchen wall. Unlike rice or relishes, the discovery of the bengko things in the house prompted Mansik to ask questions.
“Where did you get the rice and the Yankee cans, Mother?”
Ollye was embarrassed. “Well, you know,” she mumbled, “I got them—somehow. I can explain everything to you, but not now. Don’t ask me anything, because you’re not ready to understand me.”
Squatting on the walnut stump before the Chestnut House, Mansik tried to guess how his mother had gotten hold of rice and the bengko cans. He feared she might have stolen them. If she had earned them doing some proper job in town, his mother would have told him about it. Mansik had a strong suspicion that his mother worked at the bengko town on the islet. What did she do there in the middle of the night to be paid with rice and cans? He was glad that they did not have to go hungry any more, but he was not sure if he should be happy.
A chill streaked through his body and gooseflesh bristled up on his arms and shoulders as he felt a foreboding. Something ominous, something like a hovering shadow, was approaching, and he looked up in fear, in apprehension, sensing imminent danger. He saw a boy coming from the direction of the log bridge. The boy stopped short, startled, as Mansik slowly rose to his feet, staring.
Mansik did not recognize the boy at first because the moon was behind him. When the boy started to move again Mansik knew he was Kangho. The lanky boy had sloping shoulders and chopstick legs that were easily recognizable even at a distance. Kangho turned into the footpath and stopped a few paces away from Mansik. They stood facing each other. They said nothing for a moment. The noise of the brook sounded loud in the silent dark. Mansik wanted to say something about this surprise visit by his friend, but he was too startled to decide what reaction he ought to have. The best Mansik came up with was the simple question, “Are you Kangho?”
“Yes, it’s me,” said Kangho in a flat emotionless voice. He did not seem to have decided what attitude and tone of voice he should assume either.
For want of anything better to say, Mansik asked another stupid question, “What are you doing here?”
Kangho said nothing; perhaps he had not been prepared for that question.
Mansik rephrased his question. “Why did you come to see me?” He did not want to drive his friend away with unnecessary antagonism.
“I’ve been to the ferry on an errand for my father, to see the boatman,” Kangho explained. “My father wanted the boatman to come to the mill first thing in the morning and pick up the rice the villagers contributed for him.”
Kangho paused to study his expression. Mansik was puzzled as to what the boatman or the rice had got to do with Kangho’s visit.
“As I was about to cross the bridge on my way home,” Kangho went on, “I spotted you sitting here and decided to come to see you and say hello.”
“We haven’t talked to each other for such a long time,” said Mansik. He thought his own remark incongruous and wondered if he had intended it to sound like an accusation. He thought he had better say something else, something more friendly. “How are the boys?” he said.
“Well, fine,” said Kangho. “They’re fine.”
Mansik was nervous, afraid that their conversation would peter out and Kangho would leave. Mansik had to keep the conversation alive somehow. “The harvest season is over and I guess you boys have to prepare for the Autumn War with the Castle village boys,” he said.
“Sure. The war will be on soon.”
“Going on expeditions, too?”
“Oh, yes. We’re going to the dumping place tomorrow,” Kangho said.
“Dumping place? What dumping place?”
“Lots of Yankee have arrived on Cucumber Island, you know, and they built a whole new village there. There’s a great big dumping place at the southern part of the island where the bengkos dispose of their garbage. The Yankee trucks come to unload their garbage at this place twice a day and that’s where we’re going tomorrow.”
“Anything special about the dumping place?” asked Mansik, intrigued.
“Yes, but we didn’t know it until Jun found out that the Castle boys made secret trips there every day.”
“Secret trips?” said Mansik, wondering if his mother had gone there tonight.
“Those boys did not want anybody besides themselves to know about this place, but we found out about it and now everybody in West County knows what nice thin
gs you can find in the garbage.”
“What kind of nice things can you find in the garbage?”
“Oh, this and that. Sometimes you can find unopened cans containing slices of peaches in sweetened water or candies or powdered milk. You can find chocolates and chewing gum, too.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Mansik, recalling the unopened bengko cans his mother had hidden in the kitchen.
“It is fun. So we keep going there. If you pick through the garbage carefully enough, you can sometimes find some pretty cellophane papers in various colors. And razor blades. And cardboard boxes and envelopes, too. Once or twice a week, the bengkos throw away lots of leftover chicken pieces, and on those nights, many families in West County have a feast. Even some grownups come to the dump at night secretly when the bengkos dispose of chicken and other meats.”
“Don’t the bengkos stop you if you take those things?” Mansik said.
“Of course not. They don’t mind anybody taking them, because they are throwing them away. No Yankees guard the dump.”
“Must be great fun to go there.”
“It is,” Kangho said. “Will you come along with us tomorrow?”
Mansik was tempted by the spontaneous invitation, but on second thought, he knew it was impossible for him to join the boys now in any kind of expedition.
“I don’t think I can go,” he said.
“Why? Don’t you want to play with us?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a matter of what I want to do,” Mansik said. “You see, nobody’ll want me to come along. What would Chandol or Toad say if I just showed up uninvited?”
“Since when have you ever needed an invitation to come to play with us? We’re friends and you can come to play with us whenever you want to.”
“That’s what you think but the other boys would think differently. Things have changed, you know.”
“You’ve become a very strange boy,” Kangho said. “What good does it do you if you stay away from everybody? You shouldn’t avoid us like this.”
“You think I am avoiding you?” said Mansik, his voice turning sarcastic.
“Well, I haven’t come to see you for quite some time,” Kangho admitted. “I don’t understand myself how come I have been that way to you, but it just happened, you know. Anyway I came to see you tonight.”
“Do you think they really won’t mind if I come?”
“Uh? Oh, sure. Of course they will be glad to have you back. So, are you coming tomorrow?”
After a short pause, Mansik said with a sigh, “No. I can’t go.”
“It’s up to you whether you come or not. If you decide to come, you will find us around noon on the southern shore of the island. You can’t miss the dump if you just walk down the shore along the reeds. I hope I will see you tomorrow.”
Kangho turned to leave.
“Thank you,” Mansik said to Kangho’s back. He spoke in such a soft voice that Kangho did not hear him.
Seated on the sand at the edge of the reeds, Mansik hurled a pebble into the river. The stone landed on the surface with a plop and sank into the water. He sighed and glanced over at the cow browsing through the grass on the opposite nverbank. The brass bells on the cow’s collar jangled as the animal waved its head this Way and that to drive away the flies. He picked up a withered twig and nervously snapped it into little pieces.
Mansik was waiting for the boys to come across the river but he was not sure what attitude he should assume when they did come. He had had little sleep the night before trying to decide whether or not he should join the boys for the raid on the dump. He finally made up his mind to come, for this was a chance he could not afford to lose, perhaps the last and only chance for him to end this depressing life, confined to the small sunny yard, ambling back and forth, doing nothing, day and night, and day and night again, and then again day and night, with no friends to play with, not even one. If he were to be accepted back by the boys … If they would really welcome him back as Kangho had said they would … He wanted to be one of the boys again. He knew nobody would expect him unless Kangho had told them about last night, and he was not sure how they would react to his appearance, uninvited. But he had to take the chance.
When Mansik went to the ferry, everything—the shallow rippling water, the blueness of the river and the sky, the boat bobbing at the end of the rope, the dazzling golden sand on the opposite shore—everything looked new and foreign to him, because he had not seen them for so long. The boatman apparently felt the same way about Mansik.
“Haven’t seen you for quite a long time,” said the boatman with a knowing smile, squinting at the lone passenger on his boat inquisitively. “Going somewhere?”
“Over there,” said Mansik. “Across the river.”
“Across the river? You mean you’re going to Texas, too?”
“Texas?” the boy said. “What’s Texas?”
Pushing and pulling the oar slowly with a rhythmic grunt, the boatman stole a glance at the boy once more and grinned. “You should know,” he said cryptically. “I thought you were going there on your mother’s errand.”
“What errand?”
“Never mind,” the boatman said. “Maybe you really don’t know.”
About ten yards away from the dump, the four boys watched a truck unload garbage into a deep oval pit. At the back of the truck a muscular bengko soldier, his soft cap tipped back halfway, grunted while turning a big aluminum dustbin upside down as he emptied coffee grounds, that looked like steaming brown sawdust, into the sloping pit. The other soldier, in a sweat-soaked shirt, placed the emptied dustbins on one side and pushed the next one over to the first bengko.
Kijun watched closely to see where something he might like to pick up later landed. “I hope we find some meat again today,” he said. “Do you boys remember what I found in a can last time? My uncle said it was ‘ham.’ It really tasted good when my mother made a piggie stew with it.”
“What’s piggie stew?” Chandol asked.
“You collect everything you can eat from the bengko garbage—meat and cheese and chicken bones and everything—and boil them together in a pot. That’s piggie stew,” Jun explained. “Some people call it U.N. soup. My uncle saw the town folks sell it on the streets the other day. He told my mother the piggie stew recipe.”
The Yankee soldiers slammed the tailgate shut after emptying all six garbage cans, climbed back into the truck and drove away, waving to Bong and Kijun, who called “hello, hello", “gerrary” and every bengko word they knew. Then the boys swarmed into the pit to dig and stir and scoop off the warm wet coffee grounds with sticks and their bare hands, searching for anything they could salvage. They shook and emptied every open can they found to see if anything to eat was left inside. Chandol and Kijun and Bong enjoyed the treasure hunt, their legs sunk in slimy garbage up to the knees, their faces and hands soon stained with brown slops, but Kangho was not as excited as the rest today. Hoping Mansik would show up any moment, Kangho kept restlessly scanning the ferry and the sandy shore.
They were going through the garbage for the second time, more thoroughly now, because they had found few things to take home on the first go-round.
“Look, Chandol,” said Kijun, standing in the middle of the garbage, all movement suspended as he stared at the sandy shore.
“What?” said Chandol without lifting his head to look at anything. He was busy shaking the trash out of a large carton.
But Kangho, who had been turning over wet, dirty papers with a piece of steel pipe, did look up; he knew what Jun’s tense voice might mean.
“Over there,” Kijun said. “Mansik is coming.”
“Who?” Chandol said, finally raising himself to look.
“Mansik is coming,” Kijun repeated.
Bong, who had been picking through the garbage with two long broken pine branches, operating them like a pair of chopsticks, looked back over his shoulder, surprised. Chewing a piece of Chuckles jelly candy he had found earlier, C
handol stared at Mansik, who was hesitantly advancing toward the pit.
Kangho had not yet mentioned his invitation to Mansik. Several times he had tried to, but Chandol seemed to be in a foul mood and Kangho did not want to aggravate him for fear he would be ordered to go to the Chestnut House and cancel the invitation. Kangho had decided to let Mansik and Chandol face each other and hope for the best.
Mansik stopped about a hundred feet away from them when he saw Chandol’s expression. Then he continued to approach the boys; he knew he could not turn back now.
“Why is that son of a bitch coming here?” said Chandol, his face creasing into a frown.
Now Kangho feared his plan would not work but he had to give it a try anyway. Pretending he did not know anything, he said in a composed and innocent voice, “I think he came to play with us.”
“Play with us? Who says we will play with him?”
“Well, he is here, anyway. Why don’t we play with him?” Kangho suggested tentatively. “We haven’t played with him for a long time.”
“Are you crazy?” said Chandol, glaring at Mansik who was still walking towards them. “The villagers make such a big deal out of our coming to this island, as it is. Can you imagine what they’d do to us if they found out that we were chumming around with him? Anyway, how did he find out that we were coming here this afternoon?”
“Yeah, how come that bastard knew we would be here this afternoon?” Kijun reiterated.
“I guess someone must have told him,” said Chandol, checking the boys one by one with an interrogating glance. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” Kijun said quickly. “I haven’t played with Mansik since the arrival of the bengkos.”
When Chandol’s stare fell on him, Kangho said, “I did.” The three boys gaped at him in amazement. Kangho went on, “I went to his house and told him to come here this afternoon if he wanted to play with us.”
