by Hwang Sunwon
Instinctively Hyŏnse glanced about at the refugees spread out on the floor, in front of him and in back. An image came to mind, stark and clear, of each of these refugees bundling up belongings and setting out for who knew where. If this scene became reality, then no matter how intimidating Elder Kim’s words, Hyŏnse would speak out on behalf of the refugees, even at the risk of danger to himself. Please be patient just a little while longer, he would say. And Elder Kim would most likely say, Brothers and sisters, have sympathy for this old man. Have sympathy for this old man who is the same blood as you, this old man who cannot sleep on account of you, my brothers and sisters. Elder Kim had an unusually prominent adam’s apple. It made him resemble someone—who was it? Yes—just like Tugap’s mouth resembled that of a toad, Elder Kim with his rimless glasses and his paunch swelling out to the sides was the very image of a toad. The strange thing was, his resemblance to a toad somehow made Elder Kim seem even more dignified. By now Hyŏnse felt incapable of speaking up by himself after all, and instead he gazed around at his fellow refugees, intending to ask their support. But all he saw was an empty interior—all had packed their belongings and disappeared. Nothing for Hyŏnse to do but beg as he had never begged before: They have all left, we are the only ones here, please be patient just a little while longer, my wife will have a baby within the month and we can’t live out on the streets. But all Elder Kim said, his voice as dignified as always, was, Have sympathy for me, brother, have sympathy for this old man. And below his prominent adam’s apple, his toad belly was getting larger and larger. If it kept growing it would fill the entire ground floor of this Western-style house.
Hyŏnse bolted up to a sitting position. Perspiration had soaked his shirt. Someone was moaning. He had to leave.
Once outside, Hyŏnse set out for Samch’ŏng-dong. The realtor’s office was just where Tugap had said it would be—on the left, not far past the entrance to Samch’ŏng-dong, marked by a gate bearing a worn piece of fabric reading REALTOR. Hyŏnse opened the gate, and there on the veranda sat an elderly man, clean-shaven and not bewhiskered like other men his age, his head jerking down and then back up as he tried to keep from nodding off. The man straightened at the sound of his visitor and acknowledged Hyŏnse.
“Would there be a house for sale in this area?” Hyŏnse asked almost before he realized it.
“Certainly.” Donning a pair of spectacles, the man regarded Hyŏnse. “A very fine house is available. It has nice spacious rooms; would you care to see it?” And with that he led the way outside.
Hyŏnse followed the elderly broker up a street bordered on the right by a stream. The streamside was dotted with housewives doing their laundry in the clear water. A perfect place to do the wash was his first impression.
They turned away from the stream and went up an alley. Where the alley came to an end they turned right into another alley, and there, higher still, sat a house on an outcropping. Below was the stream, and into it rushed a cataract.
The elderly broker, seeing Hyŏnse’s eyes travel from the stream to the pine grove facing them, said, “Well? People were meant to live here, don’t you think? You know that Samch’ŏng means ‘three-clean,’ right? Clean hills and clean water make clean people . . . it’s such a nice place to live.” The man observed Hyŏnse, gauging the effect of his words.
Hyŏnse was feeling the uphill trudge, and his only thought was that the house they were to visit had better appear before too long.
Finally they arrived at a gate that was a couple of houses before the very end of the alley. The realtor went inside, but Hyŏnse could not bring himself to follow just then. Only when the realtor called him did Hyŏnse step through the gate.
Fortunately the owner of the dwelling did not present himself. There was only a woman at the soy-crock terrace, one of the tenants perhaps, glancing at Hyŏnse; she seemed to be sizing him up. He couldn’t let on that he was play-acting, so he gathered his hands behind his back as a gentleman would do and proceeded to look about. The house must have been built some time ago, and for a building of that age, the quality of the wood left something to be desired. Because of the construction work he had done, these were the first things Hyŏnse tended to notice in a house.
The realtor gave Hyŏnse a detailed tour, pointing out the lived-in rooms, the kitchen, and the toilet. As the man’s words buzzed about Hyŏnse’s ears, he couldn’t help wishing that he and his family could move in then and there, and thinking he’d gladly take the room across the veranda or even settle for the room next to the gate.
The realtor then took Hyŏnse out back, and there he found a yard, albeit a cramped one, with a small gate that opened onto a steep path. They followed the path down to a spring. The water came up from beneath a large rock and could be scooped with a gourd dipper.
A girl was there fetching water and the elderly realtor borrowed her dipper, scooped, and tasted. “That’s good water!” So saying, he offered the dipper to a thirsty Hyŏnse, who took several gulps. As soon as the dipper had left Hyŏnse’s lips the realtor asked, “Not bad, eh? This isn’t just any old spring—it never runs dry even in a bad drought. People come a long ways to drink this water. Compared with a spring like this, tap water—god, how can they call it tap water when more days than not nothing comes out!”
By now the realtor must have worked up a thirst himself, for he scooped water and gulped it noisily. “That’s goooood! Just as fresh now as the first time I tasted it.” The old man was growing more exclamatory by the minute.
Back up the path they went, through the back gate, and around the house, emerging into the alley.
“This here is a temple.” The realtor paused at a place Hyŏnse remembered having seen on the way to the house, and indicated a building with multicolored eaves. “Perfect spot for it. Wonderful location. Behind it you can imagine the hills spreading out like a folding screen. Clear spring water. You could look the rest of your life and never find such a blessed spot.”
As the elderly realtor looked up to scan the surroundings, a bald spot the size of a small dish on the crown of his head came into view. Hyŏnse noticed beads of perspiration there. The realtor didn’t have an easy time of it, Hyŏnse told himself, having to make a living by his gift of gab.
“How much are they asking back there?” said Hyŏnse in an effort to get moving.
The realtor set out again. “That’s the thing—it comes with a good price too. They’re asking eleven thousand a k’an, and these days you can’t buy a decent house downtown for less than fifteen thousand.” And then he gave Hyŏnse a backward look as if to say, You probably knew that already, since you’re in the market for a house. “But I’ll see if I can get you that house for ten thousand a k’an.”
“Are you saying the difference between this house and one downtown is only five thousand?” asked Hyŏnse. “You’d have to walk miles to catch the streetcar from here—people with money won’t want to do that. Besides, the house needs some work.”
“And that’s why I said I’d get it for you for ten thousand a k’an. If it was a new house, it wouldn’t be worth any less than houses downtown. You’ve got clean air, clean water; why, you wouldn’t believe how many people have bought houses here. If you figure on buying, then do it—don’t lose out to someone else. So, at ten thousand a k’an the price would be a hundred and twenty thousand wŏn.”
Hyŏnse realized he had to say something to keep the act going. “Well, if it was a hundred thousand I might consider it.”
“I’m afraid there’s no chance of that.” The realtor arrived at his house and came to a stop. “In any event, let’s take care of the earnest money. Once that’s done, the seller will negotiate in good faith.”
“Let me give it some thought,” said Hyŏnse, to give the impression that he was done for the day.
Whereupon the realtor seemed to realize that he should back off for the time being, and changed the subject. “Say, where are you headed? If you’re going in the direction of Chongno I can s
how you a shortcut. Follow me if you will.” And off he went.
When they reached the street that led to Anguk-dong the realtor said, “Let’s take care of the earnest money tomorrow at the latest. Then we can get down to business and find out how much that house is really worth.”
It was obvious to Hyŏnse that the realtor had offered to show him this shortcut in order to repeat those words.
By the time Hyŏnse walked into the tearoom in Chin’gogae where he was supposed to meet Tugap, he was a sweaty mess. It was as if all the liquid he had taken in as spring water had passed out of him as perspiration. Tugap had yet to arrive, though the appointed hour of one o’clock had passed.
The serving girl came to take his order.
This time Hyŏnse was ready. “Milk.”
He drank it down but it was hardly satisfying. When some time later Tugap had still not arrived, Hyŏnse got to thinking: that toad-faced asshole was scheming; Tugap had played him for a fool, hadn’t he? And if that was the case then he’d just wasted fifteen wŏn on a glass of milk that hadn’t begun to fill his stomach. Fifteen wŏn— that would buy a small sack of potatoes. And a small sack of potatoes would be enough for his entire family to live on for a day. These thoughts occupied him for a time, and finally there was Tugap, flinging open the door and swaggering in, shoulders pumping up and down.
After Tugap had greeted some of the other customers, his toadlike mouth forming a beaming smile, he came to Hyŏnse. “Must be fixing to rain—it’s damn humid.” And with that he removed his suit jacket and hung it on his chair, then mopped his neck and forehead with his handkerchief.
“I was just at the house.”
That’s good, thought Hyŏnse. Now he wouldn’t have to repeat details that Tugap must know by now.
Tugap produced the familiar folding fan and heaved a sigh as he fanned himself. His breath reeked of grilled beef, garlic, and soju. Hyŏnse found himself thinking that the woods behind that house wouldn’t be a bad place to have a hunk of meat and a bottle of soju, and he wondered if perhaps Tugap had been there the previous day drinking with the owner.
“Let’s get you a drink,” said Tugap. “I already had some, just before I came here.”
“I had a glass of milk while I was waiting for you.”
“All right, then.” Tugap reached inside his suit jacket and came out with a check, which he placed before Hyŏnse. “That there’s your earnest money.”
Hyŏnse picked up the check. It was for ten thousand wŏn.
“I tell you, these Seoul people don’t miss a thing,” said Tugap. “See that line there? That means that even if you happen to lose this check, all you have to do is call the bank and they’ll take care of it.”
Not just people in Seoul but probably anybody would take that kind of precaution when dealing with a lot of money, Hyŏnse told himself. And so what Tugap really meant was not that Seoul people “don’t miss a thing”; rather, he wanted Hyŏnse to know that he shouldn’t get any notions about that check. Actually, if the check were Tugap’s and not the homeowner’s, how much money could Tugap be expected to trust Hyŏnse with? A few hundred wŏn? Forget it. Maybe twenty or thirty at the most.
“So, no later than tomorrow you go there and sign the purchase agreement. Now here’s what you have to remember. You have to make sure there’s a clause in the agreement that says the house has to be completely vacated before you pay the balance of the money. And you have to say it’s a joint purchase by you and some fellow refugees and you need all the rooms. For the move-out date, make it as soon as possible—say that as of now, you don’t have anyplace to live. In return you pretend you’ll pay the asking price. In any event, you don’t let anyone suspect you’re putting on an act. So tomorrow, after you sign the purchase agreement come back here. I drop in around one o’clock, every day. And of course I’ll go to the house beforehand to make sure the purchase agreement’s been signed. And then on the day you pay the balance, we’ll meet here at ten in the morning.”
The following day Hyŏnse went back to Samch’ŏng-dong. But instead of going to the realtor’s he went straight up to the house. He had to show the renters that he was taking another look at the house and get them thinking about moving if he ended up signing a purchase agreement that day.
Hyŏnse entered the yard as the realtor had done the previous day, and announced he was there to look at the house. A door slid open and a girl who must have been about ten told Hyŏnse that the grownups had gone out. This was fortunate, as Hyŏnse was not looking forward to meeting the owner. It seemed the renters were also gone, leaving only this girl at the house. Hyŏnse had seen a relief station on his way up and thought that perhaps the grown-ups were part of the long line waiting there for food rations.
Thinking that all his huffing and puffing had been in vain, Hyŏnse was about to leave when the door to the room across the veranda slid open and the head of an elderly woman poked out. She seemed to have been sick in bed, for her hair was disheveled. Her long neck was serpentine.
“I came to look at the house.”
“I see.”
“I was looking at it yesterday and I noticed it’s kind of run-down.” Hyŏnse was so tired from the uphill walk that he sat down unbidden at the edge of the veranda in front of the opened door. He spoke so that the girl couldn’t hear him: “Are there any places where the floor has settled?”
“We haven’t noticed any water in the flues, if that’s what you mean. You sound like you’re from the north.”
“Yes, from P’yeyang, originally,” said Hyŏnse, using the dialect word for Pyongyang. “We were refugees in North China, and now we’re back here. There are several of us who don’t have a place to live and we thought we’d go in on a house together.” He said this almost before he realized it.
“I seeeee.” The old woman nodded, head bobbing on her elongated neck, and then she too lowered her voice lest the girl hear: “The floor hasn’t sunk, but the room’s a mess. During the monsoons last year the rainwater didn’t all drain—there were puddles inside—you can imagine.”
It seemed the old woman was letting Hyŏnse in on a secret, but it also appeared she was saying this in hope that the sale would not go through and she and her family would not have to move.
But a structural defect in the house was no concern of his, Hyŏnse thought on his way back home.
It was very humid and Hyŏnse felt rain in the air in addition to the heat. Having to walk to the house and back didn’t help matters. It wasn’t really that much of an uphill walk, but he could see how it would be difficult for someone who didn’t get three square meals a day.
He arrived at the realtor’s hoping only that the owner of the house would hurry up and return home. He found the elderly realtor sitting on his veranda.
“Come on in. It looks like you’ve been up there already—that didn’t take long.”
So, the realtor must have seen him passing by on his way up to the house.
“The thing is, there’s been a lot of damage from the monsoons. The rainwater pours right in.” This was the issue that Hyŏnse was most curious about.
“Who says? Was it old Snake Neck?”
Didn’t take long for him to figure that out, thought Hyŏnse. Amazing how people’s minds tend to work in similar ways.
“Old Snake Neck knows she has to move if the house is sold. She’s pulling a fast one on you so you won’t buy. You believe everything you hear and you’ll end up without a house. Shilly-shally around and someone else will buy it right from under your nose.”
“Still, you need to mention those defects so we can get the owner to lower the price. Anyway, I’m going to trust you with the earnest money. You see, we P’yeyang people are up front about things.”
Hyŏnse took out the check. The realtor accepted it, took one look, then pocketed it as if Hyŏnse might ask for it back.
“Now we’re in business.”
“All right, now, about the move-out date for the renters, do your best to mak
e it soon. Because it’s not just me, there’s a group of us, and at the moment we don’t have a place to live.”
“I understand. I’ll go see the owner when he’s home.” The realtor rose to his feet.
“I don’t think he’s home,” said Hyŏnse.
“I saw him heading home just before you arrived,” said the realtor, and with that he hurried out the gate and was gone.
That meant he himself must have crossed paths with the owner, thought Hyŏnse, but he couldn’t recall having encountered anyone on his way here. But the next moment he was telling himself he had in fact come across several people. He couldn’t figure it out. In any event, now that the owner was back home, everything would be fine. Darn, it’s sticky, Hyŏnse thought, what we need is a good old downpour to cool things off. He sat for a time, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, then heard the realtor returning.
“Wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you.” The realtor heaved a sigh before displaying for Hyŏnse a purchase agreement and a receipt for the earnest money.
“He said he wouldn’t budge from a hundred twenty, not one copper, no sir. I told him it’s hard to get anywhere from there, there’s no running water, everything under the sun, and finally I got him down to a hundred fifteen, but he told me it would cost me my commission. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink—well, I made that horse drink, barely. As far as vacating goes, the usual thing is to give the tenants a month’s notice, but I said I’d see to it that they get themselves another room, so we settled on the end of the month. Not to brag or anything, but without me this wouldn’t have happened. So you should think about coming up with a nice little commission.”