Only one thing weighed on him. It was that his wealth, though astronomical, also seemed to get drained quite quickly. He himself had always enjoyed spending money, and he had no plans to cut down on his habits of restaurants, clothes, and women. But he had not expected how much his only son would take after him in squandering the family fortune. He did everything SungSoo did but on a grander scale, and added his own vices of gambling and opium. SungSoo had already paid for debts amounting to the sale of a couple of prosperous villages and adjoining farmland, and his patience had reached its limits.
Adding to the unstable state of his affairs was the increase in property taxes, designed to squeeze the Korean landowners so that they would voluntarily give up their land. When the gentry finally decided to sell their estates, the Japanese would be hovering nearby, waiting to snatch up the land. This morning SungSoo had received a letter from his father in the country on this very issue. He complained of the local police, who had been showing the Japanese nobles around his property—ostensibly for a tour, but really to subtly pressure him.
These pesky worries had settled on SungSoo’s mind during his walk and he swatted them away when he reached his bicycle shop. The door was open, although it was a frosty late autumn afternoon. Inside, the manager and the senior repairman were chatting over some steamed buns and tea, while the junior repairman was crouched next to a bike. SungSoo frowned and cleared his throat, and the manager snapped to attention.
“We weren’t expecting you,” the manager said, smiling and wringing his hands. He was upset that SungSoo, who was largely absent, had chosen this day to do his year-end check-in. “Let us get you a cup of tea. HanChol! Some tea, immediately!” he barked at the junior repairman.
HanChol unfolded his strong, tall body, rose obediently from his post, and made as to fetch the tea from the back room. SungSoo frowned at the manager.
“That’s not necessary. I would like to look at the ledger with you if you’re not busy,” he said. “Also, my kid wanted to get her bike fixed. She’ll be dropping by.”
SungSoo went into the back room and the manager followed. For the next hour, they looked together at the ledger which, for the first time in all these years, had settled evenly without any missing or unexplained sums.
“Excellent bookkeeping this year,” SungSoo muttered. The manager smiled and bowed a few times in rapid succession, protesting modestly.
“Just doing my job, sir.”
“But the business is still barely breaking even. Why is that?” SungSoo asked.
“Well sir, these are hard times . . .” the manager began, but SungSoo waved him into silence.
“That’s fine. You may leave. Oh, and ask the junior guy to come in.”
“You mean Kim HanChol?”
“There is only one junior guy, isn’t there?” SungSoo asked sarcastically and the manager bowed out.
When HanChol came into the room, SungSoo gestured at the chair facing him.
“So, you’ve been here for a year now,” SungSoo said once the younger man was seated. “I noticed that you’ve been doing the bookkeeping instead of the manager. He took all the credit, of course, but I know it was you.”
HanChol remained silent. He was a good-looking young man, SungSoo thought, noticing his intelligent expression and attentive posture.
“Yes, sir, I have been helping with the bookkeeping,” the young man admitted.
“How is the repair work? Too much, on top of the bookkeeping?”
“Not at all, sir. I want to help wherever I’m needed.”
“But you graduated from university. You can’t be happy listening to those morons ordering you around. The manager didn’t even graduate from high school—his ledgers were a horror, until you came in,” SungSoo said, uncrossing and then recrossing his legs. “What do you really want to do? If you could become the manager of this shop, would that please you?” SungSoo smiled. He liked the kid, and he had been toying with the idea of firing the manager for a few years.
HanChol took in a deep breath. “No, sir.”
“You’re saying you want to be a junior repairman for the rest of your life?” SungSoo was disappointed; for a moment, he had thought that this poor kid could have some potential. But no matter how much education one received, poverty was ingrained in blood.
“Sir, I don’t want to work with bicycles all my life . . . I think that I would like to work with cars one day.”
“You mean fix cars?”
“No, I meant making them.”
“Make cars? My fellow, what do you know about that?” SungSoo frowned. First he thought the kid was smart, then unambitious—now, he thought the kid was delusional. “There are two hundred cars in Seoul, and all are imported. No Korean knows how to make cars.”
HanChol didn’t flinch or cast his eyes down, however. “That’s true now, but it won’t always be like that. I didn’t know how to make a bicycle, but now I can put one together with the right parts. If I learn to repair cars, I’ll learn how to make one too.”
SungSoo knit his brows, shaking his head. “Listen. You’re obviously intelligent. I could see that right away, although I haven’t been around much here. But you don’t understand the world, as I do . . . Where is your family from?”
“I was born in Seoul, but my family is originally from Andong.”
“You mean you’re an Andong-Kim?” SungSoo blurted out, and HanChol gave a slight bow of his head. His intuition about the kid being exceptional might prove true, after all. He surely came from an impoverished cadet branch, but he still belonged to one of the most important families in the country—one that even kings have feared over the centuries. SungSoo cleared his throat.
“If you are so keen on learning how cars work, you can help my chauffeur repair it from time to time. I’ll tell him to watch over you.”
HanChol bowed his head gratefully, and his boss continued.
“Also, I want you to oversee my bookkeeping. Not just over this shop, but also my publishing house. There, the affairs are in even worse order—the business manager is a terrible accountant, and we’re always operating at a loss.”
“Where would I . . .”
“You’d work next to my office at the publishing house, reporting directly to me. Starting tomorrow.” SungSoo rose and walked out of the back room. In the main section of the shop, a young girl in school uniform was being waited on by the manager.