“I don’t have any . . .” JungHo started to protest, instinctively reaching for his drawstring pouch—and then panicked, realizing that it was gone.
“I have it, country bumpkin,” Loach said, holding up the pouch. “You know, I could’ve just taken this and lost you in the crowd. Instead I brought you here, where we live. So don’t look so fucking hurt, moron.”
Loach tossed the pouch to YoungGu, who caught it with one hand. JungHo stood shaking in anger as the older boy opened the pouch and pulled out its contents. He immediately pocketed the two pennies, but held up the silver ring and the cigarette case in each hand.
“You can have the money. But not those two things,” JungHo said. His heart was pounding. “Give them back to me.”
“Do you think I’m crazy? Why would I give these back?” YoungGu snorted. “These are rich people’s things. You stole them, didn’t you?”
“My father gave me those before he died,” JungHo said. Truthfully, he had found them under his father’s pillow after he passed away, but he figured that was the same thing, since he was his father’s only son and heir. They were his not because they were worth money, but because they were heirlooms.
“You don’t get it, do you.” YoungGu smirked. “Maybe you haven’t felt real hunger yet, or maybe you’re just that stupid, but these things won’t keep you alive when you’re lying in a ditch somewhere, waiting for death. On the other hand, if we sell these we could all eat until we’re full.” In spite of his swagger, YoungGu’s last words tumbled out with a hint of genuine longing.
“I don’t care if you all starve—I don’t want to join you,” JungHo said. “Now give it back!”
YoungGu laughed heartily, and then all the other boys joined in.
“You can leave, no one will stop you. But you’re not getting these back. You really are a simpleton even to ask. Let this be your first lesson in Seoul,” YoungGu said.
In a flash, JungHo raised his fists up to his chin, ready to fight. The other boys stopped laughing, and even YoungGu erased the smile from his face. He put the trinkets back inside the drawstring pouch and tossed it back to Loach for safekeeping.
The other boys, as if on cue, backed off one or two steps and widened the circle, as YoungGu and JungHo drew closer together. The air simmered with the hungry, gnawing energy of pubescent boys. Within that tension, there was a brief moment in which they both left the muddy canal strewn with rubbish, the dank shadow of the bridge, and the heartless city above them. YoungGu went to a mud hut where he was born and raised, less than half a mile from that spot. Disjointed memories of his mother’s hand and the soft fur of his pet dog passed inexplicably through his mind, and he was filled with a sense of comfort. JungHo blocked out everything around him, even YoungGu, even his own physical body already beaten by exhaustion. In that split second before the first punches were thrown, he simply looked up at the sky, which glowed a violent yellow from the late afternoon sun. It offered him no comfort, nor courage, as his father had promised. But he thought that his father and mother were up there somewhere, that he didn’t come into the world alone, and so was reminded why he must keep surviving as best he can as he sprang forward with a punch to YoungGu’s head.
YoungGu easily dodged JungHo’s fist and countered with his own attack, which the smaller boy sidestepped. For the next few minutes, they sized each other up, swiping and blocking, but from a safe distance. Then JungHo hurled himself forward with his fist aimed at YoungGu’s stomach. Because JungHo had bent himself slightly at the waist, his head was now the perfect height for YoungGu to knock out with a punch. But just as the older boy confidently threw his fist, JungHo ducked under the arm and rammed his head as hard as he could into YoungGu’s middle, felling him like a tree. JungHo knew that any advantage a taller boy has is eliminated once they’re on the ground, and that whoever manages to pin the other down will almost always win no matter what size. The moment YoungGu was knocked out, more by surprise than anything else, JungHo straddled his chest and punched his head savagely and repeatedly with both fists. YoungGu quickly grabbed JungHo’s scrawny wrists, shrieking in real anger this time: “You little shit! You little shit!” Just at that moment, JungHo pulled his head back, then rammed it with all his strength into YoungGu’s forehead. YoungGu screamed out in pain, but JungHo—without even blinking—smashed his head against YoungGu’s once more, even harder this time. The older boy let go of JungHo’s wrists and lay limply, bleeding quietly. Only then did JungHo get up, wiping his own blood-smeared forehead with the back of his hand.