Wolkwang Publishing (3)
The building stairs were piled high with books. Every step was packed tight with them. So old were they that there was more Chinese characters than Hangul on the covers, and the paper had yellowed with age.
At another publishing house, they would have called it dead stock, but for some reason the inventory here even carried a certain retro charm. “It already smells like books in here,” Managing Editor Im muttered.
As he said, the sour, dusty scent peculiar to old books filled the staircase. We climbed upward along the narrow path left between one stack of books and the next. There were so many of them that barely one person could squeeze through at a time.
For a publishing house, it was unnervingly quiet, so I asked, “Is there no one working here?”
“He’s probably been running it alone for quite a while. He sent the staff away right after he was diagnosed with cancer. It was a hard decision, I’m sure.”
“Publishing work takes a fair amount of labor. It wouldn’t be something the chairman could do alone.” A publishing house handled the physical object called a book. The book. The thing even moving companies hated lifting and carrying.
Paper, the raw material of books, grew heavy fast when it was stacked in quantity. No matter how electronic the workflow had become, there was still always some need to move books around. There was no way an old man in his eighties could do all that alone.
“It looks like the printing house staff he’d worked with for years helped a lot. He’d been working with them for over thirty years, so they couldn’t exactly pretend not to know.”
So that was it. With that help, he had kept the publishing house alive day after day.
“You didn’t say which floor he was on?”
This time, Representative Mun answered. “No. He just told us to come in the first place. Since we’re here, we might as well have a look and find him ourselves.”
He seemed reluctant to press Chairman Jang from any direction. Probably because he didn’t want to steal what little time the man had left in some crude, impatient way. So we began checking the rooms on the second floor one by one.
The former front doors of what had once been separate apartments had been removed, and each room was being used as though it were a single compartment in a larger unit. Each room was, of course, also stacked with books, but the sheer volume and age of them made it impossible to discern any real system.
“I don’t think he’s on this floor. Let’s go up.” Representative Mun headed briskly toward the upper floor.
There were fewer rooms on the third floor than on the second, but they were larger. Even so, it was no easier to move around, because books still filled the hallway.
“Oh. Wolkwang Publishing’s World Literature Collection.” Representative Mun, who had gone into the innermost room, let out an admiring breath.
That room was somewhat different from the others. Along one broad wall, Wolkwang Publishing’s World Literature Collection stood neatly shelved. Starting with the first forty volumes, the series had been steadily expanded until it had swelled to nearly three hundred books. That alone was enough to tell the story.
It was impossible not to see how much Chairman Jang cherished that collection, how proud he was of it. Managing Editor Im drifted toward it as though entranced, then pulled out a volume at random and examined it.
“Even now, it’s impressive. How did they produce books like this in that era? And it looks like they’re all first editions.”
“First editions? Then they’re rare. These would be impossible to find, wouldn’t they?”
At the word first edition, I opened the book and looked inside. The bibliographic information printed on the opening page showed it was indeed a first printing, a true first edition. To people who cared about books, that meant something different.
It was not simply because first editions were better books. They usually had more typos, and later printings often corrected faulty sentences. Even so, people wanted first editions just because they were first.
Perhaps they placed value on the idea of being first.
“There’s a book by your father in the collection too.” Managing Editor Im pulled one out and held it toward me.
It was a novel titled The Birth of Paradise, written by my father in his youth. Even now, Korean literature that had earned recognition at that level was published alongside world literature in such collections, works deemed worthy of a textbook, novels that would leave a mark on the history of Korean literature.
“It’s strangely moving. I didn’t even know this had been published.”
“Hoo... seeing it all gathered like this feels strange.”
Representative Mun folded his arms and scanned the shelves once. “It’s as though the literature of an entire era has been gathered here.”
At my words, he nodded. He looked as though his throat had caught again, the emotion too much for him all at once.
That was when it happened.
“You came?”
A gravelly voice came from behind us. I turned and saw Jang Yoon-shik, the very man I had only ever seen in books and articles, standing there. “Goodness, Chairman. It’s been a long time.” Representative Mun hurried over and took his hand, and Managing Editor Im bowed deeply.
I bowed too, without a word. Chairman Jang’s hair was white, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses; he gave off a somehow chilly impression. Yet he looked sturdier than I had expected. He did not look ill. He had a healthy amount of flesh, and for his age, his back was still straight. Had I not known about his illness, I would have assumed he was still vigorously leading Wolkwang Publishing.
“I was tidying up a bit in my office and didn’t even realize you were coming. Representative Mun, Gyeongseong Publishing is doing quite well.”
“Oh, it’s still a long way off from Wolkwang Publishing.”
“Heh. If you’re going to say that, at least wash your mouth out first.” Then, looking to Managing Editor Im, he added, “Critic Im... still the same, I see. Quite the figure.”
Managing Editor Im only smiled.
Chairman Jang’s gaze slid to me. “So you’re Mok Hyunsun. Mok Pilhyun’s son. I’ve known of you for some time, through articles and books alike.” He came over and held out his hand.
I took it and shook. “Thank you for calling for me.”
He looked at me closely. It was hard to tell what, if anything, his dimmed, age-clouded eyes were seeing through. But the words that came from his mouth were more ordinary than I had expected.
“You don’t look much like Mok Pilhyun.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“I mean that as a compliment.”
We laughed at the old man’s joke. Maybe it was relief, the laugh of people reassured that he still had enough strength to joke like that.
“Come on, let’s head to my office first.” We followed him up another floor.
His office was in the center of the floor. Aside from an old computer on the desk and a modest stack of documents, it was almost no different from the other rooms.
We sat facing each other on a worn sofa. Even though he insisted otherwise, Chairman Jang personally brewed tea and served it to us. From there, the conversation that followed was, frankly, not really about me.
Most of it concerned the contract transfer from Wolkwang Publishing to Gyeongseong Publishing, and the rest was about all those books. “They may look like this, but there are many valuable volumes here. Especially the books we licensed from abroad and translated years ago. In some cases, the foreign authors have passed away, and the rights in their own countries have become murky, which makes it difficult to retranslate them. Books like that may have had their first and last edition published by Wolkwang Publishing.”
“Then we should be the ones to preserve them.”
“That would be appreciated. After some time passes, the museum will come for a few of them on its own, and the rest will be taken by libraries. That’s how books go, drifting along while forcing their way toward the place they belong.” He said it with a clarity that made the scene almost visible to him.
And yet, by then, he himself would surely no longer be in the world.
“These damned books are just dead weight, and yet when you think about the value of each one individually, you can’t just throw them away. Finding them a new owner will probably be my last job.”
“Come now, Chairman. Don’t say that. Once you have the surgery and rest properly, you’ll recover before long.”
“Representative Mun, I told you to wash your mouth out first.” He said it in the same tone as before, but this time only Chairman Jang laughed. In any case, after we talked for a long while, the meeting wound down.
Managing Editor Im said with obvious reluctance, “I’d like to treat you to a meal, but...”
“What can you do? The hospital told me not to eat anything outside. Buy me one next time. If I make it back alive.”
“Ah, don’t say things like that.” Representative Mun waved a hand.
Chairman Jang seemed to be enjoying that reaction now, chuckling under his breath. Managing Editor Im then asked, “Ah, but what do you plan to do with that collection? Wolkwang Publishing’s World Literature Collection, and especially all those first editions you’ve gathered, are bound to draw interest from all over.”
“That... I’m still thinking about it. It’s my treasure, after all.”
We exchanged our farewells and were about to leave Wolkwang Publishing.
Even then, I still did not understand why Chairman Jang had called for me.
Just to meet Mok Pilhyun’s son? That seemed like a roundabout way to arrange a simple greeting. And that question was answered just as we were turning to leave the building.
Chairman Jang, who had come out to see us off, suddenly said, “Critic Mok.”
“Yes?”
“Could you stay a moment longer and see me again?”
“...You mean just me?”
“Yes. Send those two busy men on ahead. Is that difficult?” Representative Mun and Managing Editor Im seemed to speak to me with their eyes.
Go on. Come back after.
In the end, I turned back. “No, that’s fine.” After sending the two of them off first, I followed him back into Wolkwang Publishing.
He led the way up the stairs and said, “The truth is, I called you because I had something I wanted to give you personally.”
“? What is it?”
“You’ll see when you see it.” The place Chairman Jang led me to was the room where the World Literature Collection was shelved.
He went to a box set against the wall opposite the bookcase and opened it. Inside were, astonishingly, countless bundles of manuscript paper.
They had been so carefully preserved that they had not even yellowed, though judging by the condition of the paper, they were clearly quite old. “Now where did I put it...” Chairman Jang searched through the box with care, as if it were full of treasures that might be damaged at a touch.
“There it is.” He pulled out a handful of manuscript paper and held it out to me. “This.”
I took it on reflex. Huh? This familiar handwriting...?
“That’s right. It’s Mok Pilhyun’s handwritten manuscript. The Birth of Paradise, the one published in the World Literature Collection.”
“!”
“Back then, we took manuscripts on manuscript paper. And no matter how much the author asked, we never returned them, using the contract as our excuse. We treated the handwritten original as the publishing house’s property. Something separate from copyright... proof, in a way, that this manuscript had been published by my company.” He let out a small laugh, as though reminiscing. “You know your father had quite the temper when he was young, right? He threw a fit, demanding to know why we wouldn’t return the manuscript even though we’d already published the book. After that, he wouldn’t even look in Wolkwang Publishing’s direction.”
“...”
“But... I’m planning to return them, little by little now. There was a time when I greedily held onto them, but what use is that now?”
Chairman Jang fell silent after saying that. “Handing this over really does feel like I’m putting Wolkwang Publishing to rest.” His voice trembled at the end. So did the tips of his fingers, hanging limply at his side.
It would not just be the feeling of putting the publishing house to rest. It would be the feeling of putting away the passion, the life, he had devoted himself to for his entire existence.
I carefully slipped the manuscript into my bag. “Yes. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to pass it on to my father properly.”
“And if possible...” Chairman Jang looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “Could you take this literary collection with you?”