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GUEST LITERATURE – KOREA where.There were antiques from India, China and the Middle East, a dozen different kinds of dairy products from horses, camels, sheep or cows, clothing fashioned out of fur and leather, handmade rugs, cellular phones and satellite antennas for television, horse shoes, saddles and other kinds of equestrian gear, home-brewed koumiss and vodka, and to top it all off, snakes and scorpions dipped in liquor. Everything under the sun was for sale. After wandering around for an hour or so, Chang-dae finally found a store that sold binoculars. A huge selection of second-hand Russian-made binoculars were on display, just as he had read on the internet. He picked out a pair of binoculars tiny enough to fit in his fist. The clerk was asking for twenty dollars but he bargained down to eighteen. He didn’t care about the money, but he just didn’t want to miss out on the experience of having haggled for a better price. He felt pleased with himself for having found a good place to shop all on his own. He would come back often. He put the binoculars in his overcoat pocket and got caught in the wave of the crowd. He had planned to go back the way he had come but he didn’t recognize any of the stores appearing before him. He came out on the side of the road and took out his binoculars.To the west, he could see the chimney of the thermoelectric power plant. There were clothing stores in that direction and a narrow alleyway, tangled like a labyrinth.The total population of Mongolia was two and a half million. Half of those people lived in this city and a half of that seemed to have gathered in this marketplace. He abandoned the idea of looking around and went with the flow of the pedestrians around him. It happened when he had arrived at a display board by the corner where the alley bent around. He got tangled up with the people who were coming from the opposite direction. When he found himself about to collide with two well-built men, he shouted: “Sorry!” and twisted his body to step around them. One of the men threw himself against him. Had he moved at the same time as Chang-dae? He twisted his body the other way. He realized then what was happening to him.The men had got in his way intentionally. He could feel fingers groping around in his back pocket while the men standing in front of him thrust their hands into his coat pockets. There was a stir of people around him, but nobody intervened. He stood there with his mouth agape like a criminal being patted down. One man in the front stared at him coolly with his brown eyes and 186 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES
page 189
JEON SEONG-TAE spat something out. It stuck to Chang-dae’s face, getting mixed up with his saliva. He checked to see what it was by wiping it off with his hand. It was the skin off those pine nut seeds that Mongolians often chewed between meals. The men disappeared slowly into the crowd. He stood in a daze in the middle of the alley. He couldn’t tell exactly how many people were in on it. Everyone in the alley looked to him like a co-conspirator. He began searching his own pocket like someone recovering from shock. The binoculars were gone and cigarettes and lighter were nowhere to be found. A few dollars and the keys he had put in his trouser pocket were still there. It occurred to him that first thing he had to do was to get out of that alley. He turned around at the end of the alley. It was lively and bustling, as though nothing at all had happened. His right thigh was aching all over so he pushed the coat tail aside to take a look.There was an incision at the seam just below the pocket. Both anger and despair rose up inside him. How could he describe what he was feeling? He felt as though his savage nature had been unveiled. If he had a knife, he would chase them down and punish them. There was no need for law. Only revenge would provide him with consolation. He collapsed on the bed when he returned to his Siberian Room. Should he go outside with a porcupine in his pockets and dare them to rob him again? These thoughts only sank him deeper into self-pity. He should consider himself lucky that it hadn’t been worse. He was the new guy and they were just having a go at him, like it was back in his days in the military – a rite of passage.You didn’t lose anything important either, he told himself. This is just a part of everyday life here. Consider it a lesson learned. He tried to console himself . . . Continued online . . . To read the whole of this novella please go to www.banipal.co.uk/selections Jeon Seong-tae was born in 1969. In 1994, while still in college, he won an award for new writers from the journal Silcheonmunhak for his short story “Droving Hens”. Unlike most writers of his generation, whose works focus on everyday life in the city, he is a realist, depicting life in farming and mining communities. His debut story collection “Burying the Scent” (1999) was awarded the Daesan Creative Writing Fund. Jeon’s critically acclaimed stories deal with the problems of individual identity that arise from the oppressive effect of collectivism. BANIPAL 43 – SPRING 2012 187

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GUEST LITERATURE – KOREA

where.There were antiques from India, China and the Middle East, a dozen different kinds of dairy products from horses, camels, sheep or cows, clothing fashioned out of fur and leather, handmade rugs, cellular phones and satellite antennas for television, horse shoes, saddles and other kinds of equestrian gear, home-brewed koumiss and vodka, and to top it all off, snakes and scorpions dipped in liquor. Everything under the sun was for sale.

After wandering around for an hour or so, Chang-dae finally found a store that sold binoculars. A huge selection of second-hand Russian-made binoculars were on display, just as he had read on the internet. He picked out a pair of binoculars tiny enough to fit in his fist. The clerk was asking for twenty dollars but he bargained down to eighteen. He didn’t care about the money, but he just didn’t want to miss out on the experience of having haggled for a better price.

He felt pleased with himself for having found a good place to shop all on his own. He would come back often. He put the binoculars in his overcoat pocket and got caught in the wave of the crowd. He had planned to go back the way he had come but he didn’t recognize any of the stores appearing before him. He came out on the side of the road and took out his binoculars.To the west, he could see the chimney of the thermoelectric power plant. There were clothing stores in that direction and a narrow alleyway, tangled like a labyrinth.The total population of Mongolia was two and a half million. Half of those people lived in this city and a half of that seemed to have gathered in this marketplace. He abandoned the idea of looking around and went with the flow of the pedestrians around him.

It happened when he had arrived at a display board by the corner where the alley bent around. He got tangled up with the people who were coming from the opposite direction. When he found himself about to collide with two well-built men, he shouted: “Sorry!” and twisted his body to step around them. One of the men threw himself against him. Had he moved at the same time as Chang-dae? He twisted his body the other way. He realized then what was happening to him.The men had got in his way intentionally. He could feel fingers groping around in his back pocket while the men standing in front of him thrust their hands into his coat pockets.

There was a stir of people around him, but nobody intervened. He stood there with his mouth agape like a criminal being patted down. One man in the front stared at him coolly with his brown eyes and

186 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES

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