The Butterfly Effect (2)
Because of a ball Theodore Roosevelt had swatted into the air, I was spending the end of 1907 in Jilin of all places.
What kind of butterfly effect was this supposed to be?
"No matter how I look at it, that scoundrel Zhang Jinghui is scheming to drive you out, Staff Major, and seize your den for himself!"
Beside me, Ma Jeom-san grumbled furiously as he lashed strips of dried meat and ammunition to his saddle alongside mine.
Right. This was the fellow who'd stumbled onto treasure during the last punitive expedition. For reasons I still couldn't fathom, he'd appointed himself my adjutant from that day on and started trailing after me, and since he had a knack for the work and wasn't far off my age, we'd somehow grown close before I knew it. Something about the Buddha's law of cherishing all life, blah blah blah... something about consensus, yada yada. I'm perfectly sane, thank you. It's this world's morality that's gone completely off the rails.
"Whatever Zhang Jinghui's intentions, I don't exactly have the option of refusing, do I? There's a pretext for going."
"That may be so, but still..."
"Arguing about something you can't change doesn't change anything. Better to put your energy into figuring out how we'll get around out there. Wouldn't you say?"
"Aw, but I'm from Jilin! In Jilin, I *am* the Buddha, and my hand is the Buddha's palm!"
"Yeah, yeah, enough. Go fetch our travel funds. We leave at once."
"Yes, sir, Captain!"
Hoo.
Jilin. Jilin, huh.
Through a 21st-century Korean's eyes, Jilin was hardly a place that stirred pleasant memories. The Yanbian region that showed up in countless films was right here.
Koreans had been fleeing here to escape exploitation since the closing days of Joseon, and when the Korean Empire began its death throes, yet more thousands crossed the Yalu River to settle in Jilin.
But unlike the 21st century, where the land had become part of Ping-Ping Land, these people were still closer to Koreans who'd simply left home because survival had grown unbearable where they lived.
So in one sense I could relax. And in another, I couldn't help staying on edge. These were the ones who had clawed out a foothold in this unforgiving Manchuria against all odds, broken the soil, and brought in harvests.
No ordinary grit could manage that. This was Jilin, after all — a land thick with hardy men, the very place General Hong Beom-do, the legendary independence fighter nicknamed the Tiger, had come and gone countless times waging his guerrilla war.
And beyond the Koreans, there was another breed we found intolerable.
Three days after leaving Fengtian, we ran into strangers who'd dropped into Humseong-ManJu1907 like visitors from some unknown world.
"Who are you people?"
"We're a cavalry platoon dispatched from the 5th Battalion of the Shengjing Army."
"And why would the Shengjing Army, not even the Jilin Army, be poking about in Jilin?"
"Why is the Japanese army here, then?"
"We are not the Japanese army. We're a security force hired by the South Manchuria Railway Company."
"Ah. So that's the story we're going with."
The Korean army at least had the decency to attach some fig leaf of "civilian police" status when it posted units to the GOP along the 38th parallel. You bastards don't even bother with the thinnest veil — you just swagger around wearing Japanese army uniforms outright. That's a bit much, no?
"We are here under General Shengjing's orders to assist General Jilin with official duties. We're all just doing our jobs, so let's not make a scene."
"Hmph. Don't do anything suspicious near the railway. Unfortunate things have a way of happening."
Fine. Great. Wait thirty years, buddy. Even if I have to serve under MacArthur, I will get myself into GHQ someday and pay you back exactly in kind.
Every time something like this happened, Ma Jeom-san would sidle up to me with a suggestion.
"Staff Major. Shall I just kill every last one of them?"
"No."
"It's not as if Jilin is even part of Manchuria, sir. We carve them up so thoroughly they can't even collect the bones, leave the remains out in the wasteland, and the bald vultures will handle the cleanup!"
"I said no. Do you not see the machine gun over there?"
"If one only has the will to act, anything is possible—"
"Let's just go. Don't poke the bears — guys with too much bottled-up rage who can't even go home after their war ended."
We roamed Jilin doing our best not to stir the Japanese up at all.
"The map says there was a village here, sir?"
"There *was*. Nothing left but shell craters now."
"Hey, that's bandits, isn't it?"
"Or my hand will tell you it isn't."
We rode all day, camped by fires, occasionally found a village big enough to spend a few days' rest in for a little silver, then set out again.
And then we arrived at the edge of some utterly ordinary village.
"Whoa — whoa. What's gotten into you?"
My horse was being unusually skittish today. He wasn't normally this stubborn.
"Captain, are you all right? Has the beast gone into heat? Swap him for mine."
"We've arrived anyway, so what does it matter. Let's see how he acts tomorrow; if he's still off, we'll trade."
"Yes, sir!"
I dismounted, leaned against the low fence ringing the village, and hollered at the top of my lungs.
"Anyone home out there!?"
But the village kept its silence. No answer came. Not even a whisper of human presence.
"Captain. Could it be abandoned?"
"I don't think so. Look — the fields have been plowed. The buildings are all the same timber, but some are bleached white and some are dark with age. They've been repaired recently."
I raised one hand over my head, then swept it down in a diagonal line. The soldiers who'd stayed mounted pulled carbines from their saddles and fanned out one by one, hunting for cover near me. I popped the clasp on my hip holster and closed my fingers around the revolver grip.
"Anyone home out there?!!"
Still nothing.
For the last attempt, I called out in Korean.
"Anyone home out there?!!!
"······Aye."
After all that silence, an answer drifted down, astonishingly, from the tallest hut in the village.
A Korean settlement, then.
"I'm the leader of a scouting party from the 5th Battalion under the Shengjing Army!! Who are you people!?"
"...Folk o' Joseon, who crossed the Yalu lookin' for a patch o' ground to till and eat from!"
Hmm. For a simple settlement, the place was eerily lifeless. This felt less like a village and more like a military base, if anything.
"We have no intention of clashing with you! We've only come to survey the state of Jilin now that the war has swept through. So set your minds at ease and come out!"
"...How would I be believin' that, then?"
Ha. Why so uncooperative?
Truthfully, I was Korean myself, and I wanted to say, we're all Koreans here, let's not do this — but that I was Korean had to stay a dead secret.
I drew my pistol, waved it in full view, and hurled it ahead of me. The distance between me and that hut was well over a hundred meters anyway. Even Jin Jong-oh couldn't hit that.
"Captain?"
"It's too far, they can't hit me. Just in case, get ready to pull my carbine off my saddle for me."
"Understood."
I waved both hands high above my head.
"As you can see, I'm unarmed! How about you drop the suspicion too!?"
"...Then we'll be sendin' down one man to speak for us!"
That's all I need.
Apparently my sincerity got through, because a man soon walked out of the hut, laid his rifle on the ground, and threw both hands into the air. His clothes had nowhere to hide a pistol, so I called out loudly.
"Let us meet halfway!"
"Right enough!"
The man and I approached each other slowly until we stood close enough to see each other's faces. A strikingly tough-looking man somewhere between his late twenties and early thirties.
I offered my hand first.
"Lee Tae-oh, staff officer of the 5th Battalion under the Shengjing Army."
"...Jo Mo, come down from Hamgyong."
He hesitated a moment before taking my hand. Hands as thick and hard as his face, I see.
"You came from Hamgyong, you say."
"Aye. No way to make a livin', so I drifted with no place to go, and here I ended up."
"I see. Then may I call you Master Jo? You seem to be my senior in years."
"Course ye can. Call me what ye like. And shall I be callin' you milord officer, then?"
"Of course."
Master Jo hesitated briefly, then spoke.
"Milord officer speaks Joseon tongue right well, don't he. Be ye a Joseon man, by chance?"
"Living out here in Manchuria, you pick it up without trying. Besides, speaking several languages earns you better treatment — hardly a reason not to study hard, right?"
"So ye're sayin' ye're no Joseon man."
He looked me up and down, then let out a long breath, as if some knot had loosened.
"Whew. Well, ye don't seem to be Japanese soldiers, like ye said, and that's a mercy."
"Japanese soldiers?"
"Ye don't know? The Japanese army's got the whole of Joseon in a grip like a crab's claw. ...Ah, right, ye'd not be Joseon folk, so ye wouldn't know, would ye. Anyhow, we were scared stiff that you, milord officer, and those soldiers there might be Japanese."
At that, Master Jo jerked his chin toward the huts — and all across the village, human heads popped up out of nowhere. Behind the huts, behind trees, in the grass beside the furrows, in what I'd taken for drainage ditches...
Son of a— this is a *settlement*? Everyone seems to have a magic rifle-tree staff planted right beside them.
But they'd shown their hands first — no will to fight — and there was no need to drag the mood down over it. I gestured to Ma Jeom-san and the soldiers, and they nodded and lowered their carbines to a ready stance.
"Thank you."
"Just good sense, is all."
"Haha, is it?"
"As we said, we're a scouting party sent to survey Jilin after the war. We'll ask a few questions and be on our way."
"...We've nothin' much in the house, but will ye take a cup o' tea before ye go? Ah — milord officer only, mind. It'd be a bit much for all those lads to come in too."
We'd come this far; surely they wouldn't suddenly jam a gun barrel in my face and start demanding things.
"Gladly."
"Come in, then."
I followed Master Jo into the hut.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Clunk. A modest wooden cup was set before me, and barley tea poured into it with a hiss.
"Sorry it's all we've got to give. Hospitality for guests is the way of Joseon folk, but our circumstances are mighty poor."
"Not at all. After nights camping out in Manchuria, this feels like being waited on at a hotel."
"Haha, ye think so? Kind words, anyway. The one who serves as our village chief will be here soon."
"Village chief?"
"Learned man, and straight-backed and firm in character too, so we all raised him up as our head. Ask him whatever ye're curious about."
So they had a proper structure going. Well, of course — without one, they'd never have pulled off that ambush earlier.
"Say, could I ask ye somethin'?"
A plainly featured man who'd been sitting quietly beside Master Jo piped up, sounding marveling at it all.
"Hey, hey. What business have ye questionin' the officer?"
"Aw, why not? I'm curious, ain't I?"
Same age as Master Jo, maybe? The way they bickered, they seemed like old friends.
"Ahem. So — how old might the officer be?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, man."
"Ah, I'm Master Woo, come from Chungcheong. Woo the Elder, Master Woo, call me whatever's easy. And for the record, me and this Jo rascal here are both eight-and-twenty this year."
"Haha. Eighteen this year, I'd say? Around that, probably."
"Now what's that? If it's eighteen, say eighteen; if not, say not. What's all this 'around that'?"
"Ah. Well, you see, I grew up an orphan, so—"
The two men's eyes darted about, cornered with nowhere to go.
Smack!
"Aaargh, you flighty little brat, you actually went and blurted it out?!"
"Yeowch! I didn't know!"
"It's — it's fine. Don't be so hard on him."
Should I step in here? One more blow with that hand and he might actually kill the man.
Just as I began to rise to do something about it —
"You men. What in the world are you doing, making a scene with a guest in the house?"
A man walked in from behind me, where I couldn't see him, clicking his tongue in disdain, and Master Jo and Master Woo answered him with conspicuous indifference.
"Oh. There you are."
"Officer, that fellow there is the chief of our village."
I rose and spun toward the chief in one motion.
"Pleased, to, meet, yooooou?"
"...Is your Joseon tongue unsteady?"
"Huh? He was talking to us just fine a moment ago?"
"Was he, now."
Leaving me frozen solid, the chief extended his hand first.
"I'm called Andoma. I keep this village."
"······."
"...? What seems to be the matter?"
Only then did I accept the handshake — with a hand trembling like a leaf.
No. Correction. I wiped my palm against my trousers several times first, and *then* took it.
"It is an honor."
"Haha! Hardly worth calling an honor. Then I'm honored to make your acquaintance as well!"
Andoma laughed heartily and shook my hand up and down.
Doma.
An Doma.Ahn Jung-geun.