Planting Potatoes
Time to plant potatoes.
The village had been bustling since morning. Children were running and playing while the adults readied themselves for the day's work. Off to one side, I spotted people shouldering sacks of potatoes and trudging toward the river — so it looked like the potato farming was about to begin.
"I wonder if they'll try what I showed them yesterday?"
Today, once again, I strolled through the village in my short jumpsuit. What can I say? It's the only piece of clothing I own. The grass and leather outfits my friends all wear are just too steep a barrier for me to cross.
"Loo-loo~ La-la~"
Humming a tune, I waddled my waddly waddle over to where the crowd had gathered.
"This is how you plant potatoes."
Apparently it was Garungda's lecture hour. The villagers could speak quite fluently by now — wander around the village and you could hold a proper conversation with anyone.
"Dig like this. Drop it in like this."
Just as I had demonstrated yesterday, he was digging into the earth, heaping it into a soft little mound, and stuffing a potato inside. Except — Garungda, buddy, how deep are you going? The man was shoving it in up to his elbow.
"Hold on, Garungda. Not that deep."
"Deep?"
"Yeah. Just, um, about this much."
Truthfully, I didn't know the exact answer either, but when I planted potatoes a month ago I remember my hand going in about to the wrist.
"Thank you. Then let us begin."
With the brief lesson over, the villagers began rising from their spots one by one, gripping their farming tools with eyes full of resolve. Oh? They actually have farming tools? Someone had apparently done some work on them — were those roughly chipped stone blades?
"Eh-heh~ Yah, koom. Arul di nyara di~"
Ooh? Now this was interesting. The people were singing as they worked — when one person's song ended, the person beside them picked it up, taking turns in an unbroken chain of song.
Singing merrily, they planted their potatoes. One side dug the earth with hoes and sharpened stakes while another crumbled and heaped the soil by hand beside them. Then the women and children dropped the potatoes in.
Uh... they're not watering them. Will that be okay?
I wanted the harvest to go well, after all. Though come to think of it, I never watered my own potatoes either. They'd probably be fine. Right? A little worried, honestly.
Pat-pat-pat.
Apparently I'd been bouncing my leg without even realizing it.
"Haneul, what are you doing?"
Me sitting there shaking my leg with an anxious face had apparently caught Garungda's attention.
"Huh? Oh. I'm just worried it might not go well."
"Crop grows or crop doesn't. Haneul not at fault."
"..."
Words of wisdom. When you really look at him, Garungda is a genius.
"Haneul crying again?"
Tears must have welled up again, because I heard the worry in his voice.
"No, they're not."
I felt pathetic for worrying over nothing. There was exactly one thing I could do: bless their harvest with a happy heart.
"Grow up well, little potatoes."
The next day, I hurried out to my friends' potato field. Only when I saw shoots the width of a finger poking up from where the potatoes had been planted could I finally breathe easy.
"What a relief. That means it's exactly like what I planted, right?"
Then came the long-awaited month's end.
"Good... heavens."
Whatever else you could say, wasn't this a bit absurd? The faces of my primitive friends crouched over the field all looked exactly like people straining on the toilet.
"Heave-ho!"
"Heave-ho!"
"Grrrrgh!"
The potatoes wouldn't come out, and they were giving it everything they had. Just what kind of fearsome monster was trying to emerge from the earth?
"Hnnnngh!"
Even Garungda was off to one side, gritting his teeth and summoning strength he hadn't used since he was a baby.
Crash-rumble—
Hanging off one another in a line, tearing up the soil as they went, fist-sized yellow potatoes came tumbling into the light.
"Is it really okay for this many to come out of one?"
The words slipped out of my mouth before I knew it. Now THIS was what you'd call a truly creative economy. All they'd planted was a single lonely potato, wasn't it?
Time really does fly. The weather had turned a little chilly, which meant several months had already passed since I first met my friends.
"Hello, Haneul. What are you doing today?"
"Hmm, good question?"
At Garungda's question, I suddenly found myself lost in thought. What exactly was I doing here? Watching my primitive friends live their lives, one day after another. I kept thinking of them, always getting hurt, always struggling to survive. I wanted to help them, but when I searched my memory for science and technology I knew, nothing useful came to mind.
"What am I even doing here?"
Just as I was sinking into self-loathing —
"Haneul is Haneul, no?"
"Huh?"
"Not difficult. Eat well, live well."
"Hahaha."
You dummy. Who asked you for philosophy... I was just their friend, wasn't I? Technology isn't something that materializes overnight just because you strain yourself alone. Laugh together, cry together, eat well, live well — that's enough.
"HYYYAAAAH!"
I sprang to my feet and let out one good, cathartic yell, and my head felt clear. I died to get here in the first place, and this is prehistoric times — what's the rush, honestly? I'll just live as it comes!
"Haneul, why you like that? You scared me."
"Hahaha. It's nothing anymore."
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah. All sorted now."
Food was piling up in our village in truly alarming quantities. The building we'd thrown together as a storage shed was bursting at the seams, potatoes literally rolling out the door — was that okay?
"Whoa... guys, just how hard are you working this farm?"
"Mm? Farming continues."
A passing primitive friend's offhand remark. Oh. So it's not that they farm as much as they need — they just keep farming? What were they planning to do with all the leftover potatoes?
Squeeeal! Snort!
"Grab it!"
"Watch out!"
While I stood there staring blankly at potatoes rolling around outside the shed, pondering, the young men of the village had just returned and were raising hell. And mixed in with the commotion — a familiar animal sound. They'd been building some kind of fence for a few days now, so it seemed they intended to raise animals. With plenty of food on hand, raising them would certainly be easier than hunting, wouldn't it?
Wait, though — are those actually pigs?
Sharp molars. Burly bodies.
No matter how I look at them, those are wild boars, aren't they?
"Seriously? I feel like I'd lose a fight against one of those. How on earth did you catch them?"
"Catch good!"
My primitive friends are truly incredible. They don't even seem scared.
"Squee! Snort!"
"Whoa... just amazing."
There I was, standing in front of the fence. A pigpen made of logs that even a boar grandfather couldn't escape from. One male and two female wild boars — a full harem.
"Haneul, why you drooling?"
A friend who'd been gazing at me from the side spoke up. Mm. Apparently I'd started drooling without noticing. This was pure awe — my mouth just fell open and it fell out. But anyway, what does wild boar taste like?
The boars grew fat and happy eating the surplus potatoes. And still the potatoes kept coming. Today, too, they rolled out of the shed.
The pigs are eating this much and the potatoes are still multiplying?
I stared off at the distant potato fields with a weary expression.
They just... keep...
Good grief. Grown adults, all busy farming potatoes. And farming — wasn't there supposed to be a fallow period or something? Did these potatoes have a potato demon possessing them? It's terrifying...
"Garungda? Why are you planting so many potatoes?"
"Mm? Potato gathers people."
"What?"
"Potato, people, many."
What was he saying? It sounded like he meant to increase the number of people. Did he mean... active breeding activity? Oh my. How scandalous. I could feel an inexplicable heat rising to my face.
And then, a few days later.
Knock knock.
"Haneul, you there?"
"Yep, I'm home."
I opened the door with a big smile at my friend's visit — and there stood a cluster of scruffy primitive strangers I'd never seen before. Our tribe washed themselves regularly these days; nobody was that grimy anymore.
"It is Haneul-nim!"
"Ooooh!"
Something. Something was happening... Garungda stood there like a missionary returning home triumphant, fresh converts in tow. Garungda? What exactly have you been doing lately? You're not up to anything bad, are you?
"Uh... um... hello, everyone?"
"OOOOH!"
I waved and greeted them, and somehow the roar from the new primitives grew even louder. Was some kind of fringe cult forming here?
Ugh. Whatever happens, happens. I give up thinking about it. Truly.
The population grew, and the village changed in many ways. The most astonishing of them all was the blacksmith workshop. Amazingly, there was someone among them who could work metal. The workshop had no particular facilities to speak of — just a squat brownish something that resembled a chimney, and a bucket of water. Nothing like the anvils from medieval movies had appeared yet.
In front of it, a man kept hammering away at something atop a broad flat stone — tang, tang, tang. His concentration was extraordinary; I could walk right up beside him and watch, and he wouldn't so much as glance over. Truly impressive.
Wow. A true artisan.
He poured every ounce of his attention into the long yellowish piece of metal before him.
Copper? Wait, was there an era where people used copper tools?
Even with my shallow knowledge, I remembered that the Bronze Age came after the Stone Age. I supposed I'd have to keep watching.
After observing for a good while, I noticed that as he worked, a rounded decoration was gradually taking shape at the end of the metal rod.
Wow, fascinating. It was just a plain rod at first — he's really skilled.
"Phew."
Apparently his work was finished, because a sigh of relief escaped his lips.
"Oh? All done?"
"Gah!"
He hadn't realized I was standing beside him, and my voice startled the poor blacksmith out of his skin.
"Hm? Did I scare you?"
"Ah. No. Haneul-nim."
"Yeah, I'm Haneul. But really, that's impressive."
"Sorry. Not. Know yet."
"It's fine. You've worked hard. Study hard, and I'll see you around."
There was so much I wanted to ask him, but he still didn't seem to speak all that well, which was a shame. Should I study the primitive language myself? It was a day that left me thinking things over.
A few days later, early in the morning, Garungda and the blacksmith came to see me.
"Hmm? So early — what's up?"
"Haneul, come with us."
"Sure~"
I was curious about the early hour, but I figured they had their reasons, and I set out with them.
Whoa? What's the occasion today?
The villagers had gathered around the tree where I'd first opened my eyes, packed in so densely it seemed like the whole village had turned out. And there, too, was a huge flat stone big enough to lie down on — one I'd never seen before.
How on earth did they haul that here? Must have been brutal.
It seemed my friends were holding some kind of ceremony, so I followed along quietly, and Garungda led me up onto the stone.
"Haneul, sit here."
"Okay."
Perhaps because of the early-morning mist, the grove carried a sacred air. I knelt and sat where I was told.
Then a girl slowly climbed the hill. A pretty garland of pink and white flowers from her hands was placed upon my head, and she stood there fidgeting, unsure what to do next.
Thank you.
I whispered it softly and gave her a hug, and she beamed, bowed her head, and went back down the hill.
Next came the blacksmith I'd seen the other day. He offered up a wooden box with both hands, respectfully. Looking at those rough, calloused hands of his, my heart grew wonderfully warm. And how painstakingly the box itself must have been made — in an age without even proper tools, its surface was perfectly smooth. I took the box in both hands as well.
Click.
Inside, carefully opened, lay the yellow metal rod I'd watched him make the other day. It was a binyeo — a hairpin, the kind women used to pin up their hair. At one end of the rod, a little bird-shaped ornament had been worked into the metal. Simple, but with an eye carved into it, and brimming with care.
"Thank you. But I don't know how to wear a binyeo — what do I do?"
I was genuinely disappointed. If only I could have used it myself and shown them how happy it made me.
Just as I was trying to convey that regret, one more person climbed the hill. She and the blacksmith seemed to know each other — they exchanged a nod of recognition, and the blacksmith went back down.
"I will do it, Haneul-nim."
"Yes. Please."
Pinning in a binyeo turned out to be simpler than I'd expected. Wrap the hair around the pin, twist it a few times, and push it down through — and there, your hair is done? I'd need some practice, but it looked easy enough.
"Thank you."
If only I'd had some kind of holy power instead of telekinesis, I could have given something back to my friends, but there was nothing I could offer them, which stung.
The tears came before I could stop them. My dear neighbors, my friends, my family.
"Thank you, everyone."
I poured my brimming heart into those words and sent them my gratitude. I hoped they would all be happy.
And in that moment, light came down from the sky. The same kind of light I'd seen in my hospital room as I faced death. Spreading gradually in every direction, it wrapped the surroundings in warmth despite the chill that had crept into the air.
As if a god's blessing were descending upon us all.