Professor Movius
When Jeon Hyeong-pil had heard Ki-jo out, he asked,
"You mean to sell land where Paleolithic relics lie buried to an American university, in order to raise capital for your business?"
"Yes. That's right."
"And you wish to observe him at my museum, so you can learn what sort of man this professor is who's coming to buy it?"
Ki-jo said that was so. Even then, Kansong did not look entirely satisfied.
"Sir Kansong, as I told you, Paleolithic relics are scattered all along the Hantan River. Selling my parcel will not make them vanish."
"Then sell the land to me instead. I will pay you handsomely, and I will even build you a Paleolithic museum upon it."
The offer was handsome enough. But no matter how much Kansong might give, Ki-jo had no wish to sell it to him. Kansong ought to spend that fortune on finer work, and what Ki-jo needed now was dollars.
"I'm sorry, but I intend to turn the land over to the American university, just as I planned."
"Well, now..."
Jeon Hyeong-pil, whose hunger for relics ran deep, looked bitterly disappointed.
"In exchange, I'll give you the neighboring ground outright. You'll find a great many Paleolithic artifacts there as well."
"Ah, no. That will not do. Land, given away for nothing? Let us do it this way. We shall trade the shop lot of the Hanyang Record Shop for the land at Jeongok-ri."
Was this the dignity of a rich man? Ki-jo was astonished that Jeon Hyeong-pil would offer to exchange a piece of Seoul—prime Jongno ground, no less—for a patch of countryside. It was entirely like the man who had not begrudged the price of a hundred tile-roofed houses to obtain a single piece of Goryeo celadon.
"We shall settle our dealings that way, then. But what will you do if the American professor conceals the relics found on the Jeongok-ri land? Fear of seeing his theory overturned might well drive him to it..."
That, too, lay within what Ki-jo had already foreseen.
"I mean to put a clause in the contract requiring that any relics discovered be published without fail. If he still refuses to honor it, I intend to make the artifacts buried along the Hantan known to another university."
"Hm... That ought to serve."
Kansong nodded.
"Hearing you out, I am quite convinced you are no swindler. I hope you will forgive me for having doubted you."
"It's all right. You haven't fully verified me yet either, have you, Sir Kansong? Of course, when spring comes, it will be plain that what I've said is true."
"Ha ha. Is that so?"
Kansong and Ki-jo laughed together.
Jeon Hyeong-pil was all but certain now that Ki-jo was no fraud. He had met countless tomb robbers and black-market dealers, and men of that sort never cared what kind of person meant to buy. Give them money enough, and that was the end of it. There was no one like Ki-jo, who chose his buyer with care.
"I speak on the premise that you are no swindler—but this spring I should like to order some brick from you."
Jeon Hyeong-pil went on to say that many of the Jongno buildings in his possession had been badly broken by bombing during the war. They had been patched for the moment and were serving in a pinch, but in the end they would have to be raised anew, and when that time came he promised to use Ki-jo's brick.
"Thank you, sir."
"Thanks for what? If the map you gave me holds so much as the relics, I shall be the one flat on the floor, bowing to you. Ha ha ha."
Kansong looked certain the excavation would bear fruit. Ki-jo had never dreamed matters would turn out so well. Who could have guessed he would come away with a parcel of priceless Jongno land and an order for brick besides? It seemed that if a man did honest, decent work, blessing followed of its own accord.
Promising to meet Kansong again in two days, Ki-jo took his leave of the residence. On the way back toward Seoul Station he halted before a record shop.
Looking at the signboard, Ki-jo thought, In the original history, it probably wouldn't even have lasted past '54...
The thought made his regression feel like something other than a thing done only for his family and himself.
If I can manage it, I want this return of mine to do good for many people...
Ki-jo walked on.
There was more he meant to give Kansong Jeon Hyeong-pil than King Muryeong's Tomb and Cheonmachong. He meant to keep the man from going bankrupt.
A few years on, a staggering case of accounting fraud would erupt at Dongseong Academy, the school Jeon had founded. The scandal would leave Jeon Hyeong-pil crushed beneath enormous debt and ruined—so far that a family once so rich could neither eat nor dress as they ought. Whether from the shock of it or not, he himself would die not long after. So much good done, and still a wretched end.
Ki-jo had resolved to prevent it.
Two days later.
Early that morning Ki-jo called at Bukdanjang, and Jeon Hyeong-pil welcomed him with evident pleasure.
"Do come in, President Lee."
He was according him the title of president now.
"Might I use the telephone in your house, sir?"
"By all means."
Ki-jo lifted the receiver in the parlor and placed a call to Umigwan.
"This is Lee Ki-jo. Have the guests from America arrived?"
"Yes. Three of them are here."
Three of them. Exactly the number Ki-jo had hoped for.
"What sort of people are they?"
"One Japanese, and two Americans."
So they came into Korea by way of Japan.
Ki-jo had the shape of it. The Japanese man would be their interpreter.
"Understood. Would you bring them by car to the Kansong Art Museum in Seongbuk-dong?"
"Yes. Understood."
When the call was finished, Ki-jo waited for the three at the museum. A short while later the car arrived, and three foreigners stepped down.
He could speak both English and Japanese, but he kept the fact hidden. He wanted to hear every word they let fall once their guard was down.
"This gentleman is Sir Kansong, Jeon Hyeong-pil, Korea's foremost collector of cultural treasures."
When Ki-jo introduced Kansong, the Japanese interpreter presented the two Americans.
"This is Professor Hallam Leonard Movius, of Harvard University's Department of Archaeology. And this is Mr. MacLean, of the Harvard accounting staff."
Ki-jo asked the interpreter's name as well.
"I am Oguchi Yoshinori."
"A pleasure. Mr. Oguchi, since you've come all the way to Korea, please tell them we ought first to view Korea's cultural treasures. These are things one will never see in Japan, nor in France, nor in England."
For their sake, Kansong brought from the vault the finest pieces in his keeping.
The Hunminjeongeum Haerye — the annotated manuscript that promulgated the Korean alphabet.
A celadon water dropper shaped as a mother monkey with her young.
Kim Hong-do's painting of sages and figures from antiquity.
A gilt-bronze standing Buddha triad inscribed with the cyclical year gyemi.
Every one of them was a relic of national-treasure rank. Showing them the height of Korea's heritage, Ki-jo began to take their measure, and before long Professor Movius's character showed itself.
"I fail to see the point of showing me these recent things..."
Perhaps because he was a prehistoric archaeologist, occupied with ages far older, the relics of historical time seemed to strike him as trifles. At that, the interpreter, Oguchi, spoke.
"What you are viewing now, Professor, is among this country's very finest treasures."
"Things like this are common in China. Little better than Chinese copies."
"That is not so. Korea, China, and Japan each developed a culture of their own. They may look similar, but they are nothing alike."
From the exchange Ki-jo could see how short-tempered Movius was, and he learned as well that the Japanese interpreter had a genuine grasp of Korean culture.
Throughout the viewing, Professor Movius made no effort to hide his indifference to Korean culture, nor his impatience and irritation. As it went on, Kansong, catching Ki-jo's eye, gave a slight shake of the head. He meant that Movius did not seem a very good man, and Ki-jo nodded in return.
He had not, however, given up on dealing with Movius. It occurred to him that if he made use of the professor's impatience, he might still strike a favorable bargain.
When the viewing was over, Ki-jo thanked Kansong and put the three men into the car. The reason he had been pleased to hear that the Harvard party at Umigwan numbered three was simple: he could seat all of them in a single automobile.
Before they set off, he whispered to the driver not to go straight to Yeoncheon, but to drive them in circles.
"Until the deal is done, we had better not give away the location. Let's wander a little and throw off their sense of direction."
"Yes, Mr. Lee."
As instructed, the driver left Seoul and roamed the country around Yangju. A little later, Professor Movius's complaints burst out again from the back seat.
"These people are driving us around in circles to nowhere! A site like that is bound to lie near a great river. All we're passing is useless paddies and fields!"
Ki-jo heard every word and gave no sign of it.
Oguchi, seated in the back, asked,
"Are we going the right way?"
"No."
At that, Oguchi looked startled.
"Why aren't we going straight to the site?"
"I can't show you the land until the purchase contract is complete."
"Hm..."
Oguchi relayed Ki-jo's words to the other two. At once Movius flew into a rage and cursed every Korean for a swindler.
That bastard, honestly...
Ki-jo was offended, but for the moment he went on as if he had not heard. His aim was to receive, as the price of the land, what six houses would cost in America. Sixty thousand dollars in all—and sixty thousand dollars was a considerable sum. In 1961, when Samyang Foods built its ramen factory, the money that went into it was sixty thousand dollars. With that, a man in Korea could raise a respectable factory in short order, or buy trucks by the lot.
He told the driver to stop the car. Once it had come fully to a halt, he spoke to the Japanese man serving as interpreter.
"Mr. Oguchi, you know who the museum director you met earlier is, don't you?"
"Ah, you mean Sir Kansong? Of course. He is well known even in Japan."
As expected, Oguchi was a man with real knowledge of Korean culture.
"Before the three of you arrived, he told me to sell that land to him. You know he's a man of considerable wealth?"
"Yes, I do."
"And Professor Movius said every Korean is a swindler—but the truth is, I understand both English and Japanese."
"Y-you do...?"
Oguchi was flustered.
"But I'll pretend I don't."
"Please do. For the sake of my standing, I must ask you to go on as a man who speaks no English. Otherwise there is no reason for me to be in Korea, and I shall be in a difficult position."
"Understood, Mr. Oguchi."
For the present, Ki-jo decided to spare Oguchi's dignity and win him over. Knowingly or not, the man had ample room to insert himself into this transaction. If he kept interpreting with a sour face and a negative shade of meaning, the other side would be swayed without quite realizing it. He was not the most important figure, but he was not one to dismiss, and keeping on good terms with Oguchi would serve in more ways than one.
"Mr. Oguchi, please tell them once more: negotiation first, and verification afterward."
"Yes... I'll do that."
Hearing the message, Movius shouted in a flush of excitement.
"I knew it! There's no way my theory is wrong! That Korean bastard is trying to swindle me!"
Ki-jo gave a bitter smile at Movius's words, and said to Oguchi,
"The professor seems to dislike this very much. If Harvard refuses, I can simply deal with another university. Please tell him that."
He drew from his coat a letter he had been keeping there and handed it to Oguchi. It was the reply from Stanford and Yale that had come to Umigwan. Movius's face went pale as he read.
"Ask that damned man how much he's demanding!"
Movius cried out in haste. Knowing that Ki-jo understood English, Oguchi wore an awkward look as he asked,
"Er... how much were you thinking of asking?"
Ki-jo judged that Movius had been provoked as far as he would go. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
"Tell him one hundred thousand dollars."
"One hundred thousand dollars?"
Startled, Oguchi confirmed it once more.
"Just tell them what you heard."
Ki-jo was confident. If Harvard refused, Stanford and Yale were waiting, and Professor Movius stood on the brink of scholarly ruin. Watching the professor rage, he thought to himself,
Movius, you old fool—still haven't figured out who's holding the upper hand?