Three Cold Days, Four Warm
It was the fourth day of the beer transport. Ki-jo had risen at dawn and started for the darkroom, but the warmth in the air turned him back. Sunrye found him in the yard, checking the thermometer.
"You're not printing today?"
"The cold's broken. I think I ought to get to Incheon."
She knew well enough that her husband's work went better when the cold held.
"Eat before you go. I'll have it ready in a moment."
For a husband who so often left for work at dawn, Sunrye had made a habit of setting aside a bowl of the previous day's rice. She drew out the porcelain bowl she had tucked beneath the quilt where the bedroom floor ran warmest. Into the monkfish stew she had brought home rather than see it wasted—she had been eating it alone—she poured water, added a pinch more MSG to set the seasoning, and boiled just the share Ki-jo would eat. The kerosene stove burned weak; if she wanted the food hot in a hurry, there was no other way. Even so, she thought the Japanese stove he had bought her was a blessing at moments like this. No fire to kindle in the kitchen furnace. Quick, and wonderfully easy.
When she hurried the tray into the bedroom, he was already dressed.
"Thank you, dear."
He sat down and began to eat at once. Sunrye watched him with a pang. His mouth must have been dry and rough from sleep, and still he stirred the rice into the stew and ate with a sturdy will. He finished with startling speed, the bowl cleared as quick as a crab tucks itself from sight, and said to her,
"Last time it wasn't any good. Today it's delicious."
"I put a hand to it. Hyun-kyung isn't wholly without a gift for cooking. Teach her even a little, and I think she'll do quite well."
"Then teach her properly. Han-su will be pleased."
"Han-su will be pleased?"
"There's a bit of that."
She still had not caught his meaning, so he left it there and grinned.
"I'll be off, then."
He held her a moment, lightly, and went out the gate. The jeep stood in the alley; when he started it, the peculiar cough of a carburetor engine rang between the walls.
Brrrr-rum.
Sunrye watched until he had vanished down the dark lane.
At the Bupyeong U.S. Army supply depot, Ki-jo greeted the employees who had arrived ahead of him, then went looking for Choong-hoon. In the logistics officer's office, Choong-hoon was locked in an argument with an American officer.
"Look here. You've got to split it equally among the three companies. What kind of rule is this?"
He was protesting the uneven allotment of the beer. The officer, displeased that Choong-hoon would not simply yield, frowned as he answered.
"Hasn't your company been taking the entire shipment all this time? The cold's broken. There's no need for that anymore. Why should we keep it up?"
"Because we're the best."
Choong-hoon had shot it straight back, and the officer let out a dry laugh.
"Whether Hanjin-CS is the best, I couldn't say. Equal distribution is our policy, and you will follow it."
The officer gave first claim to the firms that had not managed a single delivery in three days. He named three destinations and let the other two companies choose before Hanjin-CS. Ki-jo thought he knew why. The Americans were curious; they wanted to see what the two firms that had never once shown their hauling strength could actually do.
Both companies took the short runs without a moment's hesitation. Watching them, Ki-jo nodded and whispered to Choong-hoon.
"They'd rather not risk a mistake."
"Seems that way. But they must know their scores are already trailing ours. Surprising."
"Those men are only hoping we'll slip."
"Mm... I suppose so."
Choong-hoon nodded. The scores between Hanjin-CS and the other two had already opened as far as they could open. Barring some upset, Hanjin-CS would finish first. Incheon Transport and Seohae Transport seemed content to scrap for second, counting on the fisherman's profit—the gain that falls to the man who stands aside—should Hanjin-CS so much as slip on a long haul.
Ki-jo was glad he had come to Incheon at dawn on a morning the cold had broken. He had wanted to see how the rivals would play it, and now he had seen with his own eyes that both had chosen safety over a gamble. There seemed no further need to worry about them. Against firms that had given up a head-on contest, Hanjin-CS had only to keep showing an overwhelming capacity to haul.
"Then Hanjin-CS's destination will be Gunsan."
The American officer handed Choong-hoon the papers and smiled.
"The other firms conceded you the higher-rate run. Satisfied, Mr. Cho?"
"Of course. The best company ought to take the best profit."
The moment they were out of the office, Ki-jo said, "I think the contest is over."
"So it is. We just mind our own work."
"Still—weren't you a little hard on that American officer?"
"No. With that lot, you always have to stand tall. They look after the man who knows how to make his appeal. Not like the Japanese, who want you meek."
Ki-jo thought that was right.
"Hyungnim, Cheongsan will take Gunsan. It's two days round trip, so please have Hanjin handle tomorrow's load."
"All right. Long hauls are better left to Cheongsan. You've got the trucks and the men."
He said it, then flushed, as if the words had embarrassed him.
"Ah, look at this. Transport is the trade where we're the seniors, and I keep leaning on my little brother."
"Isn't it all thanks to you, hyungnim? It was only possible because you connected us with those Japanese buses."
"Ha ha, listen to you. You ought to make your appeal to me, too. I'm American-style myself."
"Understood, hyungnim. I'll do it later."
"Just don't come at me too hard. Quiet ones like you are the frightening kind. Ha ha."
Ki-jo and Choong-hoon helped the men loading the cargo. When the preparations were done, Cheongsan's employees drove ten trucks out through the main gate of the Bupyeong depot and set off for Gunsan. Dawn had not yet broken, but as the trucks filed out a pale dust rose, and the red taillights, veiled in it, thinned and faded almost at once.
The easy hauls end with this one, I think...
The thought came as the last of the taillights disappeared. He pictured the beer crates that had filled roughly a third of the warehouse. A good share of what was stacked there would be bound for Busan. He was turning that over—Busan, the greatest trial this transport would face—when Choong-hoon spoke.
"Little brother, let's get some breakfast. Come to my house."
"You're not going in to the company?"
"These days I'm hardly at the office. Home's more comfortable."
"All right."
Ki-jo went with him toward Hannam-dong.
At Cho Choong-hoon's house in Hannam-dong, the two of them took a simple breakfast and went into the study. A globe stood on the desk, and the ashtray beside it was heaped with cigarette butts. Choong-hoon was not letting it show, but the worry on him was plain. He looked toward the window and spoke in a cheerful voice.
"The house sits in a fine place. I work in the study, I look out at the Han, and my mind goes cool and clear."
Ki-jo felt the same. One of the good things about having come back to the 1950s was that the air held not a speck of fine dust. Gangnam, across the water, still wore the look of undeveloped country, and simply to see it so clearly was enough to throw his chest wide open.
"Across the river stood Apgujeong—the pavilion Han Myeong-hoe built."
He pointed to where it had been.
"Is that so? That famous Apgujeong was right across from us?"
Choong-hoon studied the direction he had indicated. The pavilion itself had vanished long ago; only the hill where it had stood remained. When the development of Gangnam began in earnest, that hill too would disappear without a trace, and Chung Ju-yung would raise Hyundai apartments in its place. The thought that this history, too, might do the same left Ki-jo with a strange feeling.
Done looking, Choong-hoon held out a cigarette.
"Care for one?"
"Yes. Please."
They sat on the sofa in the study. The room felt less a place for reading than an office he kept at home.
"There's a reason I've been working from the house lately."
"People are making a nuisance of themselves."
"That's it. The riffraff in Incheon started calling, and since yesterday even the gangsters have been coming around to find me."
It would be the beer.
"They're looking to siphon it off any way they can. I got tired of turning them down and throwing them out, so I'm working entirely from here."
"You've been through a lot."
"Through a lot, nothing. I'm just stepping around it because shit is dirty. Ha ha."
Choong-hoon took a deep drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling in a gust, and said, "Lately there's even been a threatening call."
"Where from?"
"I knew from the way they talked."
"Busan?"
Choong-hoon nodded.
"I've lived through this before. From the first time we hauled American military supplies, there was no end of it. Did I ever tell you? About the time those U.S. Army jackets were stolen?"
He told of a contract driver who had brought his own truck into Hanjin, then diverted a full truckload of American field jackets and sold them off at Namdaemun Market.
"That time, I went down to Namdaemun myself and bought every one of those jackets back. In the end I gathered up everything that bastard of a driver had sold and returned it to the Americans. They were astonished. Ha ha."
"It makes me dizzy just to think of it. Beer would be harder still to get back, wouldn't it?"
"Right. We could recover them only because they were jackets. And it was summer, which was the lucky part. The Namdaemun merchants who'd stockpiled the stolen goods—tell them in the middle of summer you'll buy every last one, and they handed the whole lot over."
"You couldn't have gone to the police, either. The merchants would have scattered the jackets and hidden them all over."
"Exactly. It wasn't one or two shops holding stolen goods. Raid one house, and the others would have grabbed the jackets and run."
Choong-hoon crushed the butt into the ashtray and lit a fresh cigarette.
"Incheon Transport and Seohae Transport won't take the Busan loads."
"They won't."
"Now the jackals are really going to latch onto us."
"All the more reason we have to succeed."
"Right. That's how it has to be. Pull off the Busan run and it's game, set, and match. Something big will come of it."
With that he leaned forward and caught Ki-jo's hand tight.
To the abashed Choong-hoon, Ki-jo smiled with due modesty.
"Hyungnim, let's put it that Cheongsan Transport is specialized for beer hauling, and for that alone."
"I'm grateful you put it that way. But business is business."
Cho Choong-hoon drew a sheet of paper from beneath the table and took up a fountain pen.
"Let's reset the split of the profit on this job. It doesn't make sense for me to take an extra ten percent. In practice, hasn't Cheongsan done it all?"
"You can leave it as we contracted. That way Cheongsan takes eight."
"Eight or nine, I don't care. The one who does the work ought to take his share."
Ki-jo felt the force of the man's will and decided to accept. A refusal would wound his pride.
"Hyungnim. Please don't draw up a contract. I'd rather we agree by word alone. Thank you for offering."
"Thanks, nothing. I'm the one who should be grateful."
Choong-hoon put away the paper and the pen and clapped him on the shoulder. Pleased, it seemed, that Ki-jo trusted him, he asked in a lighter voice,
"Something I've been curious about. Those Burucks Cheongsan uses. Who named them Buruck?"
"A man called Yeom Ban-jang. He's chief of Cheongsan's maintenance crew. He gave them the name."
"Is that so? Your people, you know—I watch them every dawn, and how should I put it. They all feel like your own kin."
"What do you mean?"
"Your managers. Manager Jang and Manager Shim. Both of them work like filial sons helping their father. It doesn't look like company business. It looks like they're tending their own house. Thorough, and earnest. Ha ha."
"Ha ha. They've always been that way."
"No. It's because you get on well with your people. The tie between the man who employs and the man employed is no easy thing. Nothing goes less the way you want than your own employees."
Ki-jo stayed and talked a long while, for the sake of a Choong-hoon clearly living with unease. With even the Busan gangsters phoning him, the man could not be at peace. As they spoke, he found his footing again. And without quite meaning to, he kept Ki-jo there through lunch.
The next day, the trucks that had taken the beer to Gunsan came back safe, their work done. This time Ki-jo himself went out to the Cheongnyangni yard to welcome the men home.
Ma-ryang and Han-su climbed down, gave the employees their orders, and came over to greet him. One of the trucks sat heaped with bamboo still green in leaf.
"What's all that green bamboo?"
"Bought it in Gunsan."
"What for?"
"For the Busan run. Picked it up while we were there, so we'd be ready."
"Did you."
So Ma-ryang was preparing something thoroughly for the Busan transport. Ki-jo lowered his voice.
"And brother-in-law—did Ko Wang-chul sleep out again yesterday?"
Ma-ryang nodded.
"Yes. But he came in on time, same as Daegu. Sleeps out somewhere, and at dawn he still walks in with the face of a man who slept well."
"A peculiar fellow, just as you said."
Ki-jo looked at Ko Wang-chul. Wang-chul was helping unload the bamboo Ma-ryang had bought in Gunsan, stacking it in a corner of the yard. Ordinary drivers did not help with loading or unloading. In the fifties a driver carried the authority of an airline captain—he drove, and he did nothing else. Wang-chul paid that no mind and worked alongside the men. In his own fashion, of course: noisily, spilling complaints and jokes as he went.
"Have Ko Wang-chul come to the office."
"Understood."
While Ma-ryang went to call him, Ki-jo stepped into the yard office.