The Shy Child - 2
"So, what did you think? Of her, I mean. First impressions."
Bang Seonghyun had said his sister was so sick she couldn't even attend school. Yet Han Mija spoke of it lightly, smiling, as if it were nothing more than a passing ailment.
So which version was the truth?
Come to think of it, maybe a total stranger—a man who didn't share a single drop of their blood—was actually the one in a position to judge most objectively.
"Well, now, about that..."
Grandpa Hosik furrowed his brow and began.
"I heard a kid laughing, so I opened the window and looked out, and there she was, muttering to herself all alone, playing tag by herself? Then all of a sudden she slips into my yard and starts looking for somebody—and I'll tell you, it gave me the creeps."
"Looking for someone? Who?"
"Songi, was it? Soga? Ah—Songji! That's the name she kept calling out."
Srip—it felt as though something had just whipped past behind my back.
I whipped my head around.
Night mist was beginning to rise, and the damp air hung thick and heavy, but there was nothing out there worth a second look.
Something's off here.
There was something. I just had no idea what.
I narrowed my eyes, then turned to Grandpa Hosik. "So you never actually saw this girl named Songji?"
"That's right. Never saw another girl wandering around besides your folks' girl. But you know, something about it made my hair stand on end. Kind of like back when Hwanggu's ghost used to roam these parts."
If even an ordinary person without spiritual sight could feel it, that meant the thing wasn't bothering to hide its presence at all—it was strutting around in the open.
And yet now it had vanished without a trace. Even now, I could sense no trace of an evil spirit around the Bang household.
It was there, and then it wasn't—and yet it wasn't entirely gone, either. That was the closest way I could put it.
What on earth would you call something like that?
Whatever it was, it felt like nothing I had ever encountered before.
"Brrr. It's cold."
The temperature was dropping fast, and a shiver ran through me.
"Sir, why don't we call it a day and finish up tomorrow?"
"Sounds fine to me."
"Yes! I'll make some kimchi pancakes and something tasty for dinner. We'll have a drink, too."
I rose to my feet and asked, "Shall we make it makgeolli? Or soju?"
"Kimchi pancakes call for makgeolli, of course."
"Haha. You read my mind."
I led Grandpa Hosik to the sunroom in my backyard.
"Well, I'll be. You've fixed this place up real nice."
"Please, have a seat here."
I lit the stove so the old man wouldn't catch a chill and bustled around setting up the drinking table. First I beat the eggs, seasoned them with salt and pepper, then rolled the omelet layer by layer, sprinkling mozzarella cheese as I went.
Worried the egg roll might stay raw in the middle, I killed the heat and clapped a lid over the pan.
Chop-chop-chop.
I sliced scallions, fried them in the pan until their oil came fragrant, then gently toasted gochugaru in it too. Do it this way, and the chili flakes never turn bitter—the broth comes out clean and smooth instead.
Once the scallion and chili oils were ready, I sliced in some well-fermented aged kimchi, let it simmer down, and seasoned the stew with anchovy fish sauce.
As the kimchi jjigae began to bubble deliciously, I pulled out the last item—pork belly slathered in sun-dried gochujang paste—and threw it on the grill.
Sizzle!
Red oil dripped and spat as the spicy marinated pork cooked to perfection, and Grandpa Hosik, who'd been roasting sweet potatoes on the stove, started sniffing the air.
"My, oh my. That smell's something else, I tell you."
"Then you're in for a treat."
Hot egg rolls, kimchi pancakes, kimchi jjigae, and grilled gochujang pork belly to top it off.
Once the table was laid, I filled Grandpa Hosik's cup with makgeolli.
"Grandpa, thank you for selling me your land. I'm going to grow one magnificent crop of soybeans—you just watch."
"Haha, you do that, son! You do that!"
After delivering some kimchi pancakes to Grandma Mak-sun, Bang Seonghyun walked a few steps ahead, sweeping his flashlight beam across the dark road.
Han Mija trailed slightly behind, walking in silence, before finally asking her son, "How's school? Really?"
"The kids are all country kids, so they're nice. Everyone's kind."
He had to say it this way, or she would worry. That was all. Bang Seonghyun let the well-meaning lie slip out.
"Oh, thank goodness."
Han Mija kept up her light footsteps as she went on. "Grandma Mak-sun really is a wonderful woman, you know. I fixed her meals and drove her to the community hall, and she told me to get to work. Said I should clear a hillside plot and plant mugwort to sell. Mugwort, of all things."
"Mugwort?"
"She says she dug wild mugwort, made rice cakes from it, and sold them to put her children through college. So your mother's been thinking she might try the same."
"Mom, where are you going to find mugwort in the middle of winter?"
"In the spring, obviously. Nothing's growing right now."
Han Mija stopped walking and gazed up at the hillside.
Deep into the night, the young man next door—Kim Yunho—was keeping his yard lights burning, as if to light the way home for them even a little.
Thanks to him, the path back to their house was faintly visible even without the flashlight.
A monthly salary, and now even small kindnesses like this—the tip of her nose stung.
Meeting a blessing of a man like Kim Yunho was nothing short of pure fortune.
"That young man up the hill—he seems like a good soul. But don't you ever get too used to taking, you hear me?"
"I know, Mom. I haven't forgotten how grateful I am. Someday, I'm going to pay back every bit of it."
"Good."
Han Mija drew a breath, then asked her son, "Do you really mean to go back to taekwondo?"
"That guy who came in the Benz—he said he's Sunbae-nim's junior, and apparently he's the head of some famous art gallery. He even said once I graduate from a sports and bodyguard program, he'd help me find work."
Bang Seonghyun had been a taekwondo prodigy once. They said he had it in him to reach the Olympics, maybe even take gold—but there had never been money to support the dream.
"I'm sorry, son."
Han Mija took her boy's hand and squeezed it tight.
"I'll work hard too. Grandma Mak-sun dug mugwort and made rice cakes to put her kids through school—so I can do it too."
"And I'll work hard, Mom."
"Good. So stop thinking only about finding a job fast... and do what you actually want to do. Sports, anything. Okay?"
They had sold the house and the shop, filed for bankruptcy, and settled what remained of the debt.
She couldn't bear to stiff the friends and acquaintances she'd borrowed from, so she'd lived in a construction-site food-truck container and worked until every won was repaid.
What was left in her hands was the 6 million won Kim Yunho had given for Grandma Mak-sun's caregiving—and the 150,000 won her husband had earned from day labor in the fields today. That was the whole of it.
Still, being debt-free counts for something.
From here on out, whatever she earned was hers to keep. Even the fact that the endless robbing-Peter-to-pay-Paul life was over—that alone was a blessing.
"Mom's going to earn the money so our Seonghyun can do whatever his heart wants. And our baby girl is going to get a proper diagnosis and real treatment. You trust Mom, right?"
"Yes!"
"And tonight, Mom's sleeping in the kitchen. You sleep in the main room with your father."
"Aw, come on—sleeping in the kitchen doesn't bother me at all. The heated water runs that way, so the floor's plenty warm."
The "kitchen" was barely more than the patch of floor in front of the sink where a small table could fit.
Imagining that big strapping boy curled up on it, Han Mija deliberately raised her voice.
"So the kitchen's warm now, is it? My old bones are aching—I might as well sleep with my back pressed against that nice toasty floor. From tonight on, the kitchen's mine."
Han Mija stroked her son's back as she spoke. "Sons sleep in the main room with their fathers. That's the rule."
"Aww, come on... fine."
Talking farming with Grandpa Hosik—this crop and that, tips and old wisdom—somehow carried us deep into the night.
After the old man had yawned his way off to bed...
"Meowng!"
No. 1 had returned.
"And just where have you been until this hour?"
[Master, did you miss me?]
He looked an absolute wreck. Dobigobi grass clung to his fur, and dried mud caked his hind legs.
"Come here and sit. Now."
I tapped the table twice with my finger.
Boing!
No. 1 hopped up onto it and immediately began licking a paw, washing his face with great ceremony.
Playing innocent like that—he had definitely gotten into something.
"Were you out fooling around with female cats, by any chance?"
"Meowng!"
No. 1 leapt a full foot in the air and shook his head violently.
[I may wear a cat's body, Master, but I was born of a tiger!]
What's he on about now?
[What do you mean, 'on about'?! I told you before! I was born from a sword forged with the blood and bone of a tiger! Why would I ever fall for some common stray?]
Hearing you say it out loud just makes you sound more guilty. It was like asking a kid, "Did you have a good day at school?" and getting back, "I definitely didn't skip study hall."
So you did.
[Did what? Do what?]
No. 1 rolled his eyeballs in wide, helpless circles, the picture of a soul with no idea what I was talking about.
Fine. Noted.
At any rate, No. 1 had come home safe. What to do about making sure he never wanted to leave home again—I could just book that procedure at the vet and handle it in due time.
[Noted what? Note WHAT? Say something a cat can actually understand!]
Be that as it may, I cut to the chase.
Something strange seems to have slipped into our village.
[What? No way! Impossible!]
No. 1 threw his head up and thrust his nose into the air, sniffing hard.
[I don't sense anything at all?]
But I saw it with my own eyes. A child. A little girl.
I calmly laid it all out—the child I'd seen the day Han Mija's family moved in, Bang Seongeun's symptoms, and everything Bang Seonghyun, Han Mija, and Grandpa Hosik had each told me.
It's there, but it isn't... and yet one thing's certain: it exists.
No. 1 lowered himself into a loaf position, tail rising stiffly upright, and slipped into full alert mode.
[I patrolled all of Ugok 1-ri just recently, all the way to the river boundary. I was deciding how far my territory should extend. And you know what I found out?]
That there are a lot of female cats around here.
[That too—hah! No, no! Why do you keep baiting me into this nonsense?!]
No. 1 shot me a sideways glare, wrinkling the bridge of his nose.
[Back when I swept across the Manchurian plains, I could draw maps in my head. This time, too, the map drew itself—and when I finished the circuit, I realized I recognized the picture.]
A picture?
[Yeah. It looked so much like something I'd seen before that I racked my brain over it, and then it hit me. Want to know where?]
Obviously I do. Spit it out.
He'd clearly stumbled onto something big. Every nerve in me went taut as I waited for him to continue.
[It was the painting in Director Lee Ho-young's office. Hanging on the wall—remember?]
The painting in Director Lee's office?
I searched my memory, then my head snapped up.
"You don't mean that minhwa folk painting with the Haechi painted into it?"
[That'd be the one.]
"Mountains, the village, the river... if you connect them all, it maps out as a Haechi. That's what this is."
[Right. That's exactly why I brought it up—the picture showed a place where things appear and vanish easily. Ho-young treats it like some sacred relic, says it's a painting of the Haechi warding off calamity. So I got to wondering—what if there's some kind of force in this village that repels disaster? Eh, it's just a thought. Take it or leave it.]
No. 1 curled up tighter, nodding off between words.
[Everyone else left, but there has to be a reason your master put down roots here.]
I was a medium among mediums—the most gifted of my kind—and when I came to Ugok 1-ri, my yeongan, my spiritual vision, had opened.
Could that really have been coincidence?
So our village is a living Haechi? Then why, of all things, has this place always been so crawling with ghosts?
The next day.
"Miya!"
The cat was shaken awake by his master and cracked his eyes open with heroic effort.
"Miya?"
"Wake up, eat fast, and get moving. We'll debate the whole Haechi thing AFTER you deal with the evil spirit and come back."
"Miyaaa?"
"Hurry up. It's the house right below us. Some nameless thing looks like it's latched onto a second-year middle schooler, so you get down there, size it up, and peel it off. Quick."
"Miyaaaya."
Was this human always this fired up? He used to live his whole life without sparing a thought for anyone else's business. The man's gone soft in the head.
The cat wiped the sleep grit from his eyes with a forepaw and drummed the table irritably with his tail. Tap-tap-tap.
"There—eat!"
"Miyaaaaa?"
Tender salmon steak, sweet cake, and even the feline narcotic known as churu treats—his master laid them on the table one after another.
Chomp-chomp-chomp!
After wolfing down the meal and every last snack, the cat marched off toward the house below under his master's piercing gaze.
And then—
"Miya?"
Why are there two children?
Two kids, with the exact same face.
One big, one a little smaller—was that the difference?
In that instant, every hair on the cat's body stood on end, and he launched straight up off the ground.
"Miyaaa?!!!"