Are You an Angel?
"Ugh, no! There's no way we can do this bare-handed!"
"It's hopeless!"
The villagers who had been clawing at the earth with their bare hands, desperate to dig out their neighbors after the catastrophe the earthquake had unleashed, finally collapsed, kicking at the ground and wailing in despair.
They had lost everyone—the neighbors with whom they'd shared every joy and every sorrow.
"Damn it…."
"Ah…."
Those who had given up simply lay down on the ground, staring blankly up at the night sky. Hell sprawled across the cracked, collapsed earth all around them, yet the stars still shone on, remote and serene, as if nothing had happened.
"Sob."
"Sob, sob."
One person's crying became another's, and slowly the sound of weeping spread across the darkened plain.
"!#$!!@"
"!#$!"
Then, faintly, a small shout began to reach their ears.
"Where are you?"
"Is anyone there?"
"Somebody answer us!"
Far off toward the mountains, torches and figures began to appear.
"Huh?"
"Who is that?"
"Is that the soldiers?"
"Why would they come here?"
It was strange. They'd seen the soldiers on their occasional patrols, but relations had always been lukewarm—neither friendly nor hostile. And for them to show up in the middle of this disaster?
They certainly hadn't come to gloat, not at a time like this, so they must be here to help. Still, it was puzzling.
"Doesn't matter! Over here! Here! There are people here!"
"Please, help us!"
As the villagers shouted, part of the torchlit column broke away and came toward them.
"They really are soldiers?"
"Why are they hauling all that stuff around?"
The Daehan soldiers had come down carrying nothing more, on the face of it, than shovels—yet each shovel was bigger than an adult's torso, and the sight of them made onlookers blanch.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Here, eat and drink this. There's clothing too, so anyone who's cold, put it on! Now—is anyone buried anywhere?"
"Uh… over there…."
"Over there, you say! Move!"
They dumped out sacks of rations and food, then plunged their shovels into the earth and started digging, two men shoveling while a third caught the dirt in a sack and hauled it away.
"Are we allowed to eat this?"
"No, wait—we should help first!"
"Right!"
Only then did the stunned villagers snap out of it and hurry to join the work.
"Hey! Move out of the way, you're in the way!"
"Better yet, clear off that dirt pile behind us!"
The hot-tempered Daehan folk were genuinely brusque. The villagers found themselves shooed away for being more hindrance than help, left to merely cart off the dirt that piled up on the surface.
"But they said they'd help us…."
"Well, I mean. Look how they're digging over there. We're the ones in the way."
"Can't argue with that."
The shovel blades were enormous, the handles thick as tree trunks, and yet the soldiers swung them without any visible effort, biting into the earth with a steady thud, thud. Their shoveling was terrifying to watch.
And that fearsome digging was proving its worth at a dozen spots across the plain.
"Hah… hah…."
"Looks like this one's all right."
They were pulling people out, one after another, from everywhere.
How on earth they located the voices and knocking sounds from beneath the ground was beyond anyone—like some kind of dark magic. Everywhere they dug, another survivor emerged.
"Ugh…!"
"Mom!"
"Honey!"
Families believed dead were coming back to life before their eyes, and the funereal atmosphere of the plain slowly began to breathe again.
But that respite was brief. By around dawn, digging turned up fewer and fewer living souls.
"Still—we don't give up…."
"Yeah."
Shadow crept over the faces of the soldiers too, drenched in sweat despite the depths of winter after a night of ceaseless shoveling. Hope had bloomed, but a disaster was still a disaster. The hour of grief was drawing near.
The people of Daehan hauled supplies and carried out rescue operations, but entire villages had vanished without a trace, and there were many places they passed without ever knowing a human being had lived there at all.
"Whew…."
"It's rough…."
The exhausted soldiers, having largely given up, were resting.
"Thank you so much."
"Don't mention it… I'm sorry."
They had tried to find the girl's father, but in the chaos of it all the child had had no way of remembering where her house had stood. They'd dug until their shovels nearly snapped, and found nothing.
"Thank you for trying so hard. Truly. Sob."
The girl was overwhelmed with gratitude. They hadn't found her father, but they were the ones who had found her mother. She knew she would never forget this day for as long as she lived.
"Thank you. Really."
Shff, shff.
"…."
The soldier silently stroked the girl's head, and on his wound-scarred hand glistened something damp.
Perhaps it was the same thing now streaming down the girl's face.
The great earthquake struck Daehan in the year 4019.
The quake itself had claimed many casualties, but it was the depths of winter, and a catastrophic second wave of deaths had very nearly followed. Thanks to the neighboring residents, the volunteers who flocked in from all directions, and the vigorous state-level transport of relief supplies, that second wave was greatly reduced.
"Thank you, truly."
"It's nothing. It wasn't someone else's business, after all."
"I'm grateful you feel that way."
So many Tibetans had gathered in the plains region that Gendun Gyatso, the Second Dalai Lama, came in person to offer his thanks.
"We never imagined it."
"Imagined what?"
"We thought Daehan regarded us as little better than servants."
Daehan had used Tibet half like a corps of mercenaries, so the assumption was understandable. From Tibet's perspective, Daehan was an unapproachable great power—hence the lingering sense that they obeyed only because they had no choice.
"That's not so. Everyone is equal here. If you insist on an exception, only criminals are treated differently."
Criminals were sent to the Aoji mines, though in truth, looked at plainly, they lived better than the commoners of other nations. Only when compared with the people of Daehan did they seem oppressed, because their freedom was curtailed.
"I see…."
Gendun Gyatso found himself deep in thought. Could it be that he had badly misunderstood his nearest neighbor? No—he was certain of it now. Hadn't this very journey shown him? Setting aside the wondrous machines, everyone here lived happily, contentedly.
"There was something I wished to ask."
"Of course, go ahead."
"I hesitate to say it, but Daehan is known as a nation gone mad for money. And you spent a great deal on this disaster relief, did you not?"
"Yes. A great deal."
Daily necessities and food for hundreds of thousands, and building materials for homes besides—an astronomical cost.
"How do you intend to recoup it? We are a poor country…."
That was what frightened Gendun Gyatso most. They had saved his people from disaster—but surely they meant to collect.
"Please don't worry. Yes, we spent money—but this was never money spent in order to take something back."
"Ah…."
He felt a flicker of shame as a religious leader. Here he was, fretting over money before the men he'd believed the most worldly of all.
"Haneul-nim would have said it herself: 'This is what money's for.' That's simply the kind of being she is."
"I should like to meet her someday…."
"She's an extraordinarily busy person. Hahaha."
If the world were asked to pick the greatest money-grubbers alive, Daehan would win hands down. Everywhere they went, they were frenzied in pursuit of profit. And yet, perversely, they were the only people on earth who never stinted when it came to helping those in need.
Which was why, at some point, the Prime Minister had once asked Haneul about it.
"What exactly are you saving all this money for?"
"It's not about the money—it's about the gold! It's pretty! Pretty is good!"
"Huh?"
"Besides, the more you rake in, the less it shows when you hand a little of it to people in need, right?"
"I… beg your pardon?"
The diaries handed down through generations of Prime Ministers recorded exchanges just like that one.
"Achoo!"
"Oh? Are you catching a cold?"
"What? Have you seen me sick anywhere? And even if I were, is that any reason to flinch away from me like that?"
Hmm. Had I eaten too many shaved-ice treats? More importantly, since when do I catch colds?
"Anyway, isn't the orphanage a bit too big?"
"Why?"
"Are you trying to gather every child in Europe into it?"
"Yep. Seemed like there were a lot of kids without homes."
"Good grief…."
It's called the South Wing for a reason—big is good. What's to complain about? And Japan's going to be even bigger than this one. It has a school and everything.
"They'll make good workers someday, won't they?"
"You're pouring this much money into it just to use them as labor?"
"Yep."
"Hah~ There'll be another rumor flying around by tonight."
International mark, is that what I am?
"They say the Wingless Angel has arrived—ugh, goosebumps."
"Hey!"
"What do you think the staff will say?"
"That's enough!"
"They say you're a prim little madam! Aaah, the goosebumps are spreading!"
People who give ME goosebumps, more like!
Deep breaths! Hoo-hah, hoo-hah. Calm down.
"Oh, right—didn't a big earthquake hit somewhere last month? Have them build their houses out of wood this time. Wood holds up well in earthquakes."
"Does it?"
"Mm. Better than loess, anyway."
Our loess supplier had an earthquake, you see. It's a real problem. I told them to spare nothing on relief aid, and besides, the more people who live there, the more of our goods they'll buy, no?
And here's a remarkable piece of news: Portugal had made calls not only on Vietnam but on Daedo as well. So I'm on my way over for a little chat—there are things to discuss today.
"Well then, let's be off."
"Yes. Will you walk?"
"No, carriage."
This neighborhood's past the point where I can stroll around anymore. The fanbase has grown so much that every attempt to hold a single hand ends with people clinging to my trouser legs. Exhausting.
Portugal's royal palace is a quick trip by carriage. It's only four or five hours on foot, after all.
"Greetings, Holy Maiden."
"Hello there."
"As I thought…."
"What is it?"
I'd met his father a few times, but still.
"Holy Maiden—nay, Angel. To what business do we owe your presence in the world of mortal men?"
"Huh?"
Wait, what? How did he figure out I'm not human?
"Ahaha! I do hear that kind of talk a lot, but it's really quite funny!"
"I cannot believe my own eyes, either."
What? Why? It's not as though I'm carrying a camera around or anything.
Swoosh.
What's that? A painting? Oh… hey, hold on. This is a violation of my portrait rights.
Making a likeness of me without my permission?
"And what might this be?"
"A portrait of an angel."
"How is a person supposed to be an angel? It's just a figure of speech! Ohohoho!"
"Do not worry. No one but me knows this secret."
Now that I think of it, royal palaces really are terrible at keeping secrets. Someone probably knows about this too, no?
"I apologize. My late father longed to look upon it again and again, so I had the portrait made."
Um? What exactly were you planning to do, staring at a picture of me?
"On a related note—some time ago, our ships called on the Ming dynasty, and on a place called Daedo."
"I know."
"It astounded me. How can one nation leap four thousand years ahead?"
So the millennium-spanning empire piques his curiosity, does it?
"It's simple. You build a country where the people are happy."
"But are we not fairly happy ourselves?"
"Nope. Only your nobles are happy."
"Ah…."
What is this idiot even saying? The majority has to be happy, that's the whole point.
"A nation where only the few are happy does not endure. History is full of them—states that collapsed, one after another."
"Hmm…."
"Every single one of those usurpers who raised a rebellion and seized the throne was someone who considered himself thoroughly wretched."
Making everyone happy is no easy thing, of course. Even our own people grumble about how hard their work is—though they do it gladly. Some of them are unhappy, true, but they're the minority, so we just leave them be and let them chalk it up to their own lot in life.
"Was that what you summoned me here to ask?"
"No—more than that: you have lived four thousand years?"
"Nope. I told you, I'm not an angel."
"Ah. Forgive me."
Is he hoping for some elixir of immortality or something?
"Say—word has it that if you drink an angel's blood, you never die. Is it true?"
"Why on earth would it be? Have you ever met anyone who did?"
"Hmm… no, I have not?"
If such a thing existed, somebody would have managed it by now, surely.
"Immortality is not granted to human beings. Spend the time you'd waste dreaming of it on living happily with your family today instead."
"Hehehe…."
Living long, you know, brings far more sorrow than you'd think, my good man.
"You seem rather melancholy, though?"
Ah. Was it showing on my face? There are times I do feel a little lonely… but it's only for a moment. A very brief moment.
"I simply think it's best to live cherishing each day as it comes."
"Hahaha. I thank you for the teaching."
"That's hardly a teaching."
Riiip. Whoosh.
Whoa? Tougher than he looks. He tore the portrait to shreds and tossed it straight into a lamp flame.
"My father's diary remains, but with the portrait gone, there is nothing else to rouse suspicion."
"I see?"
"Hahaha. In any case, thank you for the conversation."
"Anytime."
So we talked of this and that and parted ways—and he worked hard to build a good country, just as I'd advised. Then the very next year, he suddenly died.
Truly, the ways of the world are fleeting….