The Time Collector

by Gwendolyn Womack

  He couldn’t imagine attempting a relationship with another psychometrist. Not only would he have to worry about holding her hand, he’d have to worry about her holding his.

  The problem was that was exactly what he wanted to do with Melicent.

  With a frustrated swipe at his glass he finished his wine and left. If Melicent didn’t call the day after tomorrow, he would visit the shop one more time—to say what, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t leave L.A. without her believing she was a potential target. He’d stay here two days, and then he had to go on to London.

  * * *

  The boutique hotel Roan checked into nearby in Venice Beach had funky graffiti art on the walls outside and surfboards mounted above the sofas in the lobby. The hotel clerk at the check-in counter glanced twice at Roan’s gloved hands while he filled out the registration form.

  “You from up north?” the girl asked, popping an enormous gum bubble.

  “Something like that.” Roan was used to the question and had stopped caring years ago. His gloves were like oxygen and he couldn’t go without them—especially in hotels, the Grand Central Station of imprints.

  When Roan got to his room, he opened his bag and took out the box Sun had given him. He finally had a block of time to analyze the gift. He only hoped it wasn’t another oopart.

  He sat down at the small desk and placed the box on the table. He took off his gloves and laid them aside. His hands joined together in an intricate Manipura mudra, a fire mudra, performed to increase courage and mental will. Before taking any kind of known risk, Roan always performed this mudra—and touching Sun’s present was a definite risk. He had no idea what memories lay in store or why she had given it to him.

  When he lifted the lid, he found a fan made of carved lacquered bamboo.

  With the care of a surgeon he opened it up to reveal an exquisite painting of a sapphire dragon, a white tiger, a red phoenix, and a black turtle circling a yin-and-yang symbol.

  He rested the fan in his hands and closed his eyes, feeling his mind begin to slip between the folds. He was about to meet the maker of this masterpiece.

  WONJU, KOREA

  1949

  “WHY IS THE DRAGON BLUE?” Sun watched her grandmother finish painting the dragon’s scales. The meticulous brushwork had taken her all morning. Sun had sat and watched every delicate dab and stroke.

  “This is the Blue Dragon of the East, the noblest of animals. It brings good fortune on its wings and is the head of the four symbols.”

  The fact that her grandmother answered meant it was all right to speak while she worked. “And the others?” Sun asked.

  A turtle, a phoenix, and a tiger, along with the dragon, circled a vibrant swirling yin-yang emblem in the center of the fan. Sun knew the circle represented balance, day and night, male and female.

  “They are the four guardians of the world,” her grandmother explained, “standing at the four directions, protecting the fifth, the center. The most powerful point in nature is always the center.”

  Sun nodded. Her grandmother had used the five cardinal colors—blue, white, red, black, and yellow—to represent not only the five directions but the five elements of wood, metal, fire, water, and earth. Even Sun, at the age of eight, could see that this fan was perfectly balanced.

  Her grandmother went back to finishing the painting. Sun could tell from her faraway look not to ask another question.

  Sun’s grandmother had been born into a family of seon jajang, master fan makers. The trade had been in her family for more than six generations, dating back to the late Joseon kingdom. She’d grown up in Jeonju, the seat of fan making in Korea. Her childhood home, an original Joseon hanok wooden house with an elegant, sloping slate-tile rooftop, was as old as their trade and was tucked away off a cobblestone lane in the center of Jeonju.

  From an early age her grandmother had been taught to make both styles of fan, the round open-faced fan, the dandeon, traditionally meant for women, and the folding hand fan, the hapjukseon. Sun knew making each fan required a hundred and fifty steps, and that a paper fan made of hanji, from Korea’s sturdy mulberry tree, could last more than a thousand years.

  The fans of her grandmother’s family had been held in graceful hands at ancient court and had weathered the years—even the thirty-five years of Japanese occupation that ended with the close of World War II. Over time Jeonju had become a melting pot, with more people arriving every year as the county kept expanding. The bustle of increased trade made Korean fans prized by foreigners abroad as well.

  Sun knew all this not because her grandmother had told her, but because Sun loved to touch her grandmother’s fan-making tools, the hammers, stones, and knives her grandmother had brought with her from Jeonju. Sun’s grandmother had married into a family who imported and exported goods from the industrial town of Wonju. And as Korean custom dictated, the daughter left her family to join the husband’s.

  Sun’s grandmother gave away the fans she made once a year for Dano Festival, the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, when everyone across the country gifted fans to their loved ones, particularly to the elderly and the children, to prepare for the coming hot summer months. This fan had taken her grandmother many months to create.

  Sun watched her grandmother paint the last brushstroke and place the fan on the shelf to dry. Now that her grandmother had finished the final image, the Blue Dragon, Sun slid open the lattice screen door and slipped outside to play.

  The family lived on the outskirts of Wonju near Chiaksan Mountain in a large country house that had an apricot tree, a cherry tree, a vegetable garden, two pigs, and a chicken. The forest started at the edge of the garden and led up the mountain like a blanket of green, where ancestral tombs dotted the hillsides and an ancient Buddhist temple, Guryongsa Temple, sat in the center.

  Sun loved to wander through the fields, touching the dome-shaped relics and laying her hands on the stones. When she did, she could often hear the voices of the past and sometimes see them like ghosts performing shadow puppet plays.

  One day when she came home from her adventures, her grandmother gave her a stern look. “Who goes knocking on the door of the deep, deep mountain?” she asked, reciting the line from an ancient song.

  Sun glanced down at the floor, afraid her grandmother would be angry. “I was only touching the stones. They tell me stories if I listen long enough.” Sun balled her hands up into fists, worried she’d said too much.

  Her grandmother beckoned to her. When Sun sat beside her, she said with a grave tone, “Perhaps you’ve been gifted with the sight.”

  Sun shook her head, adamant. She knew all about the mansin, the shamans, powerful women who could talk to spirits and call the dead down from the heavens to communicate with the living. Her grandmother and mother sometimes visited the village mansin to receive divinations or make offerings to the ancestral gods. And once when her grandfather was ill, her entire family held a kut where their mansin came to the house with several other assistant mansin to perform a ceremony to draw the illness out. The event had scared Sun to death, with the women clanging cymbals and beating drums as they called on the spirits. Sun shook her head in refusal at the thought she might be one of them. To be a shaman was a hard road and meant living on society’s edge. “I only see old things. That happened before.”

  Her grandmother took her hand and squeezed it in understanding. “Good” was all she said, and they didn’t speak of it again.

  * * *

  In the spring, for Dano Festival, Sun’s grandmother surprised her by giving her the dragon fan as a gift. Later that day, her grandmother and mother went to visit their mansin to give offerings to the ancestors. When they returned, Sun could see her grandmother was distraught.

  From that day forward her grandmother stopped making fans and working in the garden. Instead she took to her bed. No one would tell Sun why.

  Sun made an effort to be the one to bring her grandmother tea and then take away the cup when she was f
inished, for the sole reason to hold the cup and try to understand what had happened.

  One day she sensed more than saw it. The mansin had given her grandmother a divination of the darkness that was to come.

  Sun dropped the teacup with a gasp and heard her mother call out a strict reprimand from the kitchen at the sound of broken porcelain on the floor. But when Sun met her grandmother’s dull, defeated eyes she understood.

  A war was coming.

  Sun’s grandfather always said that after World War II ended, Korea was a person broken at the waist. Split at the 38th parallel with a communist north and democratic south, the capital cities of Pyongyang and Seoul became bitter brothers. That break between the two sides had been festering for five years. In Russia, Stalin refused the UN’s attempt to reunify the country. He wanted a communist foothold in Korea, just as the Americans wanted a capitalist one. The impasse mounted until finally the wound was rupturing.

  Within days North Korea advanced south to reunite the country, but it quickly became a massacre. They gathered up anyone they believed to be fighting for the West.

  Sun’s family didn’t know what to do—leave their home and make their way south toward Pusan with the river of refugees or wait in Wonju and see what would happen. Soon Seoul fell and the North Korean army was taking over the whole country. Wonju was at a major crossroads, and there was no way the city would be spared.

  The South’s Republic of Korea regiments were rounding up everyone in Wonju they thought might be aiding the North. Sun’s father traded with China, which was North Korea’s supporter, along with Russia. Sun’s father also traded with other countries, but that didn’t matter. To the South Republic’s eyes, he was a communist sympathizer.

  Officers came and took him away one night for interrogation. Sun watched her mother scream and plead, her knees on the floor, begging them to have mercy and change their minds, but they wouldn’t. They demanded that Sun’s brother, Jin, her only sibling, come join the southern regiments to prove the family’s loyalty, and they took him with them. He was only thirteen.

  Sun’s grandfather died in his sleep the same week, unable to recover from the shock of losing his son and grandson in one night.

  Days later the North Korean army swept through Wonju, occupying the town as well as every village, all the way south toward Pusan. The North wanted to punish its southern brothers and they were brutal in their occupation. It wasn’t until the UN and American forces arrived in full force that the invaders were driven back.

  The tall big-nosed warriors from America struck hard and pushed back the North toward the Chinese border. When Western forces crossed the 38th parallel, it enraged China and woke their dragon.

  In October the Chinese entered into Korea like an ocean, with wave upon wave of men. They moved in the night, in total stealth, coming in like a shadow tide, and attacked.

  With this new turn of events, Sun and her mother and grandmother waited for months in fear, unsure what to do. Now that Sun’s grandfather, father, and brother were gone, the house was a skeleton whose brittle bones were about to break. The women began to make plans to leave Wonju and head south as soon as the harsh winter lifted. Until then, they kept hope that either Sun’s father or Jin would return. Because if and when the women did leave, the family would no longer know how to find each other.

  Soon the decision was taken out of their hands when a Chinese group settled three miles north of Wonju and began attacking down the riverbed. The thunderous barrages of artillery never ceased as more military arrived every day. The women packed what they could carry on their backs and stole away in the middle of the night.

  Sun tucked her dragon fan into the folds of her blanket, and she crossed the threshold of her home for the last time. She turned back and looked at all their belongings.

  In the silence she could hear the house saying goodbye.

  Sun wanted to believe she would see these walls again, and she prayed one day that she and her family could return to their lives before the war. But instead that night they walked right into a skirmish on the hills where the Chinese had the high ground.

  “Sun!” Her mother put her arms around her as they ran to the bushes for cover.

  It was a moment Sun would remember forever—right before the bullet hit.

  Her mother’s body jerked, exhaling from the shock, then she was no longer holding her. She’d fallen back from the force of the bullet.

  Sun dropped to the ground, clutching her mother’s body. Her grandmother knelt beside her, grabbing them both. Their cries were masked by the relentless barrage of gunfire all around them. For hours they stayed huddled together, holding Sun’s mother in their arms until the battle moved over the ridge to the west.

  Sun was unable to speak. Shock had robbed her of the ability. They would have to leave her mother’s body to find shelter, to hide, but they had no means to bury her, so Sun covered her with her blanket.

  Only her grandmother was alive. The old woman was barely holding on, her head bowed in defeat. Her spirit had been wounded beyond repair. Her family was gone. All but one.

  The old woman’s frail hand held on to Sun’s as Sun led her deep into the forest and up the mountain where the caves might offer protection. Sun found a hidden alcove between the rocks and she laid down their pallets. They had no water, no food, but for the moment they were safe.

  She helped her grandmother to lie down and then she nestled beside her.

  Her grandmother’s hand reached out and clasped hers, giving her the faintest squeeze, just as she always did when Sun did something right.

  “Do you remember the story of Princess Bari?” her grandmother asked, her voice weak.

  Sun nodded. Her mother had told her the story many times at night before going to sleep. Bari was an ancient princess who lived long ago in the time of the three kingdoms, born the seventh daughter of a king who wanted sons.

  Her grandmother mustered up the last of her strength in order to continue. “When she came into this world her parents did not recognize how special she was, and she was banished.” Her quiet words filled the cave. The walls were listening. “Years later when they were dying she came back to help heal them. She traveled to the sacred realms beyond this world to find magical water to restore their life. In return she was granted exalted status, but Princess Bari chose to remain in the otherworld to help guide the dying to the next life.”

  The tears that slipped from Sun’s eyes were silent. With each word she could feel her grandmother’s life ebbing from her.

  “You’re my Bari,” her grandmother whispered, her voice growing fainter. “You could lead me there … to your mother and grandfather. I could forgive myself for leaving you if you took me there.” She kissed Sun’s hand. “Please take me there. Then go back to Wonju.”

  Those were her last words. Sun could feel her grandmother’s spirit being pulled away like a kite caught on the wind. Sun held on tightly to her grandmother’s hand, determined to go with her.

  Her grandmother was wrong—she wasn’t Bari, a courageous princess able to lead her to the netherworld, she was a scared girl, unwilling to be left behind in such a desolate place.

  As her grandmother’s spirit departed, Sun gripped her hand harder and closed her eyes. A force pulled her up and out of her body until she was floating, looking down on the mountain like a bird in flight.

  Sure she was dying too, Sun told her life goodbye as she ascended beyond the web of fear and hate the war had created—She was free.

  A brilliant light approached, growing bigger and brighter like a newborn star. As the light drew near, a feeling of incredible joy bloomed in Sun’s heart.

  She looked to her grandmother, who now stood radiant beside her.

  Sun’s mother came forward, surrounded by a shimmering light. Sun had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her mother embraced her and placed Sun’s hand on her heart.

  You must go back.

  Sun protested. She couldn’t imagine returnin
g, not now. But her mother persisted, guiding her away from the star’s light.

  You still have much work to do. We will be waiting.

  Her mother led her away and let go of her hand. Like a curtain falling, Sun floated back to earth, feeling as if she were a stone sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

  * * *

  The coldness woke her up. Sun didn’t need to reach out to touch her grandmother’s body lying beside her. Her grandmother’s spirit was gone, leaving behind an empty husk. The vivid memories of Sun’s journey to the other side still circled around her. The feeling of immense love had not faded. Sun yearned to go back, but she didn’t know how and knew she couldn’t.

  Gunfire and explosions sounded in the distance. Only now Sun didn’t feel afraid like she had before. Her mother had sent her back.

  Sun covered her grandmother’s lifeless body with her blanket. The cave would be her burial place. She climbed outside and moved as many rocks as she could to seal the opening so her grandmother’s remains wouldn’t be disturbed. Then Sun made her way back to Wonju because her grandmother had told her to return home.

  Halfway to town, Sun sat down on the side of the road, too tired to walk any more. She took her grandmother’s fan from her pocket, her one possession left in the world.

  The paint dazzled in the sun, making the dragon’s scales seem alive.

  Sun closed her eyes and fluttered the fan as the tears made a trail on her cheeks.

  A car was heading down the road. The driver slowed and came to a stop. A foreign soldier got out, his eyes filled with concern as he squatted to ask her questions with words Sun didn’t understand. She knew she looked pitiful, covered in dirt and blood, her thin frame emaciated.

  The man went to the truck and returned with a canteen of water and a bar of some kind of food wrapped in paper. Sun tried to stand up to take it but was too weak to rise.

  The man put his arm around her and helped her. From his touch, fleeting images and thoughts passed through Sun’s mind … his grandmother mailed him care packages from a place called Virginia … he wanted to go home … his job was to pick up children on the side of the road and take them to the shelters in Wonju for the hundreds of war orphans found sleeping among the rubble. Now she was one of them.