Please, sir, let me live! Help!
I struck her again, and this time I caught her on the back of the head. That shut her up. I turned around and hurried away, going around to the front of the storehouse. The blood must have spattered—my face and the front of my shirt felt wet. I sat down in front of the water pump and washed my face and hands, then drank some water from my cupped hands. Still feeling kind of flustered, I went back home, got on my bicycle, and raced all the way back into town.
At the time, the only thought on my mind was that I had to get rid of them as quietly as possible, before anyone else realized what was going on. The bodies stayed there, sprawled out behind the warehouse, until some villagers discovered them and buried them. Yosŏp, of course, must have seen them on the following day when he took them their food. He didn’t say a word about it, not for several decades—but then one day, he asked me if I prayed when I did it, in that moment. I, of course, answered that I had.
December arrives. The U.S. troops and the National Defense Army are being pushed back. The Chinese Communist Army has entered the war. As the news that Pyongyang has been seized reaches the members of the Youth Corps and the security forces, they prepare themselves to retreat. They arrest all the people who have been under investigation, even those whose degree of participation was marginal at best, families of those who’d simply joined the Women’s League, the Professional League, or the Democratic Youth League, and the families of soldiers. Some of the families are small units of survivors who have already lost the rest of their relatives. By now, trials are being held not just in town but in every village in the county. The cold-blooded killings at the storehouse in Wonamri and the slaughter at the reservoir and on the bridge all happen within a few days of each other, beginning on December 2. During the day they roam the streets to hunt men; at night they search the empty houses and gather together to drink. Many of the young men have collected quite a number of valuables and other items. They are waiting for a suitable means of transportation. They are eager to start moving south, even if it’s just a few miles.
After I delivered Tanyŏl and went out for a cigarette, I began to think. We couldn’t just leave him there, and I thought maybe my older sister might be able to protect him since her husband was a Party member.
Let’s name the baby Daniel. The Lord protected Daniel, even in the lion’s den.
That can wait. The pain is killing me.
I realized my only option was to leave by myself. I left the house, telling my wife I was going to my sister’s house to ask for help since she was in no condition to be on the road. My older sister lived in a neighboring village, Palsan, and my younger sister, two years my junior, had married a man in Unbong and settled down there. Since I’d missed the advance trucks that left the day before to stay and help with my wife’s childbirth, it was crucial that I get at least as far as the pier in Haeju by the end of the coming day. That was the final meeting point. By two o’clock, I could already feel the imminent arrival of dawn hanging over the mountain forests. The mist began to climb up over the ridges and spread itself out over the fields. The night was still but the air was icy.
Entering the village of Palsan, I managed to find my sister’s house with a series of ready guesses. It was in a narrow alleyway bordered by a long stone fence on either side. A huge ginkgo tree marked what looked like the entrance—the stone fence simply ended, and the ginkgo tree appeared. I turned the corner, but as I stood facing the blind alley that led to my sister’s house, a sense of uneasiness suddenly enveloped my entire body.
Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, the wide wooden gate—rather fancy for a rural house—stood wide open at the end of the alley. It looked to be grinning ominously. I unslung the 30-round automatic carbine from my shoulder and held it at the ready. The front yard was empty and the house, two rooms built side by side, was dark. I went closer and called out softly, Sister, are you there?
No answer. I opened the door to one of the rooms. Sweeping the room with my flashlight, I found it was empty. The mattress was laid out, but the blankets had been thrown to the side, as if someone had just hurried out of bed. I thought I heard something at the back of the house. Aiming the rifle, I walked along the fence and went into the backyard. Something dark was squatting down, crouched close to the ground.
Who’s there?
Without turning, the black thing muttered, What have we done to deserve this, what crime have we committed . . . ?
Brother-in-law?
Switching the flashlight on, I shone the light around the yard. A long skirt and a pair of bare feet were visible next to my brother-in-law.
Oh, God! What’s going on?
Your sister. She’s dead.
I’d seen so many dead bodies over the previous month that the scene itself didn’t strike me as being particularly shocking. I just wanted to find out who had dared to do such a thing to Ryu Yohan’s sister.
Who’s done this?
Suddenly grabbing me by the collar as I crouched down next to him, my brother-in-law started shaking me back and forth, bursting into tears.
Who else but you and your kind would do something like this?
What? We did this?
That’s right. Sangho was here. Lucky for me, I happened to be hiding under the floorboards.
I barely managed to get him off of me—he kept shaking me by the collar, hollering that the only way a farmer could get by these past few years had been to join the Party, asking me what deadly crime I thought he’d committed.
We thought since you were a vice-commander, we’d be safe—even in hiding, I wasn’t too worried—and now, look! We’ve been struck by lightning!
That filthy butcher!
It suddenly occurred to me that the whole notion of this side and that side, of us and them—it was all over. It was no longer the Lord’s Crusade. We were no longer fighting to overthrow Satan. We have been tested, I thought to myself, and we have been found wanting. Our faith was corrupted. My comrades and I—we’d become the endless days, days without light. What does that mean, you ask? We were sick and tired of living. At the least provocation, we would spit out, Fuck it, and kill whoever happened to be involved.
The decent-looking girls were taken to the resort at the hot springs, run by the social insurance agency. There were members of the Women’s League, school teachers, and daughters of the enemy. The ones who’d been sent up from the South seemed to have plenty of experience—they were uninhibited and quite . . . knowledgeable. Since the resort catered to men from the Youth Corps, the security forces, and even the Autonomous Police, we didn’t get into the question of hierarchy or rank despite the fact that we all had different official positions.
I never touched alcohol later in life, and actually that was pretty much the case in my youth, too. I did smoke cigarettes—I quit those in my old age. Pongsu, the leader of the Youth Corps, and Sangho both loved to drink, so they’d frequent the fancy restaurants together all the time. The two of them got along famously. When the war came to an end a month after we’d seized the whole town, we were confident that this new way of life was here to stay. There was a party every night. At first, I couldn’t figure out where the men from the security forces went for their evening get-togethers. I myself finally ended up going to the resort only because Sangho insisted on having a farewell gathering to enjoy ourselves for one last time in our hometown. That was two days before we evacuated, I think.
The resort was an inn built by the Japanese in the old days. Inside the glass front door was a long wooden corridor, and every room had a sliding door made of rice paper and a Japanese-style tatami floor. When I entered the room I was greeted by half a dozen familiar faces. All around the table, sandwiched between the men, were a number of young women. The guys all acted fairly decently in the beginning—they behaved like gentlemen for a while. As they put back more and more alcohol, however, their language and gestures grew uglier. One man actually hit one of the girls. Then, af
ter confirming something with the staff, Sangho turned to Pongsu.
Today’s tasty side dish is a female school teacher.
What? You mean you brought her here?
She’s standing by, in nothing but a bathrobe.
Hey, what about me? I want a go.
All right, all right, let’s draw lots to decide the order.
I wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about. Finally, as everyone started pouring out of the room into the hallway, I turned to Sangho.
What, is something interesting about to happen?
You should try it out, too. That woman teacher, Yun—she’s here.
Here at the hot springs?
Well, hell, it’s better than dying, isn’t it?
I flinched away and sat back down at the empty table, all alone. There was a huge uproar coming from the corridor, the sound of men laughing raucously against the background of a woman’s screams. I threw back two glasses in a row, though I never could hold my liquor. I stayed in the room for a long time before I finally walked out into the corridor, all flushed from the alcohol. As I walked by, I heard somebody moan in pain. I opened a sliding door and looked inside. Three men were sitting around a naked woman, holding down her arms and legs. A fourth man was on top of the woman, in the process of raping her. Swallowing the bile that rose up in my throat, I felt myself being drawn into the room—it was as if someone pulled me by a string. Pongsu must have already had his turn; he was still naked above the waist. Sangho’s pants were down around his calves. Over his shoulder I could see the woman’s familiar face. The string of her Japanese-style bathrobe was unfastened and spread wide open across the tatami floor. I must have kicked Sangho, since he rolled to the side. Then I reached into my jacket, took out my pistol, and shot her. I shot twice, I think. I staggered out of the room, but no one came after me. The sound of the gunshots kept ringing through my head.
People who are leaving their hometowns usually have to try and hold back their tears; it’s only natural. We, on the other hand—well, it’s not that we spat on the ground and said good riddance, it’s just that we all knew we would never return. The place was doomed to become a hell on earth, a place where only devils would be able to thrive. Or so we thought. After that day at the resort, I didn’t see Sangho again. During those nightmarish days, though we pretended it wasn’t so, we hated each other more than our enemies. I knew only too well that he shot my sisters in a fit of rage. We killed anyone we decided was our enemy, and that was no different, really. We killed anyone who’d joined the Party or the Workers’ League—in fact, we killed anyone we could think up a reason for killing. That was why we hated ourselves.
As for Sangho, I returned the favor he’d done me. I had a pretty good idea of where Myŏngsŏn’s family lived in the village of Palsan. Myŏngsŏn and Sangho had become very close as they worked together for the youth group at church. They had probably promised each other to get married when the war ended, or if they moved down South. Pistol in hand, I headed for Myŏngsŏn’s house. When I got there, I knocked on the front gate. The second Myŏngsŏn’s mother opened it I smashed her face in with the butt of the pistol. I ran into the front yard, rushed into the main bedroom, and opened fire on the roomful of girls. It turns out that Sangho was one step ahead of me, though. On his way through Unbong, he’d already slaughtered my other sister and her entire family. Years later, as I got older and older, I began to see phantoms. At first, I would scream out loud, dripping with cold sweat, but as time went by I would just sit there and watch them, as if from afar. I wonder—was it that way for Sangho, too?
9
The Fork in the Road
SEPARATION
ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT.That’s enough. Time to go.
The phantom of Uncle Sunnam spoke, and Illang, standing at his side, agreed.
Right. Let’s go.
The other ghosts, both men and women, rose up quietly and began fading back into the darkness, disappearing like pieces of cloth quivering in the breeze. A voice, coming from someplace far, far away, reached Yosŏp’s ears.
Those who killed and were killed are bound together in the next world.
It was Yohan.
Finally, I am home. Finally, I am relieved of the old hatred and resentment. Finally I see my friends, and finally, I can stop wandering through unknown darkness. I’m off. Be well, both of you.
They all disappeared. Silence descended. The darkness was gradually withdrawing; daybreak was on its way—outside the window, beyond the distinct shadows of the mountain ridge, the milky sky was growing clearer. Only Ryu Yosŏp and his uncle remained in the second-story room with the wooden floor. Yosŏp’s uncle broke the silence.
“Those who needed to leave have left, and now the ones who are still alive must start living anew. We must purge this land, cleanse it of all the old filth and grime, don’t you agree?”
Ryu Yosŏp clasped his hands together and began to recite a passage from the Bible he had memorized long ago.
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace. What gain have the workers from their toil? I have seen the business that God has given to everyone to be busy with.
He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.
10
Burning the Clothes
BURIAL
SETTING OUT FROM his uncle’s place in Some, Yosŏp and the guide climbed into the car and headed towards town. Cautiously, Yosŏp asked the guide in the front seat, “Would it be possible to drop by Ch’ansaemgol on the way?”
“There’s someplace else you want to go, too?”
The guide grimaced, glancing at his wristwatch.
“We’ve got to be at the hotel by lunchtime.”
“I was just wondering if we could have a quick look at the place as we pass through. . . .”
“I say, Reverend, you sure do have a lot of requests.”
“I’m just curious to see if the place I used to call home is still the way it was back then.”
“It won’t be anything like the old days—everything’s been changed by the introduction of the cooperative system.”
“I’d be happy just to get a glimpse of the hill behind the village.”
The guide laughed.
“We have no way of even knowing where Ch’ansaem is.”
“It’s in the Onchŏn township, so it’ll be on the corner as we drive up.”
At that, the guide consented quite readily, saying, “Oh, well, if that’s the case, you can just tell us where to go.”
Just as they had a few days earlier, they drove along the town’s paved roads and empty streets. As they reached the outskirts of town and the rice paddies began to stretch out before them on either side, an open field ringed by the ridges of low mountains came into view in the distance. The orchard was exactly where it had been all those years ago. Standing along the ridges were the apple trees. Each fruit was ripening at its own pace, countless different shades of apples peeking through the green leaves.
“That’s it right over there. Just stop at the corner of that road for a minute, please.”
Stalks of corn lined the road, swaying back and forth in the autumn wind. Two-story duplexes made of gray brick stood at identical intervals along the hillside, surrounded by the orchard. Yosŏp was amazed to see that the village that had seemed so spacious to him as a child actually took up no more space than a small corner of the low hill. The levee where Yosŏp used to take the cow to graze had, at some point, been transformed into a cement embankment. Only the starwort blossoming by the cornfields was still the same. The tiny little flowers still seemed to be laughing out loud in the wind. Yosŏp stood there for a moment, looking up at the vast expanse of sky, then took the clothes out of the bundle he’d brought out with him from the car. The guide, who’d been smoking a cigarette off to the side, came up to him.
�
��What have you got there?”
“It belonged to my brother,” Yosŏp replied, waving his brother’s old underwear at the guide. “I promised my sister-in-law that I would help put some of her demons to rest.”
“Ah, you brought them with you from Sariwŏn.”
Yosŏp started off along the old levee path, cutting through the cornfields up to the base of the hill. The guide, having no idea what was going on, followed close behind. Avoiding the areas that were choked with weeds, Yosŏp chose a sunny spot where the dirt was visibly dry and crouched down to the ground. He reached down and gathered a handful of dirt.
“What are you doing?”
The guide seemed confused as he followed Yosŏp’s gaze towards the patch of bare earth. Yosŏp answered him with a question of his own.
“You have a lighter, don’t you?”
Apparently still unable to grasp what was going on, the baffled guide took out his lighter and handed it over to Yosŏp. Collecting a small pile of dry twigs from here and there, Yosŏp heaped them together and set the tiny pyre ablaze. The twigs flared up, crackling loudly. Above the flame, Yosŏp held the underwear that Big Brother Yohan had used to deliver his son Tanyŏl. The cloth fibers curled up, distorted, and the edges of the garment began to turn black, rapidly burning inwards. Holding it in his hand, Yosŏp turned the cloth over the flame, slowly, a bit at a time, so as to burn it all the way through. When all that remained was a square of cloth about the size of his palm, Yosŏp tossed the whole thing atop the miniature bonfire. It shriveled up and disappeared instantly.
Moving over, Yosŏp began to dig a small hole in the ground. After he scooped out several handfuls of dirt, the consistency of the soil became damp and mixed with leaves. He continued digging, and about a handspan further down, the soil became soft, pink, and tender. After sorting out all the little pebbles and patting the bottom of the hole down to make it firm, Yosŏp took out the leather pouch he’d been keeping on him. Untying it, he took out the tojang-shaped sliver of bone that had once belonged to his brother and placed it in the hole. He filled it back up with dirt. Just as one might do to put a baby to sleep, he kept patting the little mound of dirt that was left.
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