RPPL C4

The weeds, which had shot up like mushrooms after rain, had already grown to reach Bipa’s waist, and it was clear that if he placed the child down, it would be buried within them and impossible to find. For Haesol, however, they only came up to his thighs. Haesol crossed the field as if parting waves.

“Let’s go to the river. It would be nice if there was a boatman at the port with a big enough heart to take me.”

“Haesol, it would be better for you to just run all the way to the capital.”

“I don’t want to. You, who can just be carried, have no idea how annoying it is to only take rough paths where people don’t travel!”

“Do as you please.”

Bipa said bluntly and linked his arm with Haesol’s. As he held on tight, the shaking gradually subsided.

❀࿐

The child slept for a very long time. So long that Bipa had to check several times by placing a finger under its nose to see if it might have died.

Haesol pulled the cart, munching on a large amount of candy he had bought at the port. Fortunately, there was one boatman who was not intimidated by Haesol’s size, so they were able to safely get close to the capital. Thinking back, that boatman must have had poor eyesight. He probably couldn’t see Haesol very well.

Bipa, riding in the cart, lost interest in the child and started playing a grass flute. Bipa’s flute-playing skills, which he had learned from an old man of a small mountain pharmacy, were top-notch, enough to be counted among the best anywhere. But it was a waste of talent since he never played a real flute and only played the grass one.

Haesol sang along loudly to the tune of the grass flute. It was so terrible that anyone listening would frown. But Haesol firmly believed he was a good singer. And he loved to sing, too.

All Dokkaebis were like that. They loved to sing even if they had no talent and were easily mesmerized by shiny things. But they were like innocent children who coveted the glimmer of water in the sunlight more than gold and treasure. The thunder Dokkaebi Haesol was just like that.

“Bipa, we’re almost there.”

Sure enough, there was the smell of damp earth. Not the smell of rich, soaked land, but the damp smell that held the moisture of the dead.

Bipa’s house was tucked away in a corner of a plot where graves were gathered like a colony. It was one of the few places that were close to the village yet rarely frequented by people.

Besides being secluded, there was another reason Bipa had chosen this place. It was that he could often encounter dokkaebi-bul. Consequently, people also avoided this place. It was quiet and just right for living, so for Bipa, he had stayed here for a long time.

Bipa, who had lightly jumped down from the cart, rummaged through the cart’s floor. He took out a sickle he had hidden on the bottom. In the summer, if you didn’t pay a little attention, the grass would grow lush and quickly cover the path. As he roughly cut it down with clumsy skill, the narrow path that had been trodden for a long time revealed itself. Haesol also parked the cart carelessly and slung the child over his shoulder.

Chireu-chireu, the grass insects chirped. Thrushes and parrotbills that had been hiding in the grass, pecking at bugs, flew up, chirping jaejae-baebae.

“The graves have increased while I was gone.”

Bare burial mounds and mounds long abandoned and overgrown with weeds filled the space alternately. Some didn’t even have a gravestone, making it impossible to even guess who was buried there. Bipa, standing faintly in the dreary atmosphere, looked for a moment like a monster that had descended through the mist to bewitch people.

But Haesol knew. That Bipa was a creature far removed from things like lust or carnal desire. That was precisely why he got along so well with Dokkaebis. Bipa, too, was no different from a child.

“At this rate, isn’t the house completely collapsed?”

“No. It won’t collapse.”

“But that doesn’t mean an empty house cleans itself.”

“Well, that’s true…. But at least there aren’t bugs or intruders coming in to live as they please. Who would come to a place like this in the first place.”

A hint of pride was evident in Bipa’s voice as he said no one ever came. It was he who had discovered this precious spot.

After walking a little, a shabby house, the very picture of destitution, appeared. The fence, made of sparsely stuck branches woven with vines, was more eerie like the vines of a ruined house than pretty.

But Bipa, whenever he saw it, always boasted with genuine pride that it was his creation. Haesol, who liked pretty things, liked Bipa, but he could never like Bipa’s taste.

“Put it down anywhere, Haesol.”

“There’s nowhere to put it down.”

“It’s dirtier than my house anyway.”

That was also true, so Haesol placed the child on the dusty wooden floor. There was a round spot where the dust had been wiped away, as if someone had coiled up and slept there.

As soon as Bipa put down his bundle, he headed to the backyard. There was a vegetable patch there. Crops that yielded just enough for one person to eat were planted.

It was the season, and ears of corn as big as a child’s forearm hung in clusters. He immediately picked a few ripe ones and put them in a basket.

“They’re growing well.”

“They are. I couldn’t even pay attention to them….”

“See. You have a knack for growing things.”

“Nice try.”

Bipa just chuckled.

“It would be nice if there were peaches.”

There were no crops that were particularly difficult to grow. Apricots, once planted, would grow on their own and bear fruit whenever they pleased. The cucumbers had all died recently due to the drought, and he didn’t even remember planting plums and prunes, but their stems were already growing vigorously.

When the basket was full, Bipa drew water from the well and washed the corn husks. He trimmed the silk-like fine roots and pulled out the dead leaves.

But that was it. Seeing him about to sneak away, Haesol immediately narrowed his eyes and chided him.

“Clean up first.”

Bipa snorted at Haesol’s nagging. But upon returning to check, the house was indeed in a terrible state, so he wiped the wooden floor with a roughly wrung-out rag. Haesol sat down, frowning, avoiding the damp spot. Dokkaebis were just so finicky.

It was a return home after a long time. Bipa was busy, and Haesol was lazy. He plucked a handful of mugwort that was growing wild and piled it together with some leaves.

“Haesol. Help me.”

Haesol, who spat out a series of apricot pits from his munching mouth, came over and struck the pile of leaves with a lightning bolt. A very small baby lightning bolt that came from Haesol’s hair. That is to say, the number of thunders and lightnings he could wield was as countless as the hairs on his head.

Smoke slowly billowed up. The bitter, acrid smell of burning mugwort rose from the pile of leaves, and the bugs scurried away. Now, a person could finally get some sleep.

With Haesol’s help, he lit a fire in the kitchen for the first time in a while and boiled the corn. While waiting, he ate apricots, and before he knew it, the night had ripened.

The color of the night is different for each season. This was a difference that only those who had truly experienced it could know. If the winter night is heavy like a thick cotton blanket covering the sky, the summer night, perhaps because of the chirping of insects or the songs of frogs, feels like a multi-layered curtain that one could peek through.

In the sky, a mix of deep purple and indigo blue, countless stars as numerous as Haesol’s hairs twinkled. When you’re engrossed in looking at it like that, the size of the house no longer feels important. If it’s big, it’s just lonely.

“Haesol, don’t go.”

Bipa suddenly muttered gloomily.

“I’m not confident I can raise it well….”

“Don’t they just grow like bean sprouts if you leave them be? You did.”

Bipa let out a hollow laugh at the thoughtless, clueless, and irresponsible remark. But his heart felt a little lighter at those words.

Just then, a savory smell came from the kitchen. The corn was all cooked.

Haesol and Bipa liked their corn kernels slightly toasted, so they let it steam a little longer. But Haesol, unable to wait, kept fidgeting his bottom and moved first, opening the cauldron lid and taking out the corn from the thick steam.

As he peeled the husk of the corn in the basket, a mouth-watering, delicious smell spread. Even as his nostrils flared, Haesol muttered regretfully.

“I should have waited a little longer.”

“You say that every time.”

Bipa waited a little while for the corn to cool.

He was resting, his hands on the wooden floor and his body leaning back, when he heard a presence behind him. The sound of tossing and turning was followed by a groan as if someone was being strangled. The child was having a nightmare.

“The experience of becoming a saetani changes a person.”

Haesol said nonchalantly. But Bipa knew that the process, which he could hardly even imagine, was not something to be spoken of so nonchalantly.

He didn’t know what the child’s previous life was like, but it was clear that it would never be the same as before. Bipa chewed on the corncob instead of his lip. A sweet juice came out.

“Ah… ughh….”

The groans continued without a break. After some hesitation, he crawled on his knees and stroked the child’s forehead. The fan tucked in his sleeve trembled, and the bronze bell let out a long cry. Before long, the child was breathing evenly again, saegeun-saegeun.

The hand that had taken away the nightmare trembled like a bell. Pretending not to notice, he hid his hand and spat out a spiteful remark, “I was being nosy.” Then he went back to chewing on the corn. He couldn’t taste anything. His mouth was just dry, as if needles had sprouted on his tongue.

“Build up your virtue, Bipa.”

“You mind your own business.”

“I’m always doing well.”

Without a flicker of expression on his face, he prattles on about how he lives a good and kind life; the Dokkaebi race is shameless, every single one of them.