Heungbu and Nolbu

On top of a ragged thatched roof, a vine had crept from one end to the other. Its round fruits were as big as large earthenware jars, sagging into the thin straw below. Gourds climbing a thatched roof were nothing unusual, but no one had ever seen gourds so big. And yet that year, a whole row of giant gourds kept swelling over the heads of the poorest family in the area.

People in old Korea said this strange roof belonged to the younger of two brothers. The older was called Nolbu, the younger Heungbu.

When the brothers' father died, he left a fair amount of property. Nolbu was the eldest son, and he took the whole inheritance for himself. He did not share even the smallest part with his brother. Heungbu quietly led his wife and children away. At the far end of the village they found an abandoned thatched hut to live in for the time being. They scraped by from one day to the next.

One lean season, before the new harvest came in, Heungbu's family ran out of rice entirely, and the children cried with hunger. Heungbu took a chance and went over to his brother's house. He asked for a little rice to see them through. But Nolbu not only refused, he scolded his brother for being lazy and useless and sent him straight home. Heungbu walked back sadly, without one word of complaint. He and his wife simply kept finding ways to feed the children.

One afternoon, Heungbu went out to the back garden and suddenly heard a faint cry at the foot of a tree. Looking closely, he saw a young swallow huddled there. One leg was broken and tucked up against its belly, and it could not fly. Heungbu gently carried the bird inside. Together with his wife, he dressed the wound and tied the broken bone firmly with a fine silk thread. Day after day, they fed the bird and settled it to sleep, as if caring for a small child of their own.

Before long, the swallow's leg was completely healed. The bird fluttered around the yard a few times as if testing its strength. Then it joined its flock and flew south to escape the cold as winter set in. Heungbu felt a pang as he watched it go, and he hoped for nothing in return. But the very next spring, when flowers bloomed across the hillsides, the same swallow flew back. It swooped down in front of Heungbu's door, dropped a tiny gourd seed into the yard, and flew off again.

Heungbu picked up the seed and planted it right beside the house. Soon the gourd vine grew strong and green. It climbed little by little to the very top of the thatched roof, then flowered and set fruit. The gourds grew bigger and bigger, until each was as big as a large earthenware jar and weighed down a corner of the roof.

Heungbu and his wife planned to split the gourds open. They would cook the flesh into soup and dry the shells to make water dippers, just as so many thatched households did. But as soon as they split the first gourd, both of them froze. Inside there was no smooth white flesh, only gold, silver and jewels, glittering brightly. They split one gourd after another, and every one was brimming with treasure. Then a fine new house rose up on the very ground where the old hut had stood. From the poorest family in the area, Heungbu and his wife had suddenly become rich.

The news soon reached Nolbu. He rushed over at once and stared wide-eyed at his brother's new home. He kept pressing until he learned how it had happened. Heungbu was honest by nature. He told the whole story of the swallow from beginning to end, without hiding a single detail.

When Nolbu heard it, he was not moved in the least. He felt only greed rising in him. He searched his garden at once and caught a healthy swallow. Then he deliberately broke its leg. The bird let out one cry of pain. Nolbu bandaged it carelessly, just for show, and did not soothe it as his brother had. Then he barked at the bird that it must bring him a gourd seed in the spring of the very next year.

The swallow waited for its leg to heal, and it too flew off with the flock for the winter. Then, as it had been told, it came back the next spring. It dropped a gourd seed into Nolbu's yard and hurried away at once. It did not linger as the other bird had with Heungbu.

Nolbu was overjoyed. He planted the seed right against the wall of his house and went out every day to admire it, eager for the vine to grow. The vine climbed onto his roof too, and it set fruit as big and round as the gourds at his brother's house. When the gourds were ripe, Nolbu gleefully called his wife out to see. He split the first gourd with his own hand, already sure he would be many times richer than his brother.

But when the gourd fell open, there was no gold or silver at all. Instead a crowd of strangers poured out. They clamored for Nolbu's money, one after another. Nolbu panicked and quickly split another gourd, hoping to find treasure to make up for it. But this time a troop of tiny, mischievous goblins tumbled out. They ran all over the house, turning every corner upside down. They knocked over the jars and pots and toppled the whole kitchen rack. Nolbu frantically split yet another gourd, hoping this one would be better. But from that gourd, water and mud came gushing out without stopping. It flooded the whole yard and washed away whatever was left.

In a single afternoon, Nolbu's fine house was in ruins, and his wealth had walked off with the crowd of strangers. He and his wife stood rooted in the middle of the wreckage. There was not a single grain of rice left in the house.

With nowhere else to go, Nolbu and his wife set out together for the younger brother's house. Heungbu saw his brother standing worn and haggard at the door. He did not bring up the past at all. He simply opened the door, made room for them, and served rice to his brother and his brother's wife. He looked after them as though Nolbu had never once turned him away. Nolbu sat eating as tears quietly fell. The greed of earlier days had turned into nothing but shame.

From that day on, the two families lived together again under one roof. They worked side by side for every meal and every rice harvest. And every spring, when flowers bloom across the hillsides of Korea, pairs of swallows come back to build their nests under the eaves. They call to each other in the early sunlight.