The Fog Horn (Angae Godong) - Chapter 12

The rain grew heavier and heavier, making it scary to sail. Nuri frowned at the raindrops clouding the windows of the lighthouse.

This was a bad idea from the beginning. The villagers seemed to have completely lost all their sense of danger, drunk on a single moment of sweetness. The sea has already claimed five lives.

Nuri watched outside, never moving away from the lantern. He couldn’t take his eyes off the window. The fog had risen so thick that the boats were not even visible as dots.

Nuri held the hand-lever of the foghorn with both hands so that he could sound the alarm at any time. He didn’t like them, but it was Nuri’s job. He wanted to protect them as much as he could.

Whenever he had a bad thought, he remembered that girl’s eyes, which locked with his so insistently. Nuri felt something heavy on his shoulders when he did.

A little more time passed, and the rain grew closer to a downpour. The waves were lapping at the shore, rising to the top of the rocky mountains.

The sea looked like a solid castle. At the same time, thunder and lightning crashed in the sky.

“This is insane. They need to get back.”

Nuri’s hands were sweating. Beads of sweat filled his palms, so dense that he could lose his grip on the hand-lever if he made a mistake. Just like the guest’s hands.

Nuri remembered the guest’s warning, and shook his head. The guest probably had nothing to do with this sense of crisis. Nuri wanted to think so, and he tried to focus more on what he could do with his time to think.

He fiercely blew on the foghorn until his arm felt like it was going to come off. When he moved the lever back and forth with all his might, a thick, heavy sound like “boom”.

The sound echoed louder through the loudspeaker and out to sea, but for some reason it seemed to echo hollowly through the raindrops.

Beads of sweat trickled down Nuri’s forehead. Nuri vigorously shook the foghorn with all his remaining strength. It hurt like the veins in his forearms were bursting. But he couldn’t stop.

This could kill them all, he thought, and no matter how much he hated them, he couldn’t let them die.

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-.

The horn continued to ring relentlessly. Between the sharply rising and falling waves, one or two boats could be seen. They were flashing their lights in Nuri’s direction. It meant they were safe.

Despite seeing a few of those lights, Nuri didn’t stop blowing the foghorn. There were many boats out today. He wouldn’t feel at ease until they were all safely docked at the marina.

While Nuri was sweating profusely and blowing the horn, someone ran into the lighthouse. It was Oh Sung-jin.

“Everyone’s back now. You can stop the foghorn!”

Oh Sung-jin looked like a mouse soaked in water. His once-lush hair was completely clung to his scalp, and his skinny cheekbones looked particularly prominent. Nuri stepped forward from the foghorn and spoke.

“Are you sure they all are back?”

“All the boats are back.”

“What does that mean?”

“Jung-tae Seong [1]

1.Older Brother [Southern Dialectal, Jeolla dialect, Chungcheong, Gyeonggi, and Gyeongsang form of 형(兄) (hyeong, “(for males) older brother or male”)].

2. Family name/ Last name.) is gone.”

“What?”

Oh Jung-tae was the cousin of Oh Sung-jin. He was a man of integrity whom the villagers trusted to take care of village affairs whenever the village head was away.

He was highly regarded by the village head. Sometimes people made jokes about him being from the Ko clan instead of the Oh clan. But everyone on the island knew it was for the sake of the Ohs, who were the minority on the island.

Oh Sung-jin wiped the rainwater away from his face with a pained expression. Perhaps he was wiping away tears with the rain as well. He had often said that he wanted to be like Oh Jung-tae. Oh Sung-jin stood there for a while, then looked at Nuri and spoke.

“Nuri, you shouldn’t go home either. Stay here. I’ll go out again with the village head.”

“Okay, don’t worry. I won’t go.”

“We can go at night. Just think of it as enduring one more night of hardship. Cheol Woong went to get the blanket.”

“Okay.”

Nuri nodded his head in agreement. It was a matter of life and death. After finishing his words, Oh Sung-jin quickly slipped out of the lighthouse.

The boat returned, but the people did not. Such a thing had never happened before. Until now, the five people who had died somehow managed to come back.

They were either found with the sunken ship or returned, but with someone dead. It was a strange situation. What on earth could have happened?

Nuri looked at the peach at his foot. Several flies buzzed around, as if attracted by the sticky sweetness.

It was as if the sweet taste had permeated his whole body. Nuri waved his hand to shoo them away. The flies didn’t seem to have any intention of getting close to him, and Nuri didn’t want to be in such a confined space with them either.

He even felt like throwing all the peaches into the sea. It was because only a sticky and unpleasant feeling enveloped him.

However, he couldn’t afford to waste food like that. Nuri had been taught from a young age to value food, a habit that was ingrained in him. An inertia that only those who had experienced poverty could have.

Nuri stopped chasing the flies and looked outside silently. The rain showed no sign of stopping. He let out a sigh.

Not long after Oh Sung-jin left, Ko Cheol Woong came in, shaking the rain off his head. He handed over a blanket wrapped in a kimchi-making plastic bag.

It was an army surplus blanket that had been used when playing Hwatu cards [2] at the village community center. Despite the worn-out traces of card games, it was large and spacious.

Ko Cheol Woong took out a glass jar of cold barley tea and two store-bought bread rolls from his jumper.

“Did Sung-jin tell you?”

Nuri nodded his head. Cheol Woong continued with a slightly grim expression.

“Don’t worry too much. Jung-tae Seong is not an ordinary person. If it rains lightly, my father, uncle Won-taek, Sung-jin Seong, and I will go out with two boats.”

“I see.”

“Don’t worry too much.”

Nuri nodded his head silently. Cheol Woong strode out of the lighthouse as if he had said everything he needed to say.

Could it be the sixth incident? Nuri unfolded the blanket. Something like cigarette ash that hadn’t been dusted off spilled out in a steady stream. He swept it away with his hand and draped it over his legs.

As the rain continued, the temperature seemed to drop even further. The cold was filling the lighthouse, surpassing the chilliness and becoming suffocating.

What had happened to Jung-tae hyung.

Nuri ran his hand over the inside of the lighthouse. He could feel the dampness even here. The rain was pouring a little more relentlessly, as if it had no intention of stopping.

Nuri looked at his hand, which felt stiff. Even though it had been quite a while since he held the handle, the red line where the grip had been was still vivid. In some places, there were firm bumps protruding, resembling blisters, before they turned into water blisters.

He wanted to save people, and though he wasn’t here by choice, he wanted to do his part. But Jung-tae hadn’t returned. Nuri remembered the voice of the guest urging him.

[Can you stay at home tomorrow and not go out?]

The guest knew something. Could it be that he took Jung-tae hyung? What did he do with Jung-tae hyung? Did he kill him? Did he kill the people before him? Nuri wrapped his arms around himself.

The buzzing sound of the flies was annoying. It sent shivers down his spine, as if countless insects with many legs were crawling all over his body. Nuri sat inside the lighthouse throughout the rain.

* * *

1. I don’t have an exact idea about what it means, but here are two possible meanings according to my research:
1.Older Brother [Southern Dialectal, Jeolla dialect, Chungcheong, Gyeonggi, and Gyeongsang form of 형(兄) (hyeong, “(for males) older brother or male”)].

2. Family name/ Last name.)

2. Hwatu is the Koreanized version of Japanese hanafuda, which is believed to have been introduced to Korea in the late Josoen Dynasty era. The name of cards changed from hanafuda, meaning ‘flower cards’ to hwatu, meaning ‘flower fight.’ The Japanese letters on the cards were replaced by Korean words. Design and color were simplified, and the material changed from paper to plastic, so that the cards became easily available at cheap prices. Hwatu is often (mistakenly) regarded as a traditional game played by families on traditional holidays. However, many people find it’s more of gambling, which often results in fight and police calling.