One Lucky Day
There was a chilly, overcast sky, threatening snow, but instead, a freezing rain fell.
For Kim Cheomji, a rickshaw puller in Dongsomun, this was a truly auspicious day, a long time coming. He escorted the lady next door, who was wanting to go to the inner city, to the tram tracks (even though she didn't live outside of the city). And later he lingered at the bus stop, directing a nearly begging stare at each person getting off, hoping for a customer. Finally, he provided a ride to a teacher in a suit to Donggwang School. Thirty jeon* from the first ride, fifty jeon from the second—a rare, surprising amount of cash this early in the morning. Kim Cheomji, who hadn't seen any money in nearly ten days, was so happy he nearly shed tears when the ten-jeon cupronickel coins, first three, then five, rattled into his palm. Moreover, he couldn't have known better than that moment how useful this eighty-jeon would be to him on that day and time. It could have been enough to quench his parched throat with a glass of moju**, or even more, to buy his ailing wife a bowl of seolleongtang (ox bone soup).
*jeon: old currency of Korea
**moju: traditional Korean liquor
His wife had been coughing for over a month. She was practically starving. Even a bowl of steamed millet wasn't often available, so of course, she had never taken any medicine. It wasn't like he couldn't get it if he had to, but he was completely faithful to his belief that if you take medicine for a disease, you'll get addicted and keep coming back. Since she hadn't been seen by a doctor, Kim Cheomji couldn't tell what ailed his wife, but judging by the fact that she was lying prone and unable to get up, it must have been serious. The reason her condition had gotten this bad was because she had indigestion from the millet she had eaten ten days earlier. Even then, Kim Cheomji, having finally earned some money, bought her a doe (1.8 liter) of millet and a bundle of firewood worth of 10 jeon. At Kim Cheomji's behest, that fool recklessly threw the millet into a pot to boil. Her mind was racing, the flame was weak, and the food wasn't even cooked when she started eating with her hands rather than using a spoon. She wolfed it down as her cheeks bulged like a ball as if someone might try to snatch the food from her. Since that evening, she started whining, her chest heavy, her stomach tightened, and her eyes rolled back into her head with the pain. Kim Cheomji, furious as hell, yelled at her, "You, damned bitch! God can't even bless you! Sick with starving, sick with eating. What am I supposed to do with you?! Why can't you open your eyes?" He slapped the aching woman's cheek once. Her eyes almost looked normal for a moment, but soon glistened with tears. Kim Cheomji's eyes were also hot and puffy.
Even so, the patient wouldn't give up on eating. For three days, she had been pestering her husband for seolleongtang soup.
"This damn bitch! A bitch who can't even digest millet rice! Now, you want a bowl of seolleongtang?! You want to get sick again!" He scolded her, complaining, but his heart was not easy, as he couldn't afford the soup.
But now, he could buy seolleongtang. He could buy porridge for his three-year-old baby, Gaettongyi, whining and starving next to his ailing mother. Kim Cheomji's heart was filled with joy as he held the eighty jeon in his hand.
But his luck didn't stop there. He was leaving the school, turning around the school gate, and wiping his neck covered with sweat and rainwater with a cotton towel that almost looked like an oil-soaked cloth. A voice called out from behind, "Rickshaw!" Kim Cheomji knew at a glance that the person who had stopped was a student from the school. The student asked him bluntly, "How much is it to Namdaemun Station?"
He was probably a student living in the school dormitory, planning to return home for the winter break. He had planned to leave that day, but the rain and his heavy luggage somewhat held him back from his departure. When he saw Kim Cheomji, he couldn't help but stop him to get a ride. He barely put on his shoes, and it didn't seem to bother him that rain was soaking his suit even though it was made from rough cotton.
"To Namdaemun station, sir?"
Kim Cheomji hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he didn't want to go that far, splashing through water without a straw raincoat? Or was he satisfied with what he'd made from the first and second rides?
No, absolutely not. Rather, he suddenly felt frightened by the endless series of lucky events happening to him. Also his wife's request from earlier that day gripped his mind. When his first customer, the lady next door, came to him for a ride, his wife had a pleading glint in her eyes, unusually large and sunken, like the only hope springing from her bony face. "Don't go out today. Please, stay home. I'm so sick..."
She muttered like a mosquito, her breathing ragged and raspy. But Kim Cheomji, as if nothing had happened, said, "Gosh, you damned bitch. What nonsense! If you and I both stay at home, who will feed us?" As he was about to leave, the patient waved her arm as if to grab him. "I've already asked you not to go. If you have to, then come back early." She cried with a choked voice.
The moment he heard the order to go to the Namdaemun station, his wife's convulsively trembling hands and her face with unusually big eyes loomed before him.
"So, how much is it to Namdaemun Station?"
The student looked anxiously at the rickshaw puller's face, muttering to himself, "There's an Incheon car at eleven o'clock, and then another one at two."
"Just one won and fifty jeon, please."
The words fell from Kim Cheomji's lips without thinking. Even as he spoke, he was surprised by the sheer amount of money. How long had it been since he'd proposed that amount for a single ride? At that moment, his urge to earn money overcame his concern for the patient. He reassured himself thinking "What could go wrong for her just in one day?" No matter what, he couldn't miss this stroke of luck, which was twice as good as the previous two.
"One won and fifty jeon is way too much." The student tilted his head as he talked.
"No, that's not true. If you calculate it by the distance, it's over 15 ree (about 6 km) from here. And on a rainy day like this, you should give a little more." The driver's face beamed with unconcealed joy.
"Then I'll pay you whatever you want, so hurry up and go."
After these remarks, the generous young guest hurriedly dressed, and went to gather his luggage.
Kim Cheomji's legs, carrying the student, felt strangely light. It was as if he was flying rather than running. The wheels turned so quickly that it felt more like he was gliding on ice, like skates slicing through ice, though the rain had made the ground slippery.
However, soon, the puller's legs grew heavy. Because the path was passing his house.
The worry, forgotten for a while, came back and weighed on his chest.
"Don't go out today, I'm so sick!" These words rang in his ears. And the sick woman's sunken eyes seemed to glare at him with resentment. Then, he seemed to hear Gaettongyi's wailing. Or maybe he also seemed to hear the sound of gasping for breath.
"Why are you going this way? You might be missing the train!" The passenger's anxious cry finally reached his ears. Suddenly, Kim Cheomji, clutching the rickshaw, was frozen in the middle of the road.
"Yes, yes, sorry."
He sprinted again. As his home grew farther and farther away, Kim Cheomji's pace became more lively, as if he had to make his legs move fast to forget all the worries and concerns that constantly swirled around in his head.
He finally dropped off his customer at the station, and when he actually grasped that shocking amount of money - 1.50 won - in his hand, he almost felt like he'd got this money for free, forgetting the wet and muddy 15 ree he had raced down, which he'd described earlier. He was overjoyed, as if he'd just become a member of the nouveau riche.
He politely bowed several times to the young guest, who was barely old enough to be his own child, and said, "Have a safe trip."
But the prospect of returning home in this rain, rumbling in an empty rickshaw, was a dream. As the sweat of his labor cooled, a chill began to rise from his hungry stomach and from his dripping clothes. He felt the real worth of one won and fifty jeon, and it was both precious and painful. His steps as he left the station lacked any strength. His whole body hunched over, and he felt he would collapse, unable to rise.
"Damn it! How am I supposed to return in this rain, clattering along with an empty rickshaw. Damn this rain! Instead of hitting grandmother's house, why is it in my face?"
He growled, furious, as if he were challenging someone.
Then, a new light dawned on him: "I shouldn't be going home like this. If I just circle around here, waiting for the tram to arrive, I might pick up another passenger." With his luck so strangely good today, who could guarantee that such a stroke of luck wouldn't happen again? He'd gained enough confidence to bet that more luck, waggling its tail, was definitely waiting for him.
"Ma'am, wouldn't you like to take a rickshaw?" The girl, who he wasn't quite sure was a schoolgirl, remained silent for a long time, her lips tightly shut with an attitude, paying no attention to Kim Cheomji. He studied her expression as if he were begging something from her.
"I'll take you much cheaper than the pullers at the train station. Where is your home?" Still leering after her, he touched the Japanese-style willow basket she was holding.
"What are you doing? You're so annoying." She roared like a thunderbolt and turned around. Kim Cheomji stepped back, puzzled and thinking, "How dare you?"
The tram arrived. Kim Cheomji glared resentfully at the tram riders. His premonition was right. As the tram, packed tightly, began to move, there was one passenger left behind. Judging by the enormous bag he was carrying, it seemed the conductor had pushed him out of the crowded car, perhaps because his luggage was too big. Kim Cheomji stood in front of him. "Why don't you take a rickshaw?"
After a while of haggling over the fee, he finally agreed to give him a ride to Insadong for sixty jeon.
As the rickshaw grew heavier, his body strangely felt lighter. And as the rickshaw became lighter, his body felt heavy again. But this time, even his mind became anxious. The sight of his home kept flashing before his eyes, and he had no time to hope for luck.
He could only trot along, scolding his legs, which felt like tree stumps or something else, and not his own. His pace was so hurried that passersby worried, wondering how that rickshaw driver could possibly get to this place so drunk. The cloudy and rainy sky was dark, almost approaching dusk. Only when he reached Changgyeongwon did he catch his breath and slow his pace.
With each step, as he drew closer to home, his heart strangely softened. But this gentleness did not come from reassurance, but from the imminent realization of the terrible misfortune that would certainly befallen him. He struggled to buy as much time as possible before the misfortune struck. He wanted to prolong the joy of his near-miraculous earnings. He looked around here and there. As if he couldn't control his own legs which were running towards home — towards his misfortune — so he desperately looked for someone to catch him, to save him.
Just then, his friend Chisam emerged from a roadside tavern. His plump face seemed to be stained with vermilion, and his chin and cheeks broadly covered with sideburns. While Kim Cheomji's pale face was parched, furrowed here and there, and even his whiskers were barely hanging onto his chin just like upside down pine needles. Their appearances created a peculiar contradiction.
"Hey, Kim Cheomji, you've come back from giving rides! You must have made a lot of money, so have a drink." The fat man called out to the skinny man, his voice was soft and gentle, not matching his size. Kim Cheomji couldn't explain how happy he was to see his friend. He felt grateful, as if he were the one who had saved his life. "You seem to have had a drink already. You look like you're having a fun too," he said, smiling brightly.
"Oh, don't say that you can't drink when your day has no fun! But hey, you look like a rat in a water jar! Come in here and dry off."
The tavern was warm and cozy. Puffing white steam rising from the boiling loach soup. Ground beef patties were sizzling on the grill, along with dishes of steamed pork, liver, kidney, dried pollack, and bindaetteok (mung bean pancakes)... Kim Cheomji suddenly had a sour feeling in his stomach at the sight of this messy table of side dishes. He could have devoured every last bite, if he followed his instinct. But the hungry man managed to eat two generous portions of bindaetteok and ordered a bowl of loach soup. His empty stomach, having tasted the food, felt hungrier, and he kept begging for more. In an instant, he gulped down a bowl of tofu and loach soup like water. By the time he received his third bowl, he added two double shot glasses of makgeolli****. As he shared a drink with Chisam, his completely hallow stomach started stinging, and his face flushed as the liquid spread through his intestines. He finished another full double shot glass of makgeolli.
***gisaeng: Korean geisha
****makgeolli: Korean traditional liquor
Kim Cheomji's eyes were losing their focus. He started chewing two chunks of grilled rice cakes puffing out his cheeks and ordered another two double shot glasses.
Chisam looked at Kim Cheomji with a puzzled expression, "Hey, you're pouring again? We've already had four glasses each, and those are already forty jeon."
He warned him.
"Hey, doofus, is forty jeon terrifying you? I made a ton of money today. I was really lucky today."
"So, how much did you make?"
"I made thirty won, thirty won! Why didn't you pour me this damned drink... It's okay. It's okay. You can drink as much as you want. I made a ton of money today."
"Oh, you're drunk. Let's stop."
"Hey, doofus! Are you going to get drunk already? Go ahead and have some more!" The drunk man shouted grabbing Chisam's ear. He then lunged at the fifteen-year-old bald-headed boy who was pouring him drinks,
"You son of a bitch, why aren't you getting me drinks?" he scolded. The boy chuckled and winked at Chisam as if questioning him. The drunk, sensing this, flared up in anger, "You motherfucking bastard, you think I have no money!"
He immediately swiped his waistband, pulled out a one-won bill, and flung it in front of the boy. A few silver coins fell with a clatter.
"Hey, You're dropping your money. Why are you throwing money at me?" Chisam spoke, picking up the coins. Even drunk, Kim Cheomji stared down at the ground with wide eyes, as if he were searching for the money. Suddenly, as if he were being too vulgar, he jerked his head, and got even more furious.
"Look, look! You filthy bastards! You think I don't have money? You deserved to get your legs broken!"
He took the coins Chisam had picked up and, shouting, "Money is my enemy! Damned, disastrous money!"
He pitched the coins. The money, hitting the wall, fell back into the brewing pot, making a loud, squeaking sound as if they were being properly beaten.
The two large double shot glasses were gone as soon as they were poured. Kim Cheomji licked the liquor clinging to his lips and beard, then stroked his pine needle-like beard with a look of immense satisfaction, exclaiming, "Pour more, pour more!"
After another drink, Kim Cheomji patted Chisam on the shoulder and burst into hearty laughter. The laughter was so loud that everyone in the tavern turned their attention to Kim Cheomji. But he laughed even louder, "Hey, Chisam, let me tell you a funny story. I went to the station with a passenger today."
"So?"
"I went there and just couldn't get back. So, I was wandering around the tram stop, trying to pick up the next passenger. There, I saw a lady, or maybe a schoolgirl (who knows how to tell a tart from a lady these days?) standing there in the rain, clutching her cloak. I approached her slowly and offered her a rickshaw ride trying carrying her bag, but she shook my hand away and turned around, yelling, 'Why are you bothering me like this?' Her voice was like an oriole's cry, haha!"
Then he mouthed his best attempt at an oriole's song. Everyone in the tavern laughed.
"Damned slick bitch! Who would do anything to her? 'Why are you bothering me!' So low class, haha."
His laughter rose. But before the laughter could even subside, Kim Cheomji began to sob.
Chisam looked at the drunkard in disbelief,
"You're laughing and rambling all at once, and now you're crying?"
Kim Cheomji sniffed,
"My wife's dead."
"What? Your wife died? When?"
"You idiot! when?! Today."
"You're crazy. Stop lying to me."
"Why am I lying? She really died, really... I just left her body at home, and I'm drinking here. I deserve to die, I'm the one who must die!" And Kim Cheomji cried out loud.
Chisam's face, slightly dispirited, asked, "Is this guy telling the truth or lying? Then let's go to your home, let's go."
He grabbed the crying man's arm and pulled him away.
Kim Cheomji shook off Chisam's tugging hand and smiled brightly, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Who said who's dead?" He exclaimed triumphantly. "Why dead? She's still alive and in high spirit. That damn bitch is eating like crazy! I got you!"
He clapped his hands like a child and laughed.
"Is this guy really crazy? I also heard your wife was sick."
Chisam, sensing some anxiety, urged Kim Cheomji to go home.
"She's not dead. I'm telling you. She's okay."
Kim Cheomji shouted with a stern, angry voice, but there was a note in his voice suggesting that he himself was trying to assure himself she wasn't dead. They finally consumed one-won worth of drinks, each having another double shot glass before leaving. The heavy rain continued to fall steadily.
Even drunk, Kim Cheomji bought seolleongtang (ox bone soup) and arrived home.
Of course, it was a rented house, and he wasn't renting the entire house, but a detached room. He paid one won a month under the condition he fetched water for the whole house.
Kim Cheomji would have sensed the terrifying silence that reigned the moment he stepped inside - a silence like the sea after a storm. It would have made his legs tremble if he hadn't been drunk. There was no coughing sound. Or no gurgling breath. Only a deep, weak smacking sound, a baby sucking, broke this grave-like silence—not so much that it shattered it, but that deepened it and made it even more ominous. If your hearing was keen, you could tell that the smacking sound was merely sucking, with no gurgling sound of milk, as the baby was sucking an empty breast.
Or perhaps Kim Cheomji already sensed this ominous silence. Otherwise, it was unusual that, as soon as he entered the door, he shouted, as never before, "You lowlife! You don't even come out when your husband comes home, you damned witch!"
This shouting was full of bravado, a desperate attempt to stave off the terrible premonition that was overtaking him.
Anyhow, Kim Cheomji flung open the door. A nauseating odor—the dust from under a reed mat, the stench of feces and urine from unwashed diapers, the smell of clothes caked with various stains, and the putrid smell of a patient's sweat—stung Kim Cheomji's dull nose.
As he entered the room, without even a moment to set aside the seolleongtang, the drunkard shouted at the top of his lungs.
"This damned bitch, you just lie there all day and night. Even if your husband comes, you can't get up!"
He kicked the leg of the woman lying down violently. But what he was kicking wasn't human flesh, but rather felt like the stump of a tree. At this moment, the gurgling sound turned into a whimper. Gaettongyi let go of the breast he had been sucking and cried. He tried to cry, but it was only grimace frowning his face with expression. The sound of his crying wasn't coming from his lips, but as if from his stomach. His throat was hoarse after crying so hard, and he seemed to have lost all energy to cry.
Kicking her wasn't working, the husband rushed to his wife's bedside, lifted her head, and shook it, saying, "You bitch, speak, speak! You've got a mouth, you fucking witch!"
"..."
"Ugh, look at this. Why aren't you speaking?"
"..."
"You bitch, are you dead? Why aren't you saying anything?"
"..."
"Ugh, no answer again. Are you really dead?"
As soon as he noticed the upturned eyes showing only the whites of her,
"These eyes! These eyes! Why can't you look at me, but only at the ceiling, huh?"
His voice choked up. Then, his tears like chicken droppings, fell from the living man's eyes and trickled down the dead woman's stiff face. Suddenly, Kim Cheomji frantically rubbed his face against the dead woman's, muttering.
"I bought you seolleongtang. Why can't you eat it? Why can't you eat it... Oddly enough, today, I was so lucky..."
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