The Guest

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  You dirty son of a bitch, pay up! Cough up all the rent you owe us, everything you haven’t paid these past five years! Thief!

  Abruptly, he turned to the other man and started beating him, too, shouting, And you! You were a fucking homeless piece of dirt and we took you in—we taught you, trained you to handle engines so you could make a living—and you have the nerve to tell us to give up our factory? The lowest mongrel is better than you! At least a dog knows to be grateful to its master!

  Pongsu kept on thrashing them, his breath growing harsher with each passing moment. When one of the men, unable to take it anymore, made a run for it and tried to break through the human wall, the spectators kicked him back inside the circle.

  Bring me some gasoline! It’s in the car! Pongsu shouted, panting.

  When the gasoline arrived, he poured it all over the whitish shapes as they quivered on the ground. It looked like he was giving them a bath. Moving as one, the circle of men stepped back a few paces as Pongsu reached over to strike a match. Throwing the match, Pongsu, too, sprang backwards. A tower of flame shot straight up into the air. I jerked my eyes away from the crack in the wooden fence. That was the beginning—the beginning of the Judgment of Fire in the book of Revelation.

  October 17. The U.S. Army arrives in the afternoon.

  A regimental force of the First Armored Division moves into Chaeryŏng on its way north from Haeju. The main objective of their operation is to attack Pyongyang; they are not interested in mopping up the western regions. The temporary regimental headquarters stationed in Chaeryŏng dispatches search parties to Sinch’ŏn and Anak, which is located northwest of their route. A platoon led by Lieutenant Harrison of the U.S. Armed Forces advances to Sinch’ŏn. The regiment’s intelligence officer has informed them of the Rightist uprising in the area, so a separate squad is sent ahead, riding in a jeep, before they all march into town. Everyone is relieved to see the flag flying from the county hall flagpole, not to mention the banner with “Welcome” spelled out in English. Unaccompanied by any combat units, the main force rides into town along the new road. They are courteously shown into the meeting room in the county hall. In the yard, young men armed to the teeth and a crowd of what seems to be their families have gathered together to welcome them. The Americans stay in the town of Sinch’ŏn for two hours. They contact the regimental headquarters in Chaeryŏng and request that rations, some medicine, and, most importantly, munitions such as bullets and grenades be brought to Sinch’ŏn. Approximately fifteen hundred men have assembled so far, but only about a thousand of them are armed. The regular troops, American and South Korean, continue their march north. They do not return until they retreat again the following winter. After the welcoming rally is over, it is announced that the defeat of Communism and the unification of Korea has become a reality. In the county hall, the Taehan Youth Corps and the new Autonomous Police are established, and a ceremony is held the following morning in the front yard to celebrate. Once the festivities are complete, the men return their attention to the air-raid shelter and the trench. The executions begin.

  For three days and nights, hundreds of us were crammed into that space. A solid iron door blocked the steep flight of stairs that led up to ground level. The air shaft near the ceiling measured about one span by three spans. There were two other rooms, one on each side, but the biggest was the room in the middle. The walls were concrete. The wind was soft, blowing in through the air holes in the ceiling.

  From outside, all you could see was something like a chimney sticking straight out of a grass lawn. Young kids used to sit on it and let the goats graze while the grown-ups took care of their business at the county hall. They pierced my nose when they caught me in Ch’ansaem—the blood stopped after a while, but the next day my nose was so swollen—it was festering, I think. My throat still felt raw and split open. I know now that it felt so dry because all the blood from my nose had congealed in my inner palate. What I knew then was that I physically couldn’t drink a thing.

  I fainted while Sangho was swinging his pickaxe. When I woke up I was already in the air-raid shelter. All I could see at first were some feet. Someone was standing on my thigh. My arm felt loose, hanging weirdly from my shoulder. It looked broken. Ah, I thought to myself, my whole life I’ve had nothing, no name, no nothing; I’ve worked my fingers to the bone without ever getting a chance to stretch my back—but at least I’ve had these past few years. They make it all worthwhile. So many people were squeezed into that cramped room, more than you ever saw, even on a village market day. People just barely had room to sit down, let alone stretch out. It was late fall, but down there it was steaming. You could feel the hot breath of the people around you. Little children fussing for water soon tired themselves out and fell asleep. Many of them died in that sleep. Men took turns standing so the women could have room to sit down.

  You know, I never hated anyone, not once in my entire life. For a bowl of rice—maybe two bowls on a lucky day—I worked hard, and I kept working hard so that no one would have a reason to complain. And still, still I had to watch as my own family was killed right before my eyes. That was when I understood. If your heart isn’t in the right place, you’re no different from the beasts in the forest. Overcome, I just stood there, staring at a patch of blue autumn sky through the cracks in the air shaft. Out of nowhere, a stream of liquid began trickling down the sides of the shaft. Thinking some good-hearted passerby was pouring some water down to us again, we crowded up to the shaft, our mouths wide open. Almost immediately, one of the few who’d actually been able to get a mouthful stumbled back.

  It’s gasoline!

  The streaming stuff was faintly pink in color—it was the kind they used in cars. As the smell of gasoline filled up the small space, I noticed that little streams were flowing down through the air shaft of the room across from us, too. We all stood very still, looking up at nothing in particular, our eyes wide open and our mouths agape. We stayed that way, completely silent. Not a single cough. Suddenly a muffled, moaning sound, kind of like the “oooh” a crowd of people might make, rose up all around us like some sort of wind—and then, all at once, we were engulfed in flame.

  That first day, the eighteenth, and then the following day, the nineteenth—all the way to the twenty-third—I think we all just went crazy. The dead, well, they may have nothing more to say, but those of us who survived can never go back to the way things were. You can’t stay crazy forever, you know. Time passes and before you know it you’re alone, old, all your friends have gone for good, and the world, too, has changed. Even then, though, even if nobody else remembers, it’s still there, deep down in your heart of hearts. It was this land, this land where our mothers buried our umbilical cords—this very same land that we dyed red with blood, transformed into a place we can never, ever go back to, not even in our dreams. And that was just the beginning—of the next fifty years.

  Why the winter was in such a hurry that year has always been a mystery to me. The first snow came down in torrents, covering entire hills and fields. Of the defeated soldiers from the People’s Army, crushed in Haeju and Ongjin along the west coast, those who were quick and strong went up into Mount Kuwŏl, just as the Christian Youth had earlier in the game. They became guerrillas, continuing to wage family feuds amid freezing winds.

  I returned to Some. People in the countryside were afraid to go any distance from their homes. You never knew when you might make a wrong impression and get yourself killed. You see, for forty-five days, the killing and the dying continued. It was all over the place. Over thirty-five thousand were killed, they say, and for all I know that may be true. Especially since a great many stragglers who’d been driven to the southwest and separated from their units were cornered and slaughtered when the snow blocked the north road out of Sinch’ŏn. And then there were the guerrillas. They’d come down from Mount Kuwŏl for provisions, killing anyone who got in their way. Then, in retribution, members of the Youth Corps would search out the families o
f the guerrillas and kill them. On top of all that, the massacre of 400 women and 102 children was simple fact—the dead bodies were there to prove it, as were a few surviving children. One fourth of the county’s entire population was killed—almost everyone in Man’gungni in Kunghŭng, more than half the population in Yongdangni in Onch’ŏn, and the entire male population in Yangjangni in Sinch’ŏn.

  In our village, too, the men who’d been to town established a branch of the Youth Corps. The whole thing was organized by the township. The guys set up a sentry post on the street and on the pass over the hill, and they made their rounds every night, going from neighborhood to neighborhood. Big Brother Yohan stayed mostly in town, coming home to visit once every couple of days. Once, in a car, he brought home a huge slab of uncut beef, saying they’d slaughtered a cow. Our family invited all the men from the Youth Corps, and everyone made a huge fuss as if it was some sort of festival day.

  Just like any other winter, I went to play up in the mountains with Sunho and the other kids. We’d set traps along the ridge or wander around, looking for sparrows to catch with our nets. Sometimes we might even find a gray mountain hare caught in one of our traps. It was around the beginning of November, I think. As soon as I got up that morning, I set out for the mountain as usual to check my traps. We set them in three different places, so by the time I finished checking all of them I would get pretty hungry. The last trap was up at the very top of the ravine, so I made my way up the steep mountain path, picking my way through the rocks. The stream that ran through the ravine hadn’t frozen over yet, and right next to my last trap there was still a little pool of water—it was the kind of place an animal might come to drink. Sometimes Sunho actually put as many as three of his traps around the pool, hoping we might get really lucky and catch a raccoon dog or a roe deer. Our traps were made out of bent wire, and we used sweet potatoes as bait, scattering barley or beans nearby.

  Done checking my traps, I was turning away when I just happened to glance up into the deep forest behind the pool. There were people there. The first thing that registered was their shoes. Like Japanese jikatabi, they were cloth shoes that came up to the ankles. Every child knew that these were combat shoes, the kind worn by soldiers of the People’s Army. My eyes fumbled slowly past the shoes to discover two soldiers asleep in an embrace. One had a cap on so I couldn’t make out any facial features, but the other was a woman for sure—her bobbed hair spilled out across the grass. Lying beside them was a black leather case. It was only much later on that I learned all it held was a violin. I turned around, about to run away, when suddenly, with a resounding “Who’s there?” something jumped on me from behind, forcing me to the ground. In an instant I was flat against the earth, the soldier sitting astride my back and pressing down on the back of my neck.

  You—who are you?

  It was a woman’s voice. I could hear another woman call from behind, Stand him up. Let’s have a look.

  The woman who’d been sitting on my back got to her feet, still holding on to the back of my neck. I sat up, brushing the dirt off my clothes. Both women were soldiers of the People’s Army. They wore the yellowish brown army uniform with the wide insignia on the shoulder and the baggy army trousers. Their lips were blue from the cold, and the stitching along their shoulders and the material around their knees were torn. Neither of them appeared to be armed. They were probably around high school age. Now that I’d sized them up, I found myself gaining a bit of confidence. After all, what could these girls possibly do to me, I began thinking. One of the two was small in stature and very thin—she would be, at most, two years or so older than myself. The other one, though, with her thick wrists and sturdy shoulders, might have been able to pass for something closer to twenty. Whatever the case, they both had twinkling black eyes, and it struck me that I hadn’t ever seen such pretty girls in my village or anywhere nearby. The big one spoke.

  Where do you live? Why did you come here?

  I live down in the village. I’m here to check my rabbit traps.

  They looked at each other for a moment, then the big one spoke again.

  Did you come alone?

  Yes, today I did.

  Are there security agencies in your village, too?

  I knew only too well what they were afraid of.

  Sure. There’s a sentry box at every alley.

  The big one grimaced. Responding to the frown, the little one hurriedly pulled up her companion’s torn pant leg and checked her feet. The big one’s ankle looked awfully swollen.

  Is it hurting again?

  Yeah. I think I twisted it again trying to catch him.

  Well, what do we do now? Where can we go from here?

  There was a short silence. I was the first to speak.

  Where are you from?

  The South . . .

  It was the little one who replied. The big one got up, broke a branch off a tree, and snapped off the twigs. Using it as a walking stick, she tried taking a few steps before she flopped back down on the ground.

  Oh man, just taking a step hurts like crazy.

  You know, this place—it’s dangerous during the day. People come here for firewood, and for walks, too.

  Oh! Really?

  There’s an orchard a little farther down. No one goes near there until spring rolls around.

  The little one looked at me.

  What’s your name . . . student? You’re a student, aren’t you?

  Yes. I’m in middle school—it’s my first year. My name is Ryu Yosŏp.

  She put one hand on her chest.

  I’m Kang Miae, and her name is . . .

  The big one, smiling for the first time, said a bit shyly, Hong Chŏngsuk.

  Yosŏp, you won’t report us, will you?

  Inform? No.

  Why not?

  I don’t like people getting killed. Did you sleep here last night?

  We’ve been here since the day before yesterday.

  And you haven’t eaten anything?

  Acting tough like a man, Hong replied, Just water. That’s why we were trying to stay near the stream.

  You must be hungry. I’ll go home and bring you back some food.

  The two women hesitated for a moment and exchanged looks. Her face contorting anxiously, Kang Miae asked, Would that be . . . safe? If you’re caught by a grown-up, you’ll get in big trouble.

  Are you afraid I might go down and report you?

  It was Hong who answered.

  No. We trust you, Yosŏp. Ah, do you like . . . singing?

  Singing?

  Later, when you come back for us—what song will you sing?

  Let me see . . . do you know this song? This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears. . .

  I then hummed the first bar. Kang’s response was immediate.

  Oh, that’s a hymn. All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

  Promising them that I would be back with some food, I came back down the ravine. I was to start singing at the bottom of the hill when I returned and keep it up all the way to the top. At home I found both my parents, on this day of all days, going about their business in the main wing of the house. Of all places my mother could have been, she was bustling around in the kitchen, breaking dry twigs in front of the fireplace to use later when she cooked lunch.

  Ma, have we got anything to eat?

  Mother turned around to glance in my direction as I stood on the threshold of the kitchen.

  Listen, these days we’re lucky to have three square meals a day. I’m making lunch soon. Why don’t you go inside and wait?

  Instead of responding I just rushed around the stone fence and went over to the separate wing that stood behind the main house. Sister-in-law was in the last month of her pregnancy, so she spent most her time lying in her bedroom. I opened her kitchen door quietly, crept inside, and lifted the lid of the big cauldron. It was still warm, and inside was a big bowl covered with a piece of hemp cloth. Lifting up the clot
h, I saw that the bowl was full of steamed sweet potatoes. Sister-in-law had probably steamed them for my little nieces to snack on. I took the bowl, hemp cloth and all, and got out of there. Shooting out of the house like an arrow, I checked to see that no one was watching and made a run for the hills. When I got to the ravine, I picked my way up through the rocks, thinking to myself again that the place really wasn’t a very good hideout. When everything was said and done, they just really needed to move someplace more suitable. I began to sing.

  This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears

  all nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

  This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought

  of rocks and trees, of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wrought.

  I made my way back to the same spot, but when I got there the girls were nowhere to be seen—I searched all over, pushing aside the bigger branches and straining to see past the smaller trees. Finally, I let loose a great shout into the empty air.

  Girls! Big Sisters! Where did you go?

  Hush! We’re right here!

  Kang’s face appeared from behind a big boulder, and then Hong rose up from a patch of clover bushes, much farther up the hill. As one climbed down the rock and the other walked out through the branches, I could hear them talking.

  He wasn’t followed, was he?

  He’s alone. I’ve been watching him.

  Proudly, I offered them the bowl, still covered with the hemp cloth. Then, like it was some fantastic magic trick, I snatched the cover off with a flourish.

  Help yourselves!

  Wow! Sweet potatoes!

  I sat a little bit apart from them, watching them with a distinct sense of satisfaction as they clutched the sweet potatoes in their hands and began stuffing their faces. A little belatedly, Kang turned to Hong.