For the first time, MyungBo’s face became subtly opaque, as if concealing some displeasure. He said, “No, thank you, I’m not very hungry, and besides, it’s so comfortable here.”
“Are you sure? Please, it will be my treat,” SungSoo implored. “You embarrass me by not allowing me to buy you lunch after all these years.”
At that, MyungBo smiled and the chilliness disappeared from his face. He explained, “You’re still as generous as I remembered. Even at school, when some of the others talked about you as if you were a spoiled rich kid, I always defended you, because I knew you are far kinder than people make you out to be.”
“Oh, MyungBo. I don’t know,” SungSoo said, suddenly feeling deflated. “I’m not that kind. I don’t do anything to deserve such praise.”
“But what if you had the chance?” MyungBo asked excitedly. “What if you had the chance to prove your goodness, wouldn’t you take the right path?”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand . . .”
“Surely you know. Don’t you see? The people are dying, SungSoo. The good, hardworking peasants, who have never done anything bad in their lives, because every single waking minute is spent trying to put some food on the table . . .
“Just outside this office, here in Jongno, the beating heart of Seoul—thousands of people standing up against the oppression, fighting with their bare hands, and you haven’t noticed?” MyungBo’s eyes glittered in a strange way. “Why is there no rice for them? You tell me.”
“Because the prices are rising,” SungSoo answered reluctantly.
“No—well, that’s not the full answer. The prices are rising because the Japanese have proclaimed a census and measured every inch of Korea, and all the miserable illiterate peasants, who have no proof of ownership except ancestral and oral rights, woke up one morning and found that their land was no longer theirs. Any so-called unclaimed land, the government takes for itself, or sells to the grand landlords and the Japanese trading company. So, they go from small landowners to tenants under the great landowners, and after they pay off the taxes to the government, the rent for the land, fees for the tools, irrigation water, et cetera, et cetera, they no longer have any money to buy even their own food, and have to borrow from their landlords against the following year’s crop, just to be able to secure the seeds. The cycle gets worse every single year, and they’re sucked dry, down to their bones. Then, of course, the landlord makes them sign a communal contract so that if one tenant runs away, the other tenants of the village will have to pay off the remaining debt, so no one may dare escape, making them struggle in the same spot until they all die. Meanwhile, the great landowners, who control the vast majority of rice, see that the more they hold on to it, the higher the prices rise; and the higher the prices rise, the richer they become, so they keep their warehouses full to the top with sacks of grain, while everyone else is starving to death. Now, can you tell me that you don’t know what’s wrong with this state of things!”
“It’s not ideal, but what can I do? And besides,” SungSoo said mildly, though not all in good faith, “you yourself are a son of a landowner. You have profited from your birth as much as I have. So what do you propose?”
“Great. I’m glad you asked me that,” MyungBo said with a satisfied smile. “I can’t, in good conscience, continue to benefit from a system that every part of my body and soul knows is immoral. When my father dies and the estate passes on to me, I will give half of it to the peasants who have always tended it, and sell the other half for the cause. Just now though, I’m not getting any money from my family, and it’s been awfully difficult trying to sustain the movement in Shanghai on so little . . .”
“Goodness, is that why you came to visit me?” SungSoo asked. “Well, then, how much is needed?”
“You must first understand that this isn’t for me. It is for the movement, feeding and clothing and training our brave young men in Manchuria, who would throw away their lives gladly for our country.” MyungBo’s face became red, and his eyes shined with tears. “I was thinking that a contribution of twenty thousand won would be most appropriate for a man of your stature.”
“Twenty thousand won? My fellow, do you realize that’s enough to buy twenty villas?” SungSoo exclaimed. “I know everyone thinks I’m so rich, but that’s a lot of money even for me. I would have to think on it,” he said, even though he already knew he would never give MyungBo that much, or even anything close; he had decided instantly, and only the reasoning was what he needed time to formulate.