“Any moment,” said the nurse.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-two.”
“What is the matter with this old woman?” That was Mother.
“She has smallpox. Stay away from her!”
They jumped off our car in a hurry then, and I could hear them scrambling into the next car. Searching for Mother, Ko, and me.
The medic whispered that we were not to stir an inch until the train was moving again. Mother asked if he could fill our canteens. He did and gave water to each of the patients.
“Oh!” Ko murmured. “How sweet this water is!”
The nurse emptied and cleaned the two toilet tubs.
What a relief when the train began moving again. I got up and looked at the tiny baby. He was wiggling and began crying. The new mother was trying to nurse him but she had no milk, probably, Mother said, because of worry and fear. The baby was crying like mad.
He sucked his mother’s nipple a few times and let out another hungry yell. She had no baby bottle so the new mother took a mouthful of water and transferred it into her son’s tiny mouth.
The night advanced. The cruel, arrogant air blew in. I put my coat on and lent my blanket again to the new mother and baby. I lay down, to try and get some sleep and shorten the time to Seoul.
The train stopped with a sudden jerk.
Booooom! Waaaam! Airplanes flew over us. Booooom!
The medic looked out. “The first engine got hit!” he shouted. Waaaam, another plane. Booooom, another explosion. The train shook.
The nurse looked out. “Oh, God, the second engine was hit!”
Ko and I went to look out. There was a roar of fire from our two engines. All the medics and nurses were jumping off their assigned cars and running toward the front. I could see their figures clearly in the bright light from the roaring fire.
Quickly they began to evacuate patients in the first few cars. They were bringing them toward us on stretchers. Some patients were running with the nurses to safe spots.
Mother said she would go and help and Ko said she would go too. They jumped gallantly from the car.
“I want to go,” I said.
“No, you stay,” Ko told me. “The patients may need your help.”
I looked around me. All those sick people looked pale as ghosts in the oily, smelly, dark freight car. Someone began to sob. I felt terribly alone, wishing that Ko or Mother would hurry back.
The medics and nurses brought patients into our car. Ko and Mother led some who could walk. Before long the car was full, and this time men patients had joined us.
When the transfer was finished, our medic and nurse returned. They told Mother that the Red Cross had wired ahead for another engine, but there was no telling when it would come.
“They were not supposed to attack a hospital train or ship. That’s the law,” said the medic, frustrated.
“Where are we now?” asked Mother.
“About forty-five miles from Seoul.”
“How dangerous would it be if we walked?”
“Maybe safer than staying with us,” the medic said. “Someone may betray you here.”
“Just follow the rails to the south,” the nurse said.
We said farewell to the patients in the boxcar. I left all my dried fish, hard biscuits, and dried radishes for the new mother, and Ko left her one of the canteens filled with water, saying she needed nourishment.
The new mother, her baby crying, held my hand and would not let it go. “Thank you!” she said.
“Take care of your baby,” said Mother.
The new mother nodded, in tears.
Ko jumped off first. Mother dropped her large pack on the ground and jumped with the help of the medic. I dropped Ko’s and my sacks and our canteens. The medic stretched his arms up. As I stood at the edge of the car I realized how high up from the ground I was.
“Jump!” shouted Ko, already putting Mother’s large wrapping cloth bundle on her back.
I closed my eyes and leaned forward, hoping I would not fall flat on my face and break my nose. My stomach tickled and I landed safely in the arms of the medic.
Mother asked the nurse what time it was. It was three A.M. We bowed deeply to the medic and nurse, our sincere thanks.
The burning engines gave tremendous heat as we walked by, their thick iron frames turned red as if to melt at any moment. Through an opening I saw the body of an engineer, burnt black. “Don’t look,” Ko said. Mother kept on walking.
We had been the only healthy ones to get on the train at Nanam, and now we were the only healthy ones to get off. I looked at the long road we were about to take, rails stretching ahead, shining mysteriously in the light of a three-quarter moon.
Ko yanked my hand to keep pace with Mother toward Seoul.
THREE
WE WALKED UNTIL DAYLIGHT BROKE IN the sky. Mother said we must find some thicket off the track and get some sleep and hide during the day to avoid being captured. By the time we found large bushes, we were completely exhausted. We crawled into them and slept, covered with our blankets.
I woke, feeling terribly hot, and kicked off my blanket. At first I did not know where I was. Then I realized I was sleeping in the thicket. The sun was shining brightly. I was thirsty, and I opened my canteen and drank a small capful of water. Again I drank. I looked inside the sack for something to eat, then I realized I had given all my food supplies to the new mother and baby. I reached to Ko’s rucksack and she woke.
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“Let’s cook some rice,” said Ko. “Go gather some wood.”
She opened her sack and took out her mess kit. She measured half a cup of rice and used the rest of my canteen water to cook it over a fire she built between small rocks. For the first time in four days we ate small portions of fluffy rice, with small pieces of dried fish from Mother’s kit. I was still hungry, but Ko said we must use the rice sparingly, as we did not know what might lie ahead. We stayed there until twilight wrapped us in darkness. Then again we were on the railroad track.
Sometimes we heard strange noises and feared they came from soldiers. We would quickly run from the main track. With my rucksack and canteens bouncing about me, I would stumble in holes and on weed-mounds. Mother would grab my arm to help me get up, pulling me along strongly until I could run no longer. My face, scratched from falling, kept bleeding. Often when we were off the main track, we got lost. It was Ko who always scouted ahead to find the right path.
For seven nights we followed the tracks. No train went by, not even a hospital train. As each morning came we searched for a thicket, and when night came we kept on our journey.
My legs became numb. I whined, “I can’t walk anymore.”
“You’ve got to,” Ko said bluntly. “Don’t talk, just walk!” She was getting very bossy.
On the eighth night we came to an iron railroad bridge. As I stood looking down at the water beneath, that bridge seemed a hundred times higher than the edge of the boxcar. Far, far below me the torrents of water made a roaring sound.
We stood still. I could not cross that high bridge on the railroad ties in the night with only the moon for light. Ko suddenly lay down on the ground and put her ear to the rail. She kept that position for a long time, listening.
“What are you doing?” asked Mother.
“Listening for vibrations,” Ko said. “For a train. No train is coming. We must cross this bridge.”
I was already dizzy. I looked at the ties and saw how far apart they were. “I’ll fall through into the river,” I said. “Let’s swim it.”
Ko said no. She and I were good swimmers, but the current was too strong. Besides, Mother could not swim.
“But a train might come,” I argued.
“A train won’t come if we cross quickly. And tomorrow night there will be less moonlight to see by. Come!”
Ko went ahead of us. She walked on the ties as easily as if they were a smooth road. I held onto Mother’s
hand, knees shaking. When Mother took a step, I took a step. Then another. I tried not to see the roaring water below. But if I did not watch where I put my foot, I could fall through the ties. And maybe, I thought, my canteen and rucksack would be stuck and there I would hang beneath the ties.
Ko kept on walking. Once in a while she looked back to see where we were, then she took much faster steps, and she was almost across.
“It’s mean of Honorable Sister,” I mumbled at Mother. “She is way ahead of us.”
“She is a wonderful sister to you,” said Mother. “I would not know how to manage without her.”
“You’re always on her side,” I said. “I’m beginning to hate her.”
Mother glanced sideways at me and her face was harsh. “How dare you talk like that about your good sister?”
We took another step. And another.
“I am so dizzy,” I said. And I stood still and closed my eyes.
“We’re halfway across,” Mother told me. “Come.” But I clung to her, terrified to move lest I tumble through to the river.
And then Ko yelled. “Stay where you are!”
She was hopping back on the ties as easily as if she were jumping rope. She had no pack on her back. When she reached us she turned around, bent over and said to me, “Hop on.”
I put myself on her back and locked my arms around her neck.
“Don’t choke me, Little One,” said Ko, and coughed. I turned my head toward Mother, and the smile she gave me spoke worlds.
I felt terrible now for saying Ko was a mean sister. I put my head on her shoulder to let her know that I loved her very much.
So we crossed the bridge safely. Mother said now we should wash in the river; we had not bathed since we left home. We searched for a thicket and hid our belongings.
Ko bathed first. She returned to where we were, drying her hair. “Ah, I feel much more alive!”
Mother and I went down to the river. She dipped my head in the water, soaped my hair and rinsed it. She washed my back and I did the same for her. We washed our bloodstained clothes. Upstream Ko filled our canteens.
The bathing refreshed me and now I could have slept, but we had to go on as long as our energy held out, wet clothes flipping and flapping on the back of the rucksacks.
Dawn came and we began hearing airplanes in the distance. We got off the railroad track and hid in a forest. We would stay there during the day, we decided. I was starved but Mother said she was too tired to cook, and it was best anyway not to build a fire while planes were flying over. We decided to sleep.
The airplanes swept above us just as I had fallen off. We went farther into the forest and squeezed into a thicket. There was an explosion in the distance and at the same time the sky turned red.
We had no idea where we were or how far from our destination. But we had found a spot spread with soft moss and Mother decided we should stay there for a real rest.
I slept all day and all night. When the rising sun sent a soft light between the trees, Ko built a small fire and Mother cooked rice. How I yearned for fresh vegetables and a fine cup of tea. I could even eat carrots; I had refused to all these years. I remembered Hideyo’s words vividly. “Someday you’ll wish you had these carrots.”
When we finished our bits of rice Ko poured a little water into my bowl. She told me to swish it around but not to throw the water away. She dumped the water from my wooden bowl into hers and swished. She passed the water to Mother. Mother sipped a little water, leaving some for Ko and me to drink.
We were putting our cooking utensils away when suddenly, from nowhere, three soldiers in Korean Communist uniforms stood before us. We froze.
“Stand up!” yelled one of the soldiers. He was pointing a machine gun at us. The other two did the same. We stood. I moved closer to Mother.
“Don’t move!” they screamed.
My mouth went dry. My knees hardly held me.
“What have you got there?”
“Our belongings,” Ko said in the northern Korean accent.
All three soldiers were looking at Ko. “How old are you?”
She did not answer.
“The right size to have fun with tonight,” said the first soldier. “Leave all your belo—”
A plane swept above our heads and instantly we three, well trained, flattened ourselves. Booooom! An explosion. I seemed to be blowing away, and my head went black.
Someone was shaking me roughly, and I opened my eyes. Mother was saying something that I could not hear. Her hair was smeared with blood and she kept on shaking me like that madwoman in the train. I saw Ko’s lips moving.
“I can’t hear,” I said.
There was a sharp pain in my chest. My hand went there automatically and felt warmth. I looked at my hand. Blood.
I tapped my ears but I was wrapped in complete silence. The soldiers . . . airplanes . . . explosion. I said loudly, “Where are the soldiers?”
Ko’s lips formed the word, “Dead.” Then she fumbled in my sack and took out paper and pencil.
“Shut up!” she wrote. “We may be discovered by soldiers again. You were not badly wounded. Just a piece of bombshell that burnt your skin. My hearing is not clear either. Yours will come back.”
She opened her sack, took out her chemise, and wrapped it around my chest. Mother put my blanket over me and stroked my head, her tears dropping onto my face. I did not bother to wipe them away. I fell off to sleep.
Again I slept all day and all night. I was wakened by Mother early the next morning. Still I could not hear what she said. Both my ears seemed plugged with thick cotton. But I looked at Ko with astonishment. She was wearing a Korean Communist uniform and her thick, long black hair was shaved off. And then I suddenly saw that Mother too was wearing the uniform of a soldier. The dead soldiers’, it came to me slowly.
Mother made me sit up, and with her small scissors she cut my hair. “Please, don’t shave my head!” I begged.
Ko wrote, “Mother is protecting us from being harmed by soldiers.”
When my hair was shortened Ko poured a little water on my head. She soaped it. I fussed and cried and said, “I don’t want to be baldheaded!”
“Be still!” Ko wrote. She gave me a look as if to say, “You spoiled brat!”
Mother had brought out from somewhere the family’s precious treasure, our ancestors’ short sword. Her left hand, holding my head, was trembling. She began shaving. The sharp, thin blade slid over my head and I sobbed. “Where was the sword?” I asked. Mother patted her chest.
Then she said, “Finished,” wiped the thin blade carefully, and put it into the sheath. She held the slender sheath out in front of her, and bowed.
Ko put a small mirror in front of me and I adjusted her hand to take a peek. I looked horrible. Ko smiled at me but I gritted my teeth in anger, grabbed an empty canteen, and threw it on the ground as hard as I could.
Mother told me to disguise myself by putting on a dead soldier’s uniform. “I am not going to strip clothes from a dead man,” I said.
“I already have,” said Ko.
She handed me the uniform. It smelled of armpits and smoke, and she helped me put it on. She rolled the sleeves and pants, but it was still much too large.
Very close to us lay the stripped bodies of the three soldiers, who had not flattened themselves on the ground when the bomb burst.
We folded our own clothes, stuffed them into our sacks, cleared everything away, and started to march. “But it’s daylight,” I protested.
“That’s all right. We’re wearing Korean uniforms,” Ko reminded me.
For a hungry stomach my rucksack was very heavy. With each step the stiff, smelly uniform rubbed against my wounded chest. I said I could not carry my blanket. “It’s like iron on my back.”
“Give it to me,” Ko said. “It’s the only bedding you have.” She rolled my bloodstained blanket and added it to her own bundle.
We had been walking the tracks for eleven days.
FOUR
HIDEYO, WORKING WITH THREE FRIENDS from Nanam, was packing assembled machine guns into thick, metal-lined wooden boxes. He had been at the munitions factory five days.
Now Shoichi straightened and said, “Let’s take a break.” This meant a trip to the restroom for a cigarette.
Hideyo did not smoke. “Go ahead,” he said to Shoichi, Makoto, and Shinzo.
Just as the three disappeared into the restroom Korean Communist soldiers burst into the factory.
There was a terrified rush of workers to cover, though the great factory space offered almost none. Hideyo instinctively dove into the big empty box that lay on its side before him. While hiding in the box, he could look out and see some of the workers. He saw Yasuo, his classmate, grab one of the machine guns, stuff it with bullets—fire.
The soldiers fired back. Dadadadadadadadada! Yasuo fell, blood streaming.
Someone at the side threw something heavy—one of the boxes—at the soldiers. Again the enemy machine gun fire. Now there was the sound of people falling all around Hideyo. The blast of the machine guns overpowered his ears. Farther and farther back he squeezed, made himself smaller and smaller, and held his breath.
There was silence. An eerie silence.
“Don’t move! We shoot!” The commanding voice spoke in poor Japanese. A Korean, Hideyo thought.
“Line up!” the voice commanded. There were reluctant footsteps toward the front of the room.
“Hands up!”
Hideyo’s heart almost failed. Who had been killed? Who had surrendered? All of those students, many not bright enough to be accepted by Japan’s Imperial Army but still a good group, working hard for their country, trying their best to live with humor through the dark days of separation from their families.
And Shoichi, Makoto, and Shinzo, in the restroom. Surely the soldiers would look there. The opening of the box Hideyo was hiding in faced the washroom door. Perhaps they would see him too.
“March! Outside!” The voice was commanding. “We’ll get this ammunition after we deliver the prisoners. Check all the bodies. If they are still breathing, shoot!”
“Yes, sir!”
So Far from the Bamboo Grove Page 4
