Craving Grilled Fish and Shaman Secrets
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"If I suddenly blurted out 'sex' out of nowhere, would I look like I had Tourette's?"
"According to scholarly theories, it's a natural stage of linguistic development that every man goes through at least once."
"Then no problem. Sex."
Chuseok's golden holiday was drawing to a close, I'd smashed Machupicchu Amusement Park to bits, pocketed the ten million won advance, and now here I was, sprawled on the office sofa counting ceiling stains as usual.
The park's chairman, who'd hired me for the job, was pissed as hell, but since I'd turned what could've been a massive disaster into a mere commotion (?), he magnanimously decided not to hold me accountable afterward. Thanks to that, I didn't have to relocate the office, and S-man didn't have to scramble to empty out some Gangnam commercial building. Win-win for everyone.
Korean news was droning on with its usual boring crap—no one gave a shit about politicians' corruption or SNS trash-talk scandals, but they made a huge fuss anyway. Politicians have egos sky-high, so they casually think, "I'm important enough to take bribes," or "I'm big enough to mouth off." The Korean public needs to cut them some slack. Hanging every bastard on a cross day in, day out—hell, we're the country with the strictest gun laws, yet we're infamous worldwide for boiling over with hate and conflict.
"Those fucking scum deserve to be torn apart! If you can hear me, Jesus, give me a sign! You're really letting bastards like that into heaven?!"
No answer? Guess that means yes. What a big heart on the guy.
"All the politicians in this country are rotten. Especially the real estate speculators—they should have their entire bloodlines wiped out."
"Our family..."
"I vouched for your family, didn't I?"
"Right you did. I'm always grateful."
"Your family's decent at least. Those guys are the real scum. Bet they cozy up to top government officials, get the inside scoop on redevelopment or greenbelt releases, and jump in first. We should skin 'em alive and rub sun-dried salt into the raw flesh. Fucking assholes."
Sun-dried salt. That word suddenly conjured up images of fish slathered in salt, charred over charcoal coals, and devoured whole. I don't have great memories with fish—canned mackerel and tuna are the only ones I've eaten my fill of. During those brutal days juggling studies and part-time jobs, cheap croaker or tiny cutlassfish at a hole-in-the-wall eatery were small comforts. Otherwise, just the occasional mackerel curry or grilled Spanish mackerel at the school cafeteria. Shockingly, even sushi—something everyone else had casually tried—I only tasted during my office drone days, chowing down while hustling sales.
Suddenly, my whole life as Assistant Manager Han felt invalidated. Even when Jesus was smashing my clay pot with life's bullshit, it didn't feel this fucked.
"Fish."
"A variation on 'sex'?"
"No, I wanna eat fish."
I bolted up from the sofa and threw on the coat hanging from the wall rack. True fall style for a man starts with coat, muffler, and sunglasses.
"Chuseok's ending tomorrow. We'll be back to groveling for clients, wiping their asses. Gotta squeeze every last drop out of this holiday first, right?"
"Got a good plan?"
S-man didn't even turn around, just hammered away at his laptop and fired back. Curious what he was so busy with, I peeked at his screen. Shockingly, he was building the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office homepage himself. At the top, a bold shot of me standing tall, shoulders squared. Flanking me were photoshopped pics of the Mad Woman and S-man. Visitors could post requests directly on a dedicated board, no need for the occult gallery detour. And dead center? S-man's personally shot and edited exorcism mad movie of me. It was so CG-heavy, anyone would peg it as scammer bait.
"Alright, basic homepage setup's done. Now just sprinkle some cash on an online marketing firm, and they'll handle the promo."
"How much?"
"Better to spread it wide—minimum 50 million won."
"Cut it. We ain't got an office that can handle 50 mil in promo yet."
This biz has tiers too. Crusty rural offices in backwater towns vs. prime Seoul spots like ours—they tug-of-war over standard fees. But I've learned firsthand that even "IN Seoul" means jack shit in the real world, so this time, humility it is.
"Then test run with 10 million won."
"Yeah. And the Mad Woman's calling us down south. Grab the car keys."
"A case?!"
"Who knows?"
The Mad Woman straight-up tells the boss to head to the Namhae region—what the hell am I supposed to read into that? She calls us down there, I think of sun-dried salt and grilled fish right on cue, and figure we can burn the last of Chuseok fishing by the sea to boot.
We hopped into the pickup, still under clear blue skies and blazing sun, searching travel spots. She'd tossed us just an address for Namhae, pointing to Jindo. Prime southern coastal spots like Jindo, Wando, Yeosu, Namhae Island—all hot for tourists and anglers. Freshwater, breakwater, deep-sea boat fishing, even remote uninhabited island trips, depending on taste.
"You fish much?"
"A few ocean trips with college buddies. My old gear's in the back storage."
"Unlike you, I've never even done line fishing. But if I can't grill fresh fish I haul up myself from the sea, I might lose it—98.2% chance?"
"I'll guide you well."
"Cool. On the way, grab ramen, meat, rice, kimchi, burner, pot, sleeping bags, tent."
"My dad's friend runs a solid shop for that stuff."
"Perfect. Make it happen."
I cranked the passenger seat all the way back and lounged out. Humans are built for sprawling—stand too long, wanna sit; sit too long, wanna lie down. Only animal like that.
"But why's the Ma... Yonghwa Seonnyeo still down south after settling the Kim Hakju family's new digs? What's she doing in those parts?"
"Don't try figuring shamans easily. They're soaked in the world's filth like church pastors, yet crave pure souls like temple monks—total contradictions."
"Charging hundreds of grand for a reading or talisman, millions for a full gut ritual, all while trekking mountains in devotion?"
"Yep. Unlike Catholic priests or monks with their abstinence rules, shamans have almost no taboos. Marry if you want, gorge on meat, own mansions and fancy rides. Sure, some wander homeless for the gods or shun divine forbids lifelong."
Stuff from that docu-special 'Life of Shamans.' But settled mudangs rarely leave their home turf. Ditching her shrine to roam? One of two things.
"Which is?"
"Either seriously dating someone she's hot for, or tangled in some mess she needs borrowed divine power to hold off."
"Yonghwa Seonnyeo's definitely the latter."
"My take too."
Who'd seriously date a slob who can't manage herself, foul-mouthed, fierce-eyed, sharp-tongued Mad Woman? No one.
"Speak of the devil. Never say never."
Down in Jindo dreaming of sea fishing, the sight that greeted us was the Mad Woman getting passionately wooed by a rugged sea hunk.