To the Warm Horizon E-Book

Jin Young Choi

• Herausgeber: Honford Star
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 186

Beschreibung

A group of Koreans are making their way across a disease-ravaged landscape—but to what end? To the Warm Horizon shows how in a post-apocalyptic world, humans will still seek purpose, kinship, and even intimacy. Focusing on two young women, Jina and Dori, who find love against all odds, Choi Jin-young creates a dystopia where people are trying to find direction after having their worlds turned upside down. Lucidly translated from the Korean by Soje, this thoughtful yet gripping novel takes the reader on a journey through how people adjust, or fail to adjust, to catastrophe.

Leseprobe

To the Warm Horizon

CHOI JIN-YOUNG

Translated by Soje

This translation first published by Honford Star 2021

honfordstar.com

Translation copyright © Soje 2021

All rights reserved

The moral right of the translator and editors has been asserted.

해가 지는 곳으로(TO THE WARM HORIZON)

by 최진영 (Choi Jin-young)

Copyright © Choi Jin-young 2017

All rights reserved

Originally published in Korea

by Minumsa Publishing Co., Ltd., Seoul in 2017.

English translation edition is published by arrangement with Choi Jin-young c/o Minumsa Publishing Co., Ltd.

ISBN (paperback): 978-1-9162771-4-4

ISBN (ebook): 978-1-9162771-5-1

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Cover design by Choi Jaehoon/werkgraphic.com

Typeset by Honford Star

This book is published with the support of the

Literature Translation Institute of Korea (LTI Korea).

Contents

Prologue

To the Warm Horizon

Epilogue

Prologue

Ryu

Have you heard of Korea?

Is Korea still where it used to be?

I was born in Korea. That’s where I met Dan and gave birth to Haerim and Haemin.

That was a long time ago.

Haemin now lives in Warsaw. His wife recently gave birth to their fourth child. They told me they named her Lee Bona. They say Bona is as small as Haemin’s head. I will never see that small, precious, precarious bundle of life. Much less hold her in my arms.

Haerim died when she was eleven years old. We abandoned Korea because she died. I abandoned explanation as we left Korea. Haemin was seven at the time. The age when children have a lot of questions. Haemin could not understand his parents’ decision to leave his bicycle, his computer, and his older sister’s room behind. I could not give him any explanation. I could not tell him, At least some of us have to survive.

I had happened to hear the midnight news in bed. It was a Monday. They said that a strange virus was spreading in a distant country, that the virus would mutate with every new vaccine. Tired as I was, I was mentally adding up our monthly expenses on birthdays, funerals, and weddings as the newscaster explained that there was no way of knowing what to look out for because the infection process was yet unknown. The next day, news of the virus took wind on every street. But it’ll be fine soon. That was what we believed. Because the disaster is in a distant country. Because modern medicine and the government will protect us. Even as we heard about surging death tolls in the Americas, we worried about the cost of living, retirement, and our children’s education in Korea. Then I received the call that Haerim was dead. She’d died less than an hour after being transported from her school to the hospital. Haerim had overslept that morning. After washing her face and tying her hair in a ponytail, she’d complained that her forehead was hot. She’d mumbled weakly that she wanted to eat a Bulgogi Whopper as she put on her backpack. A soft whisper to herself as if chanting an old, bygone wish. I’d handed her a five thousand won bill and told her to buy one after school. Haerim had hugged me tight around my waist and rubbed her head on my chest. I’ll get you medicine on my way home from work, I’d said. That was my last farewell.

The official death toll that day, in Korea alone, had been over a hundred thousand. It increased nearly fivefold the next day. We claimed Haerim’s neglected body from the hospital and buried her in the hills behind our neighborhood. We dug into the earth without shedding a single tear. The parting had struck like lightning. We knew nothing of death. Only as we lowered the body into the pit and began covering it with dirt could I truly see: I was dumping Haerim into the ice-cold earth. Shrieking, I jumped into the pit and embraced her. I wanted to hold her in my arms and be buried alongside her. Haerim looked like she didn’t even know she was dead. As she lay there on the frozen earth, it really seemed as if she was simply waiting for class to end so she could go eat that burger. I covered her with dirt, failing to leave her favorite burger by her side.

Mass bankruptcy brought on a disaster surpassing the disease: a rise in robberies, smuggling, human trafficking, murder, violence, and religious cults. The male mortality rate was much higher, and a baseless rumor began to circulate that the infected could be cured by eating the livers of young children. Governments dissolved; public order collapsed. Those were the days when we could neither stay nor leave.

Nevertheless, there were people who tried to stay. Those who believed that it would be the same wherever they went. Those who did not give up on whatever was left of their daily lives, memories without flesh or bone. Those who said if they must die, then they would die in their own homes. Like noble heroes, like warriors who laid down their weapons, they stood their ground. Meanwhile, I abandoned everyone except Dan and Haemin. My father and my older sister and their families. My old friends. Did they think they abandoned me, too? We had pledged that we would reunite somewhere someday, even if we had wronged each other and went our separate ways. That was our wide-eyed delusion.

When we arrived in Vladivostok, having abandoned everything and endured so much, I was thrown into confusion again: Where do we go now? Is there a place for us here? Yet the land was vast. We could keep going. We could roam to avoid the virus and the bandits running amok. To watch the sunset from somewhere other than where we’d watched it yesterday, and from somewhere else yet again tomorrow. To escape from the now as soon as possible. Our reason for escape pierced through the solid earth and soared like the sun and shone brightly on us every day. All the people of that land believed in God. God’s purpose, God’s grace and blessings, God’s gift bestowed from Heaven, God is looking after us, God is omniscient … I believed in their God and feared Him. The natural landscape—outstretched menacingly yet senselessly as if to say, I have no use for you humans—made me fear Him.

And then there was Dori, who had glared at me as she held her little sister close in a small oratory near Ulan-Ude. I had shoved Haemin in Dori’s arms and shut the doors on them. It was the first time I entrusted my child with someone on Russian soil. Dori embraced Haemin as she did her own sister and crouched down in a corner. After evading the bandits, I opened the doors to fetch Haemin. Dori was muttering to herself.

—God is rebuking us. The god of this land. He’s telling us to leave here at once.

By the time we met again in Tomsk, Dori no longer feared God. She didn’t believe in such things. Because she didn’t believe in it, she didn’t curse it either. I feared her new ways but wanted to believe in this new Dori.

I am now over seventy years old—no, eighty? I’m not sure. I have lived for too long. Relative to my years, the two months or so I spent in Russia would at most amount to a single sheep in a herd of a hundred. And yet that one sheep remains so vivid in my memory. Not a day goes by that I don’t remember you all.

God no longer rebukes me. He is uninterested in me. I’ve survived for this long thanks to His indifference. If only I could’ve shared this loathsome life with my daughter.

Do you know Korea?

Is Korea still there?

There was a time when I’d wandered around Russia to flee the disaster that had shrouded the entire world. I’d been thirty-nine years old then.

To the Warm Horizon

Dori

I think about only one thing: to never leave Joy behind on her own. So I must survive no matter what. I must do my part as someone who’s still alive. This imperative is a Da capo without a Fine, a prayer I dedicate to myself. As Mom died, she asked Dad to look after us. As Dad died, he asked me to look after Joy. Like a secret key in some legend, Joy was handed down from Mom to Dad, from Dad to me. What could I ask of Joy in my dying moment? I love you. I will ask her to look after love. Joy, with my love handed down to her, will survive somehow. With love in her arms, she’ll dash towards the end of the world.

Our parents reassured us by saying, It’s fine. They said that humans were intelligent and persistent. That intelligent people would find a solution in no time, that we just had to sit and wait until then. What I thought was the exact opposite. That the world would most certainly be upended. That human determination would turn crisis into despair. That intelligent people would not find a solution but a bigger disaster. I had to find a different approach than my parents’. The day Dad died, I packed my bags right away. As light as possible. Only what I could carry on the run. I took Joy by the hand and headed straight to Incheon harbor. I wasn’t sure if there’d be a ship running under such circumstances, but there was. The problem was that the tickets were unbelievably expensive. People who see opportunity in disaster, who don’t starve or run even in disaster—they must belong to a world somewhere beyond the afterlife. To ride on the boat, I had to offer up as much gold and diamonds as they wanted. A gold ring wasn’t even enough to cop a pack of gum. However, in exchange for taking my parents, God had given me the wondrous talent of stealing. I came to know something much better than ever before: what it was I needed. Where it was. Like a rat, I burrowed into the bedlam of screaming, brawling, milling people and stole two tickets. Tickets to Qingdao. Once there, I stole another pair of tickets. We traveled all the way to Ulan-Ude that way. What happened to the people I’d robbed? It wasn’t just tickets or money but their lives I stole. I deserved their hatred.

I got caught in Ulan-Ude. Joy and I ran. She’s a fast runner. So fast I can’t keep up. But she can’t run as quickly as she wants because she has to hold my hand the whole time. I’m the millstone around her neck. If it weren’t for me, Joy would be able to reach the end of this continent without a car or a train, without getting tired. She can run and run until she flies like a bird. I tried to keep going as she dragged me forward but eventually had to let go of her hand. Joy stopped stockstill like a switched-off toy. The small angel looked back at me with a guileless expression. I’m the reason why Joy can’t run. Dad’s request had been misplaced. Instead of asking me to look after Joy, he should’ve told her to keep running even if her sister lets go of her hand. That my letting go is her cue to run faster.

Russia also had its share of crazy bastards gunning for children’s livers. There even seemed to be a rumor going around that eating girls’ livers was more effective than boys’. If only I were a magician. If only I could hide Joy away in my pocket like turning a handkerchief into a rose or making a pigeon disappear inside a top hat … We had to avoid places with too many people, but places without people were also places without food. If I chose a mountain path, we might face some wild animal. We had to beware of long-starved dogs as well. Cities and villages occasionally appeared as we walked like cattle or horses along railroad tracks. The remaining villagers kept their guard up. They feared people on the road, and the people on the road feared them. A minor gesture or expression could lead to a misunderstanding that would inevitably end in someone’s death. Whenever we reached an abandoned city, we scavenged for things to eat or wear. Whenever we were besieged by wind and snow on barren plains, I felt burdened by my body and resented my senses. God, who they say exists only in words and light, probably doesn’t know hunger or frostbite. So He can’t be omniscient, but that’s how He can be immortal. If only we could understand each other, I thought. Because I wanted to ask someone, anyone: When does winter end on this land? Does spring arrive in Russia, too?

Last spring.

I was listening to a late-night radio show. Bundled up in a blanket, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee. The rain suddenly began to pour just past two a.m. The thought of all the white flowers wilting made me feel a little mournful yet relieved. I turned down the radio to listen to the rain.

It was after my midterms. I had spent the night being disappointed in my lower-than-expected toeic scores, worrying if I would ever find a job in my desired field, tossing and turning in bed with a slight headache. When I woke up in the morning, the brilliant sunlight was quietly lapping away the rain from the previous night. I had a dream. I wanted to host my own late-night radio show. I wanted to spend my dawns in a small studio.

Back then, death was far away as I faced a reality that was both precarious and dull. My parents had been paying off their loans for over a decade, I had my own loans to take care of, and Joy was lonely without any friends. Even in happy moments, I couldn’t scrub away the melancholy that coated me like a second skin or blow away the fog that separated me from the world; I gave vague answers to anyone who asked me anything. But we had a heated floor that kept us warm and a roof that sheltered us from rain and snow. If I felt scared and repulsed by the world, I could close my bedroom door and hide under my desk and listen to music. Water and kimchi were in the fridge, rice in the rice cooker, and instant ramen in the cupboard. I could turn on the light. I could shower with warm water. I could buy and drink beer from the convenience store, where a barcode would ring up the set price. I could stand still on the side of a road and look at the passersby without hatred or fear. I could just look at them.

If nothing had happened, nothing would’ve happened.

We would’ve continued to not own the house we lived in. We would’ve started paying off another loan as soon as we were done with the first. We would’ve occasionally pushed death aside with the words, I’m so exhausted I could die. We would’ve whittled each of our own lives away, silently and ever so calmly.

—We’re going to leave this place before spring gets here.

A woman, the one who shoved her son into my arms, said this to me while we were hiding in the oratory. The woman had a husband and a car. She didn’t drive off right away, even after stashing her son in the backseat. It seemed like she was afraid to leave Joy and me behind on the road. Had I not been Korean and with Joy, the woman wouldn’t have hesitated to leave. She certainly wouldn’t have trusted me with her son. I’d happened to spot her car while walking; had there been no one inside, I would’ve stolen everything I could find. Even down to their last can of food.

We walked away first, even as the woman vacillated. Behind us, I heard the car door open and shut. The woman slowly backed up next to me. She lowered her window and told me to take anything we needed from the backseat. It was in return for keeping her son safe, she said. Blankets, clothes, water bottles, canned goods, and dry foods crowded the backseat. I accidentally made eye contact with the woman’s husband while looking over those items. His eyes looked dim. Like he’d lost something important. Despite being with his wife and son, despite riding in a car loaded with food and water, the man was weary. I took two cans of tuna and stepped away from the car. Even then, the woman did not leave. I approached the car again to grab two powdered soup packets and two cans of beans. She scooped out a handful of candy from a black bag and held it out to me. Only after I accepted the candy did the car drive away. Its wheels turned slowly at first, then accelerated soon enough.

I put these items in my backpack and a piece of hard candy in Joy’s mouth. Her frayed shoes, the soles flapping from wear, caught my eye. Walking would become even more excruciating by night. I longed for a nice, long bath. Would it be better if it were summer? Then we could at least bathe in a lake. We could sleep without walls or ceilings. Hope might not lie in any continent that I must walk to reach, but in time instead. A bright, warm season that appears as the Earth revolves at its own pace around the sun. The only thing we can do as humans may be to live on and welcome that season. Winter will come again, I’m sure. Like time, hope is something that does not stay but comes and goes. Where were they going? Did they lose their family, too?

Joy glanced up at me and signed,

—Where are those people going?

—I don’t know.

—Where are we going?

—We’re … looking for summer.

—Where’s summer?

I pointed to the sun.

—There, over the horizon. Where the sun sets.

Rolling the candy in her mouth, Joy held my hand tight.

We reached a dreary and desolate village, empty except for the traces of people who had once lived there. I eyed an old house near the train tracks. No glass in the windows, the door off its hinges. It looked dark and deep inside. I threw several rocks through a window and waited for a while, but there was no sign of life. Rummaging around the area, I scraped together some things that looked flammable. As soon as we stepped into the house, I made a fire, opened up a can of food, and split it with Joy. Darkness fell quickly outside. Joy fell asleep with her body tightly curled up. I took out the sleeping bag and shook her awake. Barely conscious, she managed to crawl inside the sleeping bag.

Pulling a blanket over me, I thought about our shoes: If I had a car, I wouldn’t have to worry about shoes. If not a car, a motorcycle. No. Even if I had something like that, gas would be a problem. I saw someone get shot while stealing gas. A bike then. Yes, I should find a bike … But even if I find one, or a car with enough gas, where would I go? If I reached the end of the world, could I avoid death? Is it really up to us to leave or stay? Where could I go to find hope? I tried to stick to the shoes, but my thoughts kept spinning out of control, leaving me depleted. The distant sound of a train got closer and closer, and a sharp pain shot through my body. If only I could get on a train. If only I could get inside that solid, hulking thing and get just a little farther away from this goddamn cold. The house shook slightly. Joy stirred in her sleep. We’ll walk into the village once it gets darker out. We have to find shoes tonight. With that thought, I must’ve dozed off.

I opened my eyes. The fire had gone out. There was a babble of voices. Speaking Korean. It sounded like more than a couple of people. It still looked dark outside. I woke Joy up and took a peek. Two large box trucks were parked in the vegetable garden. I counted more than ten people. Several of them waved their flashlights into the house. I hid in the farthest corner of the room with Joy in my arms. People were busily lighting a fire and heating up their food. They made hot water from the snow and washed their hands and faces. The smell of grilled meat wafted in. I gagged and held Joy closer to my chest. So she wouldn’t be able to smell anything. So she wouldn’t see anything. With only a wall separating us, these people ate and drank and spoke in Korean. They called each other honey, you, sir.

—Jina. Jina.

A man spoke in a low but resounding voice.

—It’s dangerous. Don’t go off on your own.

This Jina didn’t seem to heed the man. The man called after Jina several more times. Along with a flashlight beam, a small head suddenly popped through the window. A little later, I heard light, quick footsteps move towards the missing door. I hid Joy behind my back and took out my jackknife.

The flashlight beam that had suddenly appeared out of the black empty space shined on me.

—Jina, get back here. Don’t wander off like that. I’m telling you, it’s dangerous.

The person at the window lowered their flashlight, then leaned outside.

—Fine! I’m coming, I’m coming.

With this, Jina turned away from the window and looked at me without a word. I held the jackknife up to my chest. She did not come any closer. She laid down the flashlight, pointing the light toward herself. With her face and body totally bundled up in bulky winter clothes, I could only make out a pair of eyes and a nose under a hat. After staring at me intently, Jina suddenly took off her knit hat and revealed more of herself. Her hair was a dark blood-red. I recoiled in surprise. Joy squirmed and stuck her head out from behind me.

—Oh.

Jina broke the silence.

—I see there’s a little kid, too.

She drew a little closer.

—Is she your little sister?

She asked without hesitation, as if chatting with a friend.

—Not your daughter, obviously . . .

She murmured as if thinking out loud, combing through her disheveled hair with her fingers.

—Is it just you and the kiddo?

Jina did not put up a guard with me.

—You’re from Korea, right?

I, on the other hand, did not let my guard down. Jina scratched her cheek, looking at me as I said nothing in response.

—A-im peurom Koria.

Out of the blue, she spoke English.

—Wheo al yu peurom?

I sensed a slight Gyeongsang dialect.

—Naiseu tu mit yu.