How I Built a Highway in South America (4)
A month had passed since officials from the Ministry of Construction and Housing began crisscrossing every corner of the country recruiting laborers. Now, at the ten training centers raised across the nation, the first cohort of trainees had gathered.
Each center boasted a capacity of five thousand, and so they arrived in droves — spilling from truck after truck, bus after bus — only to freeze in their tracks.
"Huh...? They said this was a training center...?"
"Isn't that a military base?"
"Wh-what is this?"
They flinched at the sight of a compound that looked for all the world like an army barracks. And they had every reason to. For all that San Marcos had more money than it used to, it was hardly rich enough to throw up purpose-built training facilities that would be used once and discarded. They had simply emptied out a few army bases and swapped the signs.
The effect of converting military bases into training centers showed itself immediately.
"Everyone off!"
Soldiers in red instructor caps, radiating an atmosphere of pure intimidation, began herding them off the vehicles.
"Look at those movements! You going to pick up the pace or what?!"
"Anyone not off this vehicle in ten seconds goes home. Understood?"
"Get off, get off! We don't have time!"
Dumped at the gate in a daze, the trainees were driven toward the parade ground by instructors who wore oppression like a uniform. Even after they arrived, the barking did not let up.
"From this moment on, you are not civilians. You are San Marcos's industrial warriors in training. Do you understand?!"
"Y-yes...?"
"Listen to those voices! Do you understand?!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Good. The Training Corps Commander will address you shortly. Form up in lines."
"You there! You've fallen out of line! Stand properly!"
"You want the Commander to notice you on day one?!"
"Fix your eyes on the back of the head of the man in front of you. Understood!"
Before they could even collect themselves they were in formation, and not long after, a bear of a man mounted the platform.
"You've all come a long way. I am Romarinho, Training Corps Commander. I will forge you into the industrial workforce this country needs."
His gaze swept the crowd.
"Before we begin training in earnest, an announcement. This instructor will not stop anyone who wants to drop out. Is there anyone here who wants to leave right now? If so, raise your hand."
A murmur ran through the ranks. But not a single hand went up. Nobody was about to walk away from a hundred-dollar training stipend.
"Good. There may be those who wish to drop out later, so I'll explain in advance. There are three ways you leave this place."
The commander held up one finger.
"First. You can't do it. It's too hard. You feel like you're going to die. You just can't go on. Then go ring that bell at the far end of the training ground three times. We'll pack your bags and send you home immediately."
His finger pointed to a rusty bell hanging in the corner of the field.
"Second. You get injured. If you get hurt during training and can't continue, that's an immediate discharge as well. So look after your own bodies."
A third finger went up.
"Third. Insufficient ability or character. Fail a recorded evaluation, or cause problems with your fellow trainees, and you will be forcibly expelled without mercy. Do you understand?!"
Crushed by the force of his presence, they answered at the top of their lungs.
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. Follow the instructors to the barr— that is, the dormitories. All units, move out!"
"Keep your lines!"
"Left! Left! Left!"
And so they entered the barracks. Unfamiliar items lay neatly arranged on each bunk: tough work clothes, orange safety vests, hard hats, safety boots — and shovels and pickaxes with blades honed to a cold blue gleam.
"Wh-what's all this...?"
Joseph was turning a shovel handle over in his hands, bewildered, when a voice cut across the room.
"These are the tools you'll be living with for the next two weeks. You will not lose them. You will not damage them. Understood?!"
After several more briefings, the lights in the barracks finally went out.
"Lights out!"
Joseph swallowed hard on the stiff mattress. He'd thought a hundred dollars meant easy money. Something about this felt off.
Should I... ring the bell?
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. The faces of his children, going hungry back home, rose before his eyes.
No. I have to endure this. If I die, I die here.
The night of the gathering storm passed, and training began in earnest.
"Up! Up! All personnel to the parade ground!"
There was no such thing as a ringing alarm clock. A whistle that tore through eardrums announced the start of a hellish daily routine.
"Form up!"
Six in the morning. After a three-kilometer run to force air into their lungs, the entire morning was devoted to the shovel and the pickaxe.
"If you want to keep functioning as a man, don't use your back! Use the spring in your knees!"
"You don't drive a pickaxe with brute force!"
The afternoon was somewhat better. They learned how to carry cement sacks, how to mix concrete — skills they would actually use in the field.
"Trainee 103! I told you, if you lift it like that you'll wreck your back!"
"You there! The mix ratio is wrong! Do it again!"
And when the sun went down, they gathered in the auditorium to memorize safety regulations until they could recite them in their sleep. It was ten at night before the trainees could collapse onto their bunks, bodies spent.
"Urgh. I'm dying."
"I miss my mama... hhk."
"I wonder if the kids are okay..."
Only one day had passed, and already the barracks were filled with weeping and groaning. But three days went by, then a week, and of the five thousand men, not a single one rang the bell.
Because the food was too good.
"Th-this here's beef, ain't it?"
"Sure is. Had it at a wedding once. That's beef, no doubt about it."
"I ain't never eaten beef in my whole life..."
Thick tortillas stuffed to bursting with vegetables and meat. A rich, glistening stew simmered with whole beef bones. And every so often, a fat, heavy sausage. For men who had spent their lives in the mountains, surviving on thin corn soup and the vegetable scraps left unsold at market, it was a feast of the gods.
And more than that —
"This meat is a gift from His Excellency! If it's not enough, take more! Just don't leave any!"
There was plenty of it. They emptied one bowl, then two, and even when their stomachs felt ready to split they could not stop. A full belly brought strength. A warm back bred grit. And from deep in their guts, loyalty to Eugene began to take root.
"From now on, anybody talks trash about His Excellency, I ain't lettin' it slide. I'll plant this shovel handle right in 'em."
Two weeks later, the scrawny, malnourished trainees had been reborn as industrial warriors.
"All personnel, attention!"
And on the long-awaited graduation day, with the trainees standing in formation, a special guest arrived.
"We will now introduce a distinguished visitor who has come specially to congratulate our graduates."
A man walked out from behind the platform. Worn-down heels on his shoes, a slightly aged but neatly pressed suit, hair combed neatly to the side. The moment they recognized his face, the parade ground erupted.
"Wh... what?!"
"It can't be...?"
"Y-Your Excellency?!"
Eugene Choi. The most powerful man in San Marcos had come in person to commend the trainees. He stood at the center of the platform, and five thousand pairs of eyes locked onto him.
"It's good to see you. Looking at your faces, I can tell just how hard the Training Corps Commander has been on you. Though I have to ask — didn't he work you a little too hard? You all look like you've lost half your faces."
"I'LL CORRECT IT IMMEDIATELY, SIR!!!"
The Commander's thunderous bellow drew snickers from among the workers.
"I'm joking. This is safety training that people's lives depend on — you can't cut corners. I will remember the Commander's hard work."
"THANK YOU, SIR!"
Watching the tiger of a commander fumble in embarrassment warmed the atmosphere. Eugene smiled faintly, turning his gaze as if meeting the eyes of each worker one by one. A moment passed. Then he slowly began to speak.
"First, I want to thank you for your hard work. Spending two weeks away from your families is no small thing."
His weighty voice rolled across the parade ground.
"Soon, with your own hands, you will begin the great work of cutting open this nation's main artery. Carving through forests, boring through mountains, laying roads. It will be the greatest and most difficult undertaking since the founding of this country. And I have no doubt that its fruits will become the foundation that sustains San Marcos in the years to come."
Eugene paused to draw a breath, then continued.
"But there is something more important to me than the highway."
"......"
The workers' eyes widened.
"A nation without its people is nothing but a hollow shell. Each and every one of you is someone's father, someone's son, a pillar holding up this country. Do not get hurt. Return safely to your families' arms. That is my wish — and as head of state of San Marcos, that is my order."
Eugene gazed into the distance, laying out his vision.
"When the highway is complete, San Marcos will be a different country. The economy will grow, and your children will study what they want, become doctors and scientists, and live better lives. This will become a country where no one goes hungry again."
As a lump rose in every throat, Eugene said something no one expected.
He clenched his fist.
"Work hard, make a lot of money, feed your families good food, and put warm clothes on their backs. I will only lay the table for you to get rich. You are the ones who have to seize it."
"...!"
Those words set their hearts on fire. Rich. A word they had never even dreamed of — coming from Eugene's mouth, it suddenly felt within reach.
"Hhk...!"
Sobbing broke out here and there. Joseph wiped his tears, unable to contain the feeling welling up inside him.
That's right! My kids aren't going to live like I did. I'll get rich no matter what it takes, and I'll give them the good life!
In an instant, the parade ground became a sea of tears. And it wasn't only the people below the platform who were crying.
"Khuh...!"
In a corner of the platform, among the invited guests, Chairman Chung of Hyunhwa was dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.
"Chairman, are you all right?"
His aide asked with a worried face, but Chairman Chung's gaze was fixed on Eugene on the platform.
"It's just the same..."
As he smiled through his tears, Chairman Yang beside him asked,
"What's the same?"
"Those eyes — poor, but burning with hope. That heat of men ready to stake their lives on a single leader's words... It's exactly like it was when we built the Gyeongbu Expressway."
Chairman Chung's eyes blazed like those of a man in his twenties. Watching him, Chairman Yang shook his head.
"You're out of your damn mind. Completely out of it."