PAHO 2

When he saw the public phone booth, Nam Gyeonhwa stopped the motorcycle. He still had to go a few hundred meters more to reach his destination, but if he rode on the uneven road, the already precarious tires wouldn’t last.

The streetlamp, covered in ivy, flickered messily. It had been neglected for so many years that he couldn’t even remember what its original brightness had been. It wasn’t just the streetlamp; the condition of all the facilities in this area was more or less the same. It was hard to find anything functioning normally, from the asphalt that was roughly broken everywhere as if there had been an earthquake, to the uprooted and fallen roadside trees, and the mailbox filled only with fallen leaves and cigarette butts.

In the dim surroundings beyond, an apartment building was visible. To call it an apartment was generous; judging by its exterior, one would believe it was a den of ghosts. The playground, where colorful cans and plastic trash were mixed among overgrown weeds, looked like a flowerbed from a distance. From the tents lined up on either side, the rustling sounds of people and moans were ceaseless.

Someone was sitting motionlessly under a red banner, limp and soaked with rain. As soon as he recognized the young face, which looked to be about eight years old at most, Nam Gyeonhwa parked the motorcycle he had been pushing and, without a moment’s hesitation, ran toward him.

“Nam Haejin!”

At the voice calling out, filling the empty parking lot, Haejin lifted his head and, upon spotting him, broke into a wide smile.

“Hyung-ah!”

Nam Gyeonhwa unhesitatingly lifted the child who came running into his arms. The fabric of his clothes touching his forearm was damp with the night air.

“Why are you outside? Did I tell you to stay inside after the sun sets, or not?”

“You did. But, I was worried because you weren’t coming…”

“I left a note saying I’d be a little late today. What if something happens to you while you’re loitering around late at night?”

Despite the continuous nagging, Haejin, for whatever reason so happy, giggled and wrapped both arms around Nam Gyeonhwa’s shoulders, burying his face. He thinks he can get away with anything by being clingy. Swallowing a sigh, Nam Gyeonhwa adjusted his hold so his brother clinging to him wouldn’t fall and started walking.

Several tour buses were parked around the lot like a barrier. One of the group smoking cigarettes saw Nam Gyeonhwa crossing the parking lot and gestured with his chin.

“Hey there, pretty oppa? Where are you going? Busy?”

Catcalls mixed with whistles and boisterous laughter erupted. They were a group of thugs, so-called stray dogs, mostly consisting of destitute people and soldiers who couldn’t settle down after the fall of the North Korean regime. They roamed all over the country, extorting tolls from passersby or buying and selling stolen goods. The tents set up next to the playground were also the stray dogs’ place of business, used for gambling or arranging prostitution.

“Hey baby, don’t be scared. I’ll give you a good deal. Huh?”

“If you don’t like fucking, there’s a course for getting fucked, too. Pick a well-hung guy.”

The lewd soliciting was repeated not only in Korean but also in Chinese and English. Nam Gyeonhwa covered Haejin’s ears with his hands and quickened his pace. They snickered but didn’t follow him. They were the type to immediately recognize prey and pounce if you hesitated like a newcomer. On the other hand, a place where stray dogs gathered also meant that it was, at the very least, a habitable environment for people. It was somewhat of a contradiction, but it made sense in a way, as you needed people around to be able to swindle them.

The apartment building, located on the outskirts of Mangmae County, was public housing exclusively for newlywed couples, built as part of the Ethnic Recovery Promotion System, nicknamed the “Southern Man, Northern Woman” policy. However, the construction company that received the contract went bankrupt and even the company president and his wife fled overseas, so it had been left unsold and abandoned for twenty years now. It wasn’t just Mangmae County; there were countless such abandoned places across the country.

To solve this dilemma, the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Transport bought up the abandoned apartments and entrusted their management to private companies, but due to lax administrative audits, they were not properly managed. Nevertheless, there was a flood of people wanting to move in every year. This was because of the liberal eligibility requirements that didn’t scrutinize one’s place of origin or family relationships, as well as tax benefits. However, those who received the tax benefits were remarkably few. This, too, had long since become a new speculative business for landlords who bought the units under borrowed names.

The apartment building was built up to the ninth floor, but the residential areas were only on two floors, the fifth and sixth. Coming out of the emergency exit, instead of an elevator waiting area, there was a utility room where simple cooking was possible, and beyond that, partitioned living spaces continued. It was said that over ten households lived in a single unit separated by its own front door, but judging by the number of people visible, there might have been even more.

The room the two brothers lived in was a small side room on the right, inside the unit at the end of the sixth-floor hallway, so small that two adults could just barely stretch out their legs to lie down. The walls, plastered with cheap moisture-proofing material and sheet paper, would wrinkle up on rainy days, and the partition made of plywood seemed like it would crumble like dry mud with even a little force, let alone provide any soundproofing. Pigeon droppings and scraps of newspaper were stuck messily to the cracked window, making it impossible to see outside.

Though it was shabby, Nam Gyeonhwa didn’t think this room was all that bad. Compared to the fee for a year’s use, it was spacious, the sun came in well when you opened the window on a nice day, and the water and electricity worked fine. Among the places one could get without a guarantor, it was one of the more livable ones.

“Nam Haejin.”

“Huh?”

As soon as they got to the room, Nam Gyeonhwa opened the icebox to check it and called out in a stern voice. Haejin turned his head with a guilty expression.

“Why didn’t you finish the lunchbox I packed for you?”

Nam Gyeonhwa held out the sealed container he had taken from the icebox. The fried rice, which he had portioned out in the morning so Haejin could eat on his own, had hardened oil congealed white on its surface.

“The grandma in the next room asked me to go to church today, so… I ate Job’s tears tea and crackers there and I was full.”

“Still, you should have finished your rice. What did the doctor say? You have to gain weight before the next checkup so they can increase your dosage. Otherwise, you can’t get any more medicine.”

“Yeah, I know…”

Quickly losing his spirit, Haejin hung his head low. Nam Gyeonhwa let out a silent sigh. He didn’t want to nag, but when it came to his little brother’s meals, he had no choice but to be strict.

Haejin, who was born congenitally weak, lived with all sorts of illnesses. His heart was weak, and he had an atrial septal defect, making it virtually impossible for him to run for long or engage in strenuous activities. But the problem wasn’t just his heart.

Due to an incurable disease called Spore Syndrome, Haejin couldn’t sleep at night because of seizures accompanied by breathing difficulties. He was consistently taking medicine prescribed through the public health center, but it only alleviated the symptoms, and the ingredients were so strong that even a slight misstep could strain his body.

He was only eight years old; how tiresome must it be to force himself to swallow rice and medicine he didn’t want to eat? Nam Gyeonhwa approached the dispirited Haejin on his knees, rummaged through his inner pocket, and placed something on the small palm. Seeing the chocolate wrapped in gold foil, Haejin’s eyes widened.

“What’s this?”

“I stopped by the metropolitan city today. I saw an imported snack shop on the way and bought it. I remembered it was something Haejin likes.”

Haejin, seeing the chocolate he only got on birthdays or Christmas, gulped. But he didn’t seem readily pleased.

“Hyung-ah, but this… it’s expensive.”

“It’s not even ten thousand won.”

“Still, with ten thousand won, you could buy five packs of ramen.”

Haejin just rolled his eyes back and forth. Nam Gyeonhwa forced a small smile and said as he stroked his head.

“Little kids shouldn’t worry about things like that.”

“Still, I don’t like seeing you struggle.”

“It’s enough that you know I’m struggling. Eat one of the three after your meal, and then eat another one an hour after you take your medicine. And eat the last one tomorrow.”

Before he even finished speaking, Haejin tore open the wrapper and promptly placed one in Nam Gyeonhwa’s hand.

“I won’t eat one tomorrow. I’ll give it to you now, hyung-ah.”

“……”

“I gave it to you, so you have to eat it.”

Nam Gyeonhwa looked down at the small, tender hand resting on his palm and then held it tightly.

“Okay.”

The warmth was comforting.

The heat that had built up in layers throughout the long day did not cool down even at night. The groans of people tossing and turning from the heat squirmed through the walls like insects. Amid the restlessness, Haejin thankfully fell asleep quickly without a single complaint.

After checking that Haejin’s breathing was stable as he slept soundly, Nam Gyeonhwa took a small flashlight and a PDA out of his backpack. His body was stiff with the accumulated fatigue from the hundred-kilometer round trip on the motorcycle, but there was no time to sleep.

The S-One Recycling Green Center in Hwapyeong-ri. The recycling plant, known among residents as the junkyard or disposal site, was a lifeline for people who made a living by collecting and selling various scrap materials.

Nam Gyeonhwa was also one of those who made a living collecting scrap. The alloys and steel he found by digging through piles of trash, ranging from a few tons to over ten tons each week, could be resold at scrap dealers found in every major city.

At first glance, one might wonder what kind of money could be made selling mere scrap metal, but parts used for various modifications were an exception. There were quite a few enthusiasts among imported sports car owners, primarily in the metropolitan area, who wanted illegal modifications, and the steel and parts used for these were often found in large-scale waste. In particular, parts from special equipment like drones were worth whatever price was asked.

But a few weeks ago, the atmosphere at the scrap dealers turned strange, and a major crackdown began. The official reason was a firm response to prevent technology leakage due to illegal trespassing, but considering their past behavior, it was a rather abrupt change in stance.

A sigh escaped out of habit. Whatever their true intentions were, it was crystal clear that he had to lie low and be careful for the time being. Was there any other reason why even Jo Yongsik, who usually just let things slide, had meddled, telling him to be careful? It would be trouble if he got caught by the security team and the case was handed over for criminal prosecution.

An unidentified person not registered with the National Population Agency’s resident registration system would, by law, have to pay bail in the hundreds of millions of won or perform indefinite military service at the very front line near Baekdu Mountain. If they refused even that, the only option was deportation.

The unbearable, massive bail would be overwhelming, but frontline military service was something he wanted even less. Especially in the military zone called Yanggang. Nam Gyeonhwa knew better than anyone what kind of place that was.

The Realm of Hells.

No, it was worse than hell. The only word that could describe a place where even a shred of ethics and morality became useless was the primal emotion of fear.