2

Daehô parked the motorcycle in front of Manrijangseong and went back inside. Manson, wearing a tracksuit and slippers, was yawning as he cleaned the dining room. Panseon poked Manson in the side with a finger. Manson muttered, “If I’d known it was raining, I would’ve come in early. I didn’t even know……”

“Okay.”

Daehô said curtly as he took off his raincoat.

Manson glared at him, and Panseon grabbed Manson by the wrist. Manson gave a quick grin, then shouted loud enough for the whole dining room to ring, “Daehô, I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry.”

“Thanks a fucking lot for apologizing.”

Daehô answered even more curtly than before.

Panseon took off his apron and said, “Let’s eat lunch now. Manson, bring the food over.”

Daehô sat down and didn’t lift a finger while Manson brought over three bowls of jjamppong and a plate of gunmandu. He mixed vinegar and red pepper powder into the soy sauce in his dipping dish. Then he started eating the tangsuyuk. Manson halfheartedly spooned up some jjamppong broth, then put his spoon down.

“Manson, how late were you at the PC-bang?”

“Dunno.”

“I told you not to answer me like that.”

Panseon raised his voice.

“I said I don’t know.”

“He who does not work shall not eat.”

Daehô muttered under his breath, cutting in.

“What the hell’s this bastard saying?”

Manson shouted, but Daehô looked him straight in the eyes and pulled the plate of tangsuyuk toward himself.

“Manson. Manson.”

Panseon said his name in a low voice.

Manson lowered his head and sighed, then lifted only his eyes.

“Do you know how old I am?”

Manson shook his head as if he couldn’t be bothered.

“I started working at Manrijangseong when I was eighteen. That was nineteen years ago. So you know how old I am, right?”

“Yeah. More or less.”

Manson cleared his throat and answered.

“What do you mean, more or less? Eighteen plus nineteen is thirty-six. Are you stupid?”

“Thirty-seven.”

Daehô corrected Panseon’s mistake.

“Right. Thirty-seven, not thirty-six. I’m thirty-seven this year. Anyway, forget that. What matters is I’ve busted my ass at Manrijangseong for nineteen whole years. Nineteen years. Hell, in that time I could’ve built the Great Wall of China twice. No, three times. Right?”

Panseon looked from Manson’s face to Daehô’s and back again. Manson kept his head down. Daehô nodded.

“Right. Well, that’s not the point either. What I’m trying to say is this. You two have no idea how poor my family was. I was so hungry I quit high school as soon as I got in, went straight to the owner of Manrijangseong, got down on my knees, and begged him to give me a job. You know how humiliating it was at first? I’d go out on deliveries and run into kids I’d gone to middle school with, or friends from high school. I wanted to die.”

Panseon let out a sigh and ran his hand over the many knife scars on his left hand.

“There were two older guys doing deliveries with me back then. As soon as work was over, they’d sit around at the billiard hall and order jajangmyeon from Manrijangseong. Meanwhile, after two years of deliveries, I became a kitchen helper. Five years after that, I became assistant chef. How old was I then…… Daehô, could you go get the calculator from the counter?”

Panseon stopped talking while Daehô got up and brought him the calculator.

“Okay, eighteen plus two, plus another five. So I was twenty-five.”

Panseon pushed the calculator aside and went on.

“I’m not nagging you. You might laugh and say, what’s so special about owning a Chinese restaurant in some backwater like Sokcho? But this is my whole life. Miss work without telling me one more time, and that’s it. You understand?”

Manson kept his head down and said nothing.

“I asked if you understand.”

Panseon raised his voice.

“Yes.”

Daehô swallowed and answered.

“What the hell are you saying yes for, idiot? Aren’t you sick of hearing the same lecture dozens of times?”

Manson shot to his feet and smacked Daehô across the back of the head with his palm. Then he swept his hand across the food on the table and shouted. But Manson’s arm was too short, so only one bowl of jjamppong fell to the floor. The floor instantly became a mess of broth and bits of food.

“Then I’ll quit! Who the hell are you to lecture me? Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing me!”

Daehô slowly stood up, clenching his fist.

“I’ve been going easy on you because you’re my friend, and now you’re really going too far.”

Daehô grabbed Manson by the collar with both hands and lifted him up. Manson gasped for breath and thrashed his legs.

“Let him go.”

Daehô looked at Panseon once, then slowly released Manson’s collar. Manson stepped backward into the jjamppong broth pooled on the floor, lost his balance, and fell flat on his backside. Covered in jjamppong broth, Manson got to his feet, glared at Panseon and Daehô, and shouted, “Fuck!” Daehô looked Manson up and down once, then went and stood beside Panseon.

“This bastard. I took him to the PC-bang all the time and hung out with him, and now he turns on me.”

“Hey! Get your facts straight. You dragged me to the PC-bang because you didn’t want to go alone. When was I ever the one who suggested going?”

Manson shouted, trembling all over, then quickly ran toward the front door. But business hours were over, the front door was already closed, and the shutter had been down for a while. Manson stopped short in confusion, then ran out through the back door.

“Idiot.”

Daehô spat out the insult and went to get the cleaning supplies. He swept the noodles and broth into a bucket with a broom and dustpan. Panseon said nothing. He brought over a mop and wiped the floor.