Tell me a fun story, stop by the kitchen and get me some candy or chocolate or something, eat my breakfast for me if it’s that doenjang cabbage soup again — coaxing and soothing the little novice through all manner of demands, Nunbi finally arrived at the main hall, only to find an endless stretch of stone steps standing squarely in his way.
“Hey. The umbrella.”
He had to climb those steps now. Nunbi shifted the little novice firmly into both arms and handed the umbrella over to him. Ah. Oh no. Only then did it occur to him, like an idiot, that he’d come out still wearing the shorts he’d slept in last night. Too late to go back now — he was going to get an earful from the head monk again. Nunbi let out a long sigh, drew in a breath, and began slowly climbing the daunting staircase.
By the time he’d made it past maybe five or six steps, beads of sweat had already gathered on his forehead. And because the little novice kept swinging his arms around, Nunbi got smacked in the head with the umbrella handle about three times.
“Slow, slow, Nunbi you’re like a snail, so slow. Bumpy.”
All the while Nunbi was climbing steadily, one step at a time, the little novice hung around his neck and whined without pause.
“Bumpy?”
“Yeah, bumpy.”
Is he getting motion sickness? Worried the little novice was uncomfortable being carried, Nunbi grew anxious and climbed at a more hurried pace than usual, forgetting entirely to think about his own stamina. Monks passing by with quiet dignity actually turned to look, wondering what had gotten into Nunbi today. By the halfway point, he was so breathless his vision swam yellow.
“Hah — hah — hey… I’m going to need to rest for a second.”
In the end, panting hard, Nunbi set the little novice down and doubled over trying to catch his breath.
“Pfft, lazybones! You’re going to be late again today, Nunbi!”
The little novice, thoroughly entertained by the sight of Nunbi red-faced and gasping, apparently couldn’t even be bothered to hold the umbrella anymore — he just shoved it into Nunbi’s arms and went bounding cheerfully up the rest of the steps to the main hall.
“Ah…”
Abandoned. After climbing so hard, too. Nunbi swallowed a few more ragged breaths and then adjusted his grip on the umbrella so his clothes wouldn’t get any more soaked. His back was drenched from sweat and rain both. He flapped the hem of his shirt to fan himself and the heat slowly left his skin. After doing that a few times, Nunbi finally collected himself and straightened up from his hunched-over curl. He tugged down his shorts, which had ridden up to the tops of his thighs. Then he froze. If anyone had been behind him, they’d have gotten a clear view of bare skin all the way up under the hem of those shorts….
“Huh?”
Right then. Nunbi, still stuck on that pointless thought, suddenly widened his eyes. It was because a strange smell, carried on the wind from somewhere, had threaded itself into the air around him. Something was burning. There was no chance anyone would be burning fallen leaves in the middle of monsoon season, and it was subtly different from the smell of burning grass too. Nunbi sniffed a few times and then broke into a short coughing fit. Getting a proper whiff of it was enough to stop the breath cold in his throat — the smell was awful. No matter how he thought about it, there was nothing nearby that could be putting out that kind of acrid smoke. It was strange.
Nunbi turned around and scanned the mist-veiled temple grounds. The smell was drifting in from the direction of the low stone wall draped in willow branches. That was the direction of the annex, so Nunbi narrowed his eyes and stared toward it. Sure enough, scattered nearby were several cigarette butts that had been smoked all the way down. Some still had a faint ember left, glowing red as they continued to burn. A thin wisp of smoke rising from one was hit by a fresh curtain of rain and snuffed out.
“…Cigarettes?”
Is he out of his mind. Nunbi was appalled. Never mind the revolting smell — the sheer nerve of smoking inside a temple grounds was something beyond imagining. There was no question whose traces these were. Nunbi clicked his tongue. Even the frightening man they called young master, who had dragged the guest here last night, had only taken out a cigarette when he was nearly through the gate on his way out. Even someone who could beat a person like that hadn’t openly lit up inside the temple.
And yet here was this man, with nowhere else to go, spending a night here and then calmly lighting a cigarette as if nothing had happened. It was starting to make sense why he’d been dragged here in disgrace. Unbelievable. Nunbi’s face pinched with disapproval — but rather than poke around any further, he chose to quickly look away and climb the remaining steps. He was just thinking how lucky it was that he hadn’t run into the guest smoking there and gotten himself into another awkward situation, when an unsettling thought struck him.
There was still a little smoke coming from the butts. He felt vaguely uneasy inside. Surely the man hadn’t been lurking somewhere watching him the whole way up from below? There was some distance between the annex and the main hall, but looking out from a window — it wasn’t impossible. His nape prickled for a moment, and Nunbi stole a glance back at the spot where the cigarette smoke had been rising. Every window and door of the annex was firmly shut, and no shadow moved behind any of them. Thank goodness. If he’d dawdled any less and arrived just a bit earlier, his worst fear would have come true — and Nunbi pressed a hand to his chest in relief.
“Nunbi, really, the state of you.”
A little while later, inside the main hall, Nunbi shrank slightly. Exactly as expected, the head monk was displeased at the sight of Nunbi’s shorts. At least he hadn’t gotten a switch on his calves, which was something to be grateful for. The head monk’s switch was particularly fierce — sharp enough to sting tears out of you — and even five lashes left reddish, blood-tinged marks on your calves that lingered for a week. When that happened you couldn’t wear shorts anyway out of embarrassment, so it was certainly effective in its own way. But a scolding was a scolding regardless, and Nunbi walked out of the main hall feeling subdued. Still, there was no doubt that he’d paid his respects as sincerely and earnestly as always.
Breathing steadily as he made his way back to the side room, Nunbi changed his pants first, then headed to the kitchen. Like always, he helped wash the greens and make the doenjang soup, and cooked up a pot of fluffy barley rice in the big iron cauldron. The Bosal devotees who worked the kitchen with their head wraps tied on always made a fuss over Nunbi, and his low spirits lifted quickly.
“Nunbi, we’re mostly done here — go set out the bowls and chopsticks so the monks can have their meal.”
“Yes!”
Nunbi tipped the tofu he’d been dicing into the bubbling cabbage soup, gave it a final taste, and went to the large room to set the table. But the bowls and chopsticks, usually set out in neat sets of fifteen, had an extra set added this morning. Obviously because of the guest in the annex. Nunbi hesitated and looked back and forth between the kitchen, the large room where everyone ate together, and the meal bell he’d have to ring in a little while.
If Nunbi rang the bell, the monks and Bosal devotees would all come for their meal — which meant he would inevitably have to cross paths with the guest. Moving slowly as he spread out the chopsticks and bowls, Nunbi stared somewhat gloomily at the low dining table, which had been extended longer than usual, and stepped out to the wooden veranda. I just hope he doesn’t get indigestion from the sight of me. First thing in the morning. He breathed out a long sigh, gripped the rain-dampened cord, and rang the bell with a large swing.
But for some reason, the guest didn’t appear at breakfast that morning. All that tension he’d been carrying made him feel a little ridiculous. Nunbi sat at the far end of the table, ate his barley rice with cabbage soup and a few lightly seasoned vegetable side dishes, then cleared the chopsticks and bowls, washed up, ran errands for the Bosal devotees, and spent the morning skimming fallen insects and leaves from the stone water basin where the birds drank.
The little troublemaker novice, who had slipped out of scripture study to come pester Nunbi, managed to wrangle some sweet rice cakes from the kitchen, and they shared them together — then Nunbi cleaned his small side room and took a short nap. Before he knew it, evening had come around, and the guest’s seat was empty at dinner too. Nunbi glanced at the one empty place at the table and thought, well, that’s a relief.
“Nunbi?”
But the problem came after the evening meal.
“Take what’s left of the rice and sides over to the annex.”
A Bosal devotee who came over while Nunbi was clearing the table and wiping it down with a cloth handed him a small wooden tray laid out neatly with rice, soup, and greens, and asked him to deliver the meal.
“Ah….”
“The guest in the annex hasn’t come for a single meal all day.”
Well… maybe he just feels like starving himself… Nunbi wanted to say exactly that, but errands and odd jobs like this had always been his responsibility, so he couldn’t say a word of protest.
“The head monk gave special instructions to look after this guest well before he left, so I’m counting on you.”
“Ah, yes….”
“It’s raining hard, so be careful not to slip.”
The kind-hearted Bosal devotee even took the damp cloth from Nunbi’s hand and added that last bit, and so Nunbi had no choice but to accept the tray of evening food with gritted resignation. She was thoughtful enough to open a small umbrella she was carrying and drape it over Nunbi’s shoulder herself.
“Haa….”
And so the boy was now heaving a sigh deep enough to sink the earth, face thoroughly scrunched, hovering near the annex like a puppy that needed to go out. Umbrella pressed flat against his back, covering every inch of him without a gap — he stood at the bottom of the low steps leading up to the annex.
“…Why does he have to refuse food that’s been set out for him. Why.”
Going so far as to make Nunbi deliver it to him. The head monk had given strict instructions to take good care of this guest — he couldn’t just leave the tray out front and bolt. And the heap of cigarette butts from the morning had disappeared too, cleared away by someone at some point. But why on earth had the head monk given such careful instructions about looking after someone like that? Strange. Even while thinking this, Nunbi poked his head out from under the umbrella to look around and see if there was anyone passing by.
Anyone he could hand this off to instead. Carrying a meal tray and an umbrella up slippery steps alone in this downpour was genuinely impossible — under normal circumstances he would never resort to something so underhanded, but if he used that as an excuse, surely someone would feel sorry for him and offer to help. But the evening service was underway up at the main hall above. Not a single soul was visible nearby — only the voices of the monks striking the wooden block and chanting, drifting faintly through the air.
Ah. Come to think of it… Nunbi suddenly felt his stomach drop. There was no one around, and the guest he least wanted to face was right there in front of him. If he’d run into him at mealtime in the large room, the barley rice might’ve sat a little heavy, but at least it would have been a meal with all the monks present and nothing would have come of it. But now Nunbi was stuck facing the guest completely alone. Even if something were to happen in there —
“….”
