“It has constipation.”
“What?” The principal’s mouth fell open, his face a mask of aghast disbelief.
“What did you just—”
“It’s not defecating properly.”
The principal looked even more stunned, if that was possible. How can a tree be constipated? he wanted to demand, but his face flushed red as he caught her gaze on the elementary school children running across the grounds with their backpacks.
Ha-yoon stroked the tree’s trunk gently, unbothered. She was used to reactions like this. She didn't like this man at all.
“Defecation is important,” she stated plainly. “It’s a completely natural and regular process. You know that, of course.”
The principal coughed, a sound of pure annoyance. As he covered his mouth, however, a smirk played on his lips. Just as I thought. She’s an idiot.
It would cost tens of thousands of dollars to treat a few trees properly. He would rather just cut them down. He’d only contacted this shabby little business run by a young woman instead of the big hospital in the city as a precaution.
His plan was to let her “treat” the tree, then claim she’d only made it worse. He’d blame the whole thing on this absurd tree doctor.
“This is one of the main trees at our school,” the principal said, his eyebrows furrowed in a show of earnest concern. “It’s a symbol of our campus. Can you really fix it?”
The plan was simple. Accuse her of malpractice, demand compensation for the damages, and then cut the tree down anyway. At least the school would get some money out of it.
“Consider it done,” she replied with unnerving confidence. “The treatment isn't difficult. To put it simply, it ate but couldn't excrete, so it developed constipation. That’s why it can’t lay its roots properly.” Ha-yoon’s gaze swept over the school grounds, and her brow tightened. “When trees can’t defecate, they start to die from the top down. It looks like most of the trees here are already in that stage.”
“So, how will you treat it?” the principal asked, feigning reluctance. He scanned Ha-yoon from head to toe. Tattered trousers, dirt under her fingernails, and the faint, earthy scent of fertilizer clinging to her. She was filthy, he thought. Her clear face was smudged with soil, and the dark hair tied low at her nape hung like limp seaweed. No appeal at all. He felt like he was looking at another dying tree. Her soft, twinkling eyes, when they faced a person, became dull and dry. She looked pale and far too skinny.
“Principal.”
“Yes, yes,” he answered, a little too quickly, as if he’d been caught staring.
“All the soil here needs to be replaced with Masato soil.”
“All of it?”
“Yes. That’s the cause. The trees can’t defecate because of this soil. By the way…” Her gaze sharpened. “You cut some corners, didn’t you?”
Ha-yoon circled him slowly, her expression skeptical. “Did you bury something under here?”
“What?”
“I heard the school was recently remodeled.” Her eyes narrowed. “Tiles?”
The principal’s shoulders flinched.
“Leftover cement?”
“Bags of cement mix are also a possibility…”
“Or maybe all of the above.”
He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, avoiding her gaze. How could she possibly know? To save on waste disposal fees, they had buried the construction debris right on the grounds. No one was supposed to know, yet this scruffy tree doctor had seen right through it.
“When those materials get wet, they harden like rock and contaminate the soil,” she explained. “The roots can’t grow; they just rot. We’ll find it all once we start digging, anyway. I’ll send you the estimate by the end of the day.” Ha-yoon smiled innocently, dabbing at her own sweat with a flower-patterned handkerchief tied around her neck. But the smile never reached her cold, sharp eyes. “Of course, I’ll have to report this to the city hall first.”
The principal hurried toward her, his face sullen. “D-doctor, please, listen to me…”
“You were happy to save some money, weren’t you?” She looked him up and down. “Now you’ll pay double or triple that amount in fines. As I said, defecation is as important for plants as it is for people.”
Ha-yoon turned away, satisfied. She sighed internally. Her only staff member back at the hospital was going to nag her for passing up this job. She turned back to the principal. She hated playing politics, but the growth of her hospital was important. Right now, it was the most important thing.
“I’m a doctor who loves trees,” she said. “I’m the best there is at saving them, but I’m also quite good at weeding out… harmful things.” Especially people like you, she added silently. Dozens of trees were dying because of one man’s selfish greed, and yet he had the nerve to call them symbols of the school. He was the kind of person who would clear-cut a forest and then use a single leaf for an ashtray.
“Please visit our Sonamu Tree Hospital more often,” she said, forcing a sweet smile.
Ha-yoon was a tree doctor who ran a small clinic on Yeondo, an island in Daeun-myeon, Cheonghae City, located near Tongyeong to the west and Namhae to the south. Though it seemed like an underdeveloped backwater, it was surprisingly the second-largest island in Korea, a beautiful and scenic tourist destination known for its sea, plants, and rocks.
That old man was staring at me so strangely, she thought. Ha-yoon’s job required her to carry tools like ladders, knives, saws, and shears. She had to climb trees and inspect them up close. People often looked at her as if she were some kind of wild animal.
Many clients specifically called for a “female” doctor assuming she would charge less; otherwise, she’d be out of business. They were always looking to take advantage. Now over thirty, Ha-yoon was used to it.
She was driving her scooter along a road overlooking the emerald sea when her phone rang. Plugging an earphone in, she answered the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, Director,” a voice said on the other end. “If you’re not here in five minutes, I’m unlocking the second floor.”