Pearl Buck - The Eternal Wonder

His mother’s letter surprised him. “Darling,” she wrote, “you didn’t tell me what to do with your book when you sent it to me, and I didn’t know what to do. The first thing I did was read it and, darling, it is very, very good. It is so good, in fact, that I knew I was not truly capable of doing anything with it, so, and I do hope you won’t mind, darling, I took it to your old professor, Donald Sharpe. He was so excited when he read it that he called a friend of his in the publishing business in New York and took a plane to the city the next day with the manuscript. Well, darling, you have begun, at last. The publisher has called me three times in two days. He feels the book is very timely and they want to rush it into print right away.

“They are offering you a twenty-five-thousand-dollar advance, and Donald Sharpe thinks that’s very good for a new author, and they also want the rights to your next book. Anyway, darling, congratulations! Your father would be so very proud of you, as, of course, I am. I gave the publisher your address and they will send the contract on to you.”

Indeed, the contract was in the same mail as the letter from his mother. Mingled with his surprise, Rann could not suppress a feeling of deep pleasure pervading his being. He had considered revising the papers he had written at some future time and possibly for publication, but that his writings were considered publishable as they were pleased him greatly. He signed the contract and mailed it back to the publisher with instructions to deposit his earnings to his New York account and then he wrote to his mother.

“You did the right thing under the circumstances, you may be sure. I do not know why I wrote those many pages except that my character, the old Korean man, haunted my imagination and writing down what he had to say seemed the only way to rid myself of him. I am free of him now that it is done. That the pages can be published as they are pleases me, of course, though I did not write them with publication in mind. It is just that the story is true, though the characters are mine, and the Korean people have no one to tell the story for them. Somehow I had to tell someone.”

Rann had no close friends in Korea and so he told no one of his book. The publisher consulted him about the title and Rann could think of none better than Choi , the family name of the old man of his imagination.

In the weeks that followed he read and returned the galley proofs. It wasn’t long before a neat package arrived for him containing a copy of the book itself: Choi , by Rann Colfax.

Rann sat down and read it through and then he placed the book on the shelf containing his other books about Korea.

It is a good job, he thought to himself. Indeed, he had said what he had to say, and there was no more. He wondered if Americans would read what he had written and if they did, would they understand it?

A few days later Jason Cox, another supply sergeant and one of the men who worked with Rann, came running into the office waving a copy of the military newspaper frantically over his head.

“Rann, you old son of a gun, when did you do it?” he shouted.

“What?”

“This!” The man banged a copy of the newspaper down on Rann’s desk and pointed at the front page.

Rann stared at the headline, COLFAX WRITES EXPOSÉ. The article continued. “Rann Colfax, a supply sergeant now stationed at Ascom supply base in South Korea, and a surprisingly young newcomer to the literary scene, has, in spite of his youth, produced what will undoubtedly prove to be one of the most beautifully written novels of this century. His characters have been drawn straight from life and are presented with such tender understanding that long before the last page has been finished one feels one knows the Korean people as human beings rather than ‘gooks.’ He traces the life of a Korean man of the upper classes from the late 1800s through the Japanese occupation, the Second World War, the Korean War, and up to our present military involvement in South Korea. Aye, and therein lies the rub—Sergeant Colfax has written of the military entanglement with the black market and prostitution rings in South Korea with such realism it is obvious he must have had firsthand knowledge of his subject. It remains only for Sergeant Colfax to give the true names of his characters for the arrests to be made. He has left a lot of questions as yet unanswered, and I will not be surprised if they must be answered to the proper authorities in the future. If I were in authority, I would certainly want to know where and how he gets his information, for he seems to be doing a better job than any of our so-called intelligence agencies. It will be interesting to see what follows.

“In the meantime, all thinking Americans should go out and get this book and read it and then reread it, for it is probably the greatest book about a people that has ever been or ever will be written. Definitely recommended!”

“Come on, Colfax,” Jason urged. “Give! I’ve already ordered your book along with dozens of other people down at the bookstore this morning and we are supposed to have it in about ten days, but meanwhile, ole buddy, you can tell me. Who are all of these people you’ve written about and not named?” An exaggerated shrewd look came on his face. “You’ll be going home soon and maybe I could put the info to good use.”

“I really don’t know what you are talking about, any more than I know what this newspaper is talking about. No one in my book is taken from life, and I couldn’t name one of the characters in it if I had to. The people are real enough to me, but it stops there. They came out of my imagination.”

“That’s a good story for the higher-ups,” Jason said, winking his eye and turning up the corner of his mouth. “But you don’t have to keep it up with me. After all, we’ve worked together all these months and we’re buddies. You can tell me anything. It won’t go any further.”

Rann was grateful when the phone on his desk rang and he waved good-bye to Jason as he answered, “Good morning, Ascom supply depot.”

“Sergeant Colfax, please,” the voice on the other end of the line purred.

“This is he.”

“Yes, Sergeant Colfax. General Appleby would like you to be in his office tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. He says he would like to read what you have written and asks that you bring a copy along. We will see you at ten a.m., Sergeant Colfax.”

A metallic click ended the conversation before Rann could ask any questions.

The rest of the day was taken up with the telephone and with people stopping by the office to discuss the article with him. Rann could not understand all of the excitement since no one here had read his book anyway. Everyone seemed slyly “in” on the information about which he had written. He was invited to several parties during the afternoon but Rann declined, preferring to get to bed early to be fresh for the interview with the general the next morning.

The general’s office looked different when he entered the reception room. He must have appeared surprised as he wondered if he had made a mistake, for the girl at the desk explained, “Go in. You are in the right place. The requisition finally came through last week for our new carpet. We waited two years for it. The red looks nice, but it makes me nervous.”

Rann looked at the room. Yes, it was the same except for the bright-red carpet in stark contrast with the black teakwood desk and black leather couches.

The same carpet was in the general’s office and gave a rose cast to the beige grass paper on the walls.

“I didn’t actually write the book for publication, sir,” Rann explained to the general. “I wrote it more or less as a personal record of the Korea I’ve come to know since I’ve been here.”