A door slid open, and two more women emerged from the labyrinthine building. The first was huge, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and big hands. She wore a heavy, casual hanbok, in brown and green tones, finely crafted, but designed more for comfort than to impress. Her face hung heavy, as if all she had ever known were sorrows. Behind her came a sharp-faced woman with a red-tinged her hair and a smile as cold as the rivers of Darang Cave. Young-hee thought her hanbok the most fantastic she had ever seen—the finest silk, jet-black with blood-red accents and matte black embroidery.
“Ah, the travelers we’ve heard so much about,” she said.
“It seems the star signs were true,” said the large woman. “I apologize, sisters, for doubting.”
“Greetings, Tiger,” said the woman in black, projecting like an actor in a large theater. Behind her, shadows flickered furiously, as if a great many tails waved before the lanterns. “It is always a treat when we get together. So glad you got your tail out of the ice.”
Tiger winced a little at what Young-hee assumed was yet another past humiliation. “Hello, Gumiho. We thank you for granting us your hospitality.” Young-hee wondered if he was thanking her for the protection or reminding her of it.
It was an odd threesome, alike yet totally different. Their interactions were both casual and uncomfortable. Family, Young-hee thought.
“Hello again, Tiger,” said the large woman. “It has truly been ages—not since the cave. Why have you ignored me for so long?” She knelt and put her face near his and ran her massive hands through the lush fur around his cheeks and neck. “Truly a ‘tiger out of the mountains,’ aren’t you?”
“Ungnyeo, Hwanung’s precious gift has been a great boon, I see,” said Tiger, struggling to keep his manners as the large woman pawed at him. “You make a fine human. Although I can’t help but notice a whiff of garlic.”
Embarrassed, Ungnyeo stopped rubbing Tiger’s fur and turned to the other guests. “Greetings, bear daughter,” she said to Young-hee. “It has been so long since I’ve talked with any of my children. Especially my true children from the mud world.”
“You can tell?”
“Of course, a mother always knows her children,” she said with a sigh. Then gazed at Samjogo. “And greetings to you, too, bear-son.”
Young-hee gasped. Samjogo looked human, but she never thought he was. Samjogo, however, just laughed. “I’m afraid the wise old Bear is mistaken. I am Samjogo, the three-legged bird of power. Famed across the heavens for my skills and might.”
“No, bear-son. I can recognize my offspring, but call yourself what you wish.”
“Well, now that the pleasantries are out of the way, we’ll let our guests rest and freshen up,” said Sanyeo, ringing a small bell.
“Uh, please, Ms. Sanyeo, sisters,” interjected Young-hee. “We’ve come hoping you can help us. I’m looking for …”
But Sanyeo interrupted her with a gesture. “Plenty of time later. For now, please enjoy our hospitality. Our servants will show you to your rooms, where you will find warm water and anything you need after your long, tiring journey. We dine in eight gak, when you can tell us news from across the land, and why the stars are so interested in such diverse travelers.”
“What’s a gak?” whispered Young-hee to Samjogo.
“About fifteen of your minutes, so eight gak is a couple of hours.”
As Sanyeo spoke, a troop of servants appeared, all small, but otherwise almost comically varied: rusty green, or brown and earthen, or bronze. Some shone like polished glass, others looked dirty and tarnished. Some seemed quite human, others beastly or monstrous; still others seemed an odd combination of both. They ushered Young-hee and her friends ever deeper into the labyrinthine structure. With each slap of a sliding door Young-hee worried they were entering a trap.
The servants made a few noises and only responded with a token “yes, yes” or “there you go.” Like drones, Young-hee thought, and realized why they were so mismatched and odd—they were living sculptures, made variously of clay, bronze, brass, celadon, stone, and possibly of gold. All moved stiffly, like puppets.
“Golems,” said Samjogo, noting her stares.
The servants showed them to three rooms surrounding a small, common courtyard, brightly lit by lanterns. Young-hee was relieved they were together.
“Water,” said one clay servant, pointing. “Blankets.”
“You, there,” said a sad-looking celadon servant, showing Samjogo to his room. But Young-hee grabbed his wrist.
“You’re human,” she said. “A real-world human, just like me.”
He held her gaze, annoyed. “I wouldn’t listen to old Bear. All those spirits are liars with their own agendas. I am Samjogo, the three-legged crow, raised by the fairies of Three Rivers, and truest of the true bone. I am true to my word.” He gently lifted her hand and retired.
Young-hee was looking forward to a good rest and warm food. Maybe even something delicious. A wooden servant opened the door, and Young-hee tumbled in, sprawling over a stack of blankets and pillows. The room was exquisite, with thick pillars of fine pine, intricately carved window frames, and floors of the thickest oiled paper Young-hee had ever seen. “Ah, pillows,” she sighed and immediately fell into sleep that was ended only when the same wooden servant repeatedly poked her. “I’m not sleeping,” she immediately protested.
“Dinner. You’ll be late.” It continued poking.
“Jigyeowo,” she snapped. “I’m coming.”
“New clothes,” it said, pointing at a pile. “Hot water. Bath,” pointing at a large tub. How had the servants brought the full tub without waking her? After the long journey, it was inviting. “Hurry,” the servant urged.
“Okay, but you’ve got to leave,” said Young-hee, feeling modest. The wooden creature protested, but Young-hee brushed him out with a busy rush of hands. The hot water felt as glorious as it was painful, and as she scrubbed until a lifetime of dirt and grime slid off her skin and hair. She wanted to soak forever, but the servants’ rap-ping on the door broke through her relaxation.
Toweling off, she eyed the laid out clothes. The hanbok, all deep blues and reds, was soft, like the finest linen, better than silk. Young-hee didn’t think she could have endured a long meal in a suffocating, formal hanbok, with its poufy skirt and tight, wrapping layers, but this one was remarkably informal, with a relaxed skirt, a shirt, and a loose-fitting jogeori jacket. It fit perfectly, and felt like a dream. Looking in the silver mirror, she thought, Not bad. “Okay, I’m ready.”
The servant made a noise resembling exasperation, but said only, “Your clothes, clean, tomorrow,” and led her through a maze of corridors to a large dining room. Everyone was there already, waiting.
“Uh, sorry I’m late,” she said sheepishly. Everyone stared, making her feel self-conscious, except for Tiger, who was busy eating, chewing and slurping with enthusiasm. “Thank you for the clothes. They are really lovely.”
“Oooh, fancy,” said Samjogo, teasing her like a big brother. “I had no idea I had promised to save a princess.” He was trying to keep the mood light, but Young-hee could see his attention was really on the three sisters.
“If I recall, I saved you.”
“Indeed, scarcely the same girl,” noted Sanyeo, now changed into a green and pink hanbok with light blue trim. “We’ve been making small talk as we waited—well, as most of us waited. Please, come sit by your friends and we shall dine and talk.”
It was a great, long wooden table, low to the ground like Koreans tables are. The walls were decorated with nine images from nature: a deer drinking at a stream, a pine tree forest, bamboo, a cloud, a crane, a turtle, a rock, water, and the sun. One panel was strangely empty. Everyone, save Tiger, sat on maroon cushions around a table filled with a vast number of small bowls and pots, each holding different foods. Young-hee’s eyes opened wide as she sat between Samjogo and Tiger, whose greedy breach of etiquette clearly annoyed his hosts. But he was as oblivious to the
ir scorn as he was to Young-hee’s outfit.
Young-hee settled close enough to Tiger to use his large furry side as a pillow, but far enough to avoid his dangerously indiscriminate mouth. “Wow, I’ve never seen such a selection,” she said.
“Thank you,” said Sanyeo, blank-faced and empty-voiced as ever. “We do try to be good hosts for our special guests. But I wonder if Tiger did not want our hospitality.”
“I suppose we should be flattered,” said Gumiho. “What is it they say about delicious food? ‘When two are eating, one wouldn’t know if the other person died’.”
It was a famous saying, but Young-hee did not like Fox’s emphasis. “What are you doing?” she whispered to Tiger.
“What?” he asked between mouthfuls.
“You’re eating before your hosts invite you to start. Everyone is staring.” She smiled at the ladies, trying to look relaxed.
“I’ve been in a hole for days, starving,” said Tiger defensively. And you shared barely enough to quell my pangs. This is a real feast. And ‘an eating person is never guilty,’ as they say.”
“Is that what they say?” said Young-hee, annoyed at so many old maxims being flung around.
“Maybe there’s a beggar in his stomach,” offered Samjogo.
“I’ve heard that before,” said Young-hee. She casually but firmly set her left hand on top of Tiger’s right paw, before he could grab another bite. He reluctantly stopped. She gave the ladies another strained grin, which they returned with disapproval. “As I said, it looks lovely. So many delicious dishes. We all appreciate the hospitality.”
“Sister, please,” said Gumiho to Snake. “I’m sure Tiger means no offense. Sanyeo is proud and cares about protocol and manners. We’ve prepared foods good for humans, Tigers, and spirits alike.”
“One hundred and eight dishes, I can’t help but notice,” said Samjogo, disapprovingly.
“It was one hundred and eight,” said Gumiho, glaring at Tiger. “Now it is one hundred and six.”
“Please, eat well and enjoy,” said Ungnyeo. “We can talk of more serious things later.” She reached a big hand across the table and, with her chopsticks, pushed choice dishes toward Young-hee. Her grandmother had passed away before the family left for Argentina, but Young-hee was warmed by the memory of the ancient tiny woman pushing bowls of food at her and Bum.
Surveying the impressive bounty—pickled vegetables, meats marinated in unusual sauces, dumplings steamed and fried, rice cakes of all different colors, shaped into half-moons, stars, and all sorts of shapes—Young-hee couldn’t help thinking of Bum and the goblin’s cookie. The apartment guard had warned against food and presents—except those given in hospitality, which the animal sisters had clearly extended. Certainly Tiger seemed okay, and the ladies were eating everything, too, so the food was not poisoned. Assuming the animal women could be poisoned. None of her worries seemed right. Samjogo started eating, too, if perhaps a little warily, so Young-hee dug in, too.
When the long meal was finally done, the servants whisked away dishes, cloths and decorations, broke up the table like a jigsaw puzzle, and removed it. They spread pillows and cushions across the floor so the room resembled a sultan’s tent, with only a small table in the center holding a few light desserts and a couple of large candles. At last it was time to talk.
“This is a really beautiful hanok,” Young-hee repeated. “Have you been living here long?”
“Very long,” said Sanyeo. “Even by how time works in our world—so different than in yours—we have been here a long time.”
“And not, it should be noted, entirely by choice,” added Ungnyeo.
“After some … disagreements with the other creatures, both above and below the heavens, it was agreed that it was best if we stayed here.”
“Are you prisoners, then?” asked Young-hee with sympathy.
“In a manner of speaking,” said Sanyeo. “We can leave these walls; but our safety outside is not … guaranteed.”
“That’s terrible. But at least your home is amazing.”
“The most beautiful cage is still a cage, Ms. Young-hee,” chided Ungnyeo.
“Of course. I’m sorry,” said Young-hee. Samjogo was strangely quiet, and Tiger looked like he was in a food-induced coma.
“I cannot remember the last time I left,” said Ungnyeo. “And my man never visits.”
“Oh, here we go again,” said Sanyeo, eyes rolling.
“Uh, you have a man?” asked Young-hee. “Like a husband? Do you mean Hwanung?”
“Not Hwanung. A man. A brave hunter who pursued me for many days through the wilderness, over hills, across rivers. He captured me by trapping my shadow. But he loved me so. We had two beautiful children, who … drowned.”
“That’s horrible,” said Young-hee, shocked.
“He was a fisherman. Hard-working and resourceful. He loved me, but a storm swept him out to sea …”
“I thought he was a hunter.”
“There’s more,” added Sanyeo, obviously annoyed.
“He was the most pious and kindly man,” said Ungnyeo, “so remarkable that he was adopted by a lord of heaven. But his father disapproved of our union …”
“So, which one was your true love?” asked Young-hee.
“All of them.”
“That is Bear’s story,” explained Sanyeo, “to always love a man and lose him.”
“That’s horrible.”
“They always die,” said Ungnyeo, sadly.
“But that is Bear,” said Sanyeo. “That is what always happens, and what she always says.”
“I’m sorry she’s so sad so often,” said Young-hee.
“That’s very kind of you, daughter,” said Bear. Young-hee disliked being called “daughter,” but manners silenced any objection.
“I should change my clothes,” said Sanyeo.
“And that is what my other sister always does,” said Gumiho, her fiery hair spread behind her on a pillow. Sanyeo shot her a look as she left the room.
Although Gumiho had made no threats, Young-hee felt an inexplicable chill. All she knew about Fox, from movies and comics in the real world, and from Samjogo and others here, portrayed her as pretty and deadly, like a newly polished blade. She decided to take a chance. “Gumiho, why does everyone fear you so much?”
Tiger and Samjogo looked aghast. Even Ungnyeo slinked back slightly. Gumiho, however, smirked ever so slightly. “A brave question. But, tell me, what does everyone say?”
“Um, you know,” said Young-hee carefully, “stories about Fox eating humans hearts, hurting Tiger, wanting to destroy the world. And how all you want is to become human, no matter how many people you hurt.”
Gumiho, if anything, seemed bored by the accusation. “Human? Pah. Yes, there was a time I wanted that, very badly. But times have changed. I’ve changed. Humanity has changed. Humans ruin everything. When their mud world replaced our realm as the prime, true world, that threw the heavens out of balance. That’s what caused the rupture between the old spirits and the younger, between ghosts and fairies, gods and animals. And then humans ruined their own world with pollution and war, with statistics and concrete, and all the rest. Who would ever want to be human anymore?”
Young-hee had expected Gumiho to deny her past, not to confess everything. Plus, much of the time, Young-hee shared Fox’s assessment.
Sanyeo returned, wearing a sprawling yellow hanbok. It had trees and mountains, like a painting, embroidered across the large, hanging sleeves. Without comment, she sat on a stack of pillows, close to her sisters.
“So, tell us Bear daughter,” said a languid Gumiho, “what brings you to the home of the dangerous and untrustworthy animal spirits?
“Well, the thing is,” Young-hee began, “I need to find a pullocho. And I was told that you and your sisters might help.” At the word “pullocho,” all the sisters had snapped to attention.
“A pullocho?” said Gumiho savoring the word. “Now there’s a magic I have not
heard mentioned in a long time, or seen in even longer. Why a pullocho? You are too young to be looking for more life. And I doubt the gold and currencies it would bring are much good back in your world.”
“Oh, it’s not for me,” she said. “It’s for my little brother.”
“Is he sick?” asked Ungnyeo, concerned. “It is so terrible to lose anyone close.”
“Not sick. He’s been captured by a dokkaebi who refuses to give him back, except in trade for a pullocho. So I need to find one if I want to get my brother back.”
“Such a dutiful sister,” said Ungnyeo.
“Do you even know what a pullocho is?” asked Sanyeo coldly.
“Uh, it’s like ginseng. The dokkaebi showed me pictures.”
“A pullocho is more than ginseng, girl,” said Sanyeo. “It is the root of life. It is what turned sister Bear into a person. It is the dream that consumed the first emperor of the Middle Kingdom. It is a magic so powerful, its effects could be felt in your world. It is the most precious thing in our world.”
“I had a husband once, a simmani,” said Ungnyeo. “He would leave for weeks to dig the mountains for pullocho. And that’s how he died.”
“What my sisters are saying,” said Gumiho, ignoring her sister, “is that you may have underestimated the seriousness of your quest. All known pullocho were dug up and used ages ago. If there were any left, the spirits would be lining up to acquire one, certain it would tip the balance of this realm. Why if I had one…”
“You can be sure no spirit would let you have one, sister,” said Sanyeo, pointedly. Gumiho scowled, but held her tongue.
“I had no idea,” said Young-hee, her spirits sinking. “I was told that I might find one beneath the ruins of the Sacred City, in the shadow of the first sandalwood tree. The dokkaebi said you might help me find that.”
“That is an … interesting description,” said Gumiho.
“Does it mean something?” asked Young-hee.
“It doesn’t matter,” cut in Sanyeo. “The pullocho is too dangerous to be found again. Give up this quest. Nothing good can come of it.” Her voice cut through each syllable, leaving no room for debate. Bear and Fox looked at her. “That is my decision,” Sanyeo said.
Young-hee and the Pullocho Page 18