Downpour (暴雨) — The Taebaek Mountains
There are things that arrive without warning. Like that night long ago when snow and rain fell together in a chaotic tangle, like a newborn baby swaddled tight in a blanket and abandoned on the steps of a mountain temple on Taebaek — all the misfortune and bad luck that swept past him as he grew from infant to boy had always come the same way.
The boy had lived his short life of barely a dozen years getting battered, one after another, by things that arrived without notice. Things like the torrential rain that began pouring early one summer, or the eye-smile of a stranger who showed up soaked from that very rain. Things that came without warning and left the boy burning with fever.
Some things passed. Some things didn’t. Some things changed. Some things didn’t.
The boy’s name is Nunbi. Nunbi — because he was found on a day when snow and rain fell together. So that even when snow falls thick and rain pours wild, he would always live with his chin up. That’s why he’s Nunbi.
Night in the mountains was unusually dark — the outskirts of Taebaek, where electricity didn’t reach. Along a cliff that had been left half-carved from an abandoned development project, there was a narrow road barely wide enough for a single car to pass. One wrong turn of the wheel and you’d plunge to your death. If you wound your way up along that road, curving again and again, a dense pine forest would eventually appear, and between the trees, a narrow path lined with rows of hanging lanterns. Past the lanterns that swayed year-round like will-o’-the-wisps, past the deep winding trail, you’d reach a wide clearing where a stupa stood — and this was where you had to get out of the car. Because at the far end of the path, steep stone steps stretched upward.
If you climbed those stone steps one by one, breathing your fill of crisp mountain air, a forest path with a sharp incline would follow, and the path eventually reached the mountain slopes where wild animals roamed. It would be hard to imagine what could possibly exist at the peak of such a deeply layered mountain — but by the time you’d climbed about halfway up the stone steps, anyone could look up and see the top of the iljumun gate standing tall in the distance, fixed firmly in place at a great height. It was truly a remarkable thing — that nestled in those mountains, so hard to reach on foot, sat a quiet, solitary temple.
The mountain temple, sunk deep in the night, was still as a painting. At that hour, the boy was fast asleep in a side room with the window left half-open, oblivious to the world. A cool breeze carrying the scent of earth tickled the skin of Nunbi as he slept in his shorts. The insects rubbing their wings beneath the wall, the narrow-mouthed frogs crying out late into the night — none of it disturbed his peaceful sleep. But whenever the cool breeze drifted through the half-open window, Nunbi would, even in the depths of sleep, seem to reach for the mountain air — and with a lazy kick, push away the blanket tangled around his legs.
The swelling breeze rang the fish-shaped wind chime hanging from the tip of the roof’s eave — clink, clink — and then drifted away. It was a peaceful night, save for the early monsoon that had been pouring rain in sheets all day long. In other words, it was undoubtedly a night no different from any other.
The rain streaming down the eaves never let up. Around that time, Nunbi was dreaming of narrow-mouthed frogs. The white belly, puffing up like a balloon and then deflating, kept hovering before his eyes. If I caught one of those, the young monks would be so happy — with that thought, Nunbi flailed and reached out his hand. But the tiny creature refused to be caught. It just kept puffing up its belly and crying out, maengkkong, maengkkong, louder and louder — and then suddenly it got furious and started going brrrm, brrrm, shaking the very ground with its racket.
That was strange. Nunbi began to frown and toss and turn. Why is the frog so angry? But this didn’t quite sound like crying. The noise, full of fury, was drawing closer and closer — not only fast, but incredibly loud. It was the kind of sound he felt like he’d heard before and also hadn’t — like an animal growling, or like the sound of a village bus that only passed through town. But what time was it? The buses would’ve long since stopped running. And then, all at once, the feel of the clay-colored blanket brushing against his arms and legs — and Nunbi snapped wide awake.
“…Ugh.”
The boy stirred, sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. Still half-submerged in the haze between sleep and waking, he had no way of knowing where the noise was coming from — but wondering if something might have happened, he quietly strained his ears.
It’s quiet. The dim night had settled over his three-pyeong side room, and everything was exactly as usual. Beyond the thin rice-paper door, the rain continued to stream down in sheets, and the shadows of small mountain animals still wandering about with no intention of sleeping flickered across the wall. Nunbi’s little room was always like this. Then what was that?
Just as the boy tilted his head and was about to burrow back into his bedding — that was the exact moment. Bang! Baaang! A sound that could split your eardrums clean open.
“Ah!”
It was an enormous noise that rattled the entire quiet predawn mountain. Even the composed Nunbi was so startled he gasped and swallowed air. The sound of small mountain creatures, who had been nosing around outside his door, scurrying away into the underbrush followed. Nunbi leapt to his feet, clutched his pounding chest, and fumbled to push open the room door. He leaned out from the wooden veranda and looked — and over in the inner temple where the monks stayed, he could see oil lamps lighting up one by one. What had come from outside was the thunderclap of a car horn. And following it — vrroom, vrrrroom — the sound of a car engine, the kind you only heard occasionally on days with a ceremonial circumambulation of the stupa.
Nunbi had never ridden in such a car himself, but he’d watched wealthy men come rolling up in their private cars, kicking up clouds of dust, plenty of times when they came to make offerings — so it wasn’t hard to figure out. This is no reasonable hour for anyone to come calling. And yet the sudden noise traveling up the single road kept growing more and more ferocious as it drew near. Someone was driving up the rain-soaked mountain path. Nunbi carefully pulled himself back from where he’d been hanging out of the veranda and moved toward the one window on the opposite wall of his side room.
The boy leaned as far out the window as he could. Through the hazy rain-mist blurring the corners of the view, you could catch a glimpse of the single road that ran from the unfinished highway along the cliff all the way up to the temple. Sure enough — down below the main gate, headlights could be seen snaking up the winding road in a spiral. Two beams of frantic, tangled brightness broke through the curtain of rain, swaying. A line of cars was just now entering the pine forest. Five or six in total.
To come with this many cars — who could it possibly be? The way they were making such a commotion at this hour, something had clearly happened. A thud of worry hit him.
“Nunbi.”
Just then. Nunbi, hearing his name, startled and turned his head. A monk holding an umbrella was standing near his room door. Gazing steadily at the boy who had been caught peeking outside — that dignified face belonged to Seongyeon, the monk who usually helped him with his homework and kept him company when he had nothing to do.
“…Sir.” (monk)
Past him, other young monks could be seen passing by. The monks were moving around the side room where Nunbi lived, down the stone steps, and toward the courtyard — their steps seemed, for some reason, urgent. But before Nunbi could even think to ask about that, he quickly straightened up and bowed his head to Seongyeon.
Seongyeon had apparently been heading out to the main gate to greet the visitors along with the others, and had briefly stopped when he spotted Nunbi needlessly poking around outside.
“Looks like you’ve got a big donor visiting.”
“You’re still awake at this hour.”
The words were gentle, but Nunbi knew perfectly well they meant: go back inside and shut the door. Even so, unlike his usual self, Nunbi didn’t immediately answer and comply — he hesitated, just a little. He was genuinely curious who could be making such an entrance, and anxious that something might have gone wrong…. The entire temple seemed to be in a hurry. Intent on going out to greet the guests at this predawn hour, there were already more than a dozen monks assembled at the main gate.
“It was loud outside….”
Nunbi murmured. The wind blew, and the smell of the night rain rushed in. Not just Seongyeon, but the others gathered there too — even to Nunbi it was plain enough — all wore expressions that were somehow unsettled. So it’s not a very welcome guest? he thought. Well — no visitor in their right mind would act like this…. Nunbi quietly glanced up to read Seongyeon’s expression.
“Get inside, I said.”
“Yes.”
“Change your pants too — the head monk will see you like that.”
“Ah! Yes, sir.”
In the end, Nunbi had no choice but to quietly shut the door and hold his breath inside. Nunbi, who ran hot, had secretly changed into short pants just for sleeping — if the head monk caught him like this, he’d surely get an earful. At the temple, the head monk never missed a chance to snap at him for being untidy and call for a switch. But still…. Nunbi watched Seongyeon’s shadow disappear behind the closed paper door and fell into thought. That means even the head monk has come out to greet these guests?
It made him genuinely curious about who this visitor was. The side room and the main gate were only about three tumbles down the steps apart anyway, so Nunbi held his breath. If he pressed his ear close to the rice-paper door, he might be able to catch a little of what was happening near the gate.
“….”
Just as he thought. Before long, through the downpour, the sound of many pairs of dress shoes approaching could be heard. The creak of the main gate opening. And then, one after another, the sound of strangers’ breath filling the silence of the mountain temple.
Whether it was from climbing that brutal staircase or from being furious to the tips of their ears, the atmosphere was unmistakably off. Nunbi swallowed a dry lump in his throat.
From a lifetime of living in a temple, experience told him that arrivals this loud at this hour generally fell into one of two categories: someone had gone out of their mind and was brought up roped and thrashing, or someone had fled in the dead of night and others had come chasing them down. But since only Nunbi and the monks were staying at the temple these days, the former was probably more likely.
His heart was uneasy. Once, years ago, someone had dragged a supposedly spirit-possessed person all the way up to the temple and begged them to perform an exorcism ritual. The person had wild, disheveled hair and wore ragged clothes, eyes shot through with red, reeking of a sharp, rotten stench — the memory was still vivid. The head monk had refused the ritual and sent them away, but Nunbi had been so frightened then that he’d had the same nightmare for days afterward. Surely this isn’t something like that again?
“That goddamn son of a bitch still hasn’t come to his senses — keeps causing trouble.”
