I was on a train, going somewhere. It was a boring trip, so I had been reading a book and fell asleep. The seats on the train had an arrangement I had never seen before. Like a cafe by a window, they were arranged so that passengers sat facing outside, and a table was fixed right in front of the window. The seats were divided two by two, so one could go to the restroom without asking the person beside them to move. And behind each seat there was again another table and seat. So if one looked at the train from above, there was a center aisle, and seats divided in twos with their backs to the aisle, and a table in front of them. That table touched the backrest of another seat, and in front of those seats there was another table attached to the window.
In that dream of travel, I do not actually remember my destination. What I remember are only the dreams I had during that long-distance trip, after falling asleep. I do not think I was really reading a book. I think I was just blankly looking out the window and then fell asleep. Behind me sat an elderly couple. The two of them sat behind me, and their two children sat behind the seat next to mine. Beside me was a man in a suit, and because he kept going back and forth toward the entrance, it seemed he had someone to contact.
I remember two dreams. The first and the second were connected. When I woke from the first dream, I was crying so hard that the couple behind me were startled and gave me water and a handkerchief. The first dream was as follows.
I was born as one of a hunting people. The place was like a desert, but the land was entirely red. There was also a large mountain, but because it was very cold if one climbed it, no one thought of crossing it. Someone once said that long ago, a person who had come from somewhere else had crossed the mountain and returned, but it was a very old story, and not related to food, so no one cared. According to that story, beyond the mountain was a vast water whose far side could not be seen. And that water tasted salty like blood. So we decided to call the place beyond the mountain the blood vessel of the earth. But it was only a metaphor, and no one actually thought such water would be there if we crossed.
We lived by setting up tents below the mountain and moving along it. There were two or three thousand of us, and even with our tents, it took several years to go all the way around the foot of the mountain, so we occupied a very wide space. About two hours by horse from the places where we usually pitched our tents, toward the opposite side of the mountain, animals lived. Somehow those animals seemed to be increasing little by little. So we did not overhunt; we simply lived while maintaining a state in which nothing was lacking. If one went about an hour farther from the hunting grounds, a river flowed. From time to time there were movements to pitch tents along the river from the beginning. Even now, young people sometimes ask why we do not do that. I explain to them, just as I heard when I was young: we have to leave places with water to the animals if we want enough to hunt. If the animals, because of us, begin wandering in all directions in search of water, the ones in places without water will die, and their numbers will decrease. Then even if we hunt the same way, the amount will grow smaller and smaller, and someday we too may starve.
My son was one of those who asked such things. Worse, he did not listen to me very well. He seemed to accept what I said, but he always seemed to be thinking of something else. He followed when we went hunting, but he never actively took part in the hunt, and only barely managed the chores that came with it.
One night, he went out alone. He moved after everyone had fallen asleep, so I never imagined he would leave, even as I arranged things so the fire would not go out and lay down. I did not know when he had gone out. In the morning, I was puzzled to see that he was not in his small hut. Until then, I was not thinking that something had gone wrong. I was only worried that he was too passive. But the place he had gone was not far away. It was the mountain right behind us. He was sitting on a protruding rock in a place plainly visible from below. He sat there with his head tilted blankly, eyes open, as if looking down or looking ahead. I climbed up with the other young men and hurriedly brought him down. He said:
“Father, this is not real. I am not your son either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard a voice.”
“What voice?”
“An unknown voice, one I had never heard before.”
“Where?”
“While I was sleeping.”
“That was a dream.”
“No. I came up here to keep listening. When I came up here, I could hear the voice better.”
“What did it say?”
Then tears fell from the child’s eyes. He did not say a word, and he did not eat any meat at all. On the third day, I boiled milk and gave it to him.
“You can think whatever you want, but you have to be alive before you can think or not think. Eat this.”
The child forced a smile, but did not try to get up.
“Father, it was good.”
“What was?”
“Living with you. I learned hunting well too. I learned step by step, in my own way, but now there is no chance to use it.”
“Why would there be no chance? Eat a lot, and then you have to go hunting again.”
The child did not answer. He thought for a while, then silently began eating the boiled porridge. It was so sudden that I said nothing and simply watched him eat.
“Father.”
“Finish eating.”
“After I finish, will you come with me?”
“Where?”
“That rock.”
“All right, so eat quickly.”
The child scraped the bowl clean. But his expression did not particularly change. I wiped the emptied bowl with sand and looked into the child’s tent again. The child was already preparing to go out. He even had his sandals on, as if going hunting.
“Why are you putting on shoes?”
“Father, we are going to the rock now. If you will not come with me, I have to go alone.”
“All right. Go slowly. I will follow.”
Because I had never gone there before, I prepared my hunting tools just in case and put on my sandals. When I came out, the child was passing the last tent. I thought there was no need to run, so I followed with quick steps, but I soon realized that had been a mistake. Once the mountain began, the slope limited how fast I could walk. It was also my first time going that far uphill, so I barely caught up with the child. I had thought it was a mountain like a treeless hill, but the slope was steeper than expected. Then, in front of a certain rock, the child suddenly disappeared.
“Wait! I cannot see you!”
Then the child poked his head out from behind the rock.
“There is a path between here. If you come this way, you can see it. It is not hidden or anything.”
When I went closer, there truly was an unnatural path between the rocks, as if someone had cut it so that people could pass through. When I entered through it, the rock where the child had been sitting appeared. The child, standing beside it, sat on the rock again. It was the same posture I had seen from the tents that morning.
“Father, sit like this too.”
The child was serious, so I sat beside him. Nothing happened. The tents below could be seen at a glance, and it was magnificent. I thought it would be much more beautiful at night, when fires were lit.
“Father, do you not hear anything?”
I heard nothing. Not the wind, not the voices of people talking down by the tents. I listened carefully, wondering if there was a sound from the mountain, but there was only silence. In fact, even the sound of putting down my tools had not been very loud. It was a day when we were not going hunting, so if anyone in the village came out of their tent, they would have seen us. But everyone was probably inside their tents cooking, eating, and lying down to rest.
“Father, I can hear it.”
“What can you hear?”
“Father, if I talk about something like this, you probably will not know, will you?”
“What is it? I have to hear it before I can even know what you are talking about.”
The child hesitated for a while, then lifted his head and asked:
“Father, do you know the word train?”
“No. What is that?”
“I do not know. Then do you know what it is when the number twenty beeps?”
“No…”
“Even if I grow up and become the greatest hunter in our village, it will be no use.”
“What does that mean?”
“When you die, Father, everything will disappear.”
“Are you saying that if I die, you will die too? If you take a woman and have a child, thoughts like that will disappear.”
“It is not dying. Even before that, if Father makes up his mind, our whole village will disappear. This mountain too. The other people have no choice. Father can do everything as he wishes. But I suppose even that is not something Father chooses.”
I cried. My child had gone completely mad. Seeing my tears, the child said:
“Father, please try to understand what I am saying. Or at least remember me. You will not remember my face, but remember me, even as the hunter who caught the voice instead of you.”
“What does it mean to have caught the voice?”
“It is a voice you were supposed to hear. I was not supposed to hear it.”
I could not imagine that someone, beyond the degree of being mad, could say with such seriousness things even he himself did not understand. Then I thought all of this had happened because of this rock.
“You seem to have become strange after coming here. Why did you come here at night? I should tell the people to destroy this rock.”
“No. Whenever I was alone, I kept hearing something. A humming sound kept ringing near my ears, and I could not focus on anything. But now one voice is especially loud, so it is easy to make out. I could not understand what the voice was saying, so I came up here because I thought I might hear it in a quiet place. Since it was night, sound would travel far, and if it was a sound from the sky, this would be a place where I could hear it better.”
“So could you hear it better here?”
“No. It is the same. Whether I am in the tent or here.”
“Then what is the voice saying?”
“I can hear the words, but I do not know what they mean. It says train, and it keeps repeating the word ticket, but that is not why I am like this.”
“What is it, then?”
“It says Father should wake up and sit up.”
I stood up on the spot and sat down again.
“Then what?”
“No, it does not mean stand up. It means wake from sleep.”
“But I am not asleep. Child, why are you doing this?”
“Father, listen carefully. Can you not hear it?”
Tears kept flowing from my eyes without stopping. He was my only son, so I had worked hard to teach him to hunt, not wanting to hear that I had raised him wrongly. In that brief time, I wondered if perhaps I had been too harsh. But no matter how hard I thought, I could not find an answer. After that answerless moment passed, the child looked at my face with tears in his eyes.
“I thought about it, and I think I probably intercepted it.”
“What now?”
“That sound is something Father has to hear.”
Just as I was about to say, what kind of sound is it, and even if I hear it, if it is not words you can understand, I will not be able to understand it either, the child jumped down from the rock.
Crying, I looked down and screamed. Hearing my voice, people began to poke their heads out of the tents one by one. A few walked from the tents toward the mountain and saw the child. People in the village began shouting and gathering. I looked at the sky and screamed. Then,
I heard a voice.
“You need to wake up. Please show your ticket.”
When I opened my eyes, I saw a woman standing there with a troubled expression, checking tickets. Everyone around me was looking at me too. It was because I was still crying even after waking. The old man behind me gave me a handkerchief. Wiping my tears, I took the ticket from my pocket and handed it to the employee. She checked it and soon disappeared. It seemed mine was the only ticket left in our car.
“I will not ask what happened, so catch your breath. If you start hyperventilating, it will be serious.”
I said through tears:
“My son died in my dream.”
The woman beside him looked at me with pity. The old man asked:
“You look young. Are you married? I thought you were a bachelor.”
“I am not married. I had a son only in the dream. Not in real life.”
“You mean you had a son who does not exist, only in a dream, and he died in the dream?”
When I said yes, the old man looked slightly awkward and turned his eyes elsewhere. He may have wondered what kind of situation this was. But because I had cried so bitterly, he said that if I felt I needed to talk it out, I could explain anytime.
“Thank you. I am sorry for making you worry.”
“No, something else might be bothering you, and that is why you had such a dream. Rest. I will not talk to you.”
I faced forward again and stared blankly out the window. Then the man in the suit returned to his seat. I felt his gaze on my face. He had probably seen me sobbing earlier, or heard about it. I pretended not to notice and fixed my eyes on the window. Trees flashed past like shadows.
Korean original: 기차여행과 유목민족(1)