The Spirit of the Dragon

by William Andrews

  I snuck out the back door, but before I went to the forest, I peeked into Father’s work shed. He had stopped pounding, and he sat in front of his bench staring at nothing. I thought he was crying, and I would have been terribly embarrassed if he was. But when he turned to me, I saw that his jaw was hard and his eyes were like embers.

  “Suk-bo,” he said, “what do you want?” It was unusual for me to interrupt Father while he was working, and I thought he was angry at me.

  “I . . . I,” I stammered, “I want to tell you I am going to the forest to look for strawberries.”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said, his face softening a little. “Do not go too far.”

  “Yes, Appa,” I said.

  “Suk-bo,” he said before I left, “you do not have to marry a Japanese man.”

  I loved my father, and now I was beginning to understand him. Though he could be strict, I knew it was because he cared about me. And like a strong, loving father, I believed he would protect me from the Japanese.

  “Thank you, Appa,” I said.

  Father turned to his bench. I left and headed for the forest.

  It was a lovely late spring day. Puffy white clouds slid lazily across the blue sky. The grass was cool from the spring rain, and the sun was warm on my shoulders. I looked for strawberries in open places where, when I was young, my mother had shown me they grew. I loved strawberries and was good at finding them hidden among the grass and low bushes. It wasn’t long before I found a patch. There were only a few red berries hanging close to the ground. I picked them and dropped them in the bamboo basket I’d brought with me. Their sweet smell told me that they were ripe and ready to eat. I went farther into the forest to where I could no longer see the village. I found another patch, and farther on, another and another. In no time, my basket was full of red, ripe strawberries.

  I went to an opening where the sun fell full on the ground. I set my basket down and sat in the grass. Here and there, birds flitted among the trees and chirped at each other. Squirrels chattered and bees buzzed. I heard something in the trees. I looked for it but didn’t see anything. A small water deer perhaps, or a fox hunting a rabbit. I lay on my back. Soon, the heady smell of the pine forest and the cool grass beneath me cleared my head. Here, finally, I could relax and think about what I should do.

  I had known some of the things that Mother told me about the Japanese. The people in the village were complaining more and more about how they were treating us. The men complained that the taxes were too high, leaving us with little money. There were rumors that the police were making arrests for petty reasons like refusing to speak Japanese or wearing white—which they said was a form of protest. Some families had moved to China. I never worried that trouble would come to me or my family. It is true that my father complained just like others. But he never committed a crime or did anything that the police would arrest him for. I thought we were safe and didn’t need to be concerned about the Japanese. All that changed when the administrator came with the new rule.

  I thought about what I would do if they said I had to marry a Japanese man. I did not like the Japanese. They were boorish and arrogant. Maybe Mother would agree to move to Manchuria. Maybe I could get the farmer’s son, Jung-soo, to marry me instead. Or maybe, when they introduced me to the man they wanted me to marry, I could be ill-mannered and rude.

  I thought about what I should do to be rude. I could refuse to bow and not answer questions. I could tell him that I thought he was ugly. I could spit out my tea and say it was cold. Maybe I could break something. Of course, it might get me in trouble with the police, and with Mother, too. But if it worked, Father would understand and tell me I was clever for thinking of a way out of having to marry a Japanese. Mother would have to agree.

  Yes, that’s what I would do. I would be rude—a monkey girl that no one would ever want to marry.

  Pleased with myself, I put my hands under my head and looked at the sky. It was so blue and the air smelled so fresh. The sounds of the forest sang like a chorus.

  I closed my eyes and let my mind drift. It went to our village and the people there I loved: my mother and father; Mr. Kwan, the blacksmith whose face was always covered with soot; the farmers—the Paks and the Kims, who hid food from their Japanese landlords and smuggled it to us. I pictured my brother, Kwan-so, studying at the Japanese school in Pyongyang. I hadn’t seen him in over a year, and I missed him terribly. He was always kind to me, even though he liked to tease me about being petite. “You are a delicate flower,” he would say to me when I complained about something. “But a flower with thorns!” I prayed I would see him again, soon. I thought about what Mother had told me about my uncle, and my mind drifted to Seoul, years earlier when the mob demanded independence. The people carried signs and shouted angrily at the police. I saw my uncle in the mob. He looked like my father, only younger. I saw soldiers pull him from the throng and tie his hands behind his back. They dragged him to the street. I saw a soldier raise his rifle and point it at my uncle’s head.

  I heard something in the forest again. It did not sound like the dainty water deer or a sneaky fox. It was something bigger. I snapped out of my reverie and sat up. I peered into the forest but saw nothing. Perhaps I imagined it. Then I saw something move behind a tree. My heart began to pound. Father had told me not to go too far into the forest, and I had gone farther than I should have. There were tigers in this part of the forest, and wild pigs, too.

  I stood. “Who’s there?” I shouted. I picked up my basket and held it close. “Is anyone there?” I heard no answer.

  I started toward the village, walking at first, then running. Strawberries tumbled from my basket. Over my shoulder, I saw something coming toward me through the grass. I made for the trees, but whatever was chasing me was getting closer. I dropped my basket and ran as fast as I could. I made it to the trees but tripped on a root and fell. I rolled over on my back. The sun was in my eyes as a shadow appeared above me. I put my hand up to block the glare.

  It was a man. He wore a white Western-style shirt and black trousers. He was young, only a year or two older than me. He was lean but not tall. He was handsome. He held out my basket to me. All the strawberries had fallen out.

  I took the basket. “Who are you?” I demanded, my heart still racing.

  He crouched next to me, resting his elbows on his knees. Out of the sun, I saw him better. His face was pleasantly lean but not long. His sparkling, liquid eyes were perfectly spaced and topped by almost feminine eyebrows. His hair was shiny black and trimmed above his ears, the way Japanese men wore it. He wasn’t tall like Korean men, and his skin was dark, like the Japanese.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, speaking Korean.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “I did not mean to scare you,” he said. He looked both embarrassed and amused.

  I was angry now. This man had indeed given me quite a scare. I stood up. “Who are you?” I asked again. “Tell me your name.”

  “I am Hisashi,” he answered, still in his crouch.

  “You are Japanese?” I asked.

  “I am. What is your name?”

  “I am Suk-bo,” I replied, brushing myself off. “I have never heard of someone named Hisashi. You are not from around here.”

  “I’m from Sinuiju, not so far away.”

  “Sinuiju is a three-hour walk,” I said. “That is far away to me. Why did you come here?”

  “I am hunting for a treasure. I heard there are great treasures in this part of the forest.” He picked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers.

  “What sort of treasure are you looking for?” I asked.

  “One that is beautiful to see.” Hisashi examined the blade of grass.

  “I have lived here all of my life,” I said with a huff. “I know this forest well. There is no such treasure here.”

  “It is not only what you think it is,” he said. “The value of a treasure is in the judgment of the one who wants it. For example
, some might say that you are a treasure.”

  “You speak nonsense,” I said. “How can a person be a treasure?”

  “She can be beautiful,” he said. “She can have a strong spirit. She can be unlike any other girl in the forest. That would make her a treasure indeed!”

  His words made me uncomfortable, but a little excited. I said, “I do not believe you are looking for a treasure. I think you are a spy. You should not spy on people. You scared me and made me drop my strawberries.”

  Hisashi tossed the blade of grass aside. He extended his hand. “Come. I’ll help you pick some more.”

  I didn’t take his hand. He was Japanese, and I had learned not to trust them. They treated Koreans like me with contempt, and they were often cruel. The Japanese boys I knew—the sons of landlords and officials—liked to punch Korean girls and call us names. Once, a boy pulled my hair and pinched my breast when I got too close to him. He said I smelled like kimchi.

  But this boy, this young man who held his hand out to me, was different. He didn’t look at me the way other Japanese did. There was tenderness in his face. He was handsome, too, with his delicate features and lively eyes. And he spoke to me in Korean not Japanese. Still, he was Japanese, and I knew they could be slippery and two-faced. And just hours earlier, I had learned what they had done to my uncle. I couldn’t possibly be attracted to this man.

  “I have decided I do not want strawberries today,” I declared. “They are not ripe. They are hard and will taste sour. I think I will go back home.” I picked up my basket and said, “Goodbye.”

  “I will go with you,” Hisashi said eagerly. “It is not safe for a girl to be alone in the forest.”

  “I am not afraid,” I replied. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I will go with you anyway,” he said and fell in step alongside me.

  We went for a while without talking. Then Hisashi said, “Have you heard about the new rule where a Korean woman must marry a Japanese man if she is selected?”

  “It is a silly rule,” I said. “Japanese and Koreans should not marry. It is not right. I will not do it.”

  “Why does it matter if he is Japanese?” Hisashi asked. “It is only the naming that is your enemy. Is a man less handsome because he is Japanese? Is he less interesting? Does nationality defeat love?”

  “Love? If it is love, there is no need for a rule.”

  “That is true,” Hisashi said with a nod. “So tell me, do you think I am interesting and handsome?”

  “Ha!” I scoffed. “You are not as handsome and interesting as you think you are.”

  “Don’t you think I am just a little handsome and interesting?” he asked, still grinning.

  I looked away so he wouldn’t see me smile. I didn’t answer, and we continued walking. Soon, we were at the field near my house. “I live over there,” I said, pointing.

  He faced me and gave a polite bow, which surprised me. A Japanese had never bowed to me before. Then he said, “I think I will come to this forest again. And when I return, I will no longer be Hisashi. Instead, I will have a Korean name. Then, perhaps, you will like me better.”

  I felt my cheeks go warm and didn’t know what to say. Finally, I said, “You should not spy on girls in the forest.” Then I ran through the field the rest of the way to my house.

  And all that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome, interesting man named Hisashi who was looking for a treasure in the forest.

  FIVE

  The next morning, Mother, Father, and I packed our haversack with herbed rice cakes Mother and I had made for the Dano, or spring, celebration with my mother’s family. We’d cut back on rice for two months to have enough to make the cakes. Mother and I put on blue blouses, and Father wore a red shirt for the celebration. Around his waist, Father wore a twist of iris roots to ward off evil spirits.

  When I’d returned from the forest the day before, I didn’t tell my parents about the handsome young man named Hisashi. I didn’t want to create a fuss. Mother would have scolded me for going too far away from the house. Father would have asked me about the man, and I would’ve had to tell him he was Japanese. That would have made Father angry, and he would have wanted to know more. Mother would have told Father to not be so angry, which would have made him stomp off to his shed. So I’d decided to keep the encounter to myself.

  It was two miles to my uncle’s house, where the festival would take place. We set out on the road with others from our village. There was the blacksmith, Mr. Kwan, and his wife and two girls—Soo-sung Kwan was a year older than me and Mi-sung two years younger. There was the farmer Mr. Kim, and his wife and their two young boys. I did not see the farmer Mr. Pak or his family. I remembered then that Father said the police had arrested him.

  The spring rains had turned the forest and fields a deep green. The sun was out and the air was fresh and clean. I was excited. I loved visiting my uncle and aunt, my cousins, and our friends and neighbors. I loved the Dano holiday with the dances, games, and foods we only had at festivals.

  My uncle’s house was the largest house around. It had a tile roof, a big wooden door, and a veranda along the front. A persimmon tree stood in a large front yard, and fields lined the back. My mother’s brother—his name was Hwan-gi—was younger than Mother. He had married into a wealthy family and moved in with his wife, Bo-sun, and her parents to help them take care of their farm. My uncle and aunt had a nine-year-old daughter named Soo-hee and a seven-year-old daughter named Jae-hee. Bo-sun’s father and mother were too old to work on the farm, and I heard Father say that Uncle was struggling to meet the harvest quota the officials demanded of him.

  By the time we got to the farm, there must have been forty people there. A man tuned the strings on his gayageum, as another set up his buk drum. Young children ran around in the yard as young children do. The Kim boys tried to climb the persimmon tree. Like me and Mother, the women wore blue, and like Father, the men wore red. The women were preparing a table of food—dduk sweet rice cakes, jeon pancakes with onions, kimchi, and bowls of sujeonggwa cinnamon punch. It had been a long time since I’d had food like this, and I couldn’t wait until the ceremonies were over and it was time to eat.

  Father went to talk to some men, and Mother and I went to the food table to give them our rice cakes. My aunt Bo-sun stood there holding Jae-hee’s hand. My aunt was tall with square shoulders, and always wore a half smile, as if both amused and serious. She did not wear a blue blouse like the other women. Instead, she wore a long white dress. Mother frowned when she saw. “You should not wear white, Bo-sun,” Mother said. “The Japanese forbid it.”

  “I wear white during the festival to say that I am Korean,” my aunt replied. “We cannot lose our traditions, Jo-soo.”

  Mother set the herb cakes on the table and bowed her head, which surprised me because Mother was older than my aunt. I assumed it was because my aunt’s family had been wealthy once. As we walked away from the table, Mother said, “Someday, I fear, your aunt will get my brother killed.”

  Mother and I stood with the rest of the people in front of the house waiting for the festivities to begin. I looked around for the farmer’s son, Jung-soo, but I didn’t see him. It was strange that he wasn’t there, staring at me from inside the crowd. Maybe he was sick, or perhaps he’d gone to the school in Sinuiju or Pyongyang.

  The blacksmith’s daughter, Soo-sung, came to me and pulled me away from my mother.

  “Did you hear about the new rule?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” I said. “The administrator came two days ago. He gave us a paper with the rule on it.”

  Soo-sung was taller than me, and she had an angular, disagreeable face. She lifted her chin and said, “I will not marry a Japanese man. We are going to run away to Manchuria, away from the Japanese and their rules.”

  “You are going to go to Manchuria? When?”

  “Soon,” Soo-sung replied, looking past me. “Before they match me with a Japanese man.”
r />   “Father wants to leave, too,” I said. “But Mother says we should stay.”

  “If you stay, you will be forced to marry a Japanese. You will become a chinilpa.”

  “I will not help the Japanese. I will marry farmer Dho’s son, Jung-soo. He likes me.”

  “Jung-soo? Haven’t you heard? The police took his father’s farm. They just took it without giving them anything for it. Mr. Dho took his family to Seoul to look for work.”

  I was shocked. It seemed that the Japanese were destroying families like the Paks and Dhos for no reason at all.

  “I have a plan so that they will not want to marry me,” I said.

  Soo-sung looked down her nose at me. “What is your plan?”

  “I will be rude to them. I will insult them and act up.”

  “That will not work,” Soo-sung said, shaking her head. “They will beat you and make you get married anyway.”

  “Well, what will you do in Manchuria?” I countered. “I heard that the Chinese men there are ugly and rough. You will not want to marry them.”

  “I would rather marry a Chinese man than a Japanese,” Soo-sung huffed. She walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

  I went back to Mother, and it was time for the festivities to begin. My uncle stood on his veranda and quieted the crowd. He introduced his father-in-law, an old man with a white beard. My uncle bowed to his father-in-law and helped him to the veranda. Then, in a voice strained with age, the elderly man thanked the spirits of our ancestors for all they had given us. He acknowledged the other elders who were there, and we bowed to each one. He said it was good that we celebrated together so that we would remember our heritage.

  And then the entertainment began. First, a group of players acted out the story of Dor-yeong Namu, the son of the spirit tree, and the great flood. A man holding tree branches above his head played Dor-yeong Namu. Women with blue ribbons danced around him, pretending to be the great flood. A narrator explained that during the flood, Dor-yeong saved a colony of ants from the water. Then he saved a swarm of mosquitos, a crane, a deer, a cow, and a tiger until he had saved all the animals of the world. Finally, he saved a young boy. A boy several years younger than me came onto the stage and held Dor-yeong’s hand. The women with the blue ribbons left, signifying the flood was over. Then, two young women dressed in peasant clothes entered the stage. While the actor playing Dor-yeong, the boy, and the two girls danced, the narrator explained that Dor-yeong and the boy married two sisters and started the next race of humans. The actors left the stage, and the audience applauded politely.