Free Black Flower by Young-ha Kim Page A

Ijeong was suddenly captivated by an odor and stopped on the spot. He had smelled it somewhere before, but he could not imagine what it could be. He had smelled all sorts of things in the galley, but nothing like this. Even if he mixed together all the spices he knew, he would not be able to re-create it. He looked around. Yeonsu was there. Her dark eyes flashed with light and then retreated into the darkness. The smell disappeared with her. Ijeong filled his lungs with the salty air. He heard a guttural voice. “Did someone slaughter a roe deer?” It was Jo Jangyun. “That’s what it smells like when you cut the neck of a roe deer and drink its blood.” He smacked his lips. “There was an unusually large number of hunters in our unit, and whenever they missed that taste they went into the mountains and bang, bang! Then they would cut the neck and catch the hot, steaming blood in a bowl and drink it right there.” Ijeong tilted his head. “Doesn’t it taste bad?” he asked. Jo Jangyun laughed and ruffled Ijeong’s hair with his large hand. “I think I’ll join the ritual.” He disappeared into the crowd. There were 1,033 of them—no, two had died and one had been born, so there were 1,032 of them on the ship. The crowd pressed so thick around the ritual area that there was nowhere to set foot. After Jo Jangyun had gone, Ijeong turned to look around, but the girl had already disappeared. He could not find her. His heart had taken flight, and he could not stay still. He went down to the cabin and saw the girl sitting with her family and sewing.

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    T HE ARGUMENT ON the deck was in full swing. Everyone was talking agitatedly, some wanting to throw the seriously ill into the ocean before the disease spread any further, others wanting to move them to the deck during the day so they could get some sunshine, and still others wanting to stop at the nearest land and let them off. Yet they were unable to reach a conclusion. There seemed to be no land anywhere nearby, and the weather was cloudy. Of course, they could not throw into the sea those who were still alive—the families of the ill would make sure of that. And they could not toss overboard only those who had no family.
    Father Paul walked past where the possessions of the dead were being burned, then went down to the reeking cabin. At Penang they had taught some medicine to the seminary students; there was nothing like Western medicine for gaining the trust of the natives and strengthening ties. He did not think that he could fight this epidemic with what little he knew, but he could be a small help. In the cabin many suffered from dehydration and asked for water. He brought them water. Yet he was more suited to consoling than offering physical treatment. He listened to what they had to say. Many people suffered delusions and could not speak properly. Perhaps there might be Catholic believers. If so, would he have to perform the sacraments? If someone recognized him and asked him to perform the last rites, what was he supposed to do? Did a priest who had disobeyed a bishop’s order and abandoned his flock have such authority?
    He somehow fell asleep amid the cries of the sick. He did not dream of anything. Morning came and a dim light shone into the cabin. He rose and took care of the sick again. It was better than spending time alone, in agony, wrapped in his blanket. Some awaited his aid, and in their pleading eyes he felt a secret pleasure. Even the demon of disease had passed him by.
    A day passed.
    Tanabe, the veterinarian, his mouth covered with cloth, went down and helped Father Paul. The two of them checked to see if one gravely ill man was still alive. He showed no sign of movement. If he was dead, they would have to throw him into the ocean. Paul pulled back the blanket from the man’s face and his eyes narrowed. The face was familiar. The man had once told Paul to beware of thieves in an open port. He had grown quite gaunt, but Paul recognized him