From Wonso Pond (19 page)

Tokho showed up, smoking a cigarette and flourishing a cane. He was elegantly dressed in silk pants and a silk shirt, with a serge waistcoat worn over them. As soon as the young men saw Tokho, their hearts sank and their heads hung of their own accord. They were anxious, indeed quite shaken, by the thought that he might give them another tongue-lashing.

“All right boys, keep up the good work, you hear? Eat hard, work hard—now that's the kind of man this township needs, I say. Hah, ha . . . you boys don't quite understand, do you? On account of what happened yesterday. But I know it was a just misunderstanding. And besides, now that I'm in charge of the township . . . well, it's my responsibility to step in here and do what I can to make things easier for you.”

Tokho cleared his throat loudly and continued. The young men were standing with their heads hung and their hands folded politely in front of them.

“Whatever may have happened yesterday, I want you boys to understand something. I collect this rice for your sake, not mine. Just try to sell your rice yourselves and to pay back your loans in cash. You'll end up being late with your payments, you won't get a decent price for your rice, and you won't be able to sell it at just the right time to get the best return. That's where I come into the picture—even though I end up losing money, mind you . . . And just why do I lose money? Well, it's as plain as day that the price of rice is dropping, as you all should know can happen. Now, I want to know why on earth you can't get this into your heads? You know, I think of you boys as my own sons, but none of you seem to realize it. Just think about what happened yesterday—if it was anyone else besides me, do you really think they'd have let you go free? When I went down in person and pleaded with the chief of police to release you, I wasn't just thinking about you boys, I was thinking about your families as well. Why can't I get you to realize this? Now, I understand anyone can make a mistake, mind you, but you better be damn well certain this never happens again!”

With a grin on his face, Tokho looked around at the men gathered around him. He could see how moved they were by his words. They looked as limp as blades of grass hit by a frost, and he knew that it was the power of the police station that had done it to them. There's nothing
like the whip, it dawned on him, for bringing imbeciles like these into line.

After Tokho left, the men breathed a bit easier. But they couldn't agree with everything Tokho had said. Setting themselves back to work, they lined up five separate threshers, side to side, and assigned three men to each one. One positioned himself in the middle to keep the mechanism spinning. The other two carried the sheaves of rice to either side of the machine, where they untied them and passed them on to the man spinning the thresher, or else one of them climbed up on top of the stack of sheaves and fed them down, while the other tied up the threshed straw and carried it away.

“Hey, come on! Move it, will you?” Little Buddha shouted to Ch'otchae. Then he snatched an ear of rice from him.

“That idiot! It's all his fault that we got the shit kicked out of us yesterday.” Little Buddha said to Sourstem. Sourstem continued to feed rice into the machine as he spun it.

“Well, that's what happens when a beggar starts thinking too hard. I mean, what rights do you have when you live from hand to mouth? Someone tells you to die, man, and you'd better fall down and play dead.”

Overhearing them talk like this, Ch'otchae tried to hold back the anger flaring inside him. He could feel his insides twisting, and his face went deep red.

Though they had all acted in unison on this threshing ground, it was now Ch'otchae, and Ch'otchae alone, who in the course of a single day had become the target of everyone's resentment. More than the abuse he received from Tokho, more than the beating he had gotten from the police last night, it was the animosity of his friends that almost moved Ch'otchae to tears. He found himself overcome by the loneliness of a man walking by himself on a dark road at night. He stared absentmindedly at the freshly harvested rice in front of him. There had once been a time when he'd looked at stacked rice like this with such joy in his heart . . . Just then, a policeman approached from the distance.

44

Ch'otchae panicked. It seemed as though the policeman had somehow read his mind and was coming to catch him. He crouched down and
fumbled through the rice stalks for a while. Only when he heard the sound of the man's sword grow distant did he feel relieved enough to look around. The policeman's sword, still clanging with each step he took, flashed in the sunlight. He had just met Tokho, and they were coming back in this direction. Ch'otchae was again struck by the fear that had seized him moments earlier. But the two men passed right by, casting only a whiff of cigarette smoke in his direction. They were talking with interest about something or other, then broke out into laughter.

“Hey, you pedal for a while,” Little Buddha called to Ch'otchae as he stepped away from the thresher. Ch'otchae quickly came over. Cranking the pedal of the thresher with a single foot, he fed into the thresher each of the bundles of rice that Little Buddha handed him. He happened to look up, and there were Tokho and the policeman, sitting in the township office and looking right down on him through the glass window. No wonder Little Buddha moved away from the thresher, he realized. He couldn't bear facing them! Ch'otchae quickly hung his head, convinced that the two men were staring straight at him and discussing whether or not to take him to the station.

Grains of rice flying out of the machine lightly pelted his face as they dropped to the ground. He found the current of air created by the revolving wheel of the thresher annoying—it made him shiver. Yet this was the very same breeze he had once thought so refreshing . . .

“Hey, I want a smoke!” said Little Buddha.

Ch'otchae, too, felt a craving for a cigarette, and he looked at Little Buddha. Everyone stopped working for a second or two and exchanged glances—as though they had actually agreed to stop at the same time. They could see in each other's eyes how much they all wanted to smoke, but they were so afraid of being singled out by the gaze of the men in the township office that not one of them dared to take a break. Each sighed deeply and hung his head, and watched the falling grains of rice steadily pile up on the ground. Here they were dying for a single puff on a cigarette, and all that grain they'd worked so hard to grow was bound straight for Tokho's metal storehouse. The thought stirred inside them the same emotions that had led them to smash his cart the day before.

Look at that pile of rice covering the entire threshing ground! Look at those tiny little beards, like the yellow feathers of a baby chick, sticking out of each grain and pointing up to the sky! To them, each and every grain looked so beautiful, so brilliant. But now this rice was on its
way into Tokho's storehouse before they had the satisfaction of touching it.

At home, the children would say, “Daddy, do we get to eat white rice today?”

They would cling to their Daddies when they came home today and whisper these words in their ears. But what could the men say to their children now! You'll get white rice come fall!—is what they'd promised all summer long. But now that autumn was here what could they say? When the men looked down at the rice with these thoughts on their minds, the grains seemed like tiny arrows stabbing at their hearts.

Their thoughts drifted back to what had happened yesterday, and they all turned to look at Ch'otchae. But then they noticed Tokho and the policeman walking toward them. Once again, their hearts began pounding, and they forgot what had just been on their minds. Tokho went into his house with the policeman, and they all heaved a deep sigh of relief. Their thoughts drifted away again, and they stared out at Mount Pult'a. That mountain would be covered in snow again before long. . . What in the world, they all wondered, will we have to eat then?

Mount Pult'a on a clear, crisp fall day. That deep blue sky racing above it. Ch'otchae gazed silently into the sky, and he suddenly remembered the words of the chief of police who had rounded them up last night: “Looks like I'm going to have to teach you all something about the law.”

“The law . . . the law,” muttered Ch'otchae. “There are laws that will get you killed if you break them—isn't that what he said?”

Ch'otchae didn't know exactly what the law was, but he did know that people had traditionally held it to be sacred and unbreakable, and he himself still thought of it in these terms; but as he tried going over everything that had happened yesterday, a real sense of confusion about the law filled his mind. It was like a tangled knot of thread he couldn't manage to unravel.

“How was fighting against Tokho yesterday breaking the law? The law . . . the law . . .”

He muttered the words several times under his breath. The more he tried thinking about it, the more frustrated he became. He couldn't quite untangle this knot of confusion.

Then Little Buddha turned around to him.

“What in hell's name is he mumbling about now?”

Ch'otchae, too, had been surprised by the sound of his own voice, and he quickly hung his head.

45

It was early winter, just after the harvest. The county magistrate had come in from town and sent word to have all the farmers gather to hear him give a talk. It was the county magistrate, after all, so they all assumed that they had no choice but to drop whatever they happened to be busy working on. They were afraid that if they didn't, they might have to pay a fine, so every one of them turned up.

The farmers managed to squeeze inside the township office, which must have been a good eighty square yards in size. On the platform sat the county magistrate, and Tokho as mayor of the township, and next to them sat the township clerks. The farmers all stared wide-eyed at the fat man in the suit who had just been appointed county magistrate. First Tokho came forward and very simply introduced the county magistrate to the farmers. Then the magistrate came forward, and after clearing his throat a few times, began to speak.

“Now, let me see . . . The township office has, no doubt, already told you of the purpose of my visit today. I'm here in order to take a look around the county in my capacity as new county magistrate, but also to do my best to reach out to all of you in a sincere way.

“In this land of ours called Choson, ah . . . farmers make up over eighty percent of the population. The truth is that the destiny of our great nation has always depended on the fortunes of our farmers. Has it not been said since ages past that farming is the very foundation of the world beneath the heavens?”

Never before had they heard such praise for farmers like themselves come from the lips of such an important official. Nothing could have described how moved they were by his speech.

“Now, it goes without saying that we all need to work diligently when it comes to farming, but ah . . . let me also emphasize that there are several methods to go about doing this. The traditional farmer was under the impression that his duty was to weed the fields quietly, but this was where he went wrong. The farmer must now ask himself: How can I make my paddies yield the most grain? How can I make a small paddy yield as much grain as a big one? In other words, he must go
about his work with a firm grasp on the best methods of farming. So . . . for example, ah . . . let's say we have a certain job we need to get done. If we want to find the best man for the job, we have to think about the particular talents of each of our workers, don't we? Well, the same principle applies to farming as well. How much grain you end up harvesting depends on whether you've planted the right sort of crop in the right sort of field. If you plant millet or upland rice in a field that's best suited for sorghum or beans, you can't very well expect to have a good harvest. So what I'm saying is that before you plant your crops you've got to figure out which fields are best for which crops. And, ah . . . Oh, then of course there's the matter of compost. The best thing you can do for your fields is to prepare as much compost as possible and work it into the fields come spring. Now, if you all worked just a little bit harder . . . ah, well, what I mean is that you need take advantage of your break time. Cut down a bit of grass and pile it up from time to time, so that after a while you'll have a good heap of matured compost. By spring, I'll tell you, it'll be mighty fine fertilizer. Why take the trouble of going into town to buy chemical fertilizer and lugging it all the way back here when you can make it for yourself in your own backyard?”

That he had gone to the trouble of figuring out the precise logistics of farming made them all feel an incredible sense of gratitude toward the man. They looked around the room at each other, their mouths practically agape.

“Ah . . . and you also should wear dyed clothing. One of the reasons why the people of Choson are so poor is that we've always worn white clothes. Please get yourself some properly dyed clothes as soon as possible. When you wear white clothes, you've got to keep washing them, which, first of all, is a waste of time, and second of all, wears them out too quickly. And . . . don't wear rubber shoes, either. Make use of your free time to weave straw sandals. Now, one last thing. Please economize when it comes to spending money on ceremonies, marriages, and funerals. Mind you, if you follow this advice, I'm sure you'll all be rich men one day. What do you think about that?” he chuckled.

The farmers all laughed as well. It really seemed as though, if they only did what the county magistrate told them to do, they'd soon be living the good life—maybe starting as early as the next year.

“Oh, yes, and one more thing . . . I just want to emphasize, finally, how much effort we've invested in making the township an institution
that works to help you all enjoy a richer, healthier life here in the village. So it's wrong for anyone to dismiss the importance of the township office in any way. The land taxes, the household taxes and the various other fees that the township collects from you are used expressly in an effort to create a better life for you. And that's why it's so imperative that you pay all your taxes down to the last dime. Well, I have many more things to say that will have to wait until next time, but let me leave you with the simple request that you please follow the guidance of the township office.”