up an article on the soccer match sponsored by his newspaper company. And the day after that, he returned home at three o’clock in the morning after attending a mandatory meeting and being dragged around for three rounds of drinks. ‘What am I living for? And for whom? For the so-called cultural affairs? Ha!’ It had been a while since he even asked himself this. It was around this time that Sutaek made another great discovery about himself. He realized that he was not well suited to be a newspaper reporter. He recognized that not only had he not enjoyed his job so far, he would probably never succeed at it, even in the distant future. Rather, he discovered only then that success as a newspaper reporter would mean the end of his literary life. It was a comedy. Or more accurately, a tragedy.
3 It was around this time that Sutaek started taking a few days off from work here and there. He wandered the outskirts of the city without any real purpose. One day, he persuaded his friend S to accompany him on a trip out to Cheongnyangni. Although he did not reveal everything, he confided to S that he intended to quit his job. Their conversation had turned to the topic of making a living when Sutaek suddenly noticed a familiar odor. At first he did not know where it came from. It was a pungent smell that assaulted his nose, then burrowed deep inside him until it reached his heart…. It was the smell of the soil. When he realized it was soil, he could hear his father’s voice ringing in his ears: “A person has to smell the soil in order to live. Come and work on the farm with me after you finish your studies…. All that learning. Well, learning can be good too, but it can also be a burden.” Sutaek had scoffed. He had even pitied his father. Poor old man, he was held captive by the soil, but he still felt so emotionally attached to it. Now, however, Sutaek found himself captivated by the very same idea: “Return home. Feel the soil with my own hands.” This is how Sutaek’s starry-eyed plans materialized. The first order of business was to sell all their furniture. His wife was reluctant, however, and their things fetched less than half what Sutaek had anticipated. As a result, all they had left was his severance pay, which totaled less than two hundred won. Sutaek and his family finally arrived at his childhood home. A yellow dog barked loudly as they entered through the brush gates in front of the house. No one seemed to be there, however, and a cold wind blew through the house. Had they come to the wrong house, Sutaek wondered, and he hurried out to check the nameplate on the door. It was indeed the right house. “Maybe they ran out to greet us after receiving our luggage,” his wife ventured. She did not know whether to enter the house or leave it.
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