By Zephyria Unlike other mountains in Bali, Mount Agung had few resorts or lodges. Once you left the base of the mountain where roads reached, there were practically no accommodations.
The mountain only permitted five or six temples.
Since the entire mountain couldn’t be explored, Lee Hae-sung planned to target one of the temples. It had to be on the middle slope, not too high or too low.
The local hired urgently as a guide for the Mount Agung mountain path narrowed it down to two temples. One was located on the south side of the mountain, and the other on the west, with entirely different ascent routes.
Lee Hae-sung and his escorts, who could no longer proceed by car, decided to split into two teams.
Before getting out of the car, Lee Hae-sung checked his phone one last time. Choi Hong-seo, who had arrived at the villa, was asleep while receiving an IV drip. He had received a report via phone call and photos about 30 minutes ago. Fortunately, there had been no new reports since then.
“The phone won’t work up there,” the guide said with a smile. Lee Hae-sung nodded briefly and put his phone in his pocket.
He pulled up the hood of his thin windbreaker and stepped onto the wet, rainy mountain path.
Although the dense forest provided some cover from the rain, the slippery mountain, saturated with moisture, was not easy. The group of five, including the guide, interpreter, and two escorts, walked silently along the forest path shrouded in mist.
Whenever someone slipped or stumbled, the guide would look back and smile. He seemed amused by the sight of outsiders, who arrived in expensive clothes and luxury cars, struggling on the sacred mountain. He, who could ascend and descend this mountain with his eyes closed, moved lightly as if strolling on dry land, even in his worn-out shoes with nearly depleted soles.
When their shirts inside their jackets were soaked with sweat and their breaths grew ragged, making everyone pant. The stone steps leading to the temple appeared before their eyes.
The temple was nestled deep within the belly of Mount Agung.
There was no trace of civilization visible anywhere within sight. Only forest and clouds. Mist hung thickly in the air, as if completely cut off from the world below. It was a magnificent view, as if even immortals would live there.
However, it yielded no results. The monks merely tilted their heads at the name ‘Taripa.’
“Vice President. I don’t know if I should say this, but it seems that man lied to us.”
The highest-ranking team member among the escorts spoke to Lee Hae-sung.
“Perhaps he told us to go all the way to Mount Agung to buy himself time to escape.”
Lee Hae-sung remained silent, looking around the towers and shrines surrounding the temple.
“Should I contact the team members remaining at the villa and ask them to go back to that house?”
Raindrops continuously fell from the ends of the escorts’ hoods and Lee Hae-sung’s hood, wetting their faces. Drip, drip. The sound of rain falling on their jackets seemed to urge them on.
Lee Hae-sung raised his wrist, where his watch should have been, and wiped away the moisture.
“There’s no need. Let’s head back down.”
His voice, sunken, was cold.
He had come all the way to Bali as a last resort, and because Choi Hong-seo wanted it. He wanted to ensure the child had no regrets or lingering feelings. In the first place, Lee Hae-sung hadn’t believed Lee Jong-ik’s words.
It’s for the best.
This way, his lingering feelings would be cleanly resolved.
The monks in red robes wore apologetic expressions. They offered seats and drinks to the outsiders who had braved the rainy path. However, Lee Hae-sung had no desire to linger there any longer.
The temple’s scenery evoked no admiration or awe from Lee Hae-sung. All religions in the world felt like scams. Scammers who preyed on people’s fear and hope.
He just wanted to return to the villa as quickly as possible before Choi Hong-seo woke up.
He had forced himself to separate from the child who had cried and clung to him so desperately. And now, there were no results.
Perhaps due to his rage, the descent was actually easier.
By the time they reached where the car was parked, the windbreaker was so soaked it could no longer serve its purpose. Lee Hae-sung handed his jacket to an escort and, as soon as he got into the back seat, issued a new order.
“Contact Manager Kang. We’re withdrawing from Bali tomorrow. We’re going to Minnesota.”
“Understood.”
When he decided to go to Bali, he had changed his appointment date at the Mayo Clinic instead of canceling it. Lee Hae-sung couldn’t afford to be reckless and not have a backup plan, relying solely on Lee Jong-ik’s word.
It was a great relief that he had kept the reservation.
Indeed, no one could be trusted. Not the shaman, nor the Balinese man who lived in a mud house. They were devils who didn’t consider the feelings of those suffering. He wouldn’t trust anyone’s word. From now on, he would protect the child in his own way, the way he knew and trusted.
He lit a cigarette but couldn’t smoke it properly due to his anger.
He crushed the half-smoked butt into the ashtray. The day was drawing to a close, and the rain outside the car window was intensifying.
“Uh, Vice President…”
The escort in the passenger seat, who was in charge of communications, turned around. His expression was heavy. Lee Hae-sung felt his blood run cold. Every moment he received a report felt like a repetition of this hell.
“What is it? Tell me, it’s okay. Just as it is.”
“The VIP’s condition is critical.”
“……How critical?”
The escort hesitated to speak. It meant the news was difficult to convey. That pause was driving Lee Hae-sung mad.
Everyone who delivered such news was a god to Lee Hae-sung.
Every moment was a judgment.
To think I’m a demigod. What nonsense.
■
Despite the air conditioner and dehumidifier running, the bedroom felt damp.
It wasn’t the air itself that was damp. It was the atmosphere, heavy and oppressive.
He had braced himself during the drive from Mount Agung to the villa. Yet, the shock of actually seeing Choi Hong-seo’s condition was unavoidable.
“What is this… How far has it progressed…”
Choi Hong-seo, suffering from fever, lay with his eyes closed, hovering between life and death. The spots visible outside his clothes had swollen and turned into blisters.
Lee Hae-sung lifted the blanket and unbuttoned his pajamas to check his body. The spots all over his body had turned into blisters, filled with pus.
“His fever has reached 43 degrees Celsius. There’s a limit to what I can do here. To lower the fever, he needs to be moved to a hospital immediately.”
Ignoring the doctor’s words, Lee Hae-sung stroked Choi Hong-seo’s face.
“Hong-seo… Hong-seo?”
He couldn’t answer. Groaning as if tormented by a terrible nightmare, his face was deeply furrowed.
“I told you I’d see you again in a few hours. I came back as promised. Hong-seo, you have to answer me. Huh?”
But his dry, parted lips just moved, forming silent shapes. He was literally burning with fever. It was a fever that felt like his body would melt away.
“Vice President, you need to make a decision quickly! Shall we move him to the hospital?”
Someone shouted urgently.
Amidst the chaos, Lee Hae-sung stood frozen.
All the noise was drowned out by tinnitus, and the movements and urgent expressions of the people stretched out like a slow-motion video.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
“No, it’s no use.”
His parched lips murmured.
“It’s my fault… Because I didn’t believe…”
He understood.
Just as he had accepted that this child before him was Choi Hong-seo, not ‘Yoon Hye-an.’ He understood not with his head, but with his heart.
“Go ahead and try. Even if I tell you, you won’t reach that point now. It’s a door that those without faith cannot even glimpse.”
I will lay everything down.
I will kneel and move towards the god.
If there is anyone who possesses the power to save this child, I will gladly crawl towards them.
There was no choice.
I ordered everyone except the doctor to leave the room.
I kissed Choi Hong-seo’s pale, dry forehead, his lips, his pus. I stroked his sweat-soaked hair countless times.
Wearing a new jumper, I left the room. Everyone tried to dissuade me, but I took the wheel myself, without any attendants accompanying me.
The rain that had been drizzling had now turned into a squall.
“With faith and devotion towards unseen concepts, one can meet Him very simply.”
I accepted Choi Hong-seo, who appeared as ‘Yoon Hye-an,’ as Choi Hong-seo. That deep affection was faith in an unseen concept.
To doubt not at all. To follow unconditionally, even if unseen, or different from what the eyes perceive.
To choose option six, even if it wasn’t among the choices.
I had to welcome ‘Taripa’ in the same way I had accepted Choi Hong-seo, who had appeared in a different form. With faith and devotion towards unseen concepts.
A place that could be called the center of Ubud. I parked the car in front of the palace. The night street, battered by the squall of the rainy season, was sparsely populated.
Leaving the car as if I didn’t care, I plunged into the rain. I did not hesitate or linger. Every time I saw a person, I ran up to them and asked if they knew ‘Taripa.’
Some treated me like a madman and fled. One person, moved by pity for a foreigner who seemed to be in trouble, called their colleagues inside to ask. A boisterous group of travelers huddled in a bar to escape the rain, charmed by Lee Hae-sung’s appearance, invited him to drink with them. A local resident, closing his shop to go home, screamed in surprise at the large figure cloaked in a jumper.
From one light to the next. Moving endlessly, I knocked on shop doors. I wandered aimlessly like a madman. The only thing I had put in my mouth all day was the breakfast I ate early in the morning before leaving for Lempuyang Temple. Yet, I didn’t feel hungry.
The night was growing deeper. The intervals between lights were also becoming sparser. But I couldn’t stop my legs.
After all, no one would know ‘Taripa.’ I felt I was only now realizing that Taripa was not someone who could be found. Not someone who could be found, but someone who appeared.
In a narrow alley branching off the road, I spotted a laundry shop that was still lit. However, it was already closed for business. Only a single light was on inside; no one was visible.
Clatter. As Lee Hae-sung turned to leave, something tripped him at his feet. It was a Chanan Sari. The offerings within the colorful sari, which must have once been vibrant, were battered by the falling raindrops.
Gasp. Gasp. Breathing heavily like someone who had run a long distance, I looked down at it.
The rain pierced Lee Hae-sung’s skin like thousands of needles.
My clothes, soaked through, clung to my entire body. It felt as if I were standing naked in the rain, just as I was at birth.
It was when I bent down to place the Chanan Sari on the steps under the eaves.
“Mr. Lee. I’m here to escort you for check-in.”
A clear Korean voice, audible through the heavy rain.
Lee Hae-sung’s tired, rain-soaked shoulders slowly turned around. He wiped away the rain streaming down his face.
A black van was stopped on the empty road. It had the appearance of a resort van, commonly seen anywhere in Bali. A woman wearing a black suit, like a uniform, stood in front of it, holding an umbrella.
“It’s raining so heavily. Did you wait long?”
She spoke as if she were a resort employee sent to pick up a guest at a pre-arranged meeting spot.
Lee Hae-sung looked at the back of the van. Thin gold lettering was engraved on the black surface.
BARDO RESORT AT AGUNG
Bardo Resort at Agung
Through the pouring rain, his tired, ragged breath escaped. It was a breath close to a hollow laugh. But it was not a sneer born of shock or disbelief.
It was closer to the humility shown by a human who had finally come to accept the phenomenon before them as it was.
Bardo.
That was the name Lee Hae-sung had given to the garden of his house in Bundang.
Between birth and death, between sleep and wakefulness, between ignorance and enlightenment. And between death and reincarnation.
Bardo was the ‘intermediate realm’ that did not lean towards any extreme.
“I only know that I must go to a place that is neither too high nor too low.”
The Balinese man with the sick daughter had not lied. God, or ‘Taripa,’ had only allowed the path to the extent of the faith shown.