Chapter Text
Every day was accompanied by the constant sound of metal. The clang, clang, clang of Father pounding out another weapon in the blacksmith shop was the song of Jongho’s childhood.
It was a rhythm, so he added his own melody.
Jongho had a good ear, so even his distracted humming as he sat in the house listening to the hammer and the furnace was a pleasing tune, a building block for a symphony.
He was his only audience, and for the rest of his life it looked like it would stay that way.
Jongho didn’t remember his mother very much. He knew she and Father often yelled at each other and that she was often bruised and tired and that one day she just left.
And Father had been so angry that he had struck Jongho for the first time. That had been some time around the age of four or five and he had sat in his room stunned for the remainder of the day.
He was young but he knew it wasn’t normal, that the other children had mothers and fathers that lived together and that no one hit them when they hadn’t done anything wrong.
Jongho didn’t even think anyone hit them when they had done something wrong.
He worked out soon after that the reason Mother left was likely related to Father’s fits of rage. And sometimes he resented her for not bringing him with her.
It was unlikely he’d find someone else to rescue him, with their neighbours all being far away and the people in the town being equally poor and burdened.
Ulso was nothing more than a backwater village, the smallest settlement on the edge of the peninsula, tucked away into the cliffs so tightly that you could miss it if you were sailing past.
But Jongho had never been anywhere else, and he had never known any other Father.
Days like this were good. Father worked on his weapons, and the bottle was far away from him. It was when he drank from it that he became a different person, and Jongho either made himself scarce or suffered the consequences.
By the age of ten he knew to lock up the smithy if Father ever forgot. There were sharp, hot weapons in there and they were the last thing a drunk Father ought to get his hands on when he was raging.
Today the sun was out and he hadn’t touched a bottle yet, nor had he found anything to blame Jongho for. So he sat in the house and worked on his reading while Father clanged away in the smithy. Not being enrolled in any school or taught by any tutor, he struggled through the lessons Father bought for him on his own, although according to him Jongho was “doomed to manual labour and nothing else” just like he was.
He had composed a little song while he listened to him, and he wished he knew how to write it down, but hardly anyone in Ulso even listened to music, much less knew how to make it.
The worst town in Jaecho could never afford such luxuries.
Just like every night, that dreadful feeling grew in Jongho’s stomach when he heard the day’s work stop and knew he would have to face his father.
Generally, he could avoid him. They both rose early and went about their own business until supper time, and even though Father cooked his own food in the day, he expected Jongho to prepare the evening meal or there were consequences.
Old woman Soomi made the best dishes at her food stall in the market, so that was where Jongho went in the afternoon to watch her like a hawk and memorise everything she did.
Father had generously given him money at the beginning of the month to cover the cost of ingredients, like he always did, and when he was confident he knew what he needed, Jongho approached her shop and made his selections.
“Stealing my shrimp stew recipe now, are we?” The old woman chuckled with a wink and Jongho instantly went red.
“N-No, ma’am, I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, hush child,” she waved it off and handed him his bags. “You’re a very mature young boy to take an interest in little old me and my family recipes. I’m sure your father is very proud.”
Jongho bit his lip and nodded. Father never told him things like that, but he was sure he was proud. Father simply wasn’t a sentimental person, that didn’t mean he didn’t love him.
On his way back down to the house, Jongho passed the rice paddies as usual. There was still enough rice in the bag at home for two servings of dinner, so he passed by without purchasing any. He could come to the market early tomorrow and get it, he told himself, eyeing the sun as it met the waves in a golden flash.
There on the beach a group of people were huddled together, and Jongho paused in his trek to watch them for a moment. What looked like lanes were marked into the sand, with a finish line at the end, far enough away that Jongho had to squint to see it.
They were athletes participating in a race, and Jongho couldn’t help but drop his bags and sit on the rocks to see them run.
The sound of the pistol firing made him jump, but the tension bled away as he focused on the runners, springing into action and sprinting across the sand. One man tripped, and his sudden stop messed up another contestant’s momentum, causing a minor crash at the back of the pack, but one man up ahead used the distraction to take the lead.
He passed the man in first place with a sudden burst of speed and took the win, and Jongho jumped to his feet and clapped, excited.
The athletes didn’t seem to hear him over the sound of their own cheering, congratulating each other and setting up for another race from the looks of it, and Jongho jolted out of his calm and picked up his bags again, rushing home.
It was sundown and he needed to make dinner quickly before Father got impatient.
Jongho left the window open while he went about the precarious task of cooking the shrimp, sweltering in the summer heat and craving a breeze from the ocean. Thankfully all the commotion didn’t bother Father, who was likely washing up in the outhouse or napping in his room.
Jongho hoped it was the latter. He always liked it when he could leave his father a plate and take his own outside, sitting under the single palm tree that managed to grow around the cliffs and listening to the sea birds squawk. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of the next game if he climbed higher up and looked down the beach in the direction of the town.
Father appeared and took a seat at the table, drumming his fingers on it restlessly and shattering Jongho’s fantasy.
Well, he spent enough time alone anyway. He could survive another meal with his father.
They ate in silence, except for Jongho’s whisper that he had made a sauce for the meat as he slid it over to Father’s seat.
Trying a taste of it himself, Jongho struggled to swallow and keep it down. It was much too sweet, and Father was sure to be angry when he had some. Jongho broke into a sweat as he watched him reach for it, dipping the shrimp in and coating it before bringing it to his mouth. Just as he opened up to take a bite, a knock sounded from the door.
Jongho deflated in relief before realising Father was staring at him expectantly with a warning glint in his eye and tripping out of his seat and over to the door to answer it.
Three tall strangers in uniforms were on the wooden porch, glancing around with minimal interest at the surrounding cliffside and the smithy behind the house.
“Good evening young man,” the one in the front said. He was the tallest of them all and he had some shiny medals pinned on his sash that gave Jongho the impression he was important. “Is the man who owns this business home right now?”
“M-my father...” Jongho stuttered, throat growing dry as he considered his options. Either he angered these men by refusing them entry, or he angered Father by allowing strangers inside.
“Would you mind fetching him for us?” The man asked gently, flashing a smile and tilting his head. “Tell him a Lieutenant Park from the Royal Navy wants to speak with him.”
Jongho blinked and nodded. The Royal Navy was very important, and their word was law in many places around the country, so he wasn’t sure he had a choice when the lieutenant asked him to disturb Father.
“Who is it?” Father snapped when Jongho returned to the dining room.
“Men from the Navy,” he explained in a reedy voice before trying to clear his throat. “Lieutenant Park wants to speak with you.”
His father sighed and tossed his napkin onto the table before storming out into the hallway and plastering a smile on his face.
“How can I help you gentlemen?”
“Do you mind if we come in?” The lieutenant asked, already peeking past Father. Jongho felt a chill come over him as he noticed how untidy the house was. Dust and dirt were everywhere, unwashed clothing strewn here and there...
Why did the cleaning lady have to take a summer trip to the archipelago now of all times?
“Of course,” Father answered, sliding the door open further and stepping out of the way, though Jongho could see his eye twitching.
He was getting angry now, and he couldn’t punish Jongho for the horrible food or the disordered house in full view of three government officers.
“Something smells delicious!” One of the other Navy men exclaimed as he placed his shoes on the landing and moved into the dining room. “I hope we didn’t interrupt supper...”
“Not at all!” Father rushed to reassure him, pulling out a chair for the man and playing the gracious host. “We have plenty if you’d like some.”
All three officers expressed their interest and Jongho flushed red, taking shaky steps towards the kitchen where he hoped he could break down in peace.
“We don’t have enough,” he whispered to Father as he joined him in front of the fireplace. “I used all the rice...”
“Foolish boy!” Father hissed, slapping him across the face before scraping every last grain into an extra bowl and bringing it out to the guests.
Jongho’s eyes filled with tears and he began feeling nauseous as he returned to his own seat, observing the way the officers all frowned at the sparse amount of food and the way Father clenched his fist below the table. “I’m not hungry,” he spoke up, sliding his plate over to the men. “You can have mine.”
Father didn’t look at him but the strangers seemed pleased as they dug in. Jongho scooped up the sauce and took it into the kitchen before anyone could taste it and have a coughing fit, further embarrassing him and sealing his fate for a rough night.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” He heard Father ask the guests while he began cleaning up, mostly wanting to stay out of sight.
“Our regiment has been routinely examining all forges in the area for potential naval use,” the lieutenant answered with his mouth full. “Am I correct that yours is the only smithy in this town?”
“Yes,” Father answered simply. “If you’d like weapons, we can discuss the prices in my workshop—”
“Not to get ahead of ourselves,” one of the other men interrupted, and the sound of chairs scraping back across the floor followed. “Of course we’ll need to inspect the craftsmanship. There are many potential smithies in the Tae district.”
When the sound of them leaving the room reached him, Jongho ran out in a flash to collect all the dishes and wash them quickly. If this visit ended as badly as it started, it would be better to have the work out of the way before the punishment began.
The men left rather suddenly ten minutes or so later, stuffing their feet into their boots and thanking Father for the meal, and Jongho reappeared to see them off.
“We’ll return if you’ve been selected,” one of the officers explained as he stepped onto the porch.
“And you, child!” The lieutenant bent down to look Jongho in the eye, addressing him directly again. “I have two myself, with a daughter your age. Listen to your father, and you’ll grow up fine like him!”
Jongho forced a nervous smile and bowed as the man shut the door behind him.
He could only squeeze his eyes shut and hope Father would just go to bed.
“Why was there no rice?” He snapped instead, grabbing Jongho by the shoulder and spinning him around.
“I’m sorry,” Jongho tried to say, but his voice left him halfway through the word and he bit his trembling lip to stop a sob from escaping. “I didn’t know we’d have company, so I thought I’d get more tomorrow—”
“ Tomorrow? ” Father scoffed, turning and taking a swig from his bottle. Jongho hadn’t noticed it in his hand until now. “If you weren’t in the market buying rice, would you care to explain what you were doing?”
Jongho opened his mouth but his throat went dry.
He had sat and watched the runners again. He had dreamed of running with them and never stopping.
If he ran until his feet gave out, how far from home would he be? Far enough that Father would never find him?
A blow to the head knocked him out of his daze and onto the floor.
“Answer me when I’m talking to you!” Father roared.
Jongho pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes to keep the tears at bay. Father always got angrier when he saw tears. Jongho didn’t know why but he guessed seeing him cry made Father feel guilty. And he was trying to blame everything on Jongho, so he was ruining things by accusing Father with his tears.
“I was trying to learn how to make supper,” he confessed. “The woman in the market was showing me...”
“What did you buy with my money?” Father yelled, spit flying into Jongho’s face as he shook his head vehemently. “You stole from me, didn’t you?”
“No!” Jongho cried. “I promise I spent it all on ingredients like you told me to, the prices just went up so I used it all.”
“And it was useless in the end!” Father scoffed, throwing his hands up in desperation before downing the rest of his bottle and pacing the room.
Jongho wasn’t getting away anytime soon.
“Don’t try to crawl off now!” His father yelled as he turned to face him again, kicking him down when he tried to get to his feet. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Jongho didn’t answer. What could he say?
“You’re useless,” Father groaned before smashing the bottle on the floor, shocking Jongho as he jumped away from the flying glass shards. “Clean it up!”
With that, Father stormed over to his room and slammed the door.
It seemed Jongho had dodged a more painful bullet. As quietly as he could, he gathered the glass and deposited it outside, only allowing himself to breathe— to feel at all— when he was out of earshot.
Even in private he kept a straight face, but he couldn’t help but gaze longingly down the beach, past the cliffs.
Tomorrow Father would either forget the whole incident or apologise with something small like letting him sleep longer or making extra breakfast for him to eat too.
But now all Jongho wanted to do was run until he couldn’t even breathe, then maybe he’d collapse and wake up a new person with a new life.
Maybe then he could just forget.