With Hammer and Chisel

By Kim Heung-sook

Sometimes it's good to leave your problems instead of struggling to solve them, I was telling myself as I accepted an invitation to visit Taiwan during the last week of last year. I felt surrounded by high-rise stonewalls and wanted to get away.

Turning a blind eye to a pile of unfinished works and aborted projects wasn't easy. There also were friends fighting with illness and a nation engulfed in economic woes and political stupidity. My bag was light but my mind was heavy.

I think there are two kinds of human beings ― one acting on benefits and the other on justice. Doing the right thing had been my motto ever since I became conscious of myself and I had been proud to say I belonged to the second group as Mr. and Mrs. Dursley in Harry Potter noted ― being ``perfectly normal.''

This time, however, I was not sure if flying out of the country was right. Life in a foreign country is often like a book you read some time in the past. You don't remember the details but you get the familiar feeling that you've been there before.

Taipei was beautiful, with all the colorful flowers and green leaves contrasting the gray skies. Still, I was asking what I was doing there, tossing my sleepless body under the snow-white linen of the Sheraton.

Then my schedule took me to the Taroko National Park, one of the seven national parks in Taiwan. It is named after the landmark Taroko Gorge and the word ``taroko'' means ``magnificent and beautiful.''

A long time ago, a Truku aboriginal tribesman was walking out of the gorge and cried ``Taroko!'' upon seeing the beautiful Pacific.

Construction of the Central Cross-Island Highway zigzagging across the gorge began in 1956 with 5,000 to 6,000 men breaking the rocks and doing other work on any given day on different parts of the highway.

As I trailed through the road, I learned at least 212 died in their bout with the rocks and was reminded of a story I had heard from a friend: Once there was a remote village fenced by steep and rugged mountains. Residents could go out on boats when the weather was good, but were barred most of the time. Many people died while venturing out by climbing over the rocky mountain.

One day, a middle-aged Buddhist monk stopped by on a leg of his pilgrimage. Without saying anything, he watched the rocks for some time. Then he toured around the village, receiving rice donations from villagers. He then changed the rice into a hammer and a chisel and began to cut the rocks.

The villagers ridiculed the monk at first, but as years wore on, they gradually joined him. Cutting rocks became the task of the whole village and it strengthened the solidarity of the villagers.

The monk didn't seem to care; he was just cutting the rocks as on his first day. As time passed, the villagers' zeal waned and the number of workers decreased day by day. In time, the monk worked alone.

One day, a magnificent looking warrior armed with a sword came to the village with searching eyes. The moment he saw the monk, he exclaimed, ``My enemy! I've been looking for you all my life!"

The monk responded calmly, ``As you can see, this tunnel will be completed before long. If it is done, it will be useful for many people. I will give my life to you once the tunnel is done. Please wait until then."

The warrior saw the work in progress and nodded. He watched over the old monk all day. Villagers learned that the monk, when young, had been in an inappropriate relationship with the warrior's mother and killed his father when their affair was exposed.

One year passed and the warrior picked up the tools himself. He wanted to do the work faster so that he could take revenge. The two men chiseled in silence for three years.

One morning, the warrior went to the tunnel only to find the monk sitting at the entrance. ``Why don't you work today?" he asked and the monk replied, ``Now, you can take my life." The warrior could see the light coming through the other end of the tunnel. He knelt down before the monk and cried his heart out.

When I returned home, I found all the banalities and demands waiting for me. Then I thought of the monk and the numerous hands that cut and carved the formidable rocks in Taroko. No problem, I told myself, for I had a hammer and chisel, too.

A journalist-turned writer, Kim Heung-sook has authored or translated a dozen books. She also runs a biweekly column in Korean on www.freecolumn.co.kr. She can be reached at kimsook@hotmail.com