While the police searched the mushroom farmer’s residence, trucks pulled up into the empty lot across from the orphanage. Men carrying snares emerged from them and climbed up the mountain.
“They’re here to catch the dogs,” said a guy two years older than Jae, as he spit on the floor, his eyes bright with excitement.
Once the hunt began, the men snared the calf-size dogs that had simultaneously tasted fear and freedom, and dragged them back to lock them up one at a time in wire cages. The men strained their eyes as they combed the smoky mountain for the sight of one more dog. The dogs were either hiding near the intact mushroom farm or had crossed the mountain toward a village near the cement factory. More trucks were waiting for the dogs there.
Jae found a sharp nail, approached the trucks where the trapped dogs waited alone, and slashed the tires. They made a woosh woosh sound as the trucks slowly sank. The dogs, remembering Jae’s scent, stopped barking and whimpered instead. Red Eyes was among them. With his limp, he’d be the first one sold for meat. As Jae punctured the tires of a fifth truck, a fist struck his head like lightning from behind and stunned him. The three dog hunters dragged him to the orphanage director’s office, but Jae was too weak to fight. They’d even lassoed him around the neck with a snare.
The three, officially dog breeders by profession, burst in while the director was watching television. His gaze landed on the snare around Jae’s neck.
He asked the dog breeders, “What do you have there?”
“This brat, he’s yours, right?” one of the dog breeders asked, looking a little timid.
As soon as the director nodded, they explained what had happened. Before they were finished, the director interrupted: “Can’t you remove the damn noose?”
One of the dog breeders snatched the snare off Jae’s neck. The director continued speaking. “It’s a real pity, what happened, but the orphanage cannot be responsible for a student’s misdeeds, and that’s all I will say. If you’re angry, feel free to bring him to the police and take the matter to court.”
An elderly dog breeder stepped forward with his arms crossed. “Look here, Mr. Director. Do you think we can buy a single tire with the money from selling even one bitch? But this goddamn fucking son of a bitch here ruined twenty tires, tore them all up so we can’t even patch them. I’m talking about this orphaned piece of shit here.”
The dog breeder smacked Jae across the head. His small body flew and hit the wall. Jae struggled to stand.
“You know why I slashed the tires?”
The one who had smacked him said, “Oh, check out this asshole. Okay, so why’d you rip them up? Why don’t you tell us, so I can rip your trap right off your face?” He rolled up his sleeves.
“Dogs have souls too. They have souls!” Jae’s voice cracked.
One dog breeder responded, “They have souls. So what?”
All of them stepped forward in sync. They looked as if they might, if needed, trample over Jae with their work boots. But he didn’t back down.
He stared at them and said grimly, “I mean, you can’t treat something with a soul that way.”
“This runt, this little asshole, keeps talking to us like this, showing us no respect.”
As they charged toward him, the director slapped the desk. He frowned and tapped cigarette ashes into an ashtray. “Let’s put a stop to this. There’s no point in arguing with the kid. He’s an orphan, a bastard. There’s no one to officially claim responsibility for what he’s done. You see what I’m saying?”
Dealt a death blow, the men brooded over this reality. Just then an investigator coming from the mushroom farm stopped by the office for a cup of coffee, with a cop accompanying him.
The dog breeders, guilty of illegally hunting the homeless dogs, tried to sneak quietly out of the director’s office, but the investigator called them back.
“You there, what is it you do for a living?” He spoke strangely, mixing informal and formal terms.
The director answered for them. “They’re dog breeders.”
The investigator slurped his coffee. “What brings dog breeders to an orphanage? Planning to adopt people instead of dogs?”
A dog breeder in a black down jacket said in protest, “That bastard slashed our tires.”
The investigator turned his attention to Jae. “You, how old are you?”
“I’m fourteen.”
“What’s a little bastard like you puncturing people’s car tires for?”
Jae didn’t respond. The cop said to the dog breeders, “You should really leave. It’s not like he has parents to compensate you.”
“What about the orphanage or this supervisor—isn’t there any sense of responsibility here?” The man in the black jacket didn’t back off. “I mean, this is an act of terrorism!”
The cop finally became annoyed. “I tried to explain the situation nicely to you people, but you clearly don’t know your limits. Why don’t we all go and officially file this case and investigate the details? Will the dog-breeder gentlemen here be able to receive compensation for their tires or not? What? Terrorism? If this is terrorism, then shiiiit, report it to the Americans and their FBI.”
The dog breeders exchanged glances. They didn’t like government institutions or the law since their way of life lay just at its boundaries—and maybe outside it. People often said that they secretly caught dogs that had owners, and—whether they turned them into fighting dogs or used them for meat—all their actions verged on illegal. The dog breeders standing near the door quietly slipped out one at a time.
The director helped Jae to his feet; he had collapsed again. “Jae, my boy, why did you rip up their tires? Why don’t you tell me?”
“They have souls.”
“Dogs don’t have souls. Only people have souls.”
“How do you know that?”
“The fact that humans are capable of sin is proof in itself that they have souls.” The director sounded like he was justifying as he continued. “Dogs don’t sin. They aren’t able to commit a sin. Sinning, suffering, asking for forgiveness, and receiving salvation—this is what makes us human.”
Jae responded, “Sin, doing wrong, people, animals. Dividing everything up like this is exactly what makes us human. We think we’re high and mighty. I’m a human being. I’m at the very top. I know sin. Animals don’t. That’s why we can kill animals. That’s your logic?”
The director straightened. “So you’re saying what you did was right? But didn’t you harm others? That’s the same as stealing. Don’t you agree?”
“There’s something worse than stealing.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s ignoring pain. It’s not doing anything about someone’s cries. The world of sin begins there.”
“You can’t avoid pain.”
“You can’t avoid it, but you can try. You shouldn’t inflict unnecessary pain on humans or animals for your own benefit.”
“It would be great if everything were as simple as you make it.”
“What’s so complicated about it?”
“Then who decides whose suffering is more important? You? You think only the dogs trapped in cages suffer? Those dog breeders work hard at making ends meet, and they have families too. Their kids might have to go without food for a day because you slashed their tires.”
“But if we pick everything apart like that, we won’t ever get anything done.”
“You need to grow up first, then maybe you’ll understand that the world’s not that simple.”
“If I can’t make decisions now, it won’t change when I grow up. I acted based on how I saw it. I don’t have any regrets.”
“You hold a grudge against the world. That’s why you want to judge it with your petty version of justice. That’s dangerous.”
Jae nodded seriously as if he were a consumer listening to instructions on how to use an electrical appliance. “Yes, it is dangerous,” he said. “I know that too.”