The Mudskipper of the Mudflats (2)
The air hit me even harder the moment I stepped out of the substation. Sweat beaded across my face, but I wasn't winded, and I wasn't dizzy. This strange body of mine took even the heat in stride.
The salt-tang of the sea faded little by little, and the smell of earth and grass began to take its place. A little ways ahead, a village of small houses sat clustered together. The same quiet, drowsy landscape as always seemed to greet me from afar.
As I walked in, a few of the elders were fanning themselves in the pavilion beneath the great zelkova tree, sheltering from the heat. The slow whir of an electric fan and the rustle of their paper fans filled the drowsy afternoon hush. Beside them, some nameless neighborhood dog lay sprawled on the dirt with its tongue lolling, panting. It was a thoroughly peaceful scene.
But if you lifted your eyes to the sky beyond the horizon, you could see space itself shimmering, ever so faintly. Sometimes a rainbow sheen would flicker across it; other times the air would twist as if the world were warping. That, however, was a city-dweller's problem. Here in Dohwang-ri, it was nothing more than a tale from a far-off country.
I wiped the sweat off roughly with my collar and stepped into the familiar courtyard of our house. A savory smell greeted me first. Beyond the kitchen window, a familiar yellow back was busily boiling something on the stove. And in the shade of the wooden porch, a girl with white rabbit ears lay at ease, peering at her smartphone.
Just a few years ago, that yellow one had been tearing around the yard barking her head off, and the rabbit-eared girl had greeted me by scratching at the bars of her hutch. Nureongi the dog, and Ppoppi the rabbit that Nureongi had carried home as a pup.
The moment I stepped into the yard, the yellow dog ears beyond the kitchen window and the white rabbit ears on the porch both perked up at once and turned toward me. Then both of them broke into bright smiles to welcome me home.
Ppoppi, who'd been lying on the porch, shuffled over, dragging her slippers. She twitched her rabbit ears, sniffed the air, and immediately wrinkled her nose.
"Ugh—you reek of booze! Unnie, did you go out and just drink again?"
Her complaining voice had a real edge to it.
Nureongi, still stirring something in the kitchen, looked over at me without a word and gave a little wave. It looked for all the world like she was saying, Welcome home. You worked hard.
I gave Ppoppi's head a gentle shove and offered an apologetic smile.
"Ah... I forgot. I was supposed to bring ice cream. Sorry, Ppoppi."
At that, Ppoppi's rabbit ears shot straight up, and she started stamping her feet.
"I wouldn't have gotten this mad over ice cream..."
I tilted my head, puzzled, and Ppoppi's ears twitched even harder as she shouted.
"Ppoppi?! I have a perfectly good name—Jang Hayeon! And the one boiling stew over there—is that Nureongi Unnie, or Jang Hana Unnie?!"
It was only after getting chewed out by Ppoppi that it sank in. I still slipped up and called these kids by the names they'd had as animals. It had started as a joke, but somewhere along the way it had become a habit. Still, I was the one who'd given them those names.
I gave Ppoppi's forehead another light shove and headed inside as I spoke.
"I'm the one who gave you those names, you know."
"I don't care about that!"
Hayeon's grumbling followed me from behind.
The moment I stepped inside, a calm voice drifted from the kitchen.
"Welcome home, Master."
Master. People who keep dogs call themselves that, sure—but when Nureongi, who now wore a human shape, said it, the word sat strangely in the ear.
I spoke to her the way you might gently correct someone.
"Hana, no matter how many times I hear it, that 'Master' thing still sounds weird."
"I know that much. You're the one who named Hayeon, after all, Master."
A quiet laugh came with the words. She'd clearly been listening to me bicker with Hayeon from the start.
I let out a small sigh and headed for the bathroom to wash off the sweat.
In the little basket by the bathroom door, my clothes sat folded in a rather sorry state. From underwear to a comfortable T-shirt to change into—the crooked, rumpled folding was unmistakably Ppoppi's handiwork.
She nagged me so much out in the open, but seeing her always looking after me like this when no one was watching made something in my chest go tight, every time.
I picked up the clothes Ppoppi had laid out and stepped into the bathroom.
I took a quick shower under a warm stream of water, then found myself looking at my face in the steam-fogged mirror.
The mirror still showed a young woman I hadn't quite gotten used to. Skin pale despite a light tan from the sun. A well-proportioned body, faintly visible even through the steam. And a chest that was, to put it mildly, rather insistent about being noticed.
It was a face that made it hard to believe this was the same person who'd just been drinking makgeolli with the village elders at the hall, then having a childish argument with a rabbit-eared kid.
But that face in the mirror was me, all the same. I wiped the water from my face and accepted this strange reality once more.
After the shower, feeling cool and clean in fresh clothes, I didn't head for the kitchen. I went to the old shed attached beside it.
When I'd first moved into this house, I'd wanted to fill this place with tools and fishing gear—a space just for a man. But after becoming a huntsman, after becoming a woman, and after starting to live with Nureongi and Ppoppi, it had become less a hobby room and more of a workshop.
I switched on the old incandescent bulb inside the shed, and the familiar smell of oil and steel washed over me.
On one wall, the work clothes and boots I'd wear on the mudflats tomorrow hung freshly laundered. And in the corner where the farm tools were gathered, behind the long scythes and shovels, several gun barrels were neatly hidden away.
I stared at the barrels for a moment, then shook my head.
It's just mudskippers. No reason to go swapping barrels for that.
I carefully moved the tools hiding the barrels and opened a small hatch in the floor. Inside, moisture-proofed ammunition boxes were packed tight.
If Inspector Park or Officer Lee ever saw this, they'd have a heart attack... but in this day and age, ammo like this was easy enough to get if you put your mind to it. A trip down to Cheonggyecheon would do it. Those two were just unusually by-the-book.
I'd just about finished a once-over of the gear when I realized the most important thing was missing.
Ah... the gun.
That was sitting safely in the substation armory. I let out a deep sigh without meaning to and stepped out of the shed.
Ppoppi, who'd somehow appeared behind me, tossed out a remark without looking and spun on her heel toward the kitchen.
"Hana Unnie says dinner's ready."
That kid never used more words than she had to. But maybe because she was a rabbit, even that snippy attitude came off as cute.
Instead of answering, I just smiled and walked toward the kitchen, where a delicious smell was drifting out.
I sat down at the table, and kimchi stew bubbling away greeted me with a cheerful simmer. I looked at Hana, who took her seat neatly across from me. In that tidy figure, where was any trace of the dog that used to love rolling around in the dirt? Every time I saw her, it struck me as both wondrous and something to be grateful for.
I picked up my spoon first and took a bite of the steaming stew. As if they'd been waiting for that, Hana and Hayeon picked up theirs too. It was a little household rule that had formed at some point.
We usually focused quietly on eating during meals, but Hana was the first to break the silence.
"I heard you have work tomorrow. Should I come along?"
I waved a hand, making light of it.
"Nah, it's fine. They're just mudskippers the size of a person, that's all."
It was a Nureongi kind of question—worry seeping through. But there was no need to drag these kids somewhere that rough.
Honestly, Nureongi had physical abilities that put most humans to shame, and Ppoppi's rabbit ears were sharp enough to catch dangers I couldn't even sense. They'd definitely be a help. But while I was out on the mudflats, covered in sludge and wrestling with those freakish things, I wanted them here—in a warm house, cooking a good stew, lying on the porch and nagging me. That was the scene I wanted.
Then Ppoppi set her spoon down with a clack, her big eyes sparkling, rabbit ears twitching as she spoke.
"Unnie, I won't get in the way when you go catch those things tomorrow~ Could you just drop me off at the town mart? It's been ages."
A thoroughly Ppoppi kind of request—completely carefree.
Before Nureongi could open her mouth to scold her, I nodded first.
"Sure. We needed to get you both some new clothes anyway."
The moment I gave permission, Ppoppi's face lit up, and a gentle smile spread across Nureongi's lips as she quietly ate.
Just because they'd gone from animals to people didn't mean they were content living in this little backwater. They needed new clothes. They needed to see the noisy world outside.
If tomorrow's job goes smoothly, maybe we shouldn't stop at the town mart. A trip all the way into the city wouldn't be so bad.
I started laying out plans in my head.
"You mean it? That's a promise, right?"
"She always keeps her promises."
Ppoppi asked again, buzzing with excitement, and Nureongi quietly backed her up. Listening to the two of them chatter in their excited voices, I went back to my dinner.