I Bought an Abandoned House – 6
"A whole colony of wild ginseng! Hey, young Yunho! Unbelievable! How on earth did you find this spot?"
The ground I was standing on was thick with identical plants stretching in every direction.
Every single one of them was wild ginseng.
"I've lived a long life and never seen such a sight! Good heavens, how many roots is that?"
The village chief couldn't hide his astonishment, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
"The mountain god must have taken a liking to you. Before you dig up a single root, hurry and pay your respects first — give thanks."
The old me would have snapped back, asking what kind of nonsense that was.
But perhaps because of the dog tags I'd uncovered, a solemn weight settled over me, and I opened my mouth.
"A simple bow feels insufficient. I think I should make a proper offering."
I was just setting down the metal detector to pull the nutritious rice cakes and makgeolli I'd packed in my backpack when—
Beep-beep! Bee-bee-beep!
The detector went off again and again in rapid succession.
In that one area alone, the finds totaled ten military buttons and spent cartridge casings.
And that was without even scraping the surface of the soil.
There were probably remains buried beneath this ground, too.
The souls of those who had never been recovered must have burned with resentment.
Each one had been somebody's son, somebody's father, somebody's uncle.
Unable to return home, they had been swallowed by this earth instead.
Their descendants must have grown weary of waiting for people who never came back. In the end, they likely buried empty coffins and held their funerals all the same.
"I lost my way and can't find my way home. Please, help me."
Could the remains of the one who visited my dream last night be lying down there too?
I remember hearing something about the Ministry of Defense's remains recovery unit. The moment I get down this mountain, I'm reporting this.
After carefully tucking the relics into my backpack, I took out the rice cakes and makgeolli I'd brought wrapped in my lunch box.
I arranged them neatly and bowed twice, deeply.
I will send every one of you home.
For those with no descendants left, the nation will hold your funeral as unknown soldiers.
And I'll come by now and then to pour you a drink.
So please, don't come looking for me first. Especially not in my dreams. I'd really like to sleep properly.
That last part was the most important, so I repeated the request several times over.
"Then, everyone, please help me dig up the ginseng. I'll share it out."
"You're giving it away?"
The village chief blinked at me as if seeing me in a whole new light.
"I'll keep the biggest root for myself, but I have no intention of swallowing everything alone. So everyone, put your backs into it."
This was where the dog tags had been found.
A place where many lives had been lost, their remains becoming part of the soil itself.
Wild ginseng seeds must have fallen there, taken root, and grown into a field over seventy-five years.
Maybe they thought that if the ginseng grew strong enough, someday someone would come looking for them.
If I greedily devoured ginseng from a place like that alone and earned a reputation for greed, what then?
And if the village chief hadn't told me the spot I'd tumbled into was a wild ginseng field, I'd have taken it for nothing but weeds.
I couldn't help feeling I owed all of this to him.
"Come on, hurry. If we don't dig them up now, those meteorite hunters will strip the place bare. They said they'd be back, remember?"
"Right. Once word gets out, they'll sweep it clean. Let's dig up every last root."
That first day we'd come out for pine mushrooms, everyone had been too busy digging wild ginseng to think of anything else.
Ten days later, the pine mushroom harvest season came to an end.
I set aside the hardiest of the wild ginseng roots for myself and wrapped the other two in moss to give to my parents.
The roots good enough to sell went to the Nonghyup auction house along with the pine mushrooms.
I'd heard that wild ginseng harvested in Korea is auctioned in Jecheon through the mountain herb gatherers' association.
But the ginseng I dug up never made it to the auction block — the Nonghyup branch manager bought every root on the spot.
He paid me more generously than the Jecheon auction house would have, too.
Apparently crowds of speculators swarm ginseng auctions and drive the prices down.
The roots that were too misshapen to sell but presumed potent in medicinal effect, I handed out to the village elders. Thanks to that, I won their hearts completely.
"Now THIS is neungyi! The king of mushrooms! Eat it raw and it'll turn your stomach, so toss it in when you boil water and drink it like barley tea, or buy a chicken and simmer it long and slow."
One grandfather came looking for me holding a neungyi mushroom bigger than his palm.
"G-Grandfather, these are expensive. Why don't you sell them at the market? Or give them to your children."
"I'm ninety this year. My children are seventy, mind you? Haven't I packed enough care into them by now? I doubt they've given me back even half of half of what I've poured into them all my life. Besides, didn't the young man here give me wild ginseng?"
"He's got a point. This here is lingzhi. Shave off just a sliver, boil it up with some jujubes, and you'll never catch so much as a cold."
The grandfathers brought mushrooms gathered from the mountain.
The grandmothers brought dried mountain greens, dried wild goji berries, cheonggukjang, homemade tofu, and the like.
All I did was curry favor with wild ginseng I'd gotten for free.
Traditionally, once the pine mushroom harvest ended, everyone would split the proceeds from the auction house and then throw a feast.
Those who'd gathered a lot of mushrooms chipped in more money, while those who'd gathered little got to simply enjoy the mushroom dishes — and so the year drew to a close.
"I really should make a donation to the village."
A great iron cauldron was hoisted in front of the village hall, and a wood fire blazed beneath it.
The elders rejoiced that this year's feast spread was the most lavish in living memory. Because I'd bought them a whole pig!
I also donated to the village hall's operating fund.
It was meant to cover heating oil so the elders could come warm their backs by a toasty boiler all winter long.
Over the roaring fire, the whole pig sizzled away, sending up a rich, savory aroma.
Honestly, I'd worried how on earth we'd finish a pig that size — but that was before I understood the appetites of country elders.
They ate with such gusto that half the pig vanished in no time.
"Madam President, when are you making rice?"
"Making it right now!"
Having filled their bellies all day with meat and makgeolli, the elders still insisted that a meal wasn't complete without rice.
Sss-tss.
I poured the washed, soaked new rice into the cauldron and scattered long-sliced pine mushrooms over the top.
Even before the water had come to a boil, the pine-scented fragrance of the mushrooms drifted up to my nose.
"Wow, it already smells delicious!"
As I swallowed my drool, Madam Han Su-ja minced pine mushrooms with quick little cuts and said,
"You only truly savor the taste of pine mushroom when you eat it raw."
She tucked a beautifully sliced piece into my mouth, dipped in soy sauce.
The pine aroma bloomed across my tongue, and that chewy texture was simply divine.
So THIS is why they go on about pine mushrooms!
"Mmph! Shouldn't the village chief eat first, though?"
"Now's not the time to fuss over the chief! From now on, young Yunho here is the man of this village!"
Madam Han Su-ja thrust both thumbs skyward.
Among the group playing hwatu cards off to the side, one grandmother turned to look at me and chuckled.
She'd been shouting "gwarit!" all day, slapping down her cards and sticking them back up one after another.
"That's right! I spent fifty years digging fernbrake on the mountain, and some days I couldn't even spot a bellflower root. But that one there — he's clearly got the gift. He sees what the rest of us can't, I tell you!"
"Who do you mean?"
When I tilted my head and asked, Madam Han Su-ja waved her hands dismissively.
"Oh, pay her no mind. Her mind wanders in and out."
So the grandmother whose mind supposedly wanders can play go-stop THAT well?
"TTAKK!"
The grandmother slammed her cards down with all her might, and they bounced up, flipping through the air like acrobats.
And she's strong, too.
Madam Han Su-ja slid a generously thick slice of pine mushroom into my mouth.
"Just eat, will you."
"But if I'm the only one eating, this is—" Nom!
"Didn't you say this is your first time ever eating pine mushrooms? Eat up, plenty more where that came from."
"Haha, lucky young Yunho! Fed pine mushrooms by the Madam President herself. Say what you will, she's still the finest beauty in this village. A genuine Miss Korea, that one."
Excuse me, but Madam Han Su-ja is seventy-four this year?
"To young Yunho's eyes the Madam President probably looks like a lumpy old scarecrow, though. Ah, but you know Teller Seo at the Nonghyup? Her father owns more than twenty head of cattle — a rich man's daughter, that one."
"Now that you mention it? Age seems about right. Maybe I should play matchmaker."
"Oh please, no. I'm fine, really."
I waved my hands, insisting I had no plans to marry.
"By the way, what did the Ministry of Defense say? Are they coming to dig up the remains?"
"They'll verify the artifacts, cross-reference them against the list of the missing, and track down the families."
"The ground will be frozen soon."
The mood soured for a moment, and when no one spoke, the village chief suddenly sprang to his feet.
"Shall I belt out a song for you all, then? Eh?"
"No! Don't give the chief the microphone! Once he grabs it, he never lets go!"
"How about we hear a song from our young Yunho instead?"
At someone's suggestion, all the elders burst into applause and cheers.
"Splendid!"
"Young Yunho, one song, full steam ahead!"
"A man who can't sing can't take a bride, ohhh, you pretty young thing!"
They were all so advanced in years — where on earth did they learn lines like that?
I refused as hard as I could, but finally had no choice except to stand up.
I'd never once touched a microphone at the bank talent show, but here, even if I sang badly, there was nobody around to hold it against me.
"Village Chief, could you press 4597 for me?"
"Sure thing."
The chief punched the number into the karaoke machine the village had bought collectively.
"With You"?
"Ah, yes, yes."
Building a picture-perfect house on that green meadow — I figured lyrics like that would suit the mood perfectly.
"Look at that! Our young Yunho's itching to get married, I tell you!"
"I know Teller Seo's father. Someone's got to play matchmaker."
"Wouldn't that be for the best?"
"If Teller Seo and young Yunho got married — wouldn't that mean... a baby born in our village? Good heavens, imagine it!"
A few of the elders broke into a merry dance right there.
The instrumental intro had ended by then, so with no way out, I began to sing.
"On that green meadow over there, hey-yah!"
Hang in there, hang in there. Ah, whatever!
I sang my heart out.
Late that night, nothing remained of the whole-pig barbecue but a pile of bones.
"Young man, might I have a word?"
A grandmother with white hair neatly combed into a traditional chignon called me aside.
"Yes, Grandmother. Shall I walk you home?"
I'd just finished escorting the day's go-stop queen back to her house.
She'd been shouting "gwarit!" from morning till night, then conked out after a few cups of makgeolli.
Since the grandmother calling me now might just as easily stumble and hurt herself walking home alone in the pitch dark, I was ready to see her home without a second thought.
"Have you been seeing things, by any chance? Things that aren't really there?"
"I'm sorry — seeing things?"
"I mean the lame yellow dog, or that limping old grandpa who looks just like a yellow dog. That sort of thing."
My eyes went wide.
"Grandmother, do you know something about the grandfather in the Saemaeul cap? The village chief won't breathe a word about him."
"Of course he can't talk about it. The chief isn't the sort of man who could."
"Not the sort who could?"
"That's right. Not just anyone can be village chief, you know."
Apparently deciding this was a conversation to be had with me alone, the grandmother lowered her voice.
"You said you'd walk me home, didn't you? Maybe we can talk on the way."
"Yes, of course."
I grabbed a flashlight and left the village hall with her.
"Your place is this way too, isn't it? Mine's the same direction."
It seemed that among the scattered farmhouses between the village hall and the abandoned house, one of them was hers.
And then—
"Mind if we stop somewhere on the way? The house where the former-former village chief lived is halfway up this hill."
"The former-former village chief?"
"That's right. The very man you say you saw. I knew right away you were different from other people, but I never dreamed your Yeongan — your Spiritual Vision — had opened so wide."
"His Yeongan has opened" — or "his spiritual eye has awakened."
Didn't those phrases mean that a shaman or someone with spiritual ability had become able to perceive spiritual beings and phenomena invisible to ordinary people?
I have no intention of going that deep into all this.
And yet curiosity got the better of me, and I swallowed hard before speaking.
"You seem like a special person yourself, Grandmother. You speak so fluently — like someone much younger."
"Hoh hoh hoh. I'm an outsider who settled in this village forty years ago. Did it show?"
"Forty years ago?"
Then wouldn't "old-timer" suit her better than "outsider" at this point?
But the story the grandmother went on to unburden was...