A Mother's Last Gift
"Let's see here..."
The shoes were worn ragged in places, the heels rattling loose in their sockets. Worst of all, the leather itself — the very heart that held the shoe together — was living on borrowed time.
"What a mess."
The easiest repair would have been to replace every last component. But if he was going to do that, it would have been faster just to make a new pair from scratch.
This was an object steeped in memory, though. He would have to restore it while preserving as much of the original as he possibly could.
A true blacksmith considered not only the object itself, but the person who would use it — and the story it carried — when forging or mending anything at all.
All right, then...
The outer leather came first. Leather this far gone would ideally have been swapped out entirely, but that would have defeated the whole point of a restoration.
"Let's give this a try..."
He set to work on the outer leather, recovering its original shape without violating the form it had always worn. A little ways in, though, the tools started giving him trouble.
"These tools are seriously cheap..."
Tools, in this case, meant nothing more than the miscellaneous junk lying around the house.
I wish I had the ones I used on Mount Olympus.
They said a craftsman never blamed his tools. But a truly great craftsman was the kind who cared about every last tool he put his hands on.
Still. For a pair of dress shoes, this'll do.
Clang! Clang!
Hundreds of hammer blows set the shoes' warped structure back into true. Then, using a portable butane stove in place of a forge, he mixed together materials he'd bought at Daiso. Cheap stuff, all of it — but the ratios were the optimal blends he had learned over a hundred years of grinding away on Mount Olympus.
After that he worked with the utmost delicacy, his hands moving over the shoes dozens of times, coaxing them back to life.
"Hah... need to stretch this side a little more..."
He had been buried in the work for some time when the door suddenly opened and his mother came in, a tray of fruit and drinks in her hands.
"Cheolwoo. Have some fruit. Hmm? Goodness, what is all this?"
I set down the shoes and the tools I was holding and smiled, a little embarrassed.
"Ahaha... I was just working on something for a bit."
"Is that so? Some kind of university assignment?"
"A university assignment... yeah, something like that."
He was repairing a professor's belongings, so it wasn't exactly a lie.
"Really? Aigoo, universities these days will have you doing anything. Anyway, eat some fruit while you work."
"Yes. Thank you — I'll enjoy it."
She seemed to have something more to say. Instead of leaving, she sat down for a moment, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Aigoo..."
"Is something worrying you?"
She sighed once more before she spoke.
"Aigoo... it's Jeonghwan. I'm worried about him."
"Jeonghwan?"
Kang Jeonghwan. My younger brother, two years my junior, currently serving in the military.
Come to think of it, he's in the army. I haven't even seen his face yet...
"I talked to him on the phone yesterday. Army life seems to be wearing him down."
"..."
He was a kind-hearted kid at his core. Put nicely, he was a good boy. Put less nicely, he had a bit of a pushover in him.
With Jeonghwan's personality, the army wouldn't come easy...
"He used to be such a bright kid, but his voice sounded so dark. Cheolwoo, would you go visit him sometime?"
I nodded at once.
"Of course. I'll go see him on Sunday. Don't worry too much."
The moment I said I would visit, a little of the tightness left her face.
"Good. Talk to him for me, would you? Brothers open up to each other more easily, don't they?"
She still couldn't quite set the worry down. She sighed once more, then left the room.
I set the tools aside for a moment and looked up the unit where Jeonghwan was serving.
That little punk... making Mom worry.
Besides our mother, Jeonghwan was the only family I had. Two years apart, we should have fought constantly — but whenever conflict arose, Jeonghwan was the one who yielded, so fights almost never happened.
"Too kind for his own good..."
I could talk like that all I wanted. He was still a younger brother more precious to me than anything. Worry crept in ahead of everything else — what if something had happened?
It's probably nothing... right?
"There. Done."
The tools had been junk, but it hadn't taken all that long. Three days, exactly. In three days, the shoe repair was finished.
I slipped the shoes into a shopping bag at once and headed for the old professor's office.
I quietly opened the office door and stepped inside.
"Professor."
"Ah, Cheolwoo. What brings you here?"
I held out the shopping bag with the shoes inside.
"The dress shoes you asked me to repair last time — they're finished. Here they are."
"Pardon? You actually repaired them?"
I smiled.
"I hope they're to your liking."
With a startled look, Professor Hwang drew the shoes from the bag — and then he froze, stunned by how astonishingly transformed they were.
"W-wait... are these really the shoes I used to wear?"
The old professor turned them this way and that.
I hadn't expected much, honestly...
They were perfect. It was like looking at them the day he had first received them as a gift. And yet they were not some other pair. These were, without any doubt, the shoes his mother had given him. The scratch still remaining at the tip of the heel proved it.
This...
It was the scratch that had appeared when his mother, insisting she would polish them up as a gift, had been shining the shoes.
"..."
Professor Hwang held the shoes in his hands and said nothing for a long time. He had already decided these were something he would have to throw away. But discarding his mother's things, one by one, had felt like slowly forgetting her, and it had hurt. These shoes, in particular, had meant more to Jeong-guk than almost anything else he owned.
I take it he likes them?
I spoke carefully.
"Try them on, Professor."
"Ah... come to think of it, I received them and never even tried them on. Look at me."
Professor Hwang pulled off the shoes he was wearing and slipped the restored pair on. They settled onto his feet as naturally as if they had been custom-made for him from the start.
I could have made the fit even more comfortable, honestly. I hadn't.
It's an object that holds a memory. No need to do anything unnecessary.
A truly great blacksmith did not make a fine object. He made the object the client wanted.
Professor Hwang put on the other shoe as well and walked slowly around the office.
This feels wonderful...
"Jeong-guk. I bought you a pair of dress shoes. Try them on."
"Mother, what is this? Where did you even get the money for something like this?"
Jeong-guk's mother smiled.
"Don't you worry. Your mother still has more than enough to buy a pair of shoes. Stop fussing and try them on."
"Aigoo, Mother... I'm over forty now. I should be the one buying these for you."
He grumbled, but he put on the shoes she had bought him all the same.
"Oh, these are nice. They're incredibly comfortable."
"Are they? That's a relief. Tomorrow's your first day as a full professor — you ought to go in wearing a fine pair of shoes. That way our Jeong-guk will go even further. They've always said a good pair of shoes leads a person to better places, haven't they?"
"Aigoo, Mother. That's all just superstition."
"Even if it is superstition, good is good, isn't it?"
Jeong-guk stood.
"Mother. When I get next month's salary, I'll buy you a pair of shoes too."
His mother smiled at that.
"All right. I'll be looking forward to it."
But Jeong-guk never bought his mother those shoes. No — he never got the chance. The very day he went to the department store, bought a pair for her, and came home, his mother died in a sudden accident.
In the end, these shoes were more than just shoes to Professor Hwang. They were the last thing connecting him to his mother.
Tears welled in Professor Hwang's eyes. Embarrassed, he wiped them away a moment later.
"This is... I'm over sixty, crying like this. Mother would have given me such a scolding if she saw..."
He took both of my hands in his and offered his thanks.
"Cheolwoo, thank you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. This was an object of profound meaning to me, and to have it restored so perfectly... I cannot tell you how grateful I am."
"Not at all. I'm just glad you're satisfied."
Money was nice. All of it was nice. But for a blacksmith, the greatest joy was this: a client satisfied, a client made happy.
"I can hardly let this pass with just a thank-you. Let me buy you a meal, at least. Are you free this Sunday? I'll treat you and your mother to dinner at a truly fine restaurant."
Sunday?
A free meal was always welcome, but Sunday of all days was a problem.
"Professor, I'm sorry, but this Sunday might be a bit difficult."
"Is that so? Do you have a prior engagement?"
"Yes. My younger brother is in the military, and I promised to visit him."
"I see... that's a shame. Well, I shall treat you to a meal another time, without fail."
I offered my farewells and was about to leave when he called after me.
"Ah, by the way — which division is your brother with?"
"Pardon? Ah, the 38th Division."
At the mention of the 38th Division, Professor Hwang started and asked again.
"The 38th Division — that would mean he's stationed in Wonju, would it not?"
"Yes, that's right."
He smiled at my answer.
"Hahaha... what a coincidence this is. As it happens, my younger brother is the division commander there."
"I'm sorry...? Is that true?"
Division commander?
I had spent a hundred years on Mount Olympus, but strangely, along with anything related to family, there were memories that refused to fade — and among them were everything to do with the military. I remembered all too well just how towering a figure a division commander was in the army.
If this goes well...
The professor thought for a moment, then asked.
"Cheolwoo. Might I ask your brother's name?"
Well now...
This might just pave a golden road through my brother's military service.