The girl was gratified by the young man’s generosity. If she took this cart, she would be sure to reach the mountain in time. A delay would cost her the abalone as well as the piglet, so she had no choice but to accept his offer. Still, it would be rude to agree too quickly.
“You’re too kind, sir. I can’t possibly take your place. I’m sure another cart will come this way soon.”
The monk held up his hand as his face crinkled into a wide grin. “Unlike you, miss, I don’t have a heavy burden that needs to reach its destination before the sun climbs too high. As you said, another cart is sure to come this way soon.”
Junja hesitated again, out of decorum. She tried to bow, forgetting that she was prevented from doing so by the pack. She bent her head as deeply as she could. “Thank you very much, sir. Thank you!”
The monk helped Junja climb into the cart. Once she had settled in place, the driver clucked to his horse, who flicked his tail before he began walking. Junja waved to the monk, who raised his walking stick and grinned as the cart pulled away.
The girl turned to the driver. “That’s the kindest monk I’ve ever met.”
The man scratched his ear. “He wasn’t uppity like a lot of ’em are. And he didn’t speak in riddles either. He sure talked a lot, though. You’re not going to talk my ears off too, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. I need to pay attention to the road. You can’t be too careful these days, with strangers popping out from every tree and rock.”
Junja remembered her mother’s warning. “Are the roads dangerous?”
The man considered. “I don’t know about dangerous. More like strange. Lots of strange things happening.”
“Like the cart that passed me just before you arrived!” Junja jumped at the chance to share her outrage. “The driver didn’t even slow down when I waved. When he saw me, he drove even faster, as if he didn’t want to be seen.”
The farmer spat. “Bastard almost ran me off the road. Could’ve made my horse go lame. No manners at all! Definitely wasn’t a local. Makes you curious about what schemes he’s up to, scurrying around like a rat.”
After grumbling for a few moments, the farmer roused himself for one final outburst. “Damn foreigners even charge us to use our own roads. As bad as the Jap bloodsuckers.” He spat again. “That reminds me: Do you have coins for the pass?”
Junja pointed to the bag around her neck. “Yes, sir. And for you too.”
With that satisfactory reply, the man didn’t say another word to Junja for the remainder of the trip.
Three
On the approach to the foothills of Hallasan, the patchwork fields of the lowlands turned into forests of tender green maple and blooming cherry. The cart came to an abrupt halt, pulling up to a break in the trees where a dirt pass met the main road. The farmer jumped off the cart, surprising Junja, who thought that he was going to help her down. Instead, he wandered into the woods, where he took a long, loud piss.
At the entrance to the pass, a constable in a green uniform was hunched under a blooming cherry tree, asleep. A breeze from the mountain stirred a flurry of loose blossoms, which showered upon the sleeping man. Pale pink petals capped his bushy head and blanketed the pistol cradled in his crossed arms. His green hat was lying on the ground, full of pink. The sound of his snoring grated through the humming and twittering of insects and birds. The air was thick with tiny wings that Junja waved away from her eyes as she approached the sleeping figure.
“Sir?” Her whisper disappeared into the crunching gravel of the cart driving away.
The man’s nose twitched as a blossom landed on his nose, but his snoring did not change in volume.
Junja swallowed and raised her voice. “Sir? I have toll money for the pass.” She didn’t dare touch a strange man.
When he still didn’t respond, Junja decided to tiptoe past. Just as her foot took a step back from the huddled figure, a hand darted out and grabbed her sock.
“Where do you think you’re going without paying?” The constable reached for his hat and put it on, showering more petals on his head. His mainland accent was strong. A city man from Seoul, Junja guessed.
“I didn’t want to wake you, sir. I have the money right here.” Junja pointed to the bag around her neck.
The man grunted as he rose. The girl could not help staring. She had never seen such a bulging stomach before.
The constable placed the gun back in its holster and hiked up his pants as circled her. Petals fell out of his hair and beard. “You were going to sneak past me, eh?” His menacing tone was foiled by a belch.
“No, sir. I thought I could pay you upon my return. This is the only way back, after all.”
“What’s in that basket? Weapons for Communist rebels hiding in the mountains?” The man’s eyes narrowed under his unruly head of hair.
Junja took a deep gulp of air before reciting what her mother told her to say. “I am delivering goods from the haenyeo of Lonely Rock Village to the pig farmer of Cloud House Farm.”
The constable swallowed as he rubbed the bulging mound of his stomach. “How can I be sure?”
“You may inspect the basket, sir.”
“What’s inside?” The man growled.
“Seaweed, sir. And abalone.”
His lips twitched under the bushy beard. “Abalone are one of the redeeming features of this forsaken island. Is that all you’ve got? Just seaweed and abalone?”
“Shall I take off the pack, sir, for you to inspect?”
“Of course.”
Junja suppressed a sigh as she began unwinding the first layer of bindings that secured the wooden frame against her body.
The constable held up his hand. “I don’t want to spend all day watching you take off your pack and then help you put it all back on again. Damn country bumpkins think you have all the time in the world. Just gimme the toll.”
Junja opened the drawstring purse and pulled out two coins, which the man snatched from her fingers.
“When do you plan to return?” The constable peered suspiciously at the coins before hiding them away.
“Tomorrow morning, sir. I’ll have a piglet then.”
“That’s another thing you Jeju folk do well: pork.” The man’s expression softened. “But I still can’t find trotters as good as my mother’s.” His stomach rumbled as he waved her to pass. “Move along, then. Move along.”
Junja gave in to a sudden impulse. “Would you like some bing-ddeok, sir? I have enough to share.” She pulled a cloth packet from her waist bag and unrolled it, revealing two fat logs of millet pancakes filled with seasoned carrot, turnip, greens, and egg.
“That’s mighty kind of you. A man gets awfully hungry working outside, guarding the road.” The constable grabbed the fatter of the two rolls. He took a large bite and chewed noisily as Junja wrapped up her remaining roll and tucked it away. Bits of food flew out of his mouth, sticking to his beard and mustache.
The constable grabbed Junja’s arm, speaking through a full mouth. “This is good. Really good. Did you make it?”
“No, my mother did.”
“Does she live nearby?”