Ko Wang-chul
In the lead truck of the eight bound for Daegu rode Ko Wang-chul, a man out of the transport corps. A veteran who had made the run between Busan and Seoul more than a hundred times during the war, he was a driver Ki-jo had hired in Seoul.
Before they set out, Ki-jo had left Ma-ryang with a caution.
“There’s an odd sort of driver getting into the lead truck. They say his skill is the real thing, so let the small things pass and treat him as well as you can.”
Just as Ki-jo had said, Ko Wang-chul proved exceptional. He never once looked at the map or the compass Ki-jo had pressed on him, nor even at the road signs. From Incheon all the way to Dongducheon he wore a bored, silent face; only after they left Seoul behind did the life come back into him.
“Chief Jang, every road in the eight provinces is in my head. Like a film I’ve watched hundreds of times—every stretch plays out up here just like a scene.”
Ko Wang-chul opened with a boast. He talked a long while, and once they had passed Suwon his expression tightened a little. He turned to Ma-ryang.
“Chief, I’m a heavy smoker. If I can’t have a cigarette while I drive, it gets rough on me.”
“That so?”
Ma-ryang handed over a cigarette without hesitation. Ki-jo had asked that the man be given the best of treatment, and he didn’t want the lead driver’s concentration slipping. There was also the hope that a cigarette might quiet Wang-chul’s flood of talk. It didn’t. Even with the cigarette between his lips, Wang-chul talked no less.
“This road we’re on is the one the People’s Army came down. Those commie bastards must’ve been hunting for the good roads, seeing as they brought tanks. Makes it the best kind of supply route, too.”
Ma-ryang only listened.
“If the war had ended in six months, we’d have taken Chosan, Hyesan, and Wonsan and been done with it. Then those goddamn Chink bastards poured in, and look what they did to the country.”
Smoking with relish and never pausing for breath, Wang-chul seemed to finish warming up on the state of the world, then tossed out a personal question.
“Where’s your hometown, Chief Jang? The way you talk, I’d say you’re from Hamgyong.”
“Don’t ask about me.”
When Ma-ryang drew the line, Wang-chul turned the subject without missing a beat.
“This bus we’re riding. Big as it looks, strong as it seems, it still can’t match a truck. This thing’s only fit for flat ground. Loaded down the way it is, a climb will be the death of it.”
“Then we stay off the steep roads.”
“Right. That’s exactly it. That’s why you need me, isn’t it? I’ll guide you over passes a bus can clear without any trouble. Ha ha.”
“See that you stick to the good roads.”
“If we go around the rough ones… it may take a while, but we can still make Daegu before the night’s out.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. Transport isn’t anything special, really. A truck just has to get from here to there. So long as it doesn’t die on the road, or plow into some oxcart that happens to be passing, you’re fine. Ha ha.”
Ma-ryang nodded.
The bus-trucks kept a steady pace over the rutted road. Ma-ryang and the sixty-odd men under him suffered every jolt, but no one complained. To them a road was unpaved and uneven as a matter of course, and if you meant to go any distance, climbing and descending winding dirt tracks through the hills was simply how the world worked. Not one of them had ever laid eyes on a highway. Even a stretch where they could hold thirty miles an hour was enough to make them glad of a good road.
Five hours out of Seoul, the convoy reached Daejeon and climbed down for maintenance. The two mechanics who had ridden in the tail vehicle got out and went over the buses, checking the engines, then inspecting the reinforced floors one by one to be sure they were sound. Ko Wang-chul came over and started meddling.
“Hey now, no need to work that hard. Way I see it, the buses are in fine shape. No oil leaking from the engines, frames are solid. That’s because I’ve been easing us along nothing but good roads, see? You could just check the tires and be done with it.”
The mechanics didn’t welcome him in their domain, but they went through every part in silence, and they took pains with the tires just as he had said. Afraid of a blowout, or of a nail driven into the rubber, they rolled each bus slowly forward and examined the tread on all four tires with care. All the while they ignored Wang-chul nagging at their elbows and followed the transport manual to the letter.
When the inspection was finished they reported to Ma-ryang, then aired their grievance.
“Chief Jang, what’s with that fellow? Just because he can drive a little, he barges into our work like he owns it. That doesn’t sit right.”
“Bear with him a few times. He’s the sort who likes to stick his nose in, and he was probably trying to get friendly. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“Yes, Chief. Even so, could you say a word and ask him to ease off? Please.”
“All right.”
Ma-ryang soothed the mechanics and turned over what Ki-jo had told him.
“I contracted Ko Wang-chul for exactly five runs. He said it himself—use him five times, and if he’s all right, keep him on.”
Ki-jo had also spoken of the man’s character.
“Even to my eye, that Ko Wang-chul has a soul that runs a little free. But the word is he gets the job done, so for now just watch him.”
Turning those words over, Ma-ryang sent the convoy on.
By the time they reached Daegu out of Daejeon, the sun had set. Trouble flared again as they unloaded the beer crates at the U.S. Army supply depot. The Americans took issue with seals that had been broken. Once more the lead driver, Ko Wang-chul, stepped in. Climbing down from the bus-truck, he said—in clumsy English that still carried the meaning, helped along by a mobile face and exaggerated gestures—what Ma-ryang himself had wanted to say.
“We stuffed dry grass in so the bottles wouldn’t break! Nobody laid a hand on the beer! Check every bottle if you want!”
Bawling at the Americans, Wang-chul pried the crates open one after another with a crowbar. Even in that cold, not a single bottle had frozen, and despite the long haul not one had broken. The Americans looked plainly astonished that every last bottle had arrived intact.
Once the beer was signed over and the receipt was in his hand, Wang-chul turned to Ma-ryang.
“Chief Jang, we’re in Daegu. Let’s get some meat.”
“Meat?”
“Yes. I know a place here that does pork right.”
The “human navigator,” who claimed there was nowhere in the South he hadn’t been, spoke with full confidence.
“All right. You lead the way.”
Ma-ryang didn’t dislike him. The personality was strong, but the man seemed to do his own work cleanly, and Ma-ryang was inclined to be generous with that sort so long as they knew how to keep to their manners.
Under Wang-chul’s guidance the eight trucks pulled up on a street in Daegu.
“This is Seoseong-ro. The pork here is unbeatable.”
They parked along the straight new road, and the men followed him into a pork-offal house. Under Ma-ryang’s strict orders not a drop of liquor passed anyone’s lips, but just as Wang-chul had promised, they ate their fill of excellent pork.
When the bill was settled, Wang-chul came up to him.
“Chief Jang, we’re resting in Daegu today, aren’t we?”
“Why? Night driving no good?”
“Aigo, Chief. Don’t you remember the road we came down in daylight? You can’t see a thing in front of you—how are we supposed to get over those nasty passes? I’d be fine, but if one of the drivers behind me so much as nods off, it’s straight off a cliff…”
“All right. We rest a day, then go.”
Ma-ryang respected an expert.
“Heh heh. I know the inn street well. We park nearby and sleep there.”
This time Wang-chul led them along Bukseong-ro and into an alley of inns. Ma-ryang decided to share a room with Hansu and Wang-chul. Worn out from the long haul, the men dropped into sleep the moment they stepped inside. Ma-ryang himself was just beginning to drift when Wang-chul got to his feet.
“Where are you off to?”
Wang-chul scratched the back of his head.
“The room’s cramped enough. At least I ought to sleep outside.”
“Sleep outside?”
“Chief Jang, a friend of mine lives around here. I’ll sleep there and come back.”
“That isn’t the face of a man going to sleep at a friend’s.”
“No, really, Chief. Ha ha. I’ll be back before it’s late.”
Watching that sly grin, Ma-ryang thought him an odd one. It wasn’t as if Wang-chul had taken an advance, and he had no reason to quit halfway and run. So long as he didn’t cause trouble somewhere, it would be fine—and he didn’t seem the type who loved his drink, or who could fight worth a damn. If a quarrel started, he was the sort to bolt.
“Can you be back at five in the morning?”
“Five? Of course. No trouble at all. Sleep well, then, Chiefs.”
When Wang-chul left, the room went quiet. Ma-ryang thought he might finally get some sleep—and then Hansu made to leave as well.
“And where are you going?”
“I can’t seem to sleep. I’ll step out for some air and come back.”
Ma-ryang understood young men in their twenties sleeping poorly in a strange town. They had taken on a big job and brought it off, and the excitement was still in them; when you’re young and night comes far from home, your mind lifts for no good reason and won’t settle. But it was unexpected from Hansu, who almost never had trouble sleeping. Even when five men snored through the night in the single room behind the Cheongsan office, Hansu had slept like a stone.
“Something on your mind?”
“Nothing like that. I just want to look at the stars a little.”
“The stars?”
“I’ll be right back.”
“All right.”
Ma-ryang sent him out too, and slept in the room that had grown spacious.
At five the next morning Wang-chul returned to the inn as promised.
“Chief Jang, I’m back.”
“Have a good time, did you?”
“Of course. Look how fresh I am.”
Ma-ryang studied his eyes. Not a trace of bloodshot; they were clear. The eyes of a man who had slept well.
“You know where the Goryeong Bridge restoration site is?”
“Goryeong Bridge? Of course. Fifty minutes from here.”
“Good. We’ll stop there on the way.”
To deliver the ten large sacks of rice Ki-jo had asked him to take to President Chung Ju-yung of Hyundai Construction, Ma-ryang meant to go alone with Wang-chul to the works at Goryeong Bridge. To Hansu, just waking, he said to sleep a little longer. The young man’s face looked as if he hadn’t closed his eyes all night.
They drove the rice-laden bus-truck out to Goryeong Bridge, and just as Wang-chul had said, it took exactly fifty minutes. Ma-ryang greeted Chung Ju-yung, already up and about, and unloaded the rice Ki-jo had sent.
“Tell President Lee I’m grateful.”
“I will.”
“You’d be Chief Jang Ma-ryang, then? President Lee’s brother-in-law?”
“Yes, that’s right. How do you know me?”
“Ah, I heard it from In-yeong. Said you were a very solid man, and I knew you at a glance. But why drive a bus all the way to Daegu?”
“It only looks like a bus. My brother-in-law converted it into a truck. Just the thing for hauling beer.”
Curious as ever, Chung Ju-yung looked the bus-truck over with care.
“Ah, so he converted the bus in case the beer froze. Aigo, President Lee’s got a good head on him. Same breed as me. Ha-ha-ha!”
After the inspection he had his younger brother bring apples.
“These are Daegu apples, and they’re excellent. Take them to President Lee.”
Ma-ryang accepted the bundle packed full of fruit. He had meant to stop at a market for apples on the way back anyway; this saved the time.
“Thank you.”
Leaving the Goryeong Bridge site, he returned to Daegu, ate breakfast with the men at the inn, and set out for Seoul.
All the way north, lead driver Wang-chul wore a foolish grin. Watching him, Ma-ryang was certain the man had spent the night with a woman. It was pure instinct. Wang-chul had ranged the whole country; it would be no surprise if he had a woman in Daegu. What worried Ma-ryang more was Hansu. The face he had seen that morning was exactly the face of a man who had found a woman. Knowing Hansu’s life as he did, Ma-ryang thought it a strange business. How could Hansu, who had no time to meet women, manage such a thing?
The Cheongsan convoy left Daegu and reached Seoul before sunset. They had parked the bus-trucks at Cheongnyangni, and Ma-ryang was ordering the men to maintenance, when Ki-jo arrived, having heard the news. He encouraged the men who had finished the long haul.
“All of you, well done. Rest well today. Tomorrow morning we haul again. The Americans have doubled the volume.”
The men cheered. Their bodies felt like lead, but the news of another chance to earn money tomorrow put the strength back in them. Wages at Cheongsan Transport were formidable. Ki-jo had promised a base pay and an allowance scaled to the distance hauled. It was a dollar job—the base was already good, and the allowances stacked on top—so the more a man worked, the fatter his monthly pay grew, and no one turned a job down.
When he had shaken every hand, Ki-jo took Ma-ryang and Hansu to the office at the yard. Seated at the table, he asked about the Daegu run.
“Anything happen on the way to Daegu and back?”
“Fortunately, nothing. But what came of that Dongducheon freight ending up delivered to Daegu?”
“President Cho Choong-hoon of Hanjin protested, so we were compensated for the round trip to Dongducheon, and the Daegu delivery will be paid separately.”
“That’s good.”
“There’s better.”
Ki-jo explained what had happened over the past two days. Of the four transport firms that had joined on the fifth, the first day, one had already been dropped. It was a company that had recklessly set out with beer the same dawn Cheongsan had left. They burst more than half of what they carried, and the Americans cut them. Only two competitors remained.
By afternoon of that first day the weather still hadn’t let up, and neither firm went out. In the end the Cheongsan bus-trucks, finished with the Uijeongbu run, went back to Bupyeong and cleared what beer was left. Five of them hauled the freight bound for Paju.
On the sixth, the next day, the midday temperature never rose above ten degrees below zero. Ki-jo stripped the seats out of eighteen unfinished bus-trucks sitting in Yeoncheon and sent them into service, hauling beer to Pyeongtaek, Suwon, and Eighth Army Headquarters as well. For two days Cheongsan Transport had the beer haul to itself.
“I hope tomorrow’s as cold as these last two days. Ha ha.”
Ki-jo was wishing for nothing but cold. Only then would the bus-trucks Cheongsan alone possessed show what they were worth.
“Still, hauling Daegu freight out of Incheon is a little strange,” Ma-ryang said, unconvinced. “If it’s bound for Daegu, shouldn’t it be beer that came in through Busan?”
“Mm. I thought that was odd too, so I asked the president of Cheongsan Shipping in Busan to look into how things stood down there.”
“Was there a reason?”
“The bars in Busan are in an uproar, he says. Word’s gone around that from now on the Americans won’t bring beer into Busan—only into Incheon.”
“Why would the Americans do that?” Shim Hansu asked. He had been listening.
“Seems they got angry because so much beer was vanishing in Busan. It disappeared at the port, and there were plenty of complaints that Koreans were siphoning it off inside the bases, too.”
“So now American beer comes in through Incheon and gets supplied to the whole country?”
“It could be temporary. It might end as a warning to the Busan operators. In the end beer will go into Busan again.”
“Even so, the work won’t dry up for a while, will it? Ha ha.”
Hansu was pleased. Ki-jo smiled faintly, then spoke.
“But we have to be more careful now. You think the people who were making money skimming beer in Busan will just sit still?”
“We’ll take care whenever we haul beer toward Busan.”
Ma-ryang seemed to understand that the more money there was to be made, the more trouble would come with it. Satisfied that his brother-in-law had taken the point, Ki-jo asked another question.
“By the way, brother-in-law—how was that Ko Wang-chul?”
“A bit of an odd one, but his skill was quite good.”
“Odd how?”
Ma-ryang nearly said the man seemed fond of women, then thought better of it. It was only a guess.
“Just… a bit odd.”
“Any problem making him head of transport?”
“I don’t think there’d be a problem, but we ought to watch the four runs he has left.”
“All right. We’ll give it a little more time.”
Ki-jo was thinking that if Ko Wang-chul had no greed for goods, he was material for a department head at Cheongsan Transport. Hauling American supplies would bring plenty of temptation. A transport chief at Cheongsan needed to be cleaner than a banker with large sums passing through his hands.
“Let’s have dinner together. My sister-in-law prepared the meal today.”
“Shall we eat in Hannam-dong?”
“No. She’s setting it out at the Cheongsan office.”
“The young madam and the elder madam must have gone to a lot of trouble.”
At Hansu’s words, Ki-jo smiled.
“Not at all. We’ve added another woman on the staff, so the two of them have had it a bit easier.”
“A woman on the staff?”
“Ah, Chief Shim hasn’t seen her yet, has he? An accounting clerk has just come on. Her name is Jin Hyun-kyung.”
“Ah… yes.”
The moment Hansu heard the name, a jolt went through him like a current, and his heart began to hammer. Somehow he was certain that the woman he had seen was Jin Hyun-kyung.
“Brother-in-law, let’s bring Ko Wang-chul along too. We ought to see what kind of man he is over a meal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once the Cheongnyangni yard was squared away, Ki-jo loaded Ma-ryang, Hansu, and Ko Wang-chul into the jeep and headed for the office.