Tales of a Korean Grandmother (4 page)

STICKS
AND
TURNIPS!
STICKS
AND
TURNIPS!

I
T WAS
kimchee
time once again. In the courtyard the crisp, cool autumn air was heavy with the savory smell of this good cabbage pickle, which every Korean liked so well to eat with his rice.

When each little eating table was prepared in the kitchens of the Kims and their neighbors, the main bowl upon it was heaped high with fluffy, steaming hot rice. In the other bowls ringed about this one, there might sometimes be soy sauce or bean soup, sometimes seaweed cooked in oil, sometimes dried salted fish, or even meat stew. But there was always one bowl filled with spicy
kimchee.

Now, at
kimchee
time the courtyards of the Kims were carpeted with long, thin heads of Chinese cabbage. Westerners call this celery cabbage because of its white stalks topped with pale green. Huge piles of turnips and onions, strings of garlic and ginger, and bundles of strong salt fish also were there.

Ok Cha and the other little girls of the household tagged behind their grandmother while she supervised the women who were washing and soaking the vegetables in salt water. The children liked to peer over the rim of the great
kimchee
jars to see how nearly full they were. It was dark on the bottoms of the jars, a full six feet below the level of the courtyard. Like the water jars, they were sunk deep in the earth to keep them from freezing.

"Ai,
take care, Ok Cha! You are not a red pepper. Nor yet a fat turnip to be mixed with the
kimchee!"
Halmoni cried out, seizing the rosy red skirt of the child as she almost lost her balance. She was just in time to save her from a headlong dive into the huge pottery pit.

The old woman led the little girl away to safety on the other side of the courtyard, where Yong Tu and his cousins were carving giant turnips into little round lanterns. The boys had beside them slender rods cut from the bamboo in the Garden of Green Gems. On these little sticks they hung their turnip lanterns, when they had pasted bits of kite paper over the holes dug in their sides.

The Korean grandmother was tired. She was glad to sit down on the nearest veranda step and watch her grandsons at their work.

"Sticks and turnips! Sticks and turnips!" the old woman murmured, shaking her head solemnly, but with a twinkle in her dark eyes. "Take care, my sons. Take care you don't turn someone into an ox."

"Turn someone into an ox, Halmoni?" Yong Tu asked, wondering. "How could that be? And what have sticks and turnips to do with such a strange happening?"

"It's an old tale about a farmer, blessed boy," Halmoni replied. "A farmer who took revenge on a city official who tricked him. It all happened long, long ago. Who can tell whether it really happened at all? But the tale goes like this--

"There was a farmer named Cho who had had years of good luck in his rice fields. Such good luck was his that he had many huge chests filled with long strings of cash. But like many another fortunate man, he was not content with his lot. Cho grew tired of plowing his fields and harvesting the good rice. He longed for the softer, easier life of the capital city of Seoul."

"'Now if I could only buy for myself an official's hat, I could grow even richer,' Cho said to his family. Then, as now, my children, it was always the government officials who grew rich. They handled the money the people paid in taxes into the King's treasury. Of course a good deal of that money went into their own brassbound chests. They called this their rightful 'squeeze.'

"Hué,
that farmer came up to Seoul. He straightway sought out the Prime Minister to ask for a good position at the King's court. Cho made the Minister many rich presents. He went every day to the Minister's courtyard to plead his case.

"'Perhaps tomorrow,' the Minister said every time Cho laid a gift at his feet. But that tomorrow never came. One year—two years—three years—and four. Again and again, Cho sent home for more money out of his cash chests. One does not eat for nothing here in the capital.

"Then one day there came word that his cash chests were all empty. His rice fields were neglected. His house would have to be sold. His family were starving.

"'Help me to the position now, Honorable Sir,' Cho pleaded with the Minister. 'My cash chests are empty. I shall have to give up and go home.'

"But the Minister only shook his head and again said, 'Perhaps tomorrow.'

"Cho turned away from that Minister with rage in his heart. He vowed he'd get even somehow and sometime.

"On his journey home Cho took shelter one night under the grass roof of an old country couple. They made him welcome. They shared their rice and their
kimchee
with him. They gave him the warmest part of the floor to sleep upon. But as the sun rose and the cock crew, Cho, half-awake, heard them talking above him.

"'It is now time to take the ox to the market,' the old man said to his wife. 'Get me the halter.' And he began to tap Cho lightly all over his body with four little sticks. Cho tried to cry out, but to his surprise the only noise he could make was the bellow of an ox. When he rose from the floor, he found himself standing on all fours, and the old woman was putting a ring in his nose. As he went out of the hut, he had to take care lest his horns catch in the doorposts. The poor man had been turned into a great hairy ox.

"As he was led along the highway by the ring in his nose, Cho's heart was filled with dismay at the trick that had been played upon him. He was the finest and fattest among the many animals at the cattle market, but his owner asked such a high price that at first none could buy. Finally there came a butcher who had tarried too long in a wineshop. His senses were dull, and he paid the high price. Then he led poor Cho away to be killed.

"Fortunately for Cho, the road they took passed another wineshop. There the drunken butcher tied his prize ox to a stake, so that he might go in and have just one more bowl of
sool.

"Cho himself was hungry, and thirsty, too. And just across the road from the wineshop there was a field of fine turnips. With his great strength the ox-man was able to pull the stake out of the ground and to break his way through the roadside hedge. He pulled up a juicy turnip and sank his teeth into it.

"As he munched, Cho's hairy hide began to itch. His great body began to shake. He rose up on his hind legs. When he looked down at his hands and feet, he saw to his delight that he was a man again. Cho walked out into the road, where he met the drunken butcher, who begged him to tell him if he had seen his lost ox.

"As Cho turned his face again towards home, he said to himself, 'Sticks and turnips! Sticks and turnips! That is the secret. And if I can just get hold of those magic sticks, I can take my revenge upon that selfish Prime Minister.'

"Going back to the hut of the old country couple, he was welcomed as before. But this time, as soon as they were asleep, he began his search for the four magic sticks. Long before the sun rose and the cock crew, Cho crept out of the house with the sticks hidden in his sleeve. All the way back to Seoul, lest he should forget, he kept saying to himself over and over again, 'Sticks and turnips! Sticks and turnips ! That is the secret."

"Now Cho knew well the sleeping room of the official. The gates were unlocked, and the doors stood wide open. In the bright moonlight he had no trouble at all in creeping in to his victim.

"With two of the little sticks he began to tap the sleeping Prime Minister. With wicked delight he watched the man's hands turn into hoofs and horns sprout from his forehead. But the Minister began to stir before Cho could use the other two sticks on his legs. He had to hurry away with his task only half done.

"When the moon gave place to the sun in the heavens, there was panic in the Minister's household. 'Our Master can only bellow like an ox. There are horns on his head and hoofs where his hands should be. His head and his shoulders are covered with ox hide.' This awful news spread over the countryside like leaves in an autumn wind.

"The servants ran forth to summon a famous doctor. He came in his fine chair, borne on the shoulders of four men. But he could do nothing for the bewitched Minister.

"They next sent for a sorceress, the most famous
mudang
in all the city. Out at the grave of the Minister's ancestors she wailed and she howled, she danced and she rolled about on the ground. She prayed and she prayed, but no help came to the Minister, who now was half ox.

"It was then that the rice farmer Cho arrived once again at the Prime Minister's gate. He pretended to be surprised and shocked when he heard of the great man's curious plight.

"'I can cure the Great Man,' he said to the Prime Minister when the family led him in to see the ox-man. We had a case once like yours in my village. I surely can cure you, but the price is the position for which I have begged you so long.'

"The ox-man bellowed consent, and the family promised that whatever Cho asked should be given him. Then the rice farmer went out to the market. He bought several turnips, which he dried in an oven until they could be ground to a powder. Everyone gathered to watch the Prime Minister lap up the turnip medicine' with his great ox's tongue. There were cries of delight when the horns and the hoofs grew smaller and smaller. Together with the ox head and hide, they soon disappeared.

"As soon as the Prime Minister was restored to his former self, he brought forth many strings of cash for his savior. Cho was given an important position at the court. He was granted the right to wear an official's hat with a jade button in his topknot. An official's gown, embroidered with the golden dragon, was brought for him. A tiger's skin covered the roof of his sedan chair. Fame and fortune were his, and all because of his finding the curious secret of the magic 'Sticks and turnips!'"

THE
TIGER
AND
THE
PUPPY

T
HAT
hole in our gate is a very good thing, Halmoni," Yong Tu said when his grandmother had finished her tale. "It lets Dog pass through, but it keeps bad people out."

"Yé,
Dragon Head," the old woman replied. "And it's too small for a tiger. That's what the puppy found out. By means of the doghole he saved his village when all the wise men and all the brave hunters had failed."

The children moved closer to their grandmother. Here was a new story about a tiger. There was nothing that made the shivers go up and down their backs so delightfully as tales about this mighty King of the Mountains.

Korean tigers are larger than their brothers in warmer countries. The soft fur of their tawny coats is thicker and longer, so as to protect them from the sharp winter cold of the high mountain sides on which they live.

Especially in the north, in those times, these huge yellow-and-black beasts were the terror of the countrysides. In the summer they fed upon the mountain deer and the little sucklings of the wild boar. But when the winter came and game was scarce in those rocky hills, the tigers crept down into the valleys. They prowled through the villages and even crept into the cities. Yong Tu and Ok Cha could themselves remember when a tiger once made its way into the very courtyards of the Emperor's palace in Seoul.

"To this village in the north," Halmoni began her story, "there came one winter a great tiger, far bigger than any those people ever had seen. Strong was this beast, strong enough to carry off a grown man. And carry off a man it did, a man who was foolish enough to go out on the village street after night had fallen. Cows were not safe from that tiger, and pigs disappeared unless they were shut up tight inside the strong walls of the village courtyards.

"'We must set traps for Mountain Uncle,' said the head official of the village. And they dug a pit at each end of the village street. Over these deep yawning holes they laid small logs and branches. They covered them lightly with earth and leaves, to deceive the great beast. When he walked across them, he would surely fall in.

"But the tiger seemed to know about the hidden traps. He did not walk across them. Even when they were baited with live pigs, he did not go near them. Yet the village people could tell that he still came. The head official himself was frightened almost out of his wits by the sound of that tiger clawing away at the grass thatch on his roof. Only by good luck and by shouting, and by beating on brass pots, did he succeed in driving the great beast away.

"'We must call out the hunters from all the countryside,' the village people said next. The tiger hunters came, in their blue uniforms and their red-tasseled hats. Their matchlock guns were slung over their shoulders. Their deer-horn cases were filled with bullets, and their oilpaper packets of gunpowder were safe and dry inside their sleeves. They did not forget to wind around their arms the long cords which could be fired to set the guns off. Walking swiftly and softly on their straw sandals, they started out for the hills.

"The village official saw the hunters depart with relief," the Korean grandmother continued. "Surely such a band of strong brave men would find the tiger. They would beat about in the bushes until he came forth. They would wound him with their guns and finish him off with their spears. Then his precious soft skin would be the prize of the village official himself. The hunters could have the tiger meat to eat. He might also let them have the bones, teeth, and claws to sell to the medicine makers."

In Korea, in those times, powders made of tiger bones, tiger teeth, and tiger claws were highly prized. The ancient warriors swallowed these medicines to give them strength and courage such as only a tiger possesses. Halmoni herself always took a tiger-bone tonic in the spring when she felt weak and tired.

"Did the hunters catch the tiger, Halmoni?" Ok Cha said, almost holding her breath in excitement.

"No, baby dear, they came back empty-handed. Perhaps it was because the beaters
were afraid to go into the deepest parts of the forest. Or perhaps Old Mountain Uncle was once more too smart for them.

"'Let us put a new picture of Honorable White Whiskers in the spirit shrine outside the village,' the people said. 'Let us call on the spirit of Tu-ee, that great enemy of the tiger. He will help us drive him away.'

"That night, at the slightest sound, the villagers would run out into their courtyards, crying, Tu-ee is coming! Tu-ee! Tu-ee!' But the bloody feathers of some chickens that had strayed out of their courtyard showed that the King of the Mountains had been there once again, in spite of their calling upon his spirit foe.

"So frightened of the dreaded tiger were the people of the village that they all hid inside their houses at night. They shut up their animals, and when the yellow and black beast stalked down the road, not a living creature was to be seen. Not one, that is, until on a certain night a foolish puppy left the side of its mother inside the stable and crept out to the gate.

"It was winter, and the great tiger was hungry. When he saw the head of the little dog thrust through the gate hole, the beast licked its chops. With a bound he made for the hole, but it was, of course, far too small for him to force his huge body through.

"Ordinarily, a tiger would not have bothered with a morsel so small as this puppy. Nothing less than a cow or a pig or a man would have attracted his notice. But the village folk had been so watchful that he had had no food in days, and his stomach was empty.

"Lashing his great tail and snarling deep down in his throat, he fixed his flaming eyes on the mud wall before him, beyond which his prey lay. The mud wall was high, and there were sharp, jagged rocks along its top. But the tiger thought he could leap it. Gathering his strength, he made one mighty bound. And over he went.

"But no puppy was there. With a sharp yip of terror the little dog had run out through the gate hole into the street. The tiger could only see the tip of his tail.

"There was nothing for Mountain Uncle to do but to leap over the wall after him. With another great effort the yellow-and-black tiger made the high jump. But, of course, this time again he found no puppy there. The little fellow had wisely run back inside the gate."

The children laughed in delight at the picture their grandmother painted of the tiger leaping back and forth, back and forth, and of the puppy running in and out, in and out, of the gate hole.

"That was good, Halmoni," Yong Tu cried.

"And what finally happened?" Ok Cha asked eagerly.

"What finally happened? Well, as you all know, there is no braver beast than a fierce tiger, nor one more stubborn. But the tiger's great head can hold only a single idea at a time, and this beast thought of nothing but of his own hunger. Over and over the high wall he leaped, over and over, until at last his strong heart gave out. And that's how it was, so this story goes, that next morning the villagers found the tiger lying dead outside in the street, and the little puppy fast asleep in the hole in the gate.

"Half the year the Koreans hunt the tiger, and half the year the tiger hunts the Koreans, so the Chinese say," Halmoni told her grandchildren. "When a tiger kills one of our hunters, the man's soul becomes the slave of the beast. His spirit is forced to take on again his human form. He walks along the mountain path and lures other hunters into the thickets where the tiger can kill them. Only when a second man is eaten by the tiger, may the soul of the first one go freely up to the Heavenly Kingdom."

This Korean grandmother remembered tales of men who turned into tigers and of tigers which turned into men. In all the tales the tiger was strong and the tiger was brave. That is why on the Korean flags of those times there was often a tiger with a flaming tongue, or with a firebrand in his claw. That is why tiger heads were embroidered on the caps of the palace guards. That is why, too, these leaping beasts were shown in the designs on embroidered screens and inlaid chests of
yangban
homes like the Kims'.

But in most of Halmoni's stories, also, the tiger was shown to be far less wise than he was strong. That is the reason, so this Korean grandmother said, why a weak little puppy was able to get the best of the mighty King of the Mountains.

Ancient Korean warriors swallowed medicines made of powdered tiger bones to give them more courage and strength.