“Oh! There’s some wild aralia here.”
Just then, the Bosal devotees spotted the mountain vegetables, and the conversation broke off there. Nunbi settled down beside them, digging up the earth around the fresh green aralia shoots, snapping the stems, brushing them clean with his palm, and tucking them into the basket — all while sinking deep into thought. Come to think of it, Nunbi still didn’t even know the guest’s name.
“Nunbi, could you take a slow look around for water parsley near the waterfall? Over that way.”
One of the Bosal devotees, pulling up plump aralia shoots and filling her basket, called out to him. She’d probably noticed that he was staring off into space while swinging his hoe around with his head somewhere else. Nunbi startled guiltily, quickly nodded, and got to his feet.
The path to the waterfall wound along a mountainside dotted with exposed tree roots where the earth had been washed away by all the rain. He had to keep his wits about him to avoid slipping on the muddy trail. Grabbing onto low-hanging branches, Nunbi limped along for a while before he finally heard the sound of rushing water pouring freely ahead.
“Ha — hah….”
Nunbi steadied his slightly labored breathing and made his way slowly toward the waterfall. The overgrown forest trees draped themselves cozily over the water’s edge. Nunbi loved this bank — it became a secret place in the thick of summer — and the clear, shallow waterfall behind it too. Below the falls was a low pool where even the deepest part barely reached his thighs. The stream that flowed from it trickled down into the valley below, and if you followed it all the way to the end, you’d find another secret place that only Nunbi knew about.
Nunbi rolled up his trousers and stepped into the shallow, lapping water at the edge. He cupped his hands and scooped up the clear water to cool the cold sweat gathered at the back of his neck, then washed off the clods of dirt and dust caked onto his arms and legs from who knows when. And there, on the far side of the water, he spotted exactly what the Bosal devotee had asked him to look for — a modest but thick cluster of water parsley growing wild.
Would the guest like seasoned water parsley? He’d heard from the start that the guest didn’t care for temple food, but water parsley tossed in sesame oil had such a nice fragrance and a rich, nutty taste. Come to think of it, he shouldn’t have snapped at the guest to come down and eat himself. It had slipped out in spite because of being called a cripple, but if the guest was Assemblyman Go’s son, then Nunbi could perfectly well swallow every word he’d said and diligently carry a meal tray out to the annex three times a day.
A bit of a drastic change of heart, he thought, as he waded slowly through the water toward the bank. He took hold of a fresh water parsley stem, felt it between his fingers, and snapped it off. He did that about three times before he suddenly realized he hadn’t brought a basket with him. There was nothing for it — Nunbi decided to make do by gathering the parsley inside the hem of his short-sleeved shirt, pulling the fabric up into a makeshift pouch.
Of all things, he’d chosen to wear white that day, so the moment he packed the greens in tightly, the plant dye transferred almost at once — but it was a good enough plan regardless. He’d have to walk around with the front of his shirt turned green for a while, but a few good hard scrubs in the wash and it would gradually come out. Once he’d picked more than enough water parsley, Nunbi pulled the hem tight so nothing could escape and tied it securely, then cradled the bundle carefully against his chest and stepped out of the water.
Retracing his steps back toward where the Bosal devotees were, Nunbi wondered whether to make tofu doenjang soup or doenjang cabbage soup for breakfast this morning. But then again, wouldn’t both of those be too obviously temple food? Then again, the guest had probably eaten all manner of good things up in Seoul, so no matter how much effort Nunbi put in, it would still just be temple food and the guest might turn his nose up at it anyway….
“Agh!”
And at that moment, his foot slipped clean out from under him. Perhaps it was because he’d been too lost in thought — as he slid, his shin struck something hard and he went tumbling down in a heap.
“Ah….”
The cry tore out of him involuntarily. Nunbi bit down hard on his lip and fumbled to rub his leg. Blood was seeping from a long, jagged gash. It hurt too badly to keep touching. He pulled his hand away quickly. The stinging pain was sharp enough to stop his breath, and his eyes burned red at the edges almost immediately.
Of all things, there had been a jutting rock on the low mound he’d been trying to step up onto, and his foot had slipped in the mud and dragged his shin right across the edge of it. Because he’d been clutching the water parsley with both arms, he hadn’t been able to catch himself when he fell — he’d gone down stupidly, slamming his elbows and knees hard into the ground, and now blood was running freely. This was serious. Nunbi exhaled in stuttering, winded gasps and groaned through the pain. The water parsley that had been bundled inside his shirt had burst free and was scattered all across the muddy ground.
“Ugh — ah, seriously….”
Nunbi clutched at the fallen leaves and made several shaking attempts before he finally managed to plant his feet and stand. Of all things, it was his right leg — his one good leg — that he’d hurt. He tried to take a few steps, but with both legs now giving him trouble, he gave up on walking properly. At this rate it would take half a day just to get back to where the Bosal devotees were.
In the end, a dark bruise spreading across his shin, skin scraped and torn at his elbows and knees, in a thoroughly wretched state, Nunbi abandoned the water parsley and everything else and dragged himself up the slope with his white short-sleeved shirt soaked through with blood.
“Ha — hah — ha….”
“Oh my goodness! This child!”
“Nunbi! Good heavens — oh no, oh no. Are you alright?”
The Bosal devotees, horrified at the sight of him, threw down their hoes and came running, and it was thanks to them that Nunbi was barely able to make it back down the mountain.
“Oh dear, how did this happen?”
“Someone get the first aid kit, quickly.”
“Goodness, Nunbi…. You need to be more careful.”
Supported by their arms and limping heavily, Nunbi made it back to the mountain temple and arrived at his room under the wide-eyed attention of all manner of monks and Bosal devotees. He managed to lower himself onto the edge of the wooden veranda, and the moment he did, he wanted to bite off his own tongue and die. The pain was one thing, but making a scene in front of the entire temple at the crack of dawn like this — his face burned hot with embarrassment, hot enough to kill him. And for good reason: the news that Nunbi had gone up the mountain and come back drenched in blood had drawn so many worried visitors that the small three-pyeong room was packed to bursting.
“Are you badly hurt? Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”
Someone hurried toward him clutching a white first aid kit.
“I just tripped a little. I wasn’t paying attention when I was walking.”
“What with the rain and the rough path, I shouldn’t have told you to go all the way to the waterfall. Nunbi — oh goodness…. I’m so sorry.”
The Bosal devotee who’d asked him to look for the water parsley said this with a deeply apologetic expression. The words made Nunbi feel so terrible that he shook his head over and over. On the mountain, even with his limp, Nunbi was nimble as a flying squirrel. Slipping on a path that would normally give him no trouble at all — while his mind was somewhere else entirely — was entirely his own fault. Everyone, monks and Bosal devotees alike, already knew that he wandered off toward the waterfall on his own often enough. Getting himself all worked up before sunrise for no reason, acting like an idiot, carrying an armful of water parsley and walking around thinking about nothing but the guest….
“Nunbi.”
Just then, someone walked quietly into the noisy room. It was Seongyeon.
—
While the Bosal devotees explained the whole story to him, Nunbi sat in silent mortification, not knowing where to look. Despite Nunbi’s fervent protests, Seongyeon wrung out a damp cloth himself and wiped away the blood that had streaked down his arms and legs, spread red antiseptic carefully over the scraped and torn skin on his knees and shins, and wrapped the wounds snugly in bandages. It burned the entire time and Nunbi suffered through it, teeth clenched hard.
“There, all done. The rest of you are welcome to go and prepare the morning meal. Nunbi, rest.”
Seongyeon packed up the first aid kit, rose to his feet, and got ready to leave. Nunbi watched in flustered confusion as Seongyeon and the Bosal devotees stepped out of the room to go prepare the meal. He’d just heard Seongyeon tell him to rest.
“I — I should go too.”
The fact that he got to eat and sleep at the temple without paying was already something Nunbi felt bad enough about — the only reason he felt slightly less shameful about it was that he could at least keep busy and pitch in wherever he could. If a little fall and a few scrapes meant he couldn’t do the work he did every single day, then he had no face to show.
“Today, you stay in your room and rest. When the meal bell rings, come out and eat.”
“But still, how can I just —”
Nunbi tried anxiously to say something more, but Seongyeon shook his head quietly.
“That’s right, go on. Seongyeon says it’s fine.”
“You don’t need to help today, so don’t worry.”
“You were bleeding and everything — you need to rest properly. It’s summer, and if a wound like that gets infected, it’ll be serious.”
He’d been about to dig in and argue once more, but with the Bosal devotees backing Seongyeon up, he couldn’t get another word out. Nunbi had no choice but to bow his head again and again to everyone filing out. When Seongyeon quietly pulled his door shut behind him last of all, the small room fell silent at once.
“Ugh.”
Nunbi looked down at his knee and grimaced. A scratch like this would be fine after just a short rest — that was what he told himself, and in that spirit he carefully tried to shift his weight onto the injured spots and get up. A useless endeavor. The bandaged places, dabbed with antiseptic, throbbed even worse than before, and this time even with both hands pressed hard to the floor, he couldn’t rise. His body felt flushed and feverish now that the tension had left him. Nunbi wiped away a single tear that had slipped out from the pain without him realizing, rubbed it off with his arm, and gave in, curling up on his side to lie down.
Having hurt his legs, Nunbi struggled with even the simplest things all morning long. Going to the toilet required an ungainly, laborious hobble on both legs before he could get anywhere near the outhouse, and the wounds that had barely stopped bleeding kept tearing back open and tormenting him. The boy felt a little low at the thought that his already unsightly leg had gone and gotten even worse.
“Leave the dishes outside the door when you’re done and someone will collect them for you, so don’t go wandering around and spilling another bucketful of blood…. Goodness. Nunbi.”
