The Great Storyteller-Chapter 27 - A Harsh, Bitingly Cold Winter (2)

Translated by: ShawnSuh

Edited by: SootyOwl

“It was around here somewhere.”

Juho was lost. He had to leave in a hurry because of a last-minute plan. Though he managed to get to the vicinity of the publishing district, the sheer number of book cafes around made it difficult to find the meeting place, so he took out his phone to ask Nam Kyung for directions.

He followed the directions on the phone and went into an alley.

“Hey, I’m here!”

Nam Kyung was waving his hand in front of a building. It was a cafe where the front was made entirely of glass. The blue sign met Juho’s eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d ask me to come out so soon.”

“Mr. Uhm is a man of action.”

‘Right.’ Juho was able to tell from how he had asked for a meeting.

He and Nam Kyung went into the cafe. The books inside caught his eyes. That book cafe was putting more emphasis on the book aspect than others. It had to be because it was within the publishing district.

Looking around, Juho found a man who looked to be in his thirties. He was sitting with a straight posture, writing. He was focused. The blank expression on his face gave off a slightly rigid impression.

‘That must be him, Dong Gil Uhm.’

As expected, Nam Kyung walked toward the man.

“Mr. Uhm, this is Yun Woo.”

At Nam Kyung’s voice, the man stopped his hand and slowly raised his eyes to Juho’s face. Then, he stared intently for a little while and said, “How you doin’, sir.”

Although Juho was much younger, Dong Gil Uhm greeted him with respect. Juho said hello and told him not to worry about having to be polite. Dong Gil accepted without saying much else. He really was a man of action.

“I’m Juho Woo. I’d prefer Juho rather than Yun Woo.”

“Sure.”

Nam Kyung suggested ordering something to drink, and all three decided on hot americanos.

“They sell cakes by the slice. Would you like one?”

“I’ll eat gratefully.”

With a satisfied smile, Nam Kyung ordered two slices of cake. Dong Gil Uhm had respectfully declined Nam Kyung’s offer because he was not into sweets. Soon, the cakes and americanos came out. Juho ate his cake while Nam Kyung caught up with Dong Gil. Everything was delicious.

Once they finished, Dong Gil turned his eyes to Juho. Juho took that as a cue and started a conversation.

“I’ve heard you were curious about my looks.”

Dong Gil admitted, “Yes. I was surprised at how young you were. Now that I see you in person, you do look your age. I enjoyed your work quite a bit.”

Juho thanked him with a smile. It felt pretty good to be complimented by a famous author who had written several best-selling books. He would probably continue to write more in the future.

“I’ve read quite a bit of your books myself.”

“Is that right? I figure they might’ve been a little serious for a student.”

That was true. Dong Gil’s books were definitely more serious, perhaps to a fault. However, Juho preferred such books.

“I’m also a fan of Hemingway.”

Dong Gil’s rigid face loosened up a bit.

“Hemingway is a great author. He’s in my list of things that I clearly like. I have it in my notepad.”

Juho blinked for a second. ‘Clearly what?’

“What’s in that list?”

“It’s a list of things that I clearly like.”

It was just as he said. Juho thought of his first encounter with Dong Gil when he walked into the cafe and asked, “So, were you working on that list before I got here?”

“That was a journal.”

He wrote quite a bit. It explained why he was an author.

“Isn’t it a little early for journaling?”

“It’s my journal, so I decide when I write it.”

He had a point. Among authors, there were some who were in the habit of journaling. In the case of Dong Gil, his rigid expression and journaling made for an interesting concoction. It suited him well. ‘A man in his thirties who journals, how unique!’

‘Besides, what’s with that list?’ Juho had never heard of such a list. ‘Why is he writing a list like that?’

“What makes you write a list like that?”

“I wanted to know what I clearly like.”

“Do you like things to be clear-cut?”

“Whether I like or dislike something is besides the point here. I’m just trying to get to know myself better.”

Juho was reminded of the old saying ‘know thyself.’

“Are you into Socrates?”

“I don’t dislike him.”

It seemed like Dong Gil was much more unusual than Juho had imagined.

During a brief pause in their conversation, Juho took the opportunity to take another bite of his cake, and Dong Gil brought his cup to his mouth.

“Do you remember your very first Hemingway experience?” Dong Gil asked.

Juho took some time to think until the cake in his mouth had slid past the back of his tongue. It didn’t take much to remember his first experience with Hemingway’s unique style, and he remembered being amazed by it.

“It was a short-story called “The Killers.””

“That one’s particularly hard-boiled.”

“I know. That’s why I remember it so distinctly. I had never come across a book with such little emotional description.”

The story was part of a compilation. Two contract killers attempted to murder a person. It was an irrational situation. There were three people who found out about it. One was indifferent toward it because it had nothing to do with him. Another accepted it as normal. Finally, the last person resisted. The person who chose to resist was named Nick. Nick found the person who the killers were after and explained the situation to the targeted man. However, the man refused to move from his place. He said, ‘I’m exhausted.’ Nick was shocked by that turn of events, and decided to leave town.

When Juho read this simple story, he thought about the perspective of each character. He joined in with Nick in his resistance. He waited for the killers alongside the man who had let go of everything. Juho tried taking a step back like the first person and also tried to kill a person while embracing such irrational culture. Everything was possible. That was Hemingway. He was impressive. Dong Gil must have had a similar experience.

“What was your first Hemingway book?” Juho asked him.

“The Snows of Kilimanjaro. Hemingway wrote the book after his trip to Africa.” Dong Gil’s eyes sparkled, and he continued, “When I learned that, it felt like I had figured out the secret behind the liveliness of that book for the first time.”

“In the novel, he reflected quite a bit on his own experiences.”

Dong Gil nodded.

“That’s right. A crush, for example.”

“A farewell to arms.”

“One time, he went to Spain to witness the Spanish Civil War.”

“For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

All of his books were titled after his real life experiences. Dong Gil seemed satisfied by Juho’s answer. He must have been happy that they spoke the same language. Perhaps, he was not such a complicated person after all.

Dong Gil continued with a satisfied look on his face, “Even the conciseness in his writing comes from his experience as a journalist. He’s a person who uses his own life experiences as a basis for his books.”

Dong Gil described his impression of Hemingway as “a person who wastes nothing.” He was the same way. Hemingway felt like a person who would come up with a strange list to write in his spare time.

“Speaking of which, weren’t you a journalist in the past, Mr. Uhm?”

Having been listening to the conversation, Nam Kyung chimed in. Juho had never heard that Dong Gil used to be a journalist. It would have been a well known fact if he had been. Juho thought that his rigidity somehow suited him for the job. A journalist or a reporter could give off a negative impression currently, but the job had always been about delivering the truth.

“It’s an embarrassing past. How did you know?”

“I met with Mr. Ahn once for a manuscript request.”

“That buddy of mine is always going around saying silly things. He has such a mushy style of writing. It’s like he modeled it after his own personality. I don’t feel good whenever I read his things.”

“Is that right? I enjoyed it quite a bit.”

His criticism had an edge to it. As if he had been used to Dong Gil’s personality, Nam Kyung responded in the blink of an eye. Dong Gil seemed much too genuine in his disgust to think that he was joking.

“What’s Mr. Ahn like?”

“He wears sweatpants all year round. He has an underdeveloped sense of fashion.”

It didn’t seem like Dong Gil had anything nice to say about his friend. Juho decided to stop asking any more questions. On the other hand, Nam Kyung was laughing as if he were amused by the joke.

Juho changed the subject, “I didn’t know you used to be a journalist.”

“I don’t tell anyone on my own.”

He did say he was embarrassed about it.

While Juho hesitate to speak, he thought, ‘What makes one embarrassed of having been a journalist?’

Dong Gil continued as if it weren’t a big deal, “I started working as a journalist, but then I quit the next day.”

Then, Juho asked without hesitating, “How come?”

It made sense for it not to be a widely-known fact. Quitting the next day would mean that he had left before he even got his employee ID.

“Well, I have my reasons, but in the end, I saw myself quitting in the future. I felt like I was suffocating because it was very boring. I thought I might as well make better use of my time. I became a journalist because there is no money in writing books nowadays, but that was a mistake. I didn’t prioritize myself in my decision.”

Then he continued confidently, “No matter how time changed, I learned that I had the ability to survive. I was young too. I did a disgraceful thing by being afraid for no reason, bringing myself down. This doesn’t mean that I support this biased society.”

Despite what he said, Juho wasn’t getting an impression that he was arrogant. He described himself as if he were stating the obvious. For a best-selling author, his self-evaluation was not excessive in any way. He tried hard to understand himself objectively. That was it. He was not like Hemingway.

“You’re not like Hemingway,” Juho thought out loud.

Dong Gil stopped talking for a moment. After a brief silence, he asked, “What does that mean?”

“He had a habit of exaggerating things to cover up his weak, timid personality.”

In that case, Dong Gil was definitely nothing like Hemingway. Hemingway was legendary for his binge drinking and pretentious attitude.

Dong Gil smirked almost like a sigh. For a brief moment, his face seemed like that of a child who had lost his innocence.

“Yes, that’s right,” he murmured. “I discovered that when I was about your age. I had never been so disappointed, even when I read “Across the River and into the Trees.”

Among Hemingway’s books, “Across the River and into the Trees” was one that was not well-received by critics and fans.

“When I heard somebody describe him as a hairy sissy obsessed with masculinity, I was genuinely hurt. Maybe even more than Hemingway himself.”

Hemingway’s mother had always wanted a daughter. For that reason, she had dressed her son in girly clothes. There was even a story of her introducing her son to the neighbors as ‘Ernestine.’ As a means of rebelling against her, he would often go out hunting and fishing. He habitually demonstrated his masculinity. That was the beginning of his pretentious character.

His concise writing style was revolutionary at the time. Though they seemed easy read on the surface, every book was thoroughly calculated. It was beautiful. That was the reason why Dong Gil had assumed that Hemingway had a personality like that of his writing style.

“After countless people testified that he was a big talker, I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t help but feel betrayed. My sensitivity would not leave me alone. I had wanted to be like him, but I didn’t want to be like him anymore.”

In the past, Dong Gil had spent a lot of time wondering about in life and figuring out his identity.

At that moment, he took a notepad out of his chest pocket.

“That’s why I started making this list, the list of things that I clearly like.”

It all made sense. His desire to judge himself objectively was coming from his past disappointment. ‘Who would have known that there was such a story behind that strange list of his?’

Once a delusion shattered into pieces, another truth revealed itself. The truth was painful. It was difficult to accept. Yet, in the end, he ended up pursuing this same truth, and that was because he still looked up to Hemingway.

“What was the first thing you wrote on the list?” Juho asked.

“Hemingway,” Dong Gil answered.

Juho spoke out a phrase that came to mind, “A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.”

“Old Man and the Sea,” Dong Gil quietly named Hemingway’s very last masterpiece.

It was a phrase said by the protagonist of the book. To protect his once-in-a-lifetime catch, an old man named Santiago was fighting off sharks with his life. Then he said, ‘A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.’

“He was a man who would rather be destroyed than defeated.”

The sun shone brightly onto the three syllables written on Dong Gil’s notepad.

<A Harsh, Bitingly Cold Winter (2)>