As we crossed over the Daedong River for the last time, I realized how silly I was to have thought that I would be able to say goodbye to it. I loved the Daedong River. I remembered taking walks along its banks when I was little. Those times seemed so far away it was almost like a fairy tale.
The packages of food that Aunt had packed were now lost. It didn't matter. The train smelled so awful I couldn't have eaten anyway. I closed my eyes as the rickety train rattled along while the rain and wind came rushing in on us.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mother pulled us up gently. It was our turn to get off the train. I couldn't see the guide. Perhaps Mother had caught sight of him or had received special instructions before we left. We walked with the crowd, relieved to be off the train. Up ahead I thought I saw our guide with the A-frame on his back.
All I could see for miles were rice paddies and fields. On a narrow mud walkway between the rice paddies, some of the others who had gotten off the train with us were walking single file toward a little house that must be the checkpoint for passports. The guide was far in front of us. I was walking behind an old man, Inchun was right behind me, and Mother was in the rear.
It wasn't raining anymore. The setting sun cast a pinkish glow on the long line of people ahead of us and created a wave-like shadow on the empty fields. The corn had been cut and the rice harvested. Save for a few bales of hay, the fields were bare. I kept looking back to make sure Inchun and Mother were behind me. After a long walk, we finally reached the guardhouse where many people were lined up, waiting to have their passports checked. Mother looked worried and she shot a disapproving glance at mc whenever I looked back at her. The line was long and we moved forward very slowly.
We waited and waited, gradually drawing closer and closer. I saw our guide pass safely through and begin walking down the road away from the guardhouse. When it was my turn, nobody even asked me anything. The three Russian soldiers, with their guns and dogs close by, were too busy looking at the passports of the grown-ups. One of them motioned for me to get out of the way. He was much more interested in seeing Mother's passport. He stretched out his hand for her papers. As we had been instructed, Inchun and I kept walking.
When I finally turned to look for Mother, expecting her to be close behind us, I saw that she was still standing at the guardhouse. A Korean soldier in his red-brimmed hat was looking at her passport. He handed it over to a Russian soldier. I saw them pull Mother out of line. Inchun and I stood frozen as we watched. I could tell she saw me and was worried. She shot a glance at me. I remembered what the guide had said, and knew Mother was trying to tell me to go on.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," Inchun sobbed. At this, I suddenly came to, told him to hush, and pulled him by the arm, hoping no one had heard. To my surprise, Inchun started crying louder than ever and dragging his feet. I practically had to drag him along as I hurried to catch up with the guide, who was rapidly disappearing from sight.
"Don't you remember what Mother and the guide said? You'll get Mother in more trouble if you don't stop. We have to move on and wait for her where the Russians won't see us. She'll come and join us soon. Mother wants us to go. I looked hack at her again and I could tell by the way she looked at us." Inchun kept crying. He said nothing and the swollen tears came streaming down his cheeks. I cried, too. I didn't know what to think or say anymore, but we had to keep going.
We ran and caught up with the guide. All those people who had stood in line at the passport checkpoint had disappeared. The only person I saw was our guide in front of us. Without turning to look at us, the guide yelled through clenched teeth, "If you children keep sobbing like that, the soldiers will suspect something and keep your mother longer. Be quiet, and she will be released soon and will join us at that little house. She knows where to find you. Just follow me and don't look back." He walked faster and faster.
I looked back, despite his warning. The little wooden guardhouse, the soldiers, and my mother were small specks in the distance. I couldn't see much of anything anyway, for my eyes were filled with tears. I was afraid I would never see my Mother again. Inchun kept crying as if she were dead. I had never seen him cry like this and it scared me. He tried not to make noise, and his muffled sobs racked his entire body. He rubbed his eyes with his dirty little fingers, leaving dark stains on his cheeks. I squeezed his hands and whispered, "Mother will join us soon. For now we have to catch up with the guide. We can't afford to lose him. He is the only person we know in this strange town."
Inchun and I were tired, hungry, and cold. It was getting dark, and we could hardly see the shadowy figure hurrying on ahead of us. We began to fall behind. My shoes were wet and my feet were frozen. My stomach growled with hunger. Little Inchun was still crying. I stopped to comfort him and picked him up to catty him on my hack. His tears fell on my neck. After I carried him for a while, he fell asleep. Only then did I realize how heavy he was. I had given him piggyback rides before, but I had never realized he was this heavy.
The guide, who had seemed so heartless, finally stopped to wait for us. When he saw me wobbling under the weight, and sinking into the mud, he uttered his first kind words to me. "A sleeping child is very heavy. Wake him up and let him walk. As soon as we cross this little hill, there will be a small inn where your mother will join us. She may already he there if she took the short cut. Then we can make the final part of the journey to the South." Inchun had awakened and heard the part about the short cut. He stopped crying and jumped down. We walked quickly, keeping our eyes on the hill ahead of us. It wasn't a little hill as the guide had said. It looked more like a mountain. We continued on in silence.
Swallowed by the darkness, we climbed up the steep path. I saw the crescent moon coming over the mountain to greet us, and I pointed it out to Inchun. As we staffed heading down the hill, we saw a small, dimly lit, thatched-roof house. An old woman and several men were sitting around, smoking long pipes. Our guide told us to go inside and ask the woman about out mother He said he would be back for all of us later.
We went ahead and were met with curious glances. A toothless, wrinkled old woman approached us and asked whether that man was our guide. Too tired to think what I should say, I nodded. She sighed and took us into the house. She gave us food and watched us gobble up her vegetables and rice as she puffed on her long pipe. She then told us to go to sleep. We asked about Mother, but the old lady said, "Just sleep. Perhaps she is on her way."
Inchun started to cry again. I was not prepared to cope with this lost child who constantly cried for Mother. Gone was the wise old man that Mother always said lived inside that little boy's body. It seemed that the wise old man left Inchun's body when Mother was pulled aside by the Russian soldier at the passport checkpoint. Inchun cried himself to sleep. With his tear-streaked face, he looked like a little angel whose wings had been clipped. I thought to myself, I must find Mother ... soon, very soon, for Inchun. Otherwise, he will cry himself to death. I soon drifted off into a delicious forgetful sleep, and dreamed that Mother would be next to me when I awoke.
A chilly draft, a bony hand on my shoulder, and the voice of the old woman telling me to wake up made me jump. In the still gray morning, her urgent words fell on me like a hammer, dashing my last hope. She said we must be up and on our way before the soldiers came by for their inspection. We must return to the train station and go back home. She couldn't bear to tell us last night that the guide we hired was a double agent. He regularly informed the soldiers about his catch and they paid him a fee. The old lady said Mother would not be coming to join us and we would only bring harm to the people in her inn. We must leave and catch the morning train home, she said. She felt sorry for us, but she couldn't keep us anymore.
Inchun listened wide-eyed, as he scratched the mosquito bites on his arms and legs until they started to bleed. The mosquitoes had made a feast of his little body. Even his eyelids were swollen. I too was covered with bloody patches. We must have scratched ourselves all night.
> The woman gave us some food wrapped in a cotton handkerchief and told us to follow the road to the train station. We couldn't miss it. Since it was market day, it wouldn't be unusual to see children walking through the village. The old lady said there were many secret agents in Yohyun out to catch "traitors" like us who did not like the rules of Mother Russia. We must be careful whom we talked to.
No mother, no money, no passport, I thought to myself. How are we supposed to go anywhere? So many thoughts went feeling through my head. I sat up and tears filled my eyes. I felt lost and abandoned. I didn't know what to do. My head ached and the tears streamed down my face like a heavy rain.
Then a timid hand crept into my wet palm and waited to he held. I hugged my brother tightly and cried, "Inchun, Inchun, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... I just don't know what to do anymore, I don't know anymore..."
To my great surprise, he pulled away and, holding my two hands in his little hands, said, "Nuna, you can't cry like this. Big sisters don't cry. You are my nuna. I'll always obey you because you are my nuna. I'm sorry I cried so much asking for Mother. I won't cry anymore. Let's go and look for Mother. Maybe she's still at that guardhouse. Let's tell the soldiers to give our mother back to us. Or maybe she'll be at the train station. Let's go." I was stunned to hear my little brother taking charge like this. It was hard to believe that this was the same little Inchun who had cried all day yesterday.
We thanked the kind old woman, and she smiled and wished us luck. I thought her toothless smile and wrinkled face looked pretty against the rising sun. Her bony fingers, yellowed from crushing tobacco leaves for her pipe, felt comforting when she patted my mosquito-bitten head.
Inchun and I left hand in hand. No one else seemed to be around. The old lady stood in the doorway, her long pipe resting comfortably on her thin lower lip. Blowing smoke rings into the morning air, she watched us go down the road.
Chapter Nine
We walked, hand in hand, silently down the hill toward the rising sun. On so peaceful a morning, we were hopeful that something good would happen. My feet and calves ached from walking so long and so quickly the day before. My mosquito bites were burning and itching. Inchun, after his sudden outburst that morning, had retreated into silence. He didn't complain about his feet or the mosquito bites. He just limped along, stopping only to scratch himself. All of a sudden, he pointed his thin little finger toward a long snake-like object winding through the cluster of trees and brown mountains. Maybe Mother is on that train, I thought. We quickened our pace and went down the hill.
We continued, chewing on the rice balls that the old lady had given us, but we were getting very thirsty. At the foot of the hill was the village marketplace, where women had come to sell food: hard-boiled eggs, rice cakes, bean cakes, and sweet persimmon juice. Others brought fabric, baskets, and the like. Women of all shapes and sizes carried wares in baskets on their heads. Some had children strapped to their backs. The sun was beating down upon us, and Inchun and I were perspiring in the many layers of clothing we were wearing. There were no trees to offer their shade, and so we kept wandering through the market. "Fresh, steaming hot corn," one woman called out. "Large eggs, the best deal in the market. Over here!" Inchun and I looked carefully at each woman, peering up at each face shadowed by a basket. We thought Mother might be in the marketplace disguised as a peddler while she searched for us. Discouraged, we turned to make our way toward the guardhouse.
As we wandered down the hill, we passed a thin woman with a big basket on her head; a chubby child strapped to her back was twisting and turning in an attempt to free himself. The woman's sun-baked face was perspiring heavily as she tried to balance her wares with one hand and soothe the unhappy child with the other. It looked as if the baby had been in that position for a long time. My first thought was how lucky that baby was to be so close to his mother, but then I felt sorry for the harassed woman. She needed to get up the hill and spread out her wares, as all the other ladies had, in order to make some money.
I went up to her and offered to watch her baby. The woman looked us over, thought about it for a while, and then stooped to put down her basket. She untied the wide strip of cotton material which she used to tie the baby to her body. The baby immediately let out a scream of joy and went running. We chased after him while his mother tied the cotton belt back around her waist. Reveling in her newfound freedom, her arms swung back and forth as she practically sprinted up the hill, anxious to get her day's work started. Now and then, she stopped to look back to make sure we were taking good care of her baby.
By the time we got up the hill, she had already set out her basket of freshly steamed corn. She must have had the ears well wrapped, for there was still some steam rising from the sweet yellow kernels. Inchun and I stayed close by, playing with the plump little child. We might all have been taken for her children. The woman sold all her corn very quickly and said she wanted to go home and get more to sell before the market day was over. Thanking us, she offered us each a big ear of corn that she had saved for us. How delicious it was after having smelled the sweet steam for so long. This ear of corn was to be our lunch and dinner, for we had no money.
We walked along many of the same roads we had traveled the day before. It was late afternoon when we finally reached the train station. The platform was empty and I noticed for the first time what a small station it was. We went inside and sat on a small corner bench, resting our feet, full of cuts and blisters. Suddenly, an old man with a broom came out of nowhere and started to sweep the floors. Starting in the far corner, he slowly worked his way toward us. With his eyes fixed on the little mound of dirt and rubbish, he asked, "Did you lose someone trying to go to the South?"
"We lost our mother," I replied. "Did you see a tall, skinny, pretty lady looking for her two children?" Inchun turned and stared at me. I probably should not have told the man all of this information, but I was so relieved to come upon someone who seemed to understand our plight. I was too tired to think anymore.
Without lifting his head, the man continued to sweep and softly said he had not seen anyone nor could he help us now. "You can't stay here. The police come by all the time. You better go now," he urged.
We reluctantly left the little bench and wandered around. Eventually, we found a barn and went inside. It was empty except for a large pile of hay. My stomach was growling, and my muscles ached. Inchun rested his head against me, and began dozing. I decided to rest and look for Mother the next morning.
I heard strange noises outside the barn. I tried not to fall asleep as I was determined to keep guard for Inchun. Clutching my muddy sneakers as ammunition, I stayed up most of the night. Grateful for the hay that kept us warm, I passed the time by counting our mosquito bites. Inchun and I had bites and scabs covering our legs, arms, and faces, and I realized that we must look as if we had some awful disease.
Dawn was breaking when Inchun awoke. Driven by hunger, we decided to head for the only place where we knew we would be safe and might be able to earn a meal for ourselves. We marched up the long stretch of road to the marketplace, and hoped to find the lady with the baby. We had to stop often because our feet ached, and tears filled our eyes as we made ourselves press on. We were grateful for the warm sun, which helped take the sting out of our mosquito bites. It was almost noon by the time we made it to the marketplace. To our great relief, we found the lady with the chubby little baby. He was pounding on his mothers back with his fat fists, crying and thrashing about to loosen the wide belt that bound him. His mother tried to ignore him and was calling out, "Sweet, steaming hot corn fresh hot corn." Seeing us she put the baby down. We kept our distance as we played with the baby, for I was afraid that if people saw how dirty and sickly Inchun and I looked, they would not buy corn from her. The lady gave us more corn than the day before. Though we saw many new faces as we sat playing with the baby, we couldn't find our mother.
For three days Inchun and I searched for Mother near the marketplace, sleepin
g in the barn each night and surviving on the corn that we earned by babysitting. On the fourth day we went back to the train station hoping to tun into the old man with the broom. We sat on the bench nervously watching for the police, and suddenly heard the brushing of a broom. As he drew near, we looked at him. He did not look at us, but he said in a low voice as he continued to sweep, "You children are still here? Come back here late in the afternoon. We will figure out what to do. You can't stay here like this." Then he disappeared.
After we rested for a while, we looked at each other and were both sure we were ready to face the soldiers. We could never find Mother alone, so we decided to take the risk. We held hands and walked in the direction of the wooden guardhouse where they had pulled Mother aside. We could see it in the distance, and knew it would be a long walk through the rice paddies. Finally, we arrived. We peeked through a side door and saw two Russian soldiers. Two dogs were lazily sleeping next to them. No one was threatened by us; no one even knew we were there. Not even the dogs wanted to get up for us.
The soldiers were talking, humming, and munching on a long loaf of dark bread. Their mighty machine guns were resting against the wall within arms reach. Their red-brimmed hats lay on the table. These soldiers both had hair on their heads, and did not look as savage as the Kirimni soldiers with their shaven heads. I decided that they looked as if they might help me find Mother.
As a nuna I had to make the decisions and do all the talking. I looked at Inchun, who quietly stared down at his feet, waiting for his big sister to decide what to do next. I was ready to act, but I still did not know quite how to approach them. All of a sudden one of the soldiers poked his head out and said, "Kara!" meaning "Go away!" in Korean.
Year of Impossible Goodbyes Page 11
