The end of august, p.50
The End of August, page 50
The group of two Japanese men and eleven Korean women killed their time having lunch at a Western restaurant near the station, peering in at souvenir stores, and wandering around record stores, before returning to the platform twenty minutes before departure.
“How was the omurice?” the man in the flat cap asked, letting out a belch that stank of beer.
“It was very good. It’s the first omelet rice I’ve ever eaten. The red rice under the eggs, tell me, what is it flavored with?”
“It’s ketchup. Rice, sugar, sake, cigarettes—there ain’t nothing you can’t get as long as you’re willing to slip a Manchu some money. It’s like the long ration lines back on the mainland and the peninsula aren’t even real.”
“Which one’s the Dove?”
“That one over there.”
“I’m going to go take a look.”
“To make sure we’re not stuck with that teacher all the way to Dalian I changed our seats. Welcome to first class.”
The gleaming black locomotive, polished carefully, was done taking on water; the coal car had been loaded with coal and the fire grate checked; and checks to the undercarriage had finished—all that was left to do was wait, puffing steam, for the ring of the departure bell. If you looked closely it wasn’t black at all, it was a dark blue so close to black, like the color of a night with a full moon, and it was shaped a little differently than the Continent; the front of the locomotive was a smooth semicircle, while the passenger cars were a deep green, like the leaves of a zelkova; Pacific Seventh 12, one two, hana, dul, remember that, hana, dul! Hana, dul!
The Dove left Mukden station at 13:47 as scheduled. As she watched the scenery outside the window, she could not suppress her yawns, and once they were past Sujiatun District, she closed her eyes; before they were at Liaoyang she had slumped over against the windowsill.
When she opened her eyes, the sun was a reddish gold. The shadow of the train undulated across the kaoliang fields, and the smoke was tinged with the setting sun, leaving a crimson trail. A black cloth umbrella was the only part visible of a Chinese farmer in his field, hidden from the neck down by the leaves, and the umbrella, like a stepping stone among the crops, appeared then disappeared, disappeared then reappeared. I was dreaming, I can’t remember what it was about, or if it was sad or happy. . . . She stuck her head out the window and felt the air dry the sweat of sleep from her brow, like a cotton cloth hung out all day in the sun.
“Where are we now?”
“We’re almost at Hsiung-yueh-cheng.”
“Really? What stations have we passed?”
“Liao-yang, An-shan, Tang-gang-tzu, Hai’cheng, Tashihchiao.”
“How many more to go?”
“Hsiung-yueh-cheng, Fu’-hsien, P’u-lan-tien, Chin-hsien, Sha-hou-k’ou, then Dalian.”
“Just six more stations, then.”
“You were so sound asleep I didn’t want to wake you. But then you ate a lot this morning and couldn’t finish all your lunch. Tonight, we’ll have sushi, maybe; they’re famous for it in Hsiung-yueh-cheng. Cucumber rolls and inari sushi.”
“What time do we get to Dalian?”
“Nineteen forty-five.”
“You know the timetable about as well as the guards.”
“Well, I’ve done this trip six times this year.”
“All to the uniform factory in Fukuoka?”
“No, no . . . sometimes to a food plant in Osaka, or a machinery plant in Shimane, in which case I take a different way.”
“Where will you be recruiting for next?”
“I don’t know. We just get the orders from the top, you know. . . . Oh, I just remembered about the dining car.”
“Yes?”
“Bet you’ve never eaten in one.”
The man in the flat cap stood up and called to the young man who had joined them at Keijō leading all the other women.
“Hey, I’m going to the dining car.”
“Really?”
“For a change of pace.”
“Ja sikdangcharo jeonyeok meogeureo gaja.” Hey, let’s all go get dinner in the dining car, he said, and the women picked up the hems of their chimas and stood up.
“Sikdangchaneun ohochanikka josimhaeseo gara, heundeullinikka mariya, hahahaha.” The dining car’s car number five, so be careful, ’cause it shakes, hahahaha.
He had such beautiful pronunciation that anyone would believe he was Korean if told so. Maybe he really is Korean, she thought, looking at his fair, angular face. Should I ask him? For a second, her eyes met with his, small and framed by his round glasses; she looked down, trying to appear nonchalant. The only ones who can ask where you’re from are the Japanese; we’re the ones who always answer. But somehow, she sensed something brutal in his eyes; even as a smile filled his face his eyes alone pierced through his face like the lead of a pencil. . . .
The train shook with a clunk, and the women tensed the napes of their necks sticking out of their jeogori collars, slowly shuffling down the aisle.
The tables for four were all full, so she sat at a table for two across from the man in the flat cap. A white tablecloth was spread and in the porcelain vase there was a large, yellow peony, with only the tips of the petals red. The car was lit with a row of eight bare light bulbs with milky white shades. A steward clad in a black, three-buttoned uniform with a black bow tie approached, bowed to the man, and handed them a brown leather-bound menu.
“Welcome.”
The man grunted.
The steward returned to the galley, and a waitress wearing a green outfit with a white apron appeared, carrying a silver tray in one hand.
“Welcome. What may I get for you?”
The man read from the menu.
“Soup, steak, cooked vegetables, rice, crème caramel, fruit, coffee—that’s the Western set meal, are you fine with that?”
“That sounds fine, sir.”
“Two Western meals.”
“And to drink?”
“What beer do you have?”
“We have Kirin and Tsingtao.”
“I’ll have a Tsingtao.”
“One Tsingtao?”
“Yep.”
She heard something hitting lightly against the dark window and looked to see large drops of rain running down the outside of the glass; the smell of the rain came in through the open windows. The steward and waitress hurried to close the windows.
“The rainy season here hits in July and August. And it’s not like in Japan, where it’s drizzly and muggy; it really falls hard.”
She followed his actions and cut a piece off her thick steak with the knife and put the bite into her mouth.
“How much does this cost?”
The man in the flat cap picked up his frothy beer, brought the foam close to his nose, and smiled delightedly, then drank down the beer in one gulp.
“Mm-ah, one yen and twenty sen.”
“What?” She set her fork and knife down on the plate. One yen and twenty sen—the naengmyeon at Hyangchon is ten sen, so this is twelve times more; I’d rather not eat it and just have the money. . . .
“Our apologies for interrupting your meal. The next station is Hsiung-yueh-cheng; we will shortly be arriving at Hsiung-yueh-cheng. Any passengers who are disembarking are kindly asked to make sure they have all their belongings.”
The guard and steward bowed and went through the dining car, now filled, thanks to the closed windows, with the smell of beef stew and coffee and brandy.
The man in the flat cap stuck a leg out into the aisle, stopping the steward.
“Think you could swing by first class and shine my shoes? All this traveling’s got them looking rough.”
“Of course, sir.” The steward bowed.
“Hey, miss, some baijiu.”
The waitress brought over a glass of baijiu; he brought it up to his mouth and took a taste, then put his lips to the glass again and gulped.
“There’s nothing to do on trains and boats but get drunk, but I prefer trains by a long shot. On boats you sway around even if you don’t drink, and if you do, then all that swaying just makes you sick.”
Just during the one-minute stop in Hsiung-yueh-cheng the rain grew harder, pinging off the sparsely populated platform and the train like oil popping. The signal turned green and the train set off again, the rails sending lonely echoes of chugga-chugga clatter-clatter farther and farther on ahead.
The man in the flat cap looked out the window at the Manchu hawkers walking down the platform without umbrellas, carrying boxed meals, mantou and fruits in their arms; wiggling his spoon through his crème caramel, he said, “I’m glad we ate in the dining car. Who wants to eat some dripping-wet sushi? And look at those sheets of rain. The person who thought of comparing rain to the ropes used to hold down sails must’ve been thinking of rain like this; just look, it’s thicker than a chopstick. After a heavy rain like this, then you get a long, intense drought that goes on and on. It’s a completely different climate here to the mainland or the peninsula, y’know. At the beginning of this year, I took the Asia Express from the start in Dalian all the way to Harbin, and y’know, up there, half the year the temperature’s below freezing, so even within Manchuria it can be totally different.
“The Asia Express—that’s the pride and joy of Manchurian Railways; they launched it about ten years ago, and even when the doors are closed it’s not hot at all and none of the smoke gets in. I heard even if they had dozens of engineers shoveling in the coal that they’d never keep on schedule, so it’s done automatically. From Dalian to Hsinking and then on to Harbin, it goes 120 kilometers an hour with seven carriages behind it; isn’t that something? The West might have us beat when it comes to airplanes, but they’re no match for us when it comes to trains.”
She stared into the black liquid giving off steam in her white cup, then entwined her fingers around its handle and gingerly took a sip.
“It’s so bitter. . . .”
“Add some sugar, that’ll sweeten things up.”
She scooped some sugar from the pot, hana, dul, and stirred it into her coffee, then tried it again: still bitter. She added two more spoons, set, net, and now the coffee was sickly sweet and made the inside of her mouth feel sticky, but in front of him she felt she had to drink it with enthusiasm.
“I’m trying to keep myself awake. One cup of this and you won’t nod off all the way from here to Dalian.” He stuck a Minori in his mouth and lit it; holding the cigarette in his mouth, he stood up and went to the counter to pay.
They walked through second class back to first class; she looked around the carriage anew. In second class the seats were in groups of four facing one another, but in first class all the seats were in sets of two, all facing in the direction of travel, with generous space before the seats in front.
Somewhat abruptly, the whistle blew, sounding reluctant, and immediately after, the door opened and a young steward walked in carrying a wooden box.
“I’m here to clean your shoes, sir.”
“Well, hurry up. And don’t be sloppy.”
“Yes, sir.” The sharp-looking steward got down on his knees, took the bottle of polish and cloth out of the box, and began to polish the man’s shoes.
“Are you Manchu?”
The boy hesitated. “Yes, sir.”
“Got it in one.”
The man dropped a twenty-sen tip into the steward’s hand.
“Thank you, sir.” The steward returned to the staff compartment, his eyes still cast downward.
They arrived in Dalian at 19:45. She turned to look over her shoulder and looked at the pale, gleaming rails. It was the second night since she had left home and already catching the Continent from Samnangjin station felt like something that had happened years ago; Miryang was far behind her now.
And the next time I’ll see Miryang ahead of me is three years from now . . . no, I’m sure I’ll get so homesick before then that I won’t be able to stand it, and whether I’m asleep or awake I’ll be dreaming of Miryang. . . .
“They based this station on Ueno Station in Tokyo, but I think it’s prettier than Ueno.”
“I’ve never seen Ueno Station. . . .”
“Oh, of course, hahaha!”
The man couldn’t seem to stop laughing. What was so funny? He must be drunk, I mean, he had two glasses of beer and five glasses of baijiu, but he’s still walking just fine. I wonder what he’s like when he’s drunk. . . .
“You take everyone to where we’re staying. This gal and I are going to take a little trip around in a carriage,” the man in the flat cap ordered the boy with the round glasses, then walked off toward where the horse-drawn carriages waited in front of the station.
So I was right, he is drunk, but I’d like a ride in a carriage, and I want to see the streets of Dalian; after all, tomorrow we’ll have to wake up early and go straight to the port, so I won’t have any time to walk around. She looked at the broad, rain-pounded paved roads. The Western buildings made of stone; the city buses; brick walls; the fine wrought-iron gates; the August wind blowing, scattering the rain through the leaves of the acacia trees planted along the roadside, suddenly reminded her that it was raining.
It stinks of manure, but there’s no fields anywhere near, so how can that be? She took a sniff and looked around. It’s horse dung, there’s some here and over there, aigu, it’s everywhere; in Miryang it’s mostly rickshaws, with just one carriage waiting outside the station, so the worst on the side of the roads is dog crap, though in the dry riverbed there’s some cow and goat dung. . . . She walked carefully, avoiding the dung, following behind the man, who had suddenly turned untalkative.
He waved his hand and a carriage came.
“First, take us to the main plaza.” He climbed up the steps and sat down in the back seat.
“Yes, sir, the main plaza.”
The driver swung the whip and the horse took off, the flames of the two lanterns attached to the driver’s seat bending quiveringly.
In truth, she would rather have walked so she could take in everything at her own pace, but she knew she wasn’t here to be a tourist, this is just a city she was passing through, and perhaps she’d never be here again. . . .
“Yeppeuda . . . ,” she said in Korean unconsciously, then said it again in Japanese. “How beautiful it is.”
The streetlights lined both sides of the street like trees, casting their hazy light through the rain. There were fifty, no, a hundred.
“It’s a purplish white . . . I’ve never seen light that color.”
“Have you ever seen acacia flowers before?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, those are acacia trees there next to all the streetlights. In May, they’re all covered in white flowers, and when you’re walking down this street, you’re surrounded by their sweet smell.”
“What’s the acacia flower like?”
“Imagine a white wisteria flower, in clusters, and when each bud opens up it looks like a butterfly, and then you can see its yellowish pistils—it’s really very charming. One time, when I was bringing some girls I recruited over, it was May, and they were all oohing and aahing. Too bad it’s not May right now. In the fall, there’s things that look like long green beans hanging from the branches, and when they’re mature they burst and black seeds spill out. It makes nectar too. It has sharp thorns, though, you’ve got to be careful, but if you pluck a clump of flowers and chew on it, it’s a little sweet. You can make tempura with the flowers too, hahaha, I always turn any conversation back to food. I guess that’s just how I am.” The man in the flat cap patted his stomach and laughed.
“Oh, yes, you were asking about the streetlights. They used to be gaslights, but a few years ago they electrified them, and I guess they racked their brains trying to figure out how to make them look more like gaslights.”
“The plaza’s round.”
“How can I explain this best to a young lady brimming with curiosity? Hey, take a loop around the main plaza.”
The carriage slowly went around the road that formed a double circle around the plaza. She thought about how she wanted to walk along the asphalt path, meandering like a brook, through the dense, lush greenery, and stand in the very middle of the round plaza.
“We’ll do another loop; look this time. See how the plaza is the center circle with ten roads radiating out? Well, that’s why there’s nine buildings surrounding the plaza. Look right, there’s the Yamato Hotel, Dalian City Hall, the Oriental Development Company building, the Bank of China, Yokohama Specie Bank, Kwantung Bureau of Communications, the Bank of Korea, Dalian Police Station, the British Consulate General, all standing in a circle.
“The Yamato Hotel is owned by South Manchuria Railway; they have them in Mukden, Hsinking, Harbin . . . I forget where else, but they have sixteen hotels, one in all the major cities of Manchuria. And the inside’s just as spectacular as the outside. They ordered all the furniture from Europe.
“South Manchuria Railway isn’t your average rail company. They’ve got their fingers in harbors, mining, iron manufacturing, even in administering the land along the rails, education, and military authority, even; they keep opening up primary and secondary schools all over Manchuria. The employees of the railway are the elite of the elite. They get paid better than at any top company on the mainland, so the top graduates of the universities dream of working there. New employees are recruited on the mainland. The south side of the city is where all the railway’s staff housing is; all the streets are filled with brightly colored Western-style houses, like they’ve been colored in with crayons: green, blue, brown, yellow, red, pink, peach, all the colors of the rainbow. They’re all furnished with big rooms with wooden floors, hot water, and steam-powered heating; the nickname ‘civilized houses’ has even spread back to the mainland.”
