The Crosspass Village Dog

목넘이 마을의 개

황순원

The Crosspass Village Dog

by Hwang Sun-wŏn

Translated by Brother Anthony of Taizé

No matter where you wanted to go, you had to cross over a pass. The southern road alone followed a long, winding valley, but ultimately it was so completely surrounded by mountains on all sides that no matter where you wanted to go, you just had to cross over a pass. That’s why it came to be given the name Crosspass Village.

All through the seasons from early spring until late autumn, numerous travelers heading for Manchuria made their way through Crosspass Village.

Coming across the southern pass, these travelers, on entering the village, would invariably rest their weary limbs by the well in front of the poor cottage at the foot of the western hill before continuing on their way.

Generally speaking, there never seemed to be a small family. Occasionally what appeared to be still young couples were to be seen but it was almost entirely large family groups that arrived one behind another over the southern pass. The younger folk shouldered bundles full of what looked like rags while the elderly limped painfully along holding children by the wrist. The womenfolk had babies strapped to their backs and carried things balanced on their heads as well.

As soon as they reached the well, they would first quench their thirst in the shadow of the weeping willow. Each would drink in turns, then take turns to drink again. Whining children and even babes not yet weaned, all were given water. It looked as though they reckoned that was better than gnawing for breast-milk that refused to emerge.

Next they splashed the cold water over their blistered, burning feet. This too was repeated several times, turn and turn about. Even after the adults had finished, the children went on applying water to their feet using their hands. Nonetheless, when they left again, they would disappear over the northern pass still limping as before.

A group arriving toward nightfall might spend the night in the village. On such occasions, invariably they would head for the old mill at the foot of the western hill. Once they were installed in the mill, the women would take out the gourd dippers they carried with them and go out to beg some rice. The first place they would visit were the two houses with tiled roofs over on the slopes of the eastern hill opposite. Usually there were a few children following along, clinging to the women. They gobbled up the begged rice as if fearing it might disappear from the dipper. The women carrying the dippers kept scolding them saying they should let the grown-ups eat first, but by the time they emerged from the two tiled-roof houses, there would be nothing left at the bottom of many of the dippers. These travelers would vanish northward, ever northward, well before daybreak the next morning, while it was still dark.

It so happened that during the spring one year, inside the mill beside the house of Toddler’s family at the foot of the hill to the west, a dog was licking the bottom of the winnowing machine, that was standing on a mound of pale dust that was not even bran; there was no knowing when the mill had last been used. It was a moderately sized bitch, not that small. Its fur looked as though originally it had been a beautiful pure white, only now it was a dirty yellow from being drenched with muddy water, and it seemed to be ravenously hungry. Every time it breathed, its belly, that was pressed tight against its hind legs rose and fell rapidly with its panting. It seemed to have come from a long way away. On closer inspection, there were signs that some kind of long cord had once been tied round its neck. As if it had come all that way with a rope round its neck . . .

Since occasionally a traveler heading for Manchuria had passed through leading a dog like this at the end of a rope, it seemed likely that this dog’s owner had also been a Manchurian traveler. Usually, impoverished families would sell off anything they could not take on the long journey in order to raise some money, then when they set off after wrapping their meager belongings, they might take with them the dog that was like one of the family. All it took was a child insisting that the dog had to go wherever they went as they set off. So they set off, taking their dog Whitey along with them, but as they traveled along, from Chŏlla, if they were from Chŏlla, from Kyŏngsang, if they were from Kyŏngsang, all the way up to this North P’yongan village, with the sun burning down, once all the bran cakes they’d brought with them had been eaten, begging food or starving as they journeyed on, seeing there was nothing to feed the dog with, perhaps without further thought, they had tied it to a tree or something at the roadside. Hoping that someone able to feed it would untie it and look after it properly. Then the dog, after howling a while for its master, had perhaps begun to squirm with all its might until it finally snapped the rope tied round its neck before anyone could grab it, and escaped. Arriving at last, as it wandered on seeking its owner, in this Crosspass village. Or perhaps some travelers on the way to Manchuria, after coming this far then realizing they would be unable to take the dog all the way, had sold it somewhere. Or perhaps they had offered it in gratitude for the food they had received at some house, urging the people to take care of it. Only Whitey, unable to forget its former owners, had followed after them until it ended up here.

Besides, on closer inspection, the mud caked in the dog’s coat seemed to be a different color from the clay found here in P’yŏngan Province. Now it seemed to have realized that there was nothing but dust at the bottom of the winnowing machine, no matter how hard it licked, and as it directed its nose toward the great mill-stone, the way one of its hind legs was limping suggested just how far it had come.

Whitey licked hard at the mill-stone but it too was covered with nothing but dust. Still, Whitey kept licking at it for quite a while before stopping, then turned its nose elsewhere and limped on again; perhaps its former owners, on their way up to Manchuria, had spent a night here with troubled dreams, and perhaps the mill owners, while showing kindness to his family, had been concerned about the dog they had abandoned along the way. It was only after exploring the mill thoroughly that it emerged.

After leaving the mill, Whitey squeezed through a gap in the sorghum-stalk gate leading to the house of Toddler’s folk, who lived just beside it. Tawny, the dog belonging to Toddler’s folk, that had been sprawled on the ground sheltered by the eaves, lifted his head then rose and went out with a suspicious air to welcome her. Understanding that he meant to drive her away, Whitey tucked her tail beneath her gaunt belly and made her escape.

At the end of the row of thatched hovels, curved like crab-shells, was a vegetable patch. As she passed beside it, Whitey checked to see that Tawny was not following her then went limping quickly on. At the end of the vegetable patch lay some scraps of meadow that could not be leveled. Where they ended was a ditch in which, it being the dry season, not a trickle of water remained but only bare stones and standing pools of no longer flowing water. Here Whitey lapped up the stagnant water.

On the far side of the ditch a hill rose at an angle. At the top of this hill, on the inward side, stood the tile-roofed houses of the two brothers who were the village heads, some distance apart. Between the two houses was a mill that only those two households used. Whitey approached this mill. Just limping along. But here there was rice bran mingled with the dust. Whitey circled the winnower, licking busily, and as she did so, her gaunt belly heaved more rapidly than ever.

As Whitey was busily licking away at the bottom of the winnowing machine, the large black dog from the elder village head’s house noticed her and came running over. The dog paused for a moment outside the mill, raised his hackles while facing toward her, bared his teeth and snarled, at which Whitey, having already been chased away from one place, merely whimpered, and tucked her tail between her back legs, but refused to stop licking. Therewith the black dog seemed to decide that Whitey ought not to be treated as an enemy, for he stealthily came alongside Whitey and sniffed at her.

On recognizing that Whitey was a female, Blackie seemed fully reassured as he stood beside her, and even wagged his tail. Whitey merely stood beside him and kept on shivering. Yet still she did not stop licking.

Once Whitey had finished licking the bottom of the winnower and the mill-stone, and after visiting the outhouse serving both houses, she stretched out beneath the winnower. She started to blink as though her eyes were closing of their own accord. The blinks gradually increased in frequency until at last her eyes remained closed. Blackie sat down a little way off and observed her.

Then later in the evening there came the sound of a woman’s voice calling from the older village head’s house. Blackie went running toward the house. Whitey rose too. She went back and began to lick the places she had been licking before. Then, as if sensing something, she went hobbling toward the house.

There was Blackie, slurping up food from a feeding trough placed outside the kitchen door that was visible from the main gate. Whitey unthinkingly tucked her tail between her back legs and approached, trembling all over. But before Whitey was anywhere near the trough, Blackie’s hackles rose, he bared clenched white teeth and began to growl. Whitey stopped and just looked toward the trough, then sat down as if to say she could wait.

Soon after, Blackie moved away from the trough, using various lengths of his long tongue to lick his muzzle as a sign he had finished eating. Whitey immediately rose, her body still trembling, went to the trough and put her muzzle in. There was still some food left at the bottom, and a good deal of rice was sticking to the rim of the trough, too. Whitey licked rapidly. As she did so, her body trembled more than ever. After more licking, once there was nothing left to lick, she quit the trough, passed in front of Blackie who had been sitting watching, and left the yard.

As she was heading back to the mill, another dog blocked her path. It was the black and white spotted dog from the younger village head’s house. Whitey merely flinched fearfully. Spotty sniffed at her. It seemed that now some kind of smell struck her, for she began to sniff too, then she began to lick at Spotty’s muzzle, still moist with juice from the food he had just eaten. Apparently bothered by this, Spotty headed for home. Whitey followed close behind. Spotty entered the yard of his home, chose a spot in the very middle and sat down. Whitey headed straight for the trough by he kitchen door.

Just like in the elder village head’s house, there was food left at the bottom, with a good quantity of rice stuck round the rim. Whitey rapidly licked up everything then left the yard and returned to her place beneath the winnower in the mill.

During the night it began to rain hard. The rain continued all through the next day, too. As soon as day dawned, shaking off the rain, Whitey repeatedly made her way into yards of the older and younger village head’s houses through the dog holes, limping a little less than on the previous day. On her first visits the trough was merely wet from the heavy rain, the morning food not having been put out yet. Then the dogs’ meal was put out but she had to wait until the owners’ dog left the trough. After that she licked clean what they had left in the trough before making her way via the outhouse back to the mill, where she again lay down beneath the winnower.

When noon came, she emerged, lapped up some rainwater, and returned to lie down again. It was evening before the rain stopped. After making several journeys between the two houses, Whitey was again able to eat the food left in the troughs. That evening it seemed that Spotty from the younger village head’s house must have lost his appetite, for there was a large quantity of food left in the trough.

The next day brought a bright cloudless spring morning. Once again, after several visits to both houses from break of day, Whitey was able to eat the left-overs in the troughs; today she was almost not limping. On returning to the mill, she chose a sunny spot and lay basking in the sunshine.

A little later than people’s usual breakfast-time there came the sound of approaching steps and the two brother’s handyman appeared carrying a sack of rice. He dropped the sack he was carrying with a thud inside the mill and went back the way he had come; passing him in the opposite direction, Toddler’s grandmother carrying a winnowing basket and Toddler’s mother with a rolled mat on her head entered the mill. Toddler’s grandfather had previously served as handyman to the two families and even after he had quit the job he still performed most of the tasks for the two households, both small and great.

Toddler’s mother was cleaning the mill-stone with rain-water when the handyman returned carrying another sack of rice. He was leading an ox by the bridle with one hand and a musty smell emerged from the gaping sack. Drawn by what seemed like the smell of food, Whitey approached the sack. At that the handyman, without even looking at the dog, simply muttered a ‘Bloody dog getting in the way when people are busy,’ put out a foot and gave Whitey a prod in the haunches. It was not a particularly hard kick, but his leg was tough and hard so that Whitey gave a yelp, staggered sideways and collapsed. From there, she returned and lay down in the place where she had been sunbathing before.

When the first sack had been almost completely hulled, the younger village head arrived. Short of stature, his hair was cut very short. With his healthy complexion, he did not look like someone who was nearly forty as he came into the mill and asked in a firm voice that matched his solid build, “Is it dried properly?” But the question did not seem to be addressed to anyone and he did not wait for a reply as he continued, “Hull it so the grains don’t break.” The old woman, who had been following the ox as it turned the mill, scooped up a handful of rice from the millstone, brought it close to her eyes and examined how well it was hulled, then replaced it without uttering a word. She seemed to be indicating that it was well hulled.

Turning around, the younger village head noticed Whitey.

“Whose dog is that?”

Before the handyman, Toddler’s grandmother or mother could so much as look round, the younger village head’s foot landed in Whitey’s ribs. At the unexpected kick, she simply whined and scuttled aside. When she looked back as though to say that she could not leave the mill after coming so far, the handyman and the two women were once again absorbed in their work, as if they did not care whose dog she was, while the younger village head, still standing there looking in her direction, bent down looking for a stone to throw, on seeing which Whitey was obliged to use her last remaining strength to move away. As she was starting off along the downward slanting path, a stone came flying and landed beside her.