The First Deal
After finishing his archery lessons at Camp Casey, Shim Hansu headed for the portrait shop, as he always did. Stopping by the picture shop before he went home had become part of his daily round.
"Has the bow master come?"
"Master Ji, has anything out of the ordinary happened today?"
"Today, something has."
The hunter Shim Hansu and the painter Ji Jang-ho got along by lifting each other up.
"The division commander is looking for Chairman Lee Ki-jo."
"Truly?"
A smile bloomed across Hansu's face.
"They say Chairman Lee saved an American soldier?"
Word had already reached Dongducheon that Ki-jo had rescued an American GI.
"Ah, yes. They say the chairman's brother-in-law gave a gang of thugs a thorough beating."
"Not Chairman Lee himself—his brother-in-law did that?"
"The third man you painted, Master Ji."
"Ah! That tall, rough-looking fellow! He was the chairman's brother-in-law?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Chairman Lee is blessed in the people around him. A man only gets ahead when he has fine men at his side. Like the two of us. Hahaha."
Hansu and the painter laughed together. Hunter and artist they might be, but the two of them fit hand in glove.
"Last time, the division commander saw Chairman Lee's portrait and took an interest. I made sure to introduce him properly. And it seems he's heard about the soldier being saved. He's asking the chairman to come onto the base."
"Then he must be looking to buy bricks?"
"That's right. You've been in and out of the American base yourself, so you've seen the state of the place. Can you even call that the American army? The finest army in the world, living under canvas in shabby shacks, without a single proper building."
"Yes, that's so. I was startled the first time too. Plenty of supplies inside the base, but hardly any buildings."
"Chairman Lee will know how to handle it, I'm sure, but tell him he must seize this chance, won't you? Pass that along for me."
"I will. I'll tell him just that."
Hansu left the picture shop, slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, and hurried off at a quick stride. When he reached Eundae-ri, he went straight to Ki-jo with the news.
"Village head, the American base is looking for you. Master Ji says it seems they're after bricks."
"Is that so? That's good to hear."
Ki-jo looked pleased. Watching that pleasure, Hansu suddenly remembered a worry.
"But, village head, is the Cheongsan factory finished?"
"No, not yet."
"Then even if an order for bricks comes in, we won't be able to make them, will we?"
"I think we can make them even without the factory."
"How?"
At Hansu's bewildered look, Ki-jo drew a notebook from inside his coat and held it out.
"The answer is in here."
"In a notebook?"
"Everything you've told me, coming and going from the American base, has been a great help. If this works out, it will all be thanks to you, Mr. Hansu."
"Aigoo, village head... what have I done to deserve that? Even getting to teach archery on the American base is all thanks to you. Haha."
Hansu's face flushed. Every time Ki-jo praised him, he felt as if he were floating. It was a strange thing. They were the same age, and Ki-jo even looked the younger of the two, yet a word of praise from him left Hansu feeling like a child commended by a teacher or an elder. Other men casually tacked a year or two onto their age and tried to bear down on people with it, but there was none of that in Ki-jo. He never looked down on Hansu for having nothing, and he always spoke to him with respect.
"But what are you planning to do, village head?"
"I'd rather not count my chickens before they hatch, so I'll tell you the details later."
"Aiyu, of course you shouldn't. They say if you talk about what's coming too soon, you invite bad luck."
Trusting that Ki-jo would manage well enough on his own, Hansu went home.
The next day Ki-jo dressed with care and set out for Dongducheon. He went first to the picture shop in front of the base, and the moment the painter caught sight of him, he came rushing out as if the division commander himself had arrived and greeted him with open delight.
"Chairman Lee, it's been a while. Have you been very busy?"
The gleaming Parker fountain pen in the painter's breast pocket shone with particular brightness. Seeing the man treat his gift with such care put Ki-jo in a good mood.
"Have you sold many pictures since then?"
"Just enough to keep food on the table, that's all. Hahaha."
The painter scratched the back of his head and laughed.
"I came because I heard the division commander was looking for me..."
"I'll see you as far as the main gate. You'll find it easier with me along than going alone. I come and go from the base so often the sentries all know me. Hahaha."
With the painter guiding him, Ki-jo made for the main gate. After the painter exchanged a few words with the guard, a jeep soon pulled up.
From the jeep, Ki-jo took in the base as they drove toward the division commander's office. Miles of ground had been neatly leveled, and yet there was nothing that deserved to be called a proper facility—only tents and temporary buildings filling the land.
All of that is money...
Ki-jo reckoned the dollars he might earn if proper buildings rose where the tents and shacks now stood. Even at an average of only a hundred dollars a building, ten would bring a thousand, and fifty would bring five thousand. A hundred buildings, more or less, and he stood to make ten thousand dollars. For the time, it was a truly staggering sum—capital enough not only to finish the brick factory, but to run it and launch other ventures besides.
Arriving before the division commander's office, Ki-jo gathered himself. In this year of 1954, the greatest source of money in the Republic of Korea was the U.S. Army. He could not afford the smallest slip in front of Division Commander Martin.
The office door opened, and Will Martin came into view—a man Ki-jo had seen only in photographs on the internet. He looked younger than in the pictures, and the air of a field soldier came off him in waves.
"How do you do, General? I'm Lee Ki-jo, from Yeoncheon."
"Come in. Good to meet you. Will Martin."
Will Martin had been seated at his desk. He rose, shook Ki-jo's hand, and led him over to the sofa. With a cup of tea set before him, Ki-jo began his conversation with Major General Martin.
"I hear Mr. Lee's people saved one of my men."
"It happened by chance. I wonder whether the wounded soldier is all right."
"The surgeon says they stopped the bleeding in time and pulled him through. Left as he was, he would have died."
"I'm glad to hear it. And I apologize."
"Apologize for what?"
"As a Korean, I'm ashamed that a Korean harmed a soldier who came here to help Korea."
Martin took a liking to this Ki-jo, who carried himself with humility and without a word of self-praise.
"Things like this happen all the time at overseas posts. American troops in West Germany die in accidents and crimes often enough. People are the same wherever they live, so there's no need to apologize on someone else's behalf."
Ki-jo let out a quiet breath of relief. His first meeting with Major General Martin had gone well.
"I hear you're running a brick factory."
"Yes. We're in the middle of building a red-brick factory."
"It isn't finished yet?"
Martin's head tilted slightly.
"No. The kiln installation is still underway."
"Is that so? When will it be done?"
"In three months."
Three months was the soonest it could be. Ki-jo had given him the shortest figure he dared.
"Three months... That does make things difficult..."
Martin made no effort to hide his disappointment. Even so, Ki-jo stayed perfectly calm.
"If you order bricks, I can make them for you right away."
"Is that possible?"
"Yes. Give me the cement stockpiled on the base, and I'll turn it into cement bricks."
Ki-jo knew there was a large store of cement inside the base. Whenever Shim Hansu—who came and went teaching archery to the officers—returned to the village, he reported in detail everything that had happened on post, and in Ki-jo's notebook each day's reports were set down with care. According to the latest of them, the Americans were struggling to dispose of cement that had hardened solid in the warehouses.
Martin turned the proposal over in his mind.
Give him the cement, and he'll make cement bricks?
He recalled the autumn of the year before, when a great quantity of cement had been issued. It had been meant for construction on the base before winter, but the budget never came down from Eighth Army headquarters, and the plan had come to nothing. In the funding for American forces overseas, the troops in Europe always ranked first, and Asia was forever an afterthought. Supplies had been sent ahead, the money had failed to follow, and a huge lot of cement had ended up shoved into the warehouses.
"As I understand it, cement is good for three months after it's made."
Is that so?
Major General Martin had not known that cement went bad in three months. A division commander could hardly be expected to know everything that went on inside his own base.
"If you'll give me the stock that's nearing the end of its usable life, I'll make the bricks for nothing but the cost of the labor."
"Hmm..."
Major General Martin stroked his chin and considered it. If the cement was going to be thrown out anyway, better to have it turned into bricks beforehand.
"Very well. Let's do it that way."
Martin decided to open a deal with Ki-jo. Lee Ki-jo was the man whose people had saved an American soldier's life, and from what the painter had told him, his reputation was sound. Meeting him face to face, Martin liked that he was modest and properly mannered. And the labor cost he named was, decisively, cheap.
Three cents a brick.
The price of a single American postage stamp.
Martin agreed to send the cement to the factory address Ki-jo had given him.