Yom Sang-seop - Three Generations

It was in this way that the grandfather’s life finally came to a close.

“Is the young master home?” Byeong-hwa called out from the edge of the outer quarters’ veranda. When the young master, sitting in the warmer part of the large room, looked out through the tiny windowpane, Byeong-hwa gave a grand bow. At first Deok-gi didn’t recognize the visitor, and a low thrum of conversation had resumed inside the room.

“I’m a grocer. Lemme deliver to your house.”

“We’re not interested,” a voice, not Deok-gi’s, replied.

“Whether large or small, we deliver quickly if you phone us, and we’re gonna give you bargain prices, at almost no profits to us.”

Deok-gi now thought the voice sounded familiar. “What store are you from?” he asked as he looked out again. He threw open the door, saying, “Hey! What the — You’ve got to be kidding!” Deok-gi rushed out wearing a wide grin and his white mourning coat.

“Far from it, sir. We have just opened today and hope that you’ll give us some business.” Grinning, Byeong-hwa kept bowing.

“You’re really something. ”

One by one, everyone in the room peered out through the windowpane, smiles pasted on their faces. Standing before the veranda, Byeong-hwa announced the opening of his store without the least embarrassment.

Where did he get those clothes? Is he rehearsing for something? Is he thinking of going somewhere in that outfit? Deok-gi raised an eyebrow. He had seen Byeong-hwa briefly five days ago, the day his grandfather was buried, returning home with the spirit tablet in hand. That day Byeong-hwa had been wearing a Western suit, as was his custom. Deok-gi was baffled at the sight of his friend, wondering what ill-conceived heroics prompted him to run around in that outlandish outfit.

“Come on in. What makes you so scarce these days?”

“Wait a minute, sir. Let me do what I have to do first.” Byeong-hwa pulled out a handbill from under his clothes and gave it to Deok-gi.

“Is it true? Are you really running it?”

“If someone like the young master gave me seed money, it’d be different. But how can a man with nothing but his balls run a store? I’m just a humble deliveryman, sir.”

“Lower your form of speech when you address me, sir,” Deok-gi quipped.

“You are too generous, sir.”

Deok-gi laughed. “I can see you’ve passed the order-taking test. Enough of this. Why don’t you come in?”

“No time — too busy. Allow me to leave with you a credit booklet.” The name Jo was written on the booklet and on the inside cover was a three-jeon revenue stamp, complete with two official-looking seals.

“I see that you’re a seasoned hand. Where did you get so much experience?” Deok-gi smiled and examined Byeong-hwa’s face with intense curiosity. After meeting him briefly at Bacchus, he had of late seen his friend only twice: once when Byeong-hwa came to pay his respects after the old man’s death, and again when Deok-gi was coming home with the spirit tablet, and on both occasions they had just nodded to each other. Deok-gi hadn’t had the time to hear about the details, but he could make neither heads nor tails of what his friend was up to. Did he open the store with Gyeong-ae? Did he get capital through her Baccus connections?

“I can’t believe a Japanese store owner would use someone as dangerous as you. Who do you work for?”

“I’ve got a high post, thanks to a policeman’s guarantee, sir.”

“I see that you know how to address your elders respectfully. You’ve turned out all right.” Still, Deok-gi didn’t like Byeong-hwa’s deferential tone.

“There’s a big gap between a millionaire and a grocer, so how can I forget my place? Young master, the Kim Byeong-hwa you see now is not the Kim Byeong-hwa of yesterday, but a deliveryman of the Sanhaejin Grocery. Please think of us kindly and patronize our store. This humble soul will take his leave now, sir.” Byeong-hwa bowed, a grin fixed on his face.

“Yeah, good-bye, you clown,” Deok-gi said with a smile, though he was still dazed by this latest turn of events. “Forget the comedy, and tell me the details. There’s no need to run a Japanese grocery store to sell stuff to Koreans, but if you wanted to have Japanese customers, they wouldn’t let a Red like you anywhere near them. How can it work?”

“A Red? We are not carrying any green peppers that are turning red, but we’ve got dry red peppers and red pepper strips. If you need other red produce, we’ve got carrots, hard persimmons, and good soft persimmons, too. I can bring along a police inspector to Japanese households and sell things on his guarantee, can’t I?” Byeong-hwa recited all this without a hint of a smile.

“Really? What an excellent life you’re leading! That’s great. When you sell with a policeman in tow, you’re untouchable, right?”

“Please visit our store one of these days. It’s near the old Maedong School.”

“All right, I will.”

As Byeong-hwa left, he could hear Deok-gi’s laughter. After making the rounds among his friends and acquaintances, he returned to the store, where Gyeong-ae was waiting for him.

“You look quite authentic. Please deliver one-jeon worth of bean sprouts and a basket of bean curd to my house.”

“Right away, ma’am! Where do you live, ma’am?”

“In Namsangol, where pine cones are strewn. Don’t forget to bring chopped green onions to decorate the food!” Gyeong-ae burst out laughing.

Pil-sun, standing by, threw in, “I don’t know how you deliver groceries when you have to drag your bicycle alongside, rather than riding it.” Flailing her arms, she mimicked Byeong-hwa’s clumsy bicycling.

“His riding is not too bad for a young man who’s done nothing but study. Do you happen to know how to use an abacus?” Gyeong-ae asked in a jesting tone.

“In the abacus department, allow me to introduce a star graduate.” Byeong-hwa pointed to Pil-sun, who, smiling abashedly, turned away. She had been practicing all week.

Byeong-hwa said to Gyeong-ae, “How about taking off your coat and helping us out here? A girl decked out in Western garb lounging around like that won’t be good for business.”

“Business will be good when you have someone like me sitting here. The Japanese hire women for their cigarette kiosks and bathhouses to attract customers, don’t they?”

“You might as well climb out on to our roof and sit there.”

A Japanese maid from a boardinghouse several doors away came in with a credit booklet and bought a bunch of green onions and six hundred grams of dried anchovies. Soon after, an old Japanese woman bought three eggs and half a cup of red beans. Though not a rice store, they had put other grains on display, as Japanese grocers often did. Byeong-hwa measured the red beans, and Pil-sun handed over the eggs. The old woman gave them a won note, Pil-sun clicked the abacus beads, clanged open a small steel box, and returned her change.

“How much did you give back?” Byeong-hwa asked.

“Seventy-nine jeon. Nine jeon for red beans and twelve jeon for the eggs. They’re four jeon each. Right?”

“Perfect!” Byeong-hwa smiled.

“You two are the very picture of a harmonious husband and wife. You’re so good at it one would think you had years of experience!” Gyeong-ae roared.

Watching the two selling goods so amicably, Gyeong-ae felt a pang of jealousy, wondering whether their rapport would really last and they’d become inseparable. She felt for them, though, understanding their fear that their inexperience might lead to bungling. But observing Byeong-hwa’s renaissance — his sleeves rolled up, eager to work — Gyeong-ae was secretly pleased. She figured he could do anything he put his mind to; he would never starve, even though this project was established for a purpose other than making money. There weren’t many young men who had so much vitality, she reflected, who couldn’t care less about money and household affairs, and yet had the willpower to do something grand and ambitious. Her trust and affection for him grew, and she found him endearing, as if he were a little brother. She could talk to him. All the same, a vague jealousy toward Pil-sun raised its ugly head, although she was usually able to drive away such idle notions with a smile.