“Xiang, are you okay? Are you injured?” I asked.
“Shh!” Someone whispered in the dark. “Not a word!”
I quieted instantly. The sound of machinery and metal clanging against metal was constant. After what felt like a long wait, the floor seemed to shimmy, and then the boat began to move. We were off. Xiang and I sat against the wall with our heads touching, and dozed off. The tremendous fatigue that had been building up over the past several days washed over me at once.
*
Bari-ya! Hey, Bari! It’s me!
Someone calls to me through the dark. I see two blue, glowing lights. I know at once that it is Chilsung. I have seen him in my dreams now and then over the past few years, but this is the first time he has spoken to me just as he did in life. A ring of milky-white light, like moonlight, appears in the blackness and wobbles as it widens. At the end of this tunnel of light, Chilsung wags his snowy white tail and waits for me.
He takes off running, glancing back occasionally and pausing so I can catch up.
Stop running, I say. Stand still.
Someone’s waiting for you.
We reach a riverbank. The water looks black. A silent breeze passes over us and kicks up a cloud of dust. There is a long bridge, and at the entrance to the bridge stands a woman dressed all in white. It is too dark at first to make out her features, but as I step closer a light seems to shine forth from her and a familiar face appears.
Our little Bari is here!
Grandma! Where’ve you been?
I take a step forward to hug her, but she drifts back exactly one step, lightly, like a plastic bag filled with air. I take another step, and she drifts back again.
I’ve missed you so much, and now you won’t even hug me.
Grandmother smiles and nods.
I know. I wish I could. But I’m in this world now, and you’re in that world. I called you here because I was worried about you. Now, pay attention to what I’m about to tell you. You’re going to travel thousands and thousands of li across the ocean and across the sky. This path will lead you through Hell, filled with the clamour of toads and the ravings of demons and the spirits of the dead. You could wind up torn to pieces. But whatever you do, stay away from the blue and yellow paths. Always take the white path. When your journey is complete, you’ll no longer be little Bari. You’ll be Bari, the great shaman. I will help you as much as I can, so whenever you’re in trouble, Chilsung will guide you to me.
*
Grandmother, Chilsung and the foggy riverbank vanished, and everything went white before my eyes. Someone was shining a torch at us.
“Raise your hand as you call out your number. Start at that end.”
The man sitting at the far end of the wall raised his hand and said one. The woman next to him was slow to react. After a beat, she mumbled t-two, and someone stepped in front of the man with the torch and slammed her head against the wall.
“Again!”
This time, everyone called out three, four, five and so on, in quick succession. There were twelve people altogether.
“You little snakes all know your numbers? Those are your names from now on.”
I was Number Eleven, and Xiang was Number Twelve. Judging by the voices, there were four women and eight men.
“I’m the one responsible for getting you safely to your destination. Your lives are in our hands. Don’t forget that. If you don’t do as we say immediately, we’ll throw you overboard. In a few days, we’re going to dock briefly at Xiamen, in Fujian Province. Until then, you will not move from this spot. You’ll get one meal every morning and one bucket of water that you’ll all have to ration. You’re each responsible for your own survival. It takes one month to reach England. If you can survive the last ten days upon arrival, then you’ll get to set foot in a new land and make all the money you want. Right before we reach Xiamen, I’ll explain what you have to do.”
They gave each of us a single ball of rice and fed us a cup of water. They also designated a spot for us to relieve ourselves: just inside the entrance to the cargo hold in the belly of the ship, they’d set up a metal drum that had been sawed in half and placed a couple of wooden boards over it. At first we all slept sitting up against the walls, but after a while negotiations were made, and everyone was able to sleep lying down in the narrow spaces between the containers by placing their legs between one another’s legs. For the first few days it was too dark to see anyone, but later we got just enough light seeping in from above during the day that we were able to learn each other’s faces. Twenty more joined us in Xiamen. Like us, they were brought aboard just before the ship departed. We had to stay hidden for two days while more containers were loaded. The snakeheads divided us up and stuffed us inside the already-packed containers. We really were like snakes, as we had to burrow deep into the tiny crevices between the packed freight loads. We had to remain standing the whole time, though we were able to take the weight off of our legs a little bit by wedging our upper bodies in, and we had to urinate and defecate in place as well. There was no food, of course, but we also weren’t given so much as a drop of water to drink.
Right before the boat set sail again, we were pulled out of the containers while new people were smuggled aboard. No one could walk. We crawled back to our spots and sprawled out on the floor. When the woman who’d had her head smacked against the wall for not calling her number out properly was brought out of the container, she could not stand up again; somewhere in the South China Sea, she died. The snakeheads picked her up by her head and legs and carried her out. Number Eight grew so weak that she had to be helped to the toilet each time. Xiang and I were still young, and fortunately had a little strength to spare. The people who boarded in Xiamen sat between the rows of containers next to ours; most of them were young, too. There seemed to be about seven or eight women among them. As the ship crossed the equator, we entered the fiery level of Hell, and thirst and starvation slowly turned people into animals.
Six
I stripped off my shell of a body more than once during those long days of darkness and followed Chilsung down the white path to see my grandmother. Once, after coming to briefly and taking a look around, I realized that the world of the dead was no different from the place I was in. I travelled in the ship through the different layers of the otherworld.
I lay with my eyes closed and my back pressed to the bottom of the ship as it rose and fell with the waves, the din of machinery constant, and let my spirit rise into the air. It was indeed like slipping out of a shell, or removing a garment. It didn’t make a sound, but there was a sensation like soft fabric tearing each time I shed my body and drifted about in the dark.
Then Chilsung would appear, his white fur dazzling my eyes as he wagged his tail in front of me. We would walk single-file along the white path that hovered in the blackness like a belt of moonlight. After a long walk, we would arrive at a riverbank, where a light breeze blew and a bridge arched over the river. The water looked black as tar. Only the bridge was illuminated, as if by lamplight, and Grandmother would come across it, the hem of her white skirt swaying.
Bari, come this way.
When Grandmother walked back over the bridge, it lit up with all the colours of the rainbow. Chilsung walked ahead of me. I followed him across this rainbow bridge. Just then, I heard voices coming from the dark water below, voices crying out to be saved. A woman’s ragged screams. Weeping and wailing. Groans of pain. A baby bawling. Voices moaning under the lash. Dying breaths. Teeth chattering as voices cried out about the cold. Shrill screams following one after the other, wailing about the heat. Hollow giggles from going mad. I could barely bring myself to cross the bridge.
Don’t listen, and don’t look down. If you stray from the path, you’ll lose all your good karma.
Once I was over the bridge I saw that the sun was shining there, and everything was strangely quiet. A wide field filled with fresh grass stretched away evenly, and a delicate breeze stirred the wildflowers.
Grandmother pointed to a zelkova tree at the far end of the field.
When you get closer to that tree, your guide will appear. Hurry off now.
Grandma, aren’t you coming with me?
I can’t. My world ends here.
What about Chilsung?
He slowly wagged his tail and didn’t answer. Grandmother held out her hand.
Take these with you. It’ll help.
She dropped three peony blossoms into my palm. I put them in my pocket and floated over to the tree, bobbing gently as if carried there on a current. The tree was enormous; it had to have been as tall as a three or four-storey building. The branches were completely bare, though it wasn’t winter. The closer I got to that tree, with its countless branches twisting out of its thick trunk in all directions, the scarier it looked. On one of the lower branches perched a magpie, flicking its tail. When it saw me it rubbed its beak against the tree several times and then addressed me.
Hey, Stupidhead, where you think you’re goin’? Oughta give you what for.
What did I do wrong? I asked angrily. Despite everything that had happened to me up until that point, I had submitted to all of it meekly, without a single word of blame or complaint, sorrow or frustration, so I truly felt this was uncalled-for. The bird opened its beak wide and laughed at me. Then it said:
You’re still a long way from bringing back the life-giving water. How the living do suffer, do suffer!
I clamped down on my anger.
Show me the way to the western sky, I said.
Follow me, follow me.
The little featherbrain spread his wings and took off from the tip of the branch, circled overhead several times and flew straight into the side of the enormous tree trunk as if to crush his own skull.
Serves you right, I thought. Now you’re dead of a busted skull.
But the trunk opened like a yawning mouth, and the bird disappeared into it. I placed one foot inside the shadowy hollow, and the rest of my body was sucked inside. I slid down, down, down. When I reached the bottom, the top of the tree hovered far above my head and I saw a road stretching out in five directions: north, south, east, west and centre. In the middle of the road stood an envoy from the otherworld, dressed all in black and wearing a black horsehair hat. He clutched a folding fan with both hands. Where are you going? he asked.
I’d been wondering the same thing, so I had no response at first. But then I said the first thing that came to mind:
They told me to come over for dinner.
The envoy considered this for a moment and then asked: The great kings?
I didn’t know what else to do, so I nodded. He pointed to one of the paths with his fan. I walked for a long time and eventually reached a large plaza with torchlight glowing on all sides. The same envoy appeared again and dragged me to the centre. A huge, towering platform, like a judge’s bench, appeared along the opposite wall. Seated atop the platform were ten great kings, each with a different type of crown: a horned crown; an ornament-covered crown that stuck straight up like a chimney and gradually widened; a round crown; a wide, flat crown; a crown that bulged out on the sides. The great kings seemed to stir, and then the one seated in the middle wearing the horned crown glared fiercely at me from above his black beard. He called out:
Loathsome worm! You’re not dead, yet you dare call us forth in your dreams?
The great king with a white beard and a crown with triangular horns yelled:
You lied and said we invited you here!
The great king with the flat crown said:
We cannot send you back to the flesh you abandoned!
Another said:
An insignificant speck like you arrogantly vows to take the life-giving water from the ends of the Earth?!
The great kings of the otherworld called out my crimes each in turn, and at the very end the king with the round crown said:
You are guilty of abandoning your starving kinsmen. Even if you spend the rest of your life offering food and reciting sutras to the spirits of these dead, you will never wash away your sin!
The ten kings called out their judgment in unison:
Seven by seven is forty-nine. If you can endure forty-nine days of penance, you will be permitted to return.
As soon as their judgment came down, the envoy grabbed me by the nape of the neck, dragged me to the edge of a cliff and tossed me over. At the bottom of the cliff was a blazing inferno. I screamed long and loud as my body tumbled like a piece of straw down toward the flames, which wriggled like the jaws of a creature intent on swallowing me whole. Just then I remembered the flowers my grandmother had given me. I took one peony from my pocket and tossed it down. With a loud pop! the fire vanished, and something like a warm blanket or a cloud wrapped around me. I drifted slowly down through the air.
When I alighted onto the ground, the air filled with a faint blue light and grey smoke billowed all around. A clump of smoke wafted over to me and moaned as it brushed past.
Feed me. Just one bite. Please.
Another clump of smoke coiled around me.
Just one little gaetteok. Or even some porridge or thin gruel will do.
The smoke began to fill the large hollow; each clump bore the face it had worn in life. I saw the woman and two children I’d met in the village near Gomusan, as well as the old woman I’d come across at the train station. Countless other faces I’d never seen, and did not know crowded around me. There were three or four little urchins who’d slept under stairwells in a night market in Yanji, and even babies joined the throng as tiny puffs cleaving to mother clouds. Their eyes were dark, their cheeks sunken and their throats strangely long and thin. Their mumbling sounded like magic spells: Hungry, hungry, hungry. Feed me, feed me, feed me.
I couldn’t breathe, my chest was heavy and my eardrums felt like they were going to burst. I covered my ears with my hands and squatted down on my heels. Then, without thinking about it, I pulled out another peony and tossed it upward. The air filled with wooden bowls packed with steaming hot rice, freshly cooked rice cakes piled high with mashed sweet red beans, every kind of fish and meat, fritters and savoury pancakes, wild greens, stews and soups of every flavour and colour and variety, plates and dishes and platters and saucers galore. All around me I heard the sound of lips smacking and teeth chomping.
Words – half-song, half-incantation – burst out of me, and even in the midst of singing, I recognized them as Hwangcheon muga, the shaman song to console the spirits of the dead. It was from the story my grandmother used to tell me about Princess Bari:
Aah, aah, deceased spirits!
At this open door between our worlds,
I pray, I pray.
To the mountains, to the rivers
you prayed, you prayed.
Hungry ghosts, starved spirits,
what became of the bodies you wore only yesterday?
Return! Return!
Go to Paradise, come back to life.
You are without sin;
lay down your burdens.
When the song ended, the smoke retreated, low to the ground, and vanished. Suddenly the floor of the hollow tree split in two to reveal a fog-covered pond. A breeze lifted the fog and the glassy, mirror-like surface of the water appeared. The water was the blue-green of moss, and under it a shadow was moving. Against this solid blue screen, images slowly began to take shape:
A stormy sea. A single boat tosses like a leaf amid mountainous waves, barely making it from crest to crest. It is a fishing boat with a squat cabin like a tiny house sticking out of the top. The belly of the ship is stuffed with the day’s catch. In that cramped space, where the ceiling is so low that a person can’t even sit straight up, water sloshes and rises. Then I notice the people squirming inside. Men, women, children. Ten, twenty, maybe thirty or more. Waves surge over the side of the boat, sweep over the deck and pour down into the hold. Women and children struggle and try to crawl out. The crewmen kick and shove them back in. They close the hatch and
padlock it. The wind and waves subside, and the sea is sunny. A distant mountain peak in a foreign land appears on the horizon. The crew remove the dead bodies from the hold and toss them into the sea. Bodies sink below the surface, bob back up, are swept along by the waves.
The coast of a foreign country. A boat, half-sunk and listing. Vegetable crates floating in the water. A large ship approaches. Uniformed people board the boat. They open the crates. Amid the tomatoes and cabbage are drowned bodies.
People suffering and struggling to breathe inside a dark container. The face of a woman clawing at the walls looms large. People crowd the door. They search for any crack in the walls before collapsing in the spaces between the cargo.
People called to the crewmen’s tiny quarters. When they are told to hand over more cash, they shake their heads and say they have none. The crewmen begin beating them. They punch their faces, kick their stomachs, gang up on them. Eyes fill with rage. Moneyless men slump to the ground, their faces bloodied. Women’s clothes are torn off. The men take turns. The women shake their heads from side to side, cry, struggle.
Princess Bari Page 10
