Young-hee and the Pullocho

by Mark James Russell

  “Uh, Grandma Dol, your bag looks very heavy. Maybe I could carry some things for you.”

  Grandma Dol walked a while and then answered, “Thank you, Ms. Young-hee, but no. These are my wares, and mine alone to carry.”

  “Okay. But if I can help in any way, please tell me.”

  Another pause.

  “You are not familiar with dokkaebi markets, I gather?”

  “Not really. I mean, they have … uh, where I’m from. But they’re just kind of busy and dirty. Old people selling vegetables and things.”

  “… Oh.”

  “I mean, not old people. Not that there’s anything wrong with old. I just meant, uh … just people.”

  “You like to talk before you know what you want to say,” Grandma Dol said. Young-hee regretted her careless mouth, but, for once, Grandma Dol volunteered a comment. “That can get you in trouble in a goblin market.”

  “Are goblins really dangerous? Like those big, toothy dragonflies?”

  “…Like what? Dokkaebi can be … treacherous in their way. They are not violent or fierce, like wild animals, but they are full of trickery. And you would make quite a prize, should you end up in a goblin’s debt.”

  Young-hee didn’t like how that sounded. “A prize? Like kidnapped?”

  “No, dokkaebi have no power over free creatures. But debts can take away our freedoms, and can be incurred in a variety of ways. … Stay close. And do not take anything, not even a gift, unless I hand it to you.”

  Young-hee was not sure what Grandma Dol meant, but she thought it best to obey. After the quiet of the forest, Young-hee was startled by the goblin market, roiling with people and creatures, jammed into row after row of wooden stalls, each filled from the ground to high in the air. Everywhere were foods, powders, potions, trinkets, and caged animals being bought and sold. Roots, herbs, and plants hung from hooks, or filled huge sacks carried by squat creatures that lacked their own stall. Large pots full of banchan side dishes gave off aromas Young-hee had never smelled before. Most people wore hanbok clothing—from bright and fancy to off-white and stained. The air crackled with sounds—voices haggling, boxes clattering, birds squawking, dogs barking, and animals hubbubing in unfamiliar ways. One stall featured wires hung with cured animal parts in shapes Young-hee had never seen. The stall next to it featured parchments, papers, and scrolls, most of which seemed incredibly old. Hanging in the air in front of the stall, one scroll contained Chinese hanja scratchings completely different than those she studied at school. A couple of stalls later, someone was selling a puzzling collection of metal instruments that looked vaguely scientific or astronomical.

  As the market’s name suggested, most stalls were run by goblins. Dokkaebi. Young-hee had heard of the troublesome little monsters—as common in Korean stories as trolls, leprechauns, and genies in Western tales—but she never expected to see one for real. They were short and wrinkled, with green-gray skin, heavy as a rhinoceros’s, and as just as ill-fitting. Many had short, thick horns. Some had clumps of wiry hair on tops of their heads or in beards, but never a full head of hair. Their hands were stubby, with short, ungainly fingers; their mouths filled with large teeth. With their large eyes and half-grimacing expressions, most didn’t look terribly threatening. They did, however, smell—like soot, she noted.

  Grandma Dol trudged through the chaos, paying it no mind, until she came to an empty old wooden stall. Evidently hers. She slid her bag onto a table. “Are you hungry?”

  Young-hee was about to say “no,” when a deep, rumbling noise came loudly from her belly. “Sorry,” she said guiltily. “I guess I am.”

  “Of course,” said Grandma Dol. “I brought plenty for us both,” and produced a large cloth bag from her sack, set it on a smaller table, and pulled out food wrapped in lotus leaves. And what food! She had pickled white kimchi made of acorns and chestnuts; thick slices of plant roots marinated in honey and rice wine until they were as soft as jelly; strips of seaweed—gim—that tasted unexpectedly of chestnut and flowers. There were colorful flakes that looked suspiciously like butterfly wings, spiced and rendered edible; garlicky chestnut cakes Grandma Dol called meyrtawng; and the whitest, softest rice balls ever, which Grandma Dol called kaybal.

  “Please, enjoy,” said the old stone woman.

  “This is the most fantastic food,” Young-hee gushed. “I recognize only half the things, but even those I know taste so much better here.”

  When they finished, Young-hee tried to help Grandma Dol clean the dishes and leftovers, but she didn’t want help, and so, Young-hee just got out of her way. Grandma Dol opened her bag and laid out her wares: lanterns, boxes, carvings, and knickknacks.

  “These wooden wares are the finest in the market, the finest this side of Lake Mey. All the fairies buy my lamps, and you know they appreciate quality,” she explained. The rest of the market churned with such energy that Young-hee worried Grandma Dol would be ignored.

  “Where are you, now?” the old stone mumbled as she rummaged through the box, and then lifted out a wooden shape. It was roundish, painted on one side, with three holes in the middle, and two black ropes hanging from either side: a mask. Grandma Dol pressed the wooden mask to her face—and it seemed to come alive. The edges stretched and pulled at Grandma Dol’s pale skin, latching on to the sides, her chin, and forehead. Mask and face both contorted horribly as they melded, and Young-hee feared the old woman was being hurt. Then, with a slight pop, there was just one face: a beaming young woman, with white skin, apple-red cheeks, bright lips, and black hair in two pigtails.

  “Good day to you!” exclaimed Grandma Dol, no longer sounding like a grandmother. Or a stone. “Welcome to the finest woodware shop in the market. We promise lanterns that shine twice as bright for twice as long, marvelous boxes with hidden compartments guaranteed to protect your most valuable secrets, and najeon lacquerware that can repel even the foulest curse!”

  “Uh, Grandma Dol?”

  “No, not anymore. Well, sort of. I’m Boonae, Grandma Dol’s business partner.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Not what—who. I’m Boonae! Grandma Dol knows how to find the best artisans, but she is not much of a saleswoman.”

  Young-hee had to admit this Boonae stood out, even in the mad goblin market. “Well, it’s good to meet you, Boonae,” said Young-hee. “I’ve seen masks like you on TV before, but nothing so … uh, real.”

  “Teebee?” Boonae repeated, puzzled. “Is Teebee a friend of yours?”

  “No, I just meant …”

  “No matter, the day’s a-wasting, and I need to sell.” The Boonae-masked Grandma Dol turned to the bustling hordes walking through the market and shouted a quick, engaging patter:

  Deals, deals, the finest goods,

  The finest crafts, all made of wood …

  As the crowds gathered, Young-hee hung back and watched. Boonae worked them masterfully, teasing and entertaining them into a shopping frenzy. It was most impressive.

  Just then, an enormous dokkaebi came down the crowded aisle, carrying a huge stack of poorly balanced, overflowing boxes. Shamelessly, he bounced and pushed into people. Young-hee pressed her back against one particularly smelly stall, full of cages containing small animals and insects. She felt a tug on her back pocket.

  “Excuse me,” came a soft voice. Young-hee looked around but didn’t see anything. “No, down here, miss.”

  There, between the metal bars of a small cage, a hairy paw stretched to grab her lightly. Young-hee crouched down. It was a rabbit. “Hello?” she said.

  “Greetings, miss,” said the rabbit. He was brown, with a dark nose and mysterious, green eyes. “If you don’t mind, do you see an old, short man with a wrinkled face and black, frizzy hair behind the counter?”

  Young-hee craned her neck. “Is he wearing a brown cloak?” she whispered. “A bit stained and tattered?”

  “He could be, yes,” the rabbit whispered, sounding scared.

  “I think I see him
a couple of stores away, arguing with a gray lumpy thing.” A man matching the rabbit description was talking to a woman selling textiles.

  “A woman who looks like an old, boiled cabbage?”

  Young-hee giggled at the description. “Yes, that’s her.”

  “Mrs. Baek, then,” said the rabbit. “My keeper likes to gossip with her when business is slow.”

  “You can talk,” she observed. She found herself growing less surprised by this sort of thing.

  “Yes, yes, it makes communicating much easier. At least most of the time. But I won’t have long until he comes back.” He looked left and right, checking if anyone could hear. “I don’t suppose you can see a ring full of keys behind that stall? Perhaps hanging on a hook by the magician’s stool.”

  “He’s a magician?”

  “If you’d just check, please. Hurry, he’ll be back soon. But, yes, he is a shaman, of sorts.”

  This stall seem dedicated to powders and dried things (bugs maybe) piled into dirty glass containers, along with disorganized heaps of small, dusty boxes. “I don’t see anything. I think I see a hook, but there’s nothing on it.”

  “Thank you for checking,” answered the rabbit sadly. “But I fear I am soon to become a stew.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible.”

  “Maybe not, at least not for everyone. I’m told Kwon, my keeper, makes quite good stews. But for me, as I would prefer to continue living, it is distinctly problematic.” The rabbit let go of the cage’s bars and sat despondently.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Could I just force the lock open? The cage doesn’t look very strong.”

  “Regardless of how it looks, the magicks binding me here cannot be broken easily.”

  Young-hee turned and saw Grandma Dol a few feet away, negotiating with a couple of goblins. Or was it Boonae? She wasn’t sure how masks worked. “Boonae, could you help us?”

  The cheery young mask looked at Young-hee and the disorganized stall, excused herself and walked over. “Us?” she said. “Who is ‘us?’”

  “Me and my rabbit friend. I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask your name.”

  “Quite all right,” said the rabbit. “Call me Kkiman.”

  “Kkiman says that the magician that owns him will eat him tonight. Can we do something?”

  Boonae looked down at the cage, unimpressed. “What kind of rabbit allows himself to be captured by a common magic man? Most magicians I know couldn’t trick a tiger, let alone a rabbit.”

  “That is true,” said Kkiman, looking a bit ashamed. “My father always said I was the least tricky rabbit he ever knew, and would end in a pie. ‘Shameful,’ he would say. It’s a miracle Mrs. Kkiman agreed to marry such useless rabbit. But even Kwon never would have gotten me if I hadn’t needed medicine for Soon-ja, my littlest kit. I let fears override good sense. I got the medicine, but missed nuances to my deal with the shaman.”

  “Obligations cannot easily be undone,” Boonae confirmed. “If what he says is true, it would take more than a key to free him.”

  Young-hee was pondering Kkiman’s plight, when a gruff shout caused her to jump. “What’s this?” said the short, frizzy-haired man rushing toward her. “Have the ladies seen something they like?” Kwon asked, donning a fake smile that utterly failed to ingratiate.

  Young-hee remembered how her mother bargained with the old women at the real-world market, and how important she said it was to hide how much you want something and treat it like something you don’t care about. “Well, I was looking for some simple magic powders,” Young-hee said. “My friend and I are going on a long trip and we’ll need something, uh, for energy.” Young-hee saw Kwon frown and worried, Maybe that’s not what magic powders do.

  “Surely I can help you out,” Kwon said, rummaging through his wares. “As you see, old Kwon has all sorts of powders and potions. Ground ogre horn mixed with lotus seeds would allow you to travel at your best speed without sleeping for days.”

  “That might work,” said Young-hee, trying to look cool. “Although I prefer my magic to be living. It’s more potent than some old powders, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps,” said Kwon, trying to suss out his odd customer, “you have something in mind?”

  “Well, I noticed that old rabbit. He might do.”

  “Oh, that foolish rabbit,” he scowled. “I’ve been trying to sell him for weeks. But no one wants him, so I’ve decided he’s best served in a stew. In a few hours, I should have plenty to share.”

  Kkiman shook in fear, but Young-hee pretended not to notice. “Hrm, I don’t much like the taste of rabbit,” Young-hee said. “Especially a frightened one like yours. But my friend here has a good recipe for powdered rabbit bones.”

  “I’ve not heard of any such thing.”

  “That doesn’t mean it isn’t really good,” said Young-hee fishing through her pockets. “Now, how much would you like for him?”

  “Well … he was going to be my dinner. But I supposed I could let him go for … ten jungbo.”

  Young-hee suddenly realized she had no idea how money worked in that place. So annoying, she thought. She looked at the money from her pocket—two 5,000-won bills and some coins. “Uh, I have a little over 10,000 won?”

  “Won? What’s a won?” said the magician. “Don’t waste my time, girl.”

  “Boonae? Would you have any… uh, jungbo?”

  “I’m so sorry, Young-hee, but I just gave all my money for a big shipment of new lanterns.”

  Young-hee dug into her other pocket, but found only a puffy hair scrunchy from a silly craft project using leftover fabrics—and it was not one of her better designs.

  “What’s this?” said Kwon, taking the hair band. He held it up to the light, tugging the elastic.

  “It’s just …” she started to say, but stopped herself. If the magician liked it, who was she to discourage him? “It’s an old family heir-loom, very rare.” Kwon found one of Young-hee’s hairs stuck in the hair band, which only excited him more.

  “I’ll trade you the rabbit for this, straight and even,” he said eagerly.

  Young-hee shrugged. She didn’t understand this place at all. “Deal.” The old magician took a ring of keys from an inside pocket and opened Kkiman’s cage. The rabbit stuck his nose out tentatively, sniffed the air, then made a big jump to freedom.

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Young-hee, ever so much!” he exclaimed as he danced about. He looked so happy, Young-hee laughed.

  “Yes, quite impressive, for someone’s first visit to a goblin market,” said Boonae. “How did you know Kwon would trade on sentimental value?”

  “I had no idea. None,” said Young-hee. It felt so genuinely satisfying to help someone, especially someone so nice. “Can we help get your medicine, too?”

  “Medicine?” Kkiman asked, looking confused, until memory clicked in and made his eyes sparkle. “Oh, yes, for my little one. I’m sure my lovely wife Soon-ja has found something by now. I’ll just hurry home and check. I do love them so.”

  Young-hee glared at Kkiman. “You said Soon-ja was your baby’s name.”

  “No-no-no, you misunder …, I mean, I misspoke. Of course I know my wife’s …” his voice trailed off.

  “You don’t have a wife and baby,” said Young-hee.

  “Well, not exactly. I do have a couple of litters, but their mothers and I are not terribly close.”

  Young-hee thought him the least guilty-looking liar she had ever seen. She thought of several creative ways of telling him off and forcing an apology. But all she said was “Feh. Oh, just go.”

  “Very good, I think I shall,” he said. But just as he took a step, Kkiman stopped. “I hope you will not be too angry. The magic man was going to eat me. And I do appreciate being freed. Here, please take this.” The rabbit reached into his fur and pulled out, as if from a pocket, a bracelet, a tangle of flowers knitted into a pattern, as intricate as it was beautiful. “Please, take it. I owe you for your generosity.”

/>   Young-hee stood, hands firmly at her sides.

  “It is a gift in exchange for a debt,” said Boonae. “It is safe to take.”

  Young-hee didn’t want the rabbit out of her debt. But she could feel Boonae and Kkiman waiting, growing more uncomfortable. “Fine, I’ll take it,” she said, holding out her hand. “Thank you,” she added with reflexive, but instantly regretted courtesy, since she was definitely not thankful.

  Kkiman hopped off. “And thank you, Miss Young-hee. It is a beautiful day not to be a stew.” And just like that, he was lost in the market throngs. Kwon made a scoffing sound, but otherwise ignored them.

  Young-hee looked at the bracelet some more. It looked delicate and felt like real flowers, but seemed incredibly strong with the solidity of silver.

  “It is a special gift,” noted Boonae. “I rarely see floral-silver of this quality.”

  That was something, she thought, admiring it in the light, and then put it on her wrist. It did look pretty. “What a jerk,” she said.

  “You mustn’t get too upset, Miss Young-hee,” said Boonae. “He is a rabbit. That’s what rabbits do. They tell tales, they get caught, then, they tell more tales to get free. His words have bones, is what folks say about his kind. You’re lucky he did not convince you to eat hot coals—rabbits have been known to do that. They are very tricky.”

  “Feh,” Young-hee repeated. “Jigyeowo.”

  Boonae had an errand, so Young-hee walked through more stalls filled with more strange and amazing goods. At the end of one row, Young-hee spotted something much more interesting than any roots or drawings—a rickety, wooden stall full of fragrant cookies and cakes. Now this is quality, she thought. The merchant was a particularly homely dokkaebi, more squat than most, wearing old, sagging linens that said he didn’t care about clothes at all. Which was fine with Young-hee, who didn’t care about his clothes either. Just the food. “Wow,” she said, “what is all this?”