Tales of a Korean Grandmother: A Story for Sale
One hot summer afternoon Halmoni and her grandchildren were sitting, pleasantly idle, beside the cool sparkling brook in the Garden of Green Gems. They were talking of this and of that, of nothing in particular. As usual at such times, one of the children said, "Tell us a story, Halmoni, a new story, one we've not heard before."
"How much will you pay for a story?" the Korean grandmother asked teasingly.
None of these children thought such a question strange. Traveling poets often knocked at the Kim gate and asked if the Master would not buy a poem from them. Did not the traveling storytellers at the market and the fairs always demand pay for the good tales they told there? Even their own poet-father received pay for his verses. But of course his pay was in gifts of fat roasted chickens, of bolts of grass linen, or of a new finely sewn collar for his silken coat. These gifts to him were tokens of admiration from friends--even from strangers--for the golden words that flowed from his rabbit-hair brush.
"How much would your story cost, Halmoni?" Ok Cha said, coming close and laying her hand affectionately on the old woman's shoulder.
"Well, I don't know." The Korean grandmother smiled. "Yi and his wife paid a full hundred strings of cash for a story. They really got no story at all though, in the end, it turned out to be worth a great deal of money to them.
We'll talk about the price some other time," Halmoni continued. "And I'll tell you about this story Old Yi bought at such a great price. Yi was a rich fellow who lived with his wife far out in the country and far up on a hillside. They had many times a hundred strings of cash in their house. So much did they have, indeed, that their brassbound chests overflowed, and they hid part of their wealth in the great kimchee jars, buried deep in their courtyard.
"Riches do not always bring pleasure, my little ones. There were no sons in that house far up on the hillside, and no grandchildren to bother." Halmoni smiled so that her listeners knew she did not mean the last words just as they sounded. "No, it was as still as the ancestors' tomb under Yi's roof. The old couple often were lonely. Traveling actors or storytellers never knocked at their gate, so far off the road. They were too old to go in their sedan chairs to pay visits or find amusement at the town fairs. Today was like tomorrow, and the evenings were long.
"One morning the Master of that house called Hap, his gatekeeper, to him. 'Go down to the valley,' he commanded, 'and do not stop walking until you have found a good storyteller. Buy from him a fine tale. You can pay him one hundred strings of cash for it!'
"This gatekeeper, Hap, was a dark, ignorant fellow. He himself would not have known a storyteller from a woodcutter. But he loaded the chest containing the cash on a wooden carrying frame, which we call a jiggy. He raised this up on his back. Then he trotted off down the hillside in search of a fine tale to bring back to his master.
"Many hours Hap walked along the path through the valley before he met anyone. Then he came on a farmer, resting by the side of a stream that ran through some rice fields.
" 'Have you been in peace, venerable sir?' Hap said, bowing in polite greeting.
" 'Ye, Uncle, and you, have you eaten your honorable meals?' the stranger returned his courtesy, according to custom.
" 'Will the Learned Man tell me if he has a story which he will sell? My Master has ordered me to buy a fine tale.'
"Now this stranger was but a countryman himself, a man also without learning. He had no story on his tongue's tip, nor could he remember one. But he had great need of money, and he did not wish to let such a good chance slip by.
" 'Ye, Uncle, I have a story.' he said to the gate keeper. 'But it will cost a large sum. How much can your Master pay?'
" 'Will a hundred strings of cash be enough? That is all I have in this money box.'
The farmer was overjoyed when he heard of this goodly sum, and he nodded his head. He thought hard, for he still could remember no story and he had not the wits to invent one. As he gazed about him in his need, he saw a longlegged stork, picking its way through the rice field. Daintily lifting first one leg and then the other, the great bird moved towards the stream.
" 'He comes! Step by step!' The farmer spoke aloud. 'Step by step he comes nearer.' And the stupid gatekeeper, thinking the man was beginning the story, repeated his words. He must know this fine tale by heart so that he could tell it to the Master.
" 'He comes! Step by step!' Hap echoed. 'Step by step he comes nearer!'
"At that moment the stork saw a movement in the rice, and he halted to find out just what it was. 'Now he stops to listen! Now he stops to look!' the farmer said with his eyes till on the stork.
" 'Now he stops to listen! Now he stops to look!' the gatekeeper chanted.
"The rice plants no longer moved, and the stork bent his neck to hunt for some good morsel, an earthworm or perhaps a snail on the ground. With bent legs and slow steps the bird crept through the field.
" 'He bends down! He creeps!' the farmer went on, hoping that the stork would furnish him with a satisfactory tale. And the gatekeeper spoke likewise, reciting each word with great care.
"Then there was a quick movement in the rice, and a fox raised its black nose out of the green. With a leap off the ground the stork spread its broad wings and flew quickly to safety.
" 'Ai! Ai!' cried the farmer. 'He's off! He is fleeing. Soon he will be safe!'
" 'He's off. He is fleeing. Soon he will be safe!' his listener cried too.
" 'Is that all the story?' Hap asked the stranger when no more words came from his lips.
" 'That is all. Who could want more?' the farmer said haughtily, and he loaded Hap's hundred strings of cash on his own 'jiggy.'
"On his way home up the hillside, Hap repeated this story over and over. He was proud that he did not forget one single word. Of course he did not understand it, but then he was a dark, unlearned fellow.
"Old Yi and his wife also thought it a queer tale. They did not understand it, either. The old man told it over aloud night after night, trying to puzzle out its meaning.
"Now in that lonely region, it is not at all strange that one evening a wicked man came to rob this rich aged couple. The robber was young, and it was no trouble to him to climb over the wall. With soft steps the thief was making his way toward the house, when he heard a voice say, 'He comes! Step by step! Step by step he comes nearer.'
"This brought the thief to a standstill. 'The Master of this House does not see me. How can he know I am here?' he thought to himself. And he held his breath, listening and looking about him.
"The voice came again. 'Now he stops to listen! Now he stops to look!'
"The theif could not understand how the man inside the house knew just what he was doing. But he was bold, and he began to creep toward the light that shone through the window paper.
" 'He bends down! He creeps!' The voice of Yi, telling the story to his old wife, came clearer and clearer.
" 'How can he know each thing I do?' the robber thought. He began to be frightened. 'This must be the house of a spirit,' he said to himself. 'I had best get out of here.'
"And as he turned to run away, the voice of Old Yi followed him. 'He's off,' it cried. 'Soon he will be safe!'
"And that thief ran as fast as ever he could, leaping the wall at the very first try and never stopping until he reached his brother thieves in the town down in the valley.
"All those wicked men shook their heads at the tale their frightened friend told them. And none of them ever again tried to rob the house of Old Yi who bought the farmer's story for a hundred strings of cash!"
The End.
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