Crane-man Character Analysis

“Work gives a man dignity; stealing takes it away,” he often said.

Following Crane-man’s advice was not always easy for Tree-ear. Today, for example. Was it stealing, to wait as Tree-ear had for more rice to fall before alerting the man that his rice bag was leaking? Did a good deed balance a bad one? Tree-ear often pondered these kinds of questions, alone or in discussion with Crane-man.

“Eat well, work well,” she said.

I’m not really deceiving anyone, he argued to himself. And I haven’t asked for more food—it should make no difference to her which bowl . . .

“If a man is keeping an idea to himself, and that idea is taken by stealth or trickery—I say it is stealing. But once a man has revealed his idea to others, it is no longer his alone. It belongs to the world.”

[…]

An image floated out of the darkness into Tree-ear’s mind—that of himself with his eye pressed to the knothole of Kang’s shed.

Stealth.

He could not yet tell Min of Kang’s idea.

Foxes were dreaded animals. They were not large or fierce, like the bears and tigers that roamed the mountainsides, but they were known to be fiendishly clever. Some people even believed that foxes possessed evil magic. It was said that a fox could lure a man to his doom, trick him into coming to its den, where somehow he would be fed to its offspring.

Even to say the word made a trickle of fear run down Tree-ear’s spine.

“Because he is proud, Tree-ear,” she said. “He does not wish to be fed out of pity.”

Tree-ear kicked a small stone at his feet. Why was it that pride and foolishness were so often close companions?

Could it be? He had fallen asleep! He had slept for who knew how long, with a fox nearby—and he had survived!

Tree-ear laughed out loud, and the sound of his laughter reminded him of his friend. We are afraid of the things we do not know—just because we do not know them, Tree-ear thought, pleased with himself. He must remember the idea; Crane-man would be interested in discussing it.

But just then he heard Crane-man’s voice so clearly that he turned in surprise. “Leaping into death is not the only way to show true courage.”

“We would like to give you a new name. Would it be agreeable to you if we were to call you Hyung-pil from now on?”

Tree-ear ducked his head quickly, recalling that the son of Min had been called Hyung-gu. A name that shared a syllable! It was an honor bestowed on siblings. No longer would Tree-ear go by the name of an orphan.

“Work gives a man dignity; stealing takes it away,” he often said.

Following Crane-man’s advice was not always easy for Tree-ear. Today, for example. Was it stealing, to wait as Tree-ear had for more rice to fall before alerting the man that his rice bag was leaking? Did a good deed balance a bad one? Tree-ear often pondered these kinds of questions, alone or in discussion with Crane-man.

“Eat well, work well,” she said.

I’m not really deceiving anyone, he argued to himself. And I haven’t asked for more food—it should make no difference to her which bowl . . .

“If a man is keeping an idea to himself, and that idea is taken by stealth or trickery—I say it is stealing. But once a man has revealed his idea to others, it is no longer his alone. It belongs to the world.”

[…]

An image floated out of the darkness into Tree-ear’s mind—that of himself with his eye pressed to the knothole of Kang’s shed.

Stealth.

He could not yet tell Min of Kang’s idea.

Foxes were dreaded animals. They were not large or fierce, like the bears and tigers that roamed the mountainsides, but they were known to be fiendishly clever. Some people even believed that foxes possessed evil magic. It was said that a fox could lure a man to his doom, trick him into coming to its den, where somehow he would be fed to its offspring.

Even to say the word made a trickle of fear run down Tree-ear’s spine.

“Because he is proud, Tree-ear,” she said. “He does not wish to be fed out of pity.”

Tree-ear kicked a small stone at his feet. Why was it that pride and foolishness were so often close companions?

Could it be? He had fallen asleep! He had slept for who knew how long, with a fox nearby—and he had survived!

Tree-ear laughed out loud, and the sound of his laughter reminded him of his friend. We are afraid of the things we do not know—just because we do not know them, Tree-ear thought, pleased with himself. He must remember the idea; Crane-man would be interested in discussing it.

But just then he heard Crane-man’s voice so clearly that he turned in surprise. “Leaping into death is not the only way to show true courage.”

“We would like to give you a new name. Would it be agreeable to you if we were to call you Hyung-pil from now on?”

Tree-ear ducked his head quickly, recalling that the son of Min had been called Hyung-gu. A name that shared a syllable! It was an honor bestowed on siblings. No longer would Tree-ear go by the name of an orphan.