1. When It Rains, the Seoul Man Calls It a Bumper Harvest
People gathered one by one beneath the zelkova tree.
It was the tail end of spring, when rice-planting season was just beginning, and the residents of Usu-gol had lately taken to whispering about one particular man whenever two or more of them put their heads together.
Just then, the subject of all that gossip came into view — a young bachelor with a stiff expression and a rigid, ungainly gait.
Whether it was Seoul or Saudi Arabia, people were people, but it had been a long while since anyone new had come into the village, and so this pale, wan young man immediately drew the full attention of the Usu-gol residents.
“Which house is he staying at?”
“Changsu’s aunt’s place, I reckon. They say Eundo brought him along.”
“What’s he gone and gotten himself so scrawny for? Is Changsu’s aunt not even feeding him?”
“He’s only been here a few days. Besides, fortune-tellers keep all kinds of hours — day and night, whenever the work comes.”
“My goodness, a fortune-teller, was he? So that’s why he’s always carrying that umbrella around, even when it’s not raining.”
The young man, briefly hidden by a side path, reappeared at the main road into the village.
His complexion was ashen, as though it had never once been touched by sunlight. His eyes were strikingly large and round, and his brows were dark and bold — enough to draw the lingering gazes of the village women.
In truth, the man’s skin wasn’t particularly fair, but to people who spent their days in the paddies and fields doing farm work, it might as well have been white jade.
“Is that a man or a woman? How can a face be so delicately pretty like that?”
“Aiya, don’t go calling a man pretty. What if he hears you?”
“Built that slight, I wonder if he can even lift a thing.”
“Who knows. But I’ll tell you, those eyes of his look like they could swallow a person whole. Does he always go around with that intensity in his gaze, every single day?”
“Doesn’t that just make him more endearing?”
“You’re right, you’re right!”
When one of them imitated the fortune-teller bachelor’s intense stare, the women burst into laughter. A carrier who had been listening with obvious displeasure barked out suddenly.
“Lord almighty, the lot of you are something else. Stop your yapping and just call him over for a bowl of makgeolli.”
“Oh my, yes, that’s the thing to do. Hey, young man! Fortune-teller! Come over here, won’t you?”
The bachelor, who had by now reached the main village road, approached the zelkova tree with that characteristically guarded look of his. But contrary to everyone’s expectations, he walked straight past without so much as a glance at the people sitting clustered on the wooden bench. He couldn’t be deaf — there was no way he hadn’t heard.
“What’s the matter with him. Did he just walk right by without a greeting?”
“Pretty face or not, he’s got the manners of a rock.”
“Ah, he’s probably busy. Isn’t it about time he’d be heading to work?”
“Busy or not, still. Is that any way to behave?”
The grumbling that followed was loud enough for anyone to hear, and sure enough — the man who had been walking ahead stopped dead in his tracks.
He turned back toward the zelkova tree and looked at the gathered crowd.
He may well have just been looking, but with those large eyes of his, everyone took it for a glare. The firm set of his mouth and his oddly contrary bearing hinted at a quiet stubbornness within.
“What is it. Are you picking a fight? My, what a temper.”
It was the villagers who had started trouble by taking offense at not being greeted, but in a situation where it was one against many, the reading could easily be flipped.
“Is that young man always like that?”
Changsu’s aunt — the landlady of the bachelor’s boarding house — who had been watching the whole scene with casual ease, tossed out a reply.
“The kid’s a good one.”
“Good, how? Look at him standing there stiff as a post, all sharp edges.”
“He’s just young, that’s all. Acts full of himself, but when you get to know him, he’s gentle as a lamb.”
The villagers listened to the aunt, but their eyes on the bachelor remained skeptical.
In the meantime, the man half-moved as if he were about to walk toward them, then pressed his lips together. His mouth twitched with some unspoken displeasure — and then, hesitantly, he bowed his upper body in a greeting.
For a bow given with such obvious reluctance, the angle at which he bent his waist was quite sincere. Changsu’s aunt grinned as if to say see, I told you, and gave a slow nod.
“Well. Seems the young man is just shy.”
“That’s what it is. We nearly misjudged an innocent person.”
The man bowed and walked away without looking back, the very picture of someone who wanted to be anywhere else. He clearly knew what was being muttered about him — his fine face wore the expression of someone chewing on something bitter — but the villagers were amused, delighting in the arrival of this peculiar newcomer to their village.
“Isn’t that Eundo over there? Where did he pop out from?”
“Now that you mention it, the two of them have been sticking together a lot lately.”
“Is that so? That’s something. Eundo’s not the type to be like that.”
On the quiet country road that, if followed straight, would lead into town, the fortune-teller bachelor and a man a full head taller than him were walking side by side. Above the two of them stretched a sky layered with cirrus clouds, thin and spread like wisps of cotton.
A peaceful, unhurried afternoon in Usu-gol. The sight of two young men crossing the rice paddy paths was, in its own way, rather heartwarming.
Two weeks earlier. Seoul.
“Make sure you carefully check the assignment notice you just received. Let’s see… effective May 1st, 1974, all personnel are to report to their assigned postings.”
“Yes, sir!”
“That concludes the graduation ceremony for the 15th cohort of the Meteorological Personnel Training Institute. All present, salute!”
Our observations and forecasts are the strength of the Republic of Korea! Thank you for your hard work!
The voices of some thirty new meteorological personnel rang out through a small lecture room at the far end of the third floor of the Central Meteorological Bureau (*the former Korea Meteorological Administration) main building in Songwol-dong, Jongno-gu.
As the institute director and instructors filed out one by one, the trainees — who had been standing at attention — scrambled to tear open their assignment notices.
Choi Eungil was no exception. His hands were so clammy with nerves that he nearly tore the paper as he opened the envelope.
Central Meteorological Bureau, South Jeolla Province Branch, Usu Weather Station… South Jeolla Province?
That’s so far. Impossibly far.
Choi Eungil frowned as he slowly read through the text.
Gyeonggi or Chungcheong would have been nice.
He folded the paper back into the envelope and looked around. From the noise his fellow cohort members were making about their postings, it seemed he was the only one assigned to Usu County.
Well, fine. Far as it is, it’s still Korea. And I prayed and prayed I wouldn’t get Seoul, so if anything, the farther the better. Maybe I can finally cut ties with that house for good.
Only then did Choi Eungil let the corners of his mouth curl up into a small smile.
“Ha, it’s raining? Did the forecast get it wrong again?”
“What else is new? Damn it, and I don’t even have an umbrella.”
A few people who had stepped out first were standing at the entrance, grumbling. Rain had apparently begun without warning. A downpour — whether a summer shower or something else, it came down with force.
As far as Choi Eungil knew, the weather forecast announced on the morning radio for Jongno-gu today had been clear skies. As a meteorologist-in-training, it was a sobering fact, but weather forecasts were only accurate roughly sixty percent of the time.
— The Central Meteorological Bureau is full of nothing but con men. You’d be better off dragging out the fortune-teller from Manisan Mountain and asking him about the weather.
His great-uncle wasn’t a farmer, wasn’t a street vendor — and yet whenever the forecast was wrong, he always directed his curses straight at Choi Eungil.
Every time that happened, Choi Eungil would turn his head and glare at the man from the corner of his eye. On the days he got caught, he’d get smacked on the back of the head.
“Hey, you miser. Share that umbrella and walk with us.”
Choi Eungil was the only one who had thought to bring an umbrella. As he pushed through the crowd and opened it, some guy shoved his shoulder under it uninvited.
He was the biggest guy in the 15th cohort. The type who had always been asking to borrow pencils or rulers during class — and since Choi Eungil had never once lent him any, the guy had gone around calling him a miser.
To Choi Eungil, it wasn’t just a pencil. He’d been living under his great-uncle’s roof, tiptoeing around just to keep attending a training institute that wasn’t bringing in any money. The pencil he used, even — was one he’d picked up after his wretched cousin had thrown it out.
Already in a foul mood, Choi Eungil threw the full force of his upper body into shoving the big guy’s shoulder right back out from under the umbrella.
The umbrella had two broken ribs and a tear down the middle that let the rain through — and this guy still wanted to share it? Who was the real miser here?
“Get lost.”
He said it flatly. The guy raised his fist like he was about to throw a punch.
“Ha, what a rotten bastard. If we ever get posted to the same place, just you wait. I’ll make your life hell.”
You? The one who can’t even read a weather map properly — you’re going to do that to me? Choi Eungil swept him with exactly that kind of look, up and down.
The fellow cohort members watching the whole thing split into two camps: those who sided with the big guy and shot Choi Eungil dirty looks, and those who were laughing at the big guy and cheering for Choi Eungil.
I’ll make rank before you do anyway. So how exactly do you plan to manage that?
Choi Eungil felt satisfied knowing he wouldn’t have to see that guy for a good while, and turned away with a light step.
Soon, he’d be saying goodbye to Seoul too. It felt like a weight had been lifted clean off his chest.
When he stepped off the bus, the first thing that caught his eye was a short Chinese hackberry tree.
It must have rained here too — a cool, damp freshness seeped into his nose. Choi Eungil gazed blankly up at the country town spread before him and at the sky that had cleared, then immediately screwed his face up.
“Ugh. Blech—!”
He ran over and grabbed onto the base of the hackberry tree and heaved up everything in his stomach. He retched so violently his gut felt like it was being wrung out, but nothing came up but thick, sticky saliva mixed with stomach acid.
The man who had been sitting next to him on the bus clicked his tongue at Choi Eungil as he vomited and headed into the terminal. The other passengers too, getting off, each gave him a puzzled look as they passed.
I took the early morning train from Seoul and then transferred to a bus, you know.
It had been the first meaningful train ride of his life, but during the seven hours of travel, a group of male high school students on a school trip had ended up in the same car. All noise and mess — his hopes of a romantic train journey were mercilessly crushed. And then getting on the bus had only made the nausea worse.
Not long after boarding the intercity bus bound for Usu, the asphalt ended and an unpaved dirt road began. The bus jolted and rattled its way along while the short, stout man in the seat next to him chain-smoked one cigarette after another. Having eaten nothing on the way but a boiled egg the high school boy had shared with him on the train, his stomach had been churning the entire ride.
