“You alright there, young man? Want me to get you some water?”
A woman passing by leaned down toward Choi Eungil and began fishing a thermos out of her bundle.
“No. I’m fine.”
“Oh my, you must be from the city. But goodness, what’s got you throwing up like this.”
The woman patted his back firmly. Choi Eungil retched a few more times before finally managing to straighten up, still gripping the base of the tree.
“Excuse me, is there a pawnshop anywhere nearby?”
“There is. Go around that way and you’ll see the sign in the alley. But what would you be needing a pawnshop for?”
“Ah, well….”
“Come on now. What is it? Tell me. You got something pawned already? Or is it money you need?”
Choi Eungil had clearly trailed off with an “Ah, well…” and let his gaze drift away as if the subject was uncomfortable, but the woman seemed fully intent on getting an answer and waited him out to the end.
“It’s nothing. I just have some business to take care of.”
The moment Choi Eungil cut the conversation short, the woman gave a little pout, the corner of her mouth twitching. He thought she’d turn around and leave in disappointment, but instead she abruptly opened the cloth bag she had hooked over her arm and held it out for him to look inside.
“Here, have a look. Isn’t it precious?”
Inside the bag, curled into a round ball and fast asleep, was a little white puppy. He had no idea why she was suddenly showing him a puppy, and could only nod his head in bewilderment.
“Goodness, a fine-looking young man like you — how can you be so lacking in warmth.”
“I’m sorry…. Take care.”
The woman said everything she had to say and disappeared around the corner of the terminal.
Am I the strange one here? I asked for directions and she pried into my personal affairs, interrogating a complete stranger — and then showed me a puppy I never asked to see.
Is this just how country people are. The nerve.
Still feeling flustered, Choi Eungil set off to find the pawnshop.
Whether because evening was drawing near, the air was thick with the smell of blanched greens and sizzling pancakes drifting out of restaurants. Streetlamps appeared here and there between the utility poles, and every shop was lit up bright.
Some people were in suits, and there was even an elderly gentleman in a durumagi and a fedora. The young women, while not quite in bell-bottoms or miniskirts, were dressed in vivid colors that weren’t too far behind the trends.
Had it not been for the farmers in white hanbok carrying A-frame backracks, or the handcarts and ox carts piled high with rolled-up straw mats, the place would have seemed quite developed, even compared to Seoul. Of course it couldn’t compare to the streets of Myeongdong or Jongno, but it was lively enough that you couldn’t quite tell whether you were in the countryside or the city.
This far out from Seoul — nearly ten hours away — Choi Eungil, city boy that he was, turned out to have the shabbiest outfit of anyone on the street. He made a deliberate point of straightening his back and looking around with an air of ease as he searched for the pawnshop.
The pawnshop was housed in a stylish building tiled all over in white, the kind that looked like it hadn’t been built too long ago.
He climbed the stairs and made his way to a door at the far end of the second-floor corridor — a metal door with a panel of frosted glass roughly the size of a person’s face. Choi Eungil swallowed and turned the handle.
The pawnshop owner, who looked to be in his fifties, barely spared him a glance when he walked in, and remained seated at his desk, absorbed in clicking away at his abacus.
Choi Eungil bristled, thinking the man was looking down on him because of how shabby he looked. He was about to say something, but then he glanced down at his jacket — threadbare at the cuffs, out of season — and turned his head away with a disgruntled twist instead.
He considered looking for another pawnshop, but quickly dismissed the idea. Lively as it appeared, this was still a small town. Unless there was a gambling den somewhere, it was hard to imagine there’d be more than one pawnshop around.
He stood there blankly, a hollow laugh on his face, when the owner finally spoke in a low voice.
“Ah, you should say something when you come in. You’re here to pawn something, aren’t you?”
“…How did you know?”
“I can tell at a glance. Let’s have a look then.”
The pawnshop owner held out his hand with obvious disinterest, gesturing for him to produce the item. Choi Eungil watched the man warily, then with trembling hands drew a wristwatch from his inner pocket. Having spent every last coin he had on train and bus fare, this watch was as good as his entire fortune.
“Swiss make. It’s not stolen, is it?”
The owner took the watch with a detached air, turning it over to inspect both sides, then asked point-blank. Choi Eungil’s heart lurched and his eyes went wide. He’d barely been inside five minutes — how had the man known he was there to pawn something, and now this about the watch being stolen?
“Don’t say unnecessary things. Just tell me how much you can give me for it.”
Choi Eungil forced himself to sound firm so as not to show any agitation. The owner gave a faint, dismissive smile.
“I don’t deal in stolen goods.”
“It’s not stolen. I did take it without permission — that part’s true — but it was originally my father’s. He served as a medic during the war, and a Swiss soldier he’d gotten close to gave it to him as a gift when he was going back home. After my father passed away, my aunt — no, that woman — took it without asking. It’s the truth. It’s mine, I’m telling you.”
“I think someone’s about to cry.”
“Hey!”
Choi Eungil shouted, the man’s easy, joking expression infuriating him while he was burning up inside.
“Alright, alright. Enough.”
The owner, who had been indifferent throughout, nonetheless seemed to believe Choi Eungil’s claim that the watch had originally been his. He examined it once more with care, then lifted his head to look Choi Eungil up and down.
The shirt layered under his worn jacket was grimy and frayed at the collar. It was a school uniform shirt, handed down through more than two rounds of use. His trousers were faded to a shine, knees bulging outward. Even his shoes weren’t originally his, two sizes too large.
In his hands he carried a black umbrella with a bent stem and a battered travel bag with one handle hanging loose — both clutched to his chest as though they were precious treasures.
The pawnshop owner regarded this face — hard to say whether it belonged to a young man or still a student — with an expression that held a trace of pity, and spoke.
“Thirty thousand won. It’s a good piece, being European and all, but it’s broken and too worn. What do you say?”
“Yes. Please.”
Choi Eungil answered without attempting to negotiate. He let out a quiet breath of relief inside.
He needed the money desperately to get by, but he didn’t want to incur a large debt against the day he came back to reclaim it. And he had no idea what the going rate even was.
Thirty thousand won was an enormous sum to Choi Eungil. Probably close to two months’ worth of his salary from the Bureau.
“If I bring the money, I can get the watch back, right? You’re not going to sell it somewhere else?”
“Come now, calling a pawnshop man a thief is a bit much. That said, interest will still be calculated, so keep that in mind.”
Choi Eungil committed the interest rate the owner explained to him firmly to memory. Contrary to his first impression of someone looking down on him, the owner did his arithmetic cleanly and added nothing unnecessary.
He had been so worried the man might not accept the watch at all, but now that the moment had actually come to leave it behind, his heart felt as heavy as a stone. He gave his father’s watch one last look where it sat on the metal desk, then turned away.
I have to come back for it within three months, no matter what. I’ll eat as little as possible. Spend as little as possible.
He had been eating little and spending little his whole life, so saving up money wouldn’t take long. The weather station had staff lodging, and out in the countryside the cost of living would be cheap — nothing to worry about. Choi Eungil resolved to think as positively as he could. And yet.
“Ha, damn….”
Was it because he finally had money? The moment he stepped out of the building, his stomach roared with hunger. Just moments ago the smell of food drifting from restaurants had made him nauseous, but now he felt like he could shove even sour leftover rice into his mouth.
He was no stranger to hunger — living off his aunt’s household, he’d rarely been fed decently — but being used to something doesn’t mean you stop feeling the pain of it every time.
The smell of green onion pancakes from the tavern nearby was enough to drive a person mad. He felt like if he opened his mouth even slightly, saliva would drip right out. Choi Eungil kept swallowing as he felt around in his inner pocket.
Where the watch had been just moments ago, there was now an envelope of money. The weight was lighter, but his heart was not.
How many minutes had it been since he’d resolved not to eat, not to spend — and already he was thinking about spending money. Choi Eungil tore his gaze away from the tavern with a sour feeling.
Still, maybe there’d be something to eat at the weather station. They said room and board were provided, so if he was lucky, he might make it in time for dinner.
Fortunately, the weather station was visible in the distance. Weather stations were typically built on high ground for observation purposes. It would take a fair bit of time to walk there, but once he arrived, the long journey of today would finally be over and he could rest. Choi Eungil swallowed once more and started walking.
Once he left the center of town, an unexpectedly wide, straight new road opened up before him. Not concrete or cement — proper asphalt.
Had Usu always been this prosperous? There were no lane markings, traffic lights, or paved sidewalks, but even so, conditions here were far better than in some of Seoul’s poorer neighborhoods. Still, countryside was countryside — cars on the road were sparse.
The house where Choi Eungil had lived with his aunt was in the densely packed hillside slums typical of the poor districts in Seoul, where even a handcart could barely squeeze through the alley, let alone a car. The houses on either side, front and back, all had much the same layout. They had divided up rooms around a central courtyard and rented them out as boardinghouses. Some had even converted livestock sheds into additional rooms.
The tenants who cycled through were mostly factory workers from nearby plants, young women working in the entertainment trade, and idle drifters who occasionally took day labor.
His aunt’s household kept taking in boarders even as the fabric shop they ran at Namdaemun grew more and more prosperous year by year. And so Choi Eungil’s room was less a room than a dilapidated storage space that barely deserved the name.
Barely large enough to be called a single pyeong, the room was always stuffed with clutter — laundry piled up, dried chili peppers spread out — leaving no room to stretch his legs.
It faced north, so almost no light came in. A small hinged window no bigger than a clipboard abutted the wall of the house behind, making it nearly impossible to open. In summer, sweat would macerate his skin; in winter, with no coal briquette heater, he endured cold so bitter it left his skin cracked and peeling white.
— They’re sending you to high school even with how tight things are, so be good to your aunt’s family. You should hurry up and start earning your keep and pay them back for their kindness.
And yet Choi Eungil was always hearing things like that from the tenants.
Miserable as that room was, the neighbors would praise his aunt’s household as though they were great philanthropists for having given a nephew who was now an orphan in the world at least a room to sleep in.
