Year of Impossible Goodbyes

by Sook Nyul Choi

  Suddenly, I saw the gate to our yard swing open. I froze. Captain Narita and his two lieutenants quietly came marching into our yard. It was still much too early for them to be coming by, but there they were. At that moment, I could not help feeling that maybe they were gods. How could they possibly know when to appear? How did they know this was a special time for us? How?

  Mother looked pale. Her eyes were fixed on Grandfather. Haiwon started to cry hysterically. The captain walked to our humble wooden table, and his sword clanked against his belt as he approached. The two lieutenants stood behind us and looked at our table in disbelief.

  For a moment or two they were silent. Captain Narita eyed all the brassware and with his sword swept everything to the ground. The brass dishes, chopsticks, and soup spoons clanked against each other as they went tumbling. He saw the knitting bag resting against Haiwon's chair, and he motioned to one of his lieutenants. Haiwon's presents were opened and shown to the Captain. He looked at Grandfather's beautiful brush painting and at the little book. Captain Narita quietly signaled for these to be taken away. "Where did you get this?" he coolly inquired. Nobody answered. Haiwon sobbed uncontrollably. Captain Narita then looked at Grandfather, who sat with his eyes closed like a stone statue.

  Stroking his mustache, Captain Narita paced around the table where we remained seated. The best thing to do when he came was to lower one's eyes and wait. I had heard that many times from the sock girls, but I had to look at him. Except for Grandfather's and mine, everyone's eyes were lowered in silence.

  Captain Narita whispered in a chilling monotone, "So, you are doing something on your own again. Did you forget that there is a war going on and that we must do all we can to help the Imperial soldiers fight the White Devils?" Then he looked at Mother and said, "Metal is not for your use. The soldiers need it for weapons. The dishes must be sent to my office at once."

  Then he walked over to my grandfather and glared at him. Grandfather remained seated erect with his eyes closed and his jaw set. Captain Narita stared at my grandfather for a long time and, looking at Mother's pale face, he said, "When will you stupid Koreans understand that you are our subjects and there is nothing we, the Imperial police of the Heavenly race, do not know about your activities. There is nothing we cannot do. If you value tins old man's life, you'd better remember that you are our subjects."

  He smiled with satisfaction and walked out as calmly as he had come in. One of his lieutenants had Haiwon's presents tucked under his arm. The other told us they would be back for the metal dishes and we had better have them cleaned and prepared for pickup. For them it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  No one said a word. Grandfather opened his eyes and pensively stared down at his hands for a while. Then I noticed he was trembling. His face was pale, gloomy. He looked angry and humiliated. I had never seen him like this. I didn't know what to do. Mother and Aunt Tiger rushed to help him indoors, but he pushed both of them away. "I can go in alone," he said. "I shall never come out again. Throw my shoes away."

  I hated Captain Narita for doing this to my aged grandfather. Was there no respect for one's elders?

  Haiwon continued to sob hysterically, blaming herself and apologizing to Mother. "No, no," said Mother. "It isn't anyone's fault. Captain Narita has been doing this all his life in Korea. Every time he squeezes a little tighter." Mother hugged Haiwon and comforted her and promised her a real birthday party after the war was over. Then she went to see Grandfather.

  Meanwhile, Aunt Tiger started picking up the bowls. "I didn't like the way Captain Narita left so quietly. He has something up his sleeve," she said.

  Aunt Tiger was right. That afternoon two young Japanese-trained Korean police came into our yard and told Mother that they had come to chop down the pine tree. Aunt Tiger muttered with disgust, "Chin-il-pa," which means friend of Japan, or traitor. The two young boys stared down at the ground in silence.

  "Let them be," said Mother to Aunt Tiger. "They have to do whatever they're told. Let the Japanese have the tree. They can cut it down or dig it up or do whatever they want. What does it matter." Aunt Tiger looked even angrier. She started to wail and pound on her chest with her fists. Mother grabbed Aunt Tiger, pulled her inside, and said harshly, "Stop that! Stop it! Don't let the Japanese have your soul. We can't let them make us crazy. That is exactly what they want."

  Aunt Tiger continued to cry bitterly as the police began hacking our tree to pieces. I wondered how Captain Narita knew that destroying the tree was the best way to punish Grandfather for writing Chinese and Hangul.

  When the tree had been hacked to pieces, the young policemen left. Mother and Aunt Tiger were inside taking cate of Grandfather. Mother sent Kisa to fetch a Buddhist monk. If we were lucky, the monk would visit us at night with his herbal medicine. I was told to stay in my room, but I sat outside Grandfather's door. It was quiet in his room, but I heard Aunt Tiger sobbing softly and whispering to Mother, "The Imperial police love making Koreans hurt each other. They let the Koreans do all the dirty work and then tell us 'You Koreans do it to yourselves; we Imperial soldiers do no such thing.'" Mother said nothing.

  I didn't want to listen anymore, and I went out and looked at the scattered branches of our beautiful pine tree. I stared at the sharp pine needles. I wished that all these pine needles would turn into teal needles and prick the horrible Imperial soldiers. Then I felt guilty. Mother would not be pleased with me for having such wicked thoughts. I picked up some of the branches and held them close to my heart, hoping they would magically comfort me. I wanted to do something with these branches. I couldn't bring them into Grandfather's room. Every morning Mother cut a few branches and arranged them in his room. But now it was different. Tears of anger, confusion, and frustration rolled down my cheeks. I cried until I could hardly breathe, tasting my own salty tears as they streamed down my face.

  For the first time, I did not like being a Korean child. I knew from Grandfather's history lessons that in the olden days of the Paekche and the Silla kingdoms, many Korean scholars, artists, and Buddhist priests had gone to Japan to teach the Japanese about Buddhism, architecture, and Korean arts and culture. The Korean nobility had been welcomed guests among the Japanese, who were eager to use Korea as a bridge to Chinese culture. Grandfather had told me many times we were a people of nobility and culture, and I should always be very proud to be Korean. But suddenly, I was sorry that I was born Korean child. I wished that I were Japanese. I thought of the Japanese children who went to the special school and lived in pretty houses that Koreans used to own. The Japanese could have whatever they wanted in Korea.

  But then, I noticed that Inchun had come out to the yard and was sitting by me. He looked so bewildered, I was suddenly ashamed. He looked tired, scared, and lost. I was his Nuna, his big sister, and I had to do something. I hurriedly wiped away my tears. As I mustered an awkward smile, I quickly said, "You know what? These branches smell so good. Let's give them to the sock girls. I know they don't even have time to talk to us, but they can smell the pine as they work. Those mean soldiers did us a favor after all. We always said we wanted to give the sock girls something. These branches are small and are the perfect size for them to take home. The tree will grow again. Let's water the roots first." I was happy to see my little brother's eyes sparkle through his teats. I saw him run inside to the kitchen to grab a wooden bucket for fetching water. Looking at that wooden bucket, I thought of how we would have to go back to using wooden chopsticks and dishes tomorrow. I decided not to think of the future.

  When Inchun returned, we watered the tree stump, filled the wooden bucket with branches of pine, and went over to the sock factory. How noisy and dusty it was. Inchun and I put some pine branches next to each girl's bag. They quickly smiled without looking up. When I came to Haiwon, I left a big branch.

  Inchun and I sat outside on the stump of the pine tree. It made a nice chair for the two of us. We sat back to back, so we wouldn't fall off. Pushing agai
nst each other, each of us tried to make the other fall off and we laughed. I looked up at the sky. I thought of how nicely and evenly the tree used to branch out, and how I had sat with Grandfather and watched the shadows of the pine needles dance about him. I was glad that he had not witnessed his beloved tree being so brutally destroyed. I looked up at the sky and tried not to cry, but I couldn't keep from thinking of what he had said about no longer needing his shoes.

  Chapter Three

  Grandfather didn't come out to the yard to meditate the next morning. I hoped he would forget about what he had said, and I stood staring at the gray stone stoop where he had left his white rubber shoes. I longed to see his calm meditative expression. But when I looked at the ugly stump that remained, I was relieved that Grandfather was not there to see what had become of his beloved pine tree. I was sure he had heard them chop it down, but I was glad that he didn't have to see it.

  Everything had changed overnight! Captain Narita and his men had such power over our lives. I couldn't help but wonder if the Japanese truly were a divine race. Had we Koreans done something to deserve this cruelty? I saw Mother funning out of the kitchen toward the sock factory. As she passed Grandfather's shoes, she placed them facing out toward the yard so that they would he ready for him.

  I wanted to ask Mother about the Japanese. But I knew she wouldn't answer me. She would say what she always said: "You are a little girl, and there is nothing for you to worry about. Just do as you are told. Soon all will be well. God is watching over us." I thought of asking Aunt Tiger, but I had tried asking her before. "It's bad enough that we have to live under them," she said. "Who wants to talk about it? There's no time for inquisitive children now. Don't bother your Grandfather with these questions either. He was tortured for so long by the Japanese—you shouldn't make him talk about it; it will only cause him pain to think of such things." Since that time I did ask Grandfather about the Japanese. Besides, once a lesson began, I was happy learning what Grandfather taught me. There was so much to learn and so little time. But now I wished that I had asked him. I wished I hadn't listened to Aunt Tiger.

  While I was brooding in my room and blaming Aunt for my frustrations, she dashed into my room and startled me. "Grandfather feels a little better now and has asked for you," she said with urgency. "Hurry ... just listen to him, and don't ask him anything." I had to contain my anger as we rushed to Grandfather's room. Mother brought Inchun, who sat next to me and whispered, "Mother said to tell you we're not supposed to ask any questions ... just listen." I nodded sadly, seeing how pale and thin Grandfather looked. Aunt Tiger, tired and somber, left the room. Mother remained quietly in the corner. I could tell they had been up all night watching Grandfather.

  Inchun and I waited in silence for him to speak. He lay quietly as though asleep. After a long while, he opened his eyes a little and smiled faintly. "Come closer, sit by me," he said, his eyes closing again. Inchun and I put our hands into the cool bony hand he stretched toward us. He squeezed our hands tightly for just a few seconds. There was a peacefulness that graced the room and I felt calm being with him.

  Mother stood in the doorway, watching his every movement. She came to his bedside and placed his arm back under the blanket. She wanted him to rest. But then, as if ordered to do so, she said, "Your grandfather insists on talking to you both, especially you, Sookan." She looked into my eyes with great concern. I could tell she wanted me just to listen and not to prolong the visit. I nodded to assure her. She stepped back and stood in the corner. I looked at my grandfather. His silver hair that had flown wildly in the wind and glistened in the morning sun was now combed neatly back. Every strand of hair stood in place with lifeless perfection. How I wished I could ruffle it up and blow on it to see it dance.

  Inchun and I sat on the ondol, the coal-heated floor covered with glazed rice paper. We sat there by his thick blanket for a long time and waited for him to speak. I listened to the sound of his gentle breath. Time seemed to stand still. The room had a faint scent of pine from the branches that Mother had arranged daily in the little bowl on his desk. I looked over at his scholar's desk with its many mysterious drawers. It was draped with some drab gray cloth to conceal it from the Imperial police, but I knew by heart its beautiful carvings depicting Buddhist monks and temples. Hidden in the drawers were Grandfather's oxtail brushes, the ink slate, and the books of Chinese poetry.

  Though his eyes were still closed, I could tell by the way the little muscles under his eyelids twitched ever so gently that he was thinking. Then, slowly opening his eyes, he said softly, "How good you children are. Your Mother taught you well. You are patient, respectful, and wise beyond your years." It was the first time Grandfather had ever complimented us. Usually he taught us how and what to do. If he was pleased, he would simply smile, or would occasionally pat us on the head. I was overwhelmed by such praise and my face burned with embarrassment. Instead of vehemently denying this praise as I should have done, I said nothing as I promised Mother not to talk. I looked at her, and saw that she too was flushed, touched to hear such unexpected compliments from her own father.

  Grandfather whispered, "Do not feel bitter about what happened. I am not angry anymore. I know that better times will soon come to you." His voice was growing weaker. He looked at all of us and motioned for Inchun and me to draw closer. His voice barely audible, he said, "You should know some stories about your family. Not just the ancient history I taught you, and not just those Bible stories and fairy tales that your Mother tells you. My older grandchildren have been taken away to serve Japan and you two little ones are all I have to count on." Grandfather shut his eyes. He lifted his arm out from under the covers and touched his hair as if to soothe his aching head.

  Mother came to him and taking his hand, said, "What is it, Father? What is it you want?"

  "Tell my grandchildren about our family while I can still hear. Show them some pictures of long ago. It will please me to hear you tell them about our family."

  Mother went to her room and came back with a little wooden box. "Children," she said, "come over here by the light so we can look at these old pictures." The light was no better there, but we knew that she wanted to sit where she could best keep an eye on Grandfather. As soon as he fell asleep, I knew Mother would stop talking and we would have to leave the room so that he could rest. Down in front of us, she placed the wooden box. I had never seen it before. Although it was charred around the edges, I could still see the inlaid mother of pearl and the beautiful white cranes and flowers that had been delicately carved into the sides.

  Mother looked at the box in silence. Then she stared off into the distance. Finally, she shook her head as if to chase away some horrible thoughts. "I had always hoped and prayed that I would be able to show you these pictures when we were free and happy. These pictures hold some of my happiest memories. But the stories I have to tell you..." She opened the box and, one by one, she showed us the pictures. First she showed us a picture of a tall man in a long flowing gown and a tall black hat; on his shoulder was a large multicolored bird with a long tail. Mother said it was a picture of Grandfather when he was young. "Oh, how handsome he looks," I exclaimed as Inchun frowned at my excitement.

  "Your Grandfather was a very important scholar. He passed all the government examinations. The bird was a present from one of his friends from China who had come to visit him." Then Mother said wistfully, "Under that special hat, your grandfathers hair was drawn into a small bun, called a topknot, on the top of his head. But when the Japanese occupied Korea, they gathered all the scholars in the town square and cut their topknots off. It was only hair," she continued, "but to your grandfather and the other proud scholars, it was a symbol of their culture and identity." The Japanese wanted all Koreans to dress like them and speak only their language. Everything Korean was forbidden.

  Next Mother showed us a picture of their beautiful house. Then there was a very old picture of my grandmother holding my mother in her lap while her two young
sons stood beside her. "Not long after they cut off Grandfather's topknot," she said, "they set fire to out village. My mother and my two older brothers died that night in the fire. Many people died. Your grandfather and I were among the few survivors. We escaped to Manchuria." I was getting confused. I wanted to ask why they had gone all the way to China, but Mother looked so sad that I kept silent.

  Mother looked over at Grandfather, who now seemed to have fallen asleep. She seemed relieved, and quietly shut the picture box. We wanted to see and heat more, but we understood and began to tiptoe toward the door. But then Grandfather opened his eyes and looked at us. He wanted us to stay. We sat down again, and Mother reopened the box. She took out another picture and said, "This was the print shop in Manchuria where your father, grandfather, and I worked to publish a newspaper in Hangul. Your grandfather had been active in the Korean independence movement. Since it was dangerous for us to stay in Korea, we fled to Manchuria where we knew there was a large Korean community, and some underground activity. That was where I met your father. He was setting up a Hangul newspaper when your grandfather and I arrived." She pulled out a picture of a couple dressed in Chinese outfits, flanked by several other Chinese couples. I looked more closely at the couple in the middle, and saw that it was Mother and Father. "This is a picture of our wedding," she said "We married in Manchuria." She pointed to the woman next to her. "That is my dear friend Ling who taught me to speak Chinese."