The Great Storyteller

Translated by: ShawnSuh

Edited by: SootyOwl

“How much is it?”

On his way to Yun Seo’s house, Juho made a stop at a fruit stand nearby in order to buy some fruit. In response, the vendor quietly pointed toward a wooden board that indicated the price. At which point, Juho took out his wallet in order to pay. Made of genuine, high quality leather, the wallet was a recently-given gift from San Jung, who had included a brief thought on the young author’s new book in the form of a letter. It was clear that she had chosen it carefully. However, because Juho tended to pay no attention to his outer appearance, a genuine leather wallet stuck out like a sore thumb. After putting it in the back pocket of his pants, Juho started walking up the hill.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Geun Woo greeted Juho with a sullen look on his face. After looking up and down at the young author, he stepped aside to let Juho in.

“What?” Juho asked.

“Nothing.”

“You look like you have something to say. You’ve read my book, haven’t you?”

“Wow,” Geun Woo let out ambiguously, as if chuckling. “So, you’re flat out saying that it’s your book now instead of Mr. Kang’s?”

“I wrote it, so…”

“I can’t tell if you’re just gutsy or confident,” Geun Woo said, rubbing his earlobe. Then, pointing toward the door to Yun Seo’s room, he added, “Mrs. Baek thinks you might have actually met Mr. Kang. She’s waiting for you.”

When Geun Woo went out the door sniffling, Juho asked where he was going. To which, he replied, “I’m goin’ out for a walk,” waving his hand and walking down the hill. With that, Juho stood in front of Yun Seo’s room, somewhere he had been in previously.

Upon knocking, Yun Seo’s voice came from the inside, “Come in.”

Juho opened the door. The air was noticeably different from the living room. When Juho saw Yun Seo, she had a book in her hands, more precisely, a book written by Wol Kang.

“I’m revisiting it,” she said.

“I can see that.”

“I found myself thinking about him after reading your book.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mrs. Baek.”

With that, Yun Seo offered the young author a seat, and Juho sat on the exact same seat he used during his previous visit. Locking eyes with her, Juho started off by saying, “I did it.”

Remaining silent, Yun Seo stared intently at him.

“I did something neither you nor Mr. Lim could.”

“It appears so.”

“What did you think?”

“What did I think…” Yun Seo said, smiling. Having prepared himself ahead of time, Juho looked intently at Yun Seo, ready to accept any kind of thought or feedback. “What do you think?” she asked.

“About?”

“Did you like how it turned out?”

“No.”

“Then?”

Juho couldn’t answer readily. Noticing that the room had become darker, he said, “I think I did my best.”

“And?” Yun Seo asked.

“… And for what it’s worth, I’m trying to be satisfied with it.”

“You’re trying to be?”

“… As in, I’m very satisfied.”

Yun Seo rested her chin on her hand and stayed silent.

“I didn’t write alone this time, and I’m confident that it was for the better.”

“Did my husband give you any insights at all?”

“No. Just a lot of trash talking.”

Then, a look of interest appeared on Yun Seo’s face. Nodding, she said, “I was very satisfied with the book. So much so, that I was glad that I wasn’t able to write it myself. You did a wonderful job,” she said, gently grabbing Juho’s hands. Then, smiling mischievously, she asked, “You know, I wanted to compliment you publicly, but I’ve been holding myself back since I thought it’d be better to do that in person first. Now that we got that out of the way, you wouldn’t mind me talking about you in interviews, would you?”

“Of course, Mrs. Baek. It would be an honor.”

“I’m sure Wol’s thinking the same thing.”

Feeling relieved, Juho said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a rumor circulating that Mr. Lim cried after reading my new book. Do you think it’s true?”

“Who knows? I doubt he’ll tell me though, even if I ask. Well, I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried,” Yun Seo said with a cheerful smile.

“You did?”

“That’s right. I was constantly sniffling as I was reading.”

Upon hearing that his book had made another person tearful, Juho felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Then, rising from her seat, Yun Seo walked toward the bookshelf, which was filled with books, every single one of them written by Wol Kang, clearly old and worn out. At which point, Juho was reminded that Yun Seo was no longer as young as she had been in his dream. Giving into his impulses, Juho asked, “How did you accept Mr. Kang’s death?”

“I did nothing,” she said, staring at the name Wol Kang. “And just like that, I got old.”

Time hadn’t waited for her to move on from her husband’s death. Rubbing her arm, Yun Seo said, “When I came to my senses, I found myself trying to survive. When my husband died, I wanted to die with him. But you get hungry, so you gotta eat, and because you gotta eat, you gotta work. And naturally, you discover things that you want to do in the process, and come across things that you wanna write about. That’s how I got to where I am now.”

At that moment, Juho sensed a presence behind him. When he looked back, there was a crow peeking its head through the door crack. Juho looked toward Yun Seo, who didn’t seem to notice the crow.

“You said you see the crow too, right?”

Juho nodded quietly.

“Wol was like that too. Do you know what he told me just before he died? ‘I’m sad to see the little guy go.'”

Wol and the crow had been one, and Wol’s death had meant that the crow would also die. After a brief pause, Juho said, “I’m not sure if I follow.”

“Me neither, but one day, I’m sure I will. After all, life is long,” Yun Seo said, walking past Juho. When the young author followed her with his eyes, he saw her open the door. A refreshing breeze followed.

“We buried him,” she said. Juho realized that the thought of visiting Wol’s grave had never occurred to him. “Would you like to come with?”

Juho nodded willingly. Then, rolling up her sleeves, she said, “Well, we should eat first. Geun Woo went out to buy some meat, so he should be back any minute now.”

With that, Juho followed Yun Seo out of the room. When he looked back, he saw the crow sitting on the same spot he had been sitting on, nodding. After staring at it for a brief moment, Juho looked away.

“Look,” Yun Seo said, pointing toward the blue sky and at the crow flying toward the moon.

—

“When do you think you’ll die?” Juho asked the crow sitting on the gravestone. It was busy picking at its feathers. Clicking his tongue, Juho said, “You might not wanna stay there if you don’t want trouble.”

At that, the crow started to caw fiercely. Sighing, Juho reached into his chest pocket and took out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a deep drag off of it. After smoking some more, Juho put the still-lit cigarette on the gravestone, breathing out the smoke.

“Long time no see, Mr. Kang,” Juho said, stroking the round gravestone. The grave seemed well maintained. That day, Juho had come to visit the grave on his own. With his eyes fixed on the burning cigarette, he said, “As you can tell, I’m still having trouble getting along with the crow.”

Juho dropped his head. His white hair covered his eyes. After pouring some rice wine in a paper cup, Juho placed the cup in front of the gravestone.

“Do you think I’ll die this year?”

Having turned forty-seven that year, twenty years had passed since Juho had first met Wol. Now, Juho had reached the age with which he had died in his past life. Juho still remembered the conversation with Wol vividly. It was still fresh in his mind. Since that last dream, Wol had never shown himself to Juho again, neither in dream nor fantasy. It had been as if Wol had decided that he no longer had anything to do with Juho. Although Juho couldn’t really remember what Wol looked like, the memories of his sentences were still very much intact.

“I had thought I would die if I stayed a genius,” Juho said. When he had first come back from the dead, that had been his belief. “So, I tried to be great. To live.”

Then, the ash fell from the cigarette, making it look like it was nodding or growing impatient.

“Now, people call me the Great Storyteller.”

At that moment, the crow let out a long caw, as if trying to interrupt Juho.

“Do you think I’ll live?”

There was no response. At the whiff of the burning cigarette, Juho closed his eyes for a brief moment, opened them and kept on, “Mrs. Baek and Mr. Lim are doing well. Mrs. Baek’s released an essay about her younger self recently, and it’s blowing up. Oh, you’re in the essay too. Mr. Lim released a new full-length novel not too long ago, and let me tell you, it’s a piece of art. I still have a lot of growing to do.”

Then, Juho reached to his back pocket and took out his wallet, chuckling.

“Look at this. I can’t remember how many times I’ve had this thing repaired, but I think it’s at its end now.”

Fiddling with it in his hand, Juho said, “You know, Mr. Kang, back then, I really wanted to understand where you were coming from. I wanted to understand what it was like to die and leave a book unfinished. I pictured all sorts of things.”

Then rising to his feet, Juho pulled out the weeds around the grave and said, “I’m terrified, Mr. Kang.”

With that, Juho left quietly, leaving the crow behind to walk around the grave by itself, cawing obnoxiously.

—

“Mr. Woo!”

Upon arriving home, Juho looked back at a voice calling out to him. He saw a man who looked quite frazzled, as if he had been waiting for Juho’s arrival. His young face was filled with life.

“Where are you coming from?”

“I had to meet up with an acquaintance. What is it?”

“You know exactly what, Mr. Woo. I was supposed to get your manuscript!”

“Ah, right,” Juho said, massaging his shoulder and adding, “It’s… not finished.”

“Mr. Woo!”

“Haha.”

“This isn’t funny! You did so well last time!”

“I don’t know. This year has been a little slow.”

“Again, not funny, Mr. Woo.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Juho invited the man in as he pushed his glasses up.

“Are you a tea drinker, Young Do?”

“I’ll drink it gladly.”

After working for various publishers, Young Do had started working for Zelkova a few years back and had become the editor in charge of Juho. When drunk, the editor had the habit of raving about his university life, which had mostly consisted of three things: alcohol, fights, and Yun Woo. In the end, after struggling between reality and expectations during his youth, he chose a career as an editor.

“Still drinking the healthy stuff, I see.”

“I’m at that age, you know?”

“C’mon, Mr. Woo. You’re still full of energy!”

“All the more reason to take care of my health.”

Juho prepared some green tea for the young editor, who didn’t seem fond of the subtle and bitter scent.

“So, how’s your progress on that manuscript, Mr. Woo?” Young Do asked, getting straight to the point.

Leaning back on his chair, Juho replied, “I’d say… halfway?”

“Still!?” the young editor let out inadvertently, covering his mouth, which made Juho grin.

“I’m telling you, this has been a slow year. I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Oh, no, no. We can always extend the deadline. It’s just that we’ve hardly ever had to do that with your previous books.”

Juho chuckled almost like a sigh, and Young Do picked up a faint whiff of cigarette in the author’s breath.

“… Didn’t you say you quit smoking, Mr. Woo?” the editor asked cautiously.

“Yes, I did.”

“But what is this I’m smelling…?”

“I wasn’t the one smoking.”

Relieved, Young Do nodded. Compared to when he had first started working with Yun Woo, which had been four years prior, Juho was quite stable now. Back then, the author had reeked of alcohol and had always had a cigarette in his mouth.

“You don’t gamble, do you?”

“No, but I do meet up with my friends for ol’ times’ sake on occasion, though.”

“… You’re serious?”

“I’m joking,” Juho said with a mischievous smile and added, “I still remember the disappointment on your face back then.”

At which point, Young Do defended himself desperately, “Who wouldn’t have been!? Think about it! The first author you get to work with is Yun Woo, and he reeks of alcohol! Wouldn’t that throw you off!?”

“I was in the middle of an experiment back then,” Juho said, pouting. In the end, he had repeated his past mistakes.