The Spirit of the Dragon

by William Andrews

  I heard something on the road. I saw Mr. Saito’s car making its way to our house. Behind it was the administrator’s Model T. I ran to Father’s shed. “Appa,” I said, “Mr. Saito’s car is coming! The administrator, too.”

  “Go to the house,” he said, shoving the canvas bag with his tools in a corner. “Make sure it is clean.”

  I ran into the house where Mother was frantically cleaning. I grabbed the straw broom and swept the floor. Mother dusted the open cupboard and straightened the cookware. She checked to make sure the table was square with the room.

  “Maybe they heard we were running away,” I said.

  “No,” Mother said, placing the cushions neatly around the table. “If they did, they would have sent the police.”

  Father came through the back door, wiping his forehead. He joined us at the window. “We must be careful,” he said. “They cannot know about our plans.”

  The administrator got out of his car and hurried to the front of our house. Mr. Saito’s driver opened the black car’s back door and Mr. Saito stepped out, followed by Hisashi. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him wearing the same white shirt and black pants as the other times I’d seen him. Mr. Saito looked official, dressed in a Western-style suit with a high white collar and a black tie. As he got out of the car, he donned a hat with a brim, looking ever so much like a stalwart Japanese dignitary. As Mr. Saito and Hisashi approached our front door, Mr. Saito’s driver went to the trunk and took out a heavy wooden box with rope handles.

  “Konnichiwa!” the administrator said excitedly from the other side of the door. “The director-general calls on this house!”

  Father shot a look at Mother. “You will have to help me with my Japanese,” he said. Mother nodded. Father opened the door and bowed. “Please, come in,” he said in his broken Japanese.

  Mr. Saito came in first and took off his hat and then his shoes. The administrator and Hisashi followed him and took off their shoes. When our eyes met, Hisashi gave me a quick smile. I lowered my eyes. The driver came in with the wooden box, and Mr. Saito pointed to the middle of the room. “Put it there,” he said. The driver set the box on the floor and then went back to the car.

  Mr. Saito looked around. My father motioned to the table with his head slightly bowed. “Sit?” he said.

  The administrator stepped forward. “The director and his son have come to talk to you about your daughter. You should make tea.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mother said with a bow. She hurried to the stove and started a fire. She poured water in a kettle and set it on the stove. She tossed in some tea.

  Father gave Mr. Saito a cushion, and the director-general sat at the low table. He placed his hat next to him. The administrator and Hisashi sat on the floor behind him. I stood off to the side.

  The administrator smoothed his wrinkled suit. “It is a great honor for you to have the director-general visit your house,” he began in a high-pitched voice. “He is a great man and . . .”

  Mr. Saito raised his hand and the administrator went silent. Mr. Saito cleared his throat. Then, in his full voice he said, “As the administrator has told you, I have come to talk to you about the decision to have your daughter marry my son.”

  I glanced at Hisashi, who sat straight and looked at his father.

  “As you know,” Mr. Saito continued, “Korea is now Japan. It is divinely ordained that all of Asia come together under one roof. Emperor Hirohito is the pillar that supports the roof.”

  Mother came to the table with a tray. On it were a teapot and several tea bowls. Her hands trembled as she poured tea into the bowls and handed them to Mr. Saito, the administrator, Hisashi, and my father. She bowed away and sat behind Father.

  Mr. Saito took a sip of tea. Then he continued. “Our great emperor wants all his people to share the empire’s good fortune. But to share, we must make sacrifices.”

  Mr. Saito looked at me. I was still standing off to the side. Then he looked at my father, who kept his eyes low. Mr. Saito said, “The decision has been made for your daughter to marry my son so that our people will become one. This is what you must do. But our emperor is abundantly benevolent and so, I have come here today from my post in Sinuiju to show the emperor’s appreciation for your obedience.”

  Mr. Saito raised his hand, and the administrator went to the wooden box. It was heavy for him and he struggled to set it in front of my father.

  “I was told you are a carpenter,” Mr. Saito said to Father. “This is for you.”

  Father looked uncomfortable and didn’t move to open the box. Instead, he stared at it, and I thought he was going to tell Mr. Saito that he didn’t believe the Japanese were ordained to rule Asia and that his daughter couldn’t be bought. Finally, he leaned forward and lifted the lid. Inside was a stunning set of saws, knives, carving tools, files, and a hand plane. A stiff leather strap held each tool in place. The tools themselves were magnificent. The polished steel blades looked hard and sharp, and the blond wooden handles looked smooth and stout. My father stared at them for quite some time. Finally, he said, “Thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Saito looked pleased that Father seemed to like the gift. The director-general took another sip of tea. Then, he said to me, “Come, sit, Suk-bo.” I sat at the table next to Father. “I have two things for you,” Mr. Saito said. “First is a new name. We will call you Miyoko Saito after you marry my son. Miyoko means ‘good child,’ which I am sure you will be. I have had the papers readied to change your name.

  “The other gift is this.” Mr. Saito reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. “You said you would like to continue your studies, and you shall. Here is a book for you to study. It is the basis of the Japanese authority. It is in Japanese, of course, and might be difficult for you. Hisashi will help you with it.”

  He gave me the book. It was Kodō taii, The True Meaning of the Ancient Way, by Hirata Atsutane. I nodded and said, “Thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Saito looked pleased. Then he said, “The wedding will take place in ten days at my house in Sinuiju. As is the Shinto tradition, it will be a small ceremony. We’ve invited only immediate family. I will send a car for Suk-bo . . . Miyoko, the day before the wedding so we can prepare her. I will send a car for you the morning of the wedding,” he said to Father and Mother. “After the wedding, your daughter will live with Hisashi in my house. I assure you, she will be treated well.”

  Mr. Saito put his hands on his knees. “And now,” he said, “I must get back to my post.” He stood, and everyone stood with him.

  “Father,” Hisashi said, “I would like to spend a few minutes with Suk-bo before we leave.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Mr. Saito said. “I suppose that is appropriate. The administrator and I can talk business in the meantime. Do not be too long.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Hisashi said. He put on his shoes. “Come for a walk with me.”

  I nodded and went out the back door with Hisashi.

  It was starting to get hot when we went to the field behind the house. White, billowy clouds were growing in the hills beyond the forest, promising an evening storm. In the grass, crickets jumped out of the way as Hisashi and I walked side by side. My heart was beating a little fast, and I was afraid I might say something silly. We walked a while without saying anything.

  “It is quite something that Father would make the trip here to talk to your father,” Hisashi finally said. “I encouraged him to do it, though I did not think he would. But here we are. My father is an honorable man.”

  “Does he truly believe that Japan is destined to rule Asia?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Hisashi replied. “He works very hard for the emperor. Someday Father might be prime minister.”

  “My father doesn’t think Japan should be here,” I said, afraid that I was being too bold.

  “Most Koreans agree with your father. I’m not sure what to believe.”

  We went a little farther, and then Hisashi said, “How do you
feel about marrying me?”

  I didn’t know how I should answer his question. I’d only seen him twice before—in the forest and at his home. I suppose I saw him at the Dano festival, too, but I didn’t know he was the man behind the mask. Truthfully, I really didn’t know him at all, but he had been kind to me and I sensed a tenderness in him. I decided to trust him and tell him how I really felt.

  “I am nervous about it. I do not know anything about you.”

  “Yes, that is true. But you think I am handsome and interesting, don’t you?” he said with a grin. “You did not say so in the forest that day.”

  I blushed and grinned, too. “Yes, I do,” I said.

  Hisashi grew serious. “To be honest, I am nervous about it, too. Father says I must marry a Korean woman because that is what the government has ordered. I was not sure I wanted to until I saw you in the forest. That is why I came that day. To see you.”

  “You were spying on me,” I said.

  Hisashi chuckled. “I suppose I was.”

  “It seems like it was just yesterday,” I said. “I never said thank you for the strawberries.”

  “Yes, well, it was my pleasure to pick them for you.”

  He touched my arm and we stopped walking. He faced me. “I have something else for you.”

  He reached inside his pocket and took out a small rectangular box. He held it out to me. “I thought this would look good on you. I hope you like it.”

  I took the box and opened it. Inside was a two-pronged silver kanzashi hairpin. At the end was a circle of silver finely etched with trees and a crane on a pond.

  “It is from Tokyo,” Hisashi said nervously. “I would have bought a binyeo for you, but Father would not approve. Japanese women wear these for special occasions,” he said, running his words together as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. “Maybe you could wear it for the wedding. If you like it, that is. Do you like it? Is it okay? What do you think of it?” He looked at me pleadingly.

  “I like it very much,” I said. It was, in fact, the most beautiful thing I’d ever held in my hand.

  He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “Try it on.”

  I hesitated. Here was a man I didn’t know who had given me a most intimate gift. But in ten days, if we did not run away to Manchuria, he would be my husband. So as Hisashi watched, I reached around and loosened my braid, letting my hair fall over my shoulders. I folded my hair over and fastened it to the top of my head with the silver pin. I lifted my eyes to Hisashi.

  “You are beautiful,” he said simply. “A true treasure.” He touched my cheek. Now it was I who could not breathe. And then I knew I could not go to Manchuria with Father and Mother.

  Hisashi nodded toward the house. “We must get back. Father is waiting.”

  I took the hairpin out and braided my hair again. I put the pin in the box, tucked it inside my dress, and we walked to the house. When we got there, Mr. Saito and the administrator were waiting in their cars for Hisashi. At the front of the house, Hisashi nodded respectfully to Father and Mother and then to me, too. I bowed to him. I pressed the place inside my dress where I had put the hairpin. He waved at me as he climbed into the big black car. My parents and I watched as the two cars headed toward Sinuiju.

  NINE

  “We are not going to Manchuria now, are we?” I asked Mother and Father after Mr. Saito’s car disappeared down the road. The three of us sat at the low table. The box of new tools was still where the administrator had placed it on the floor in front of Father. Father laid a dull pink paper on top of the box.

  “What is that?” Mother asked.

  “The administrator gave it to me when he left,” Father said. “I don’t know what it says. I do not read Japanese.”

  It wasn’t true that Father didn’t read Japanese. Most everyone in Korea could read Japanese. He wasn’t good at it—certainly not as good as I was—but he could read enough to get by. Most of the time, he simply refused to read anything except Korean.

  He pushed the paper at Mother. She picked it up and read it to herself. When she finished, there was a worried expression on her face.

  “What does it say?” Father asked.

  Mother handed the paper to me. “Here,” she said. “You read Japanese better than I do. Make sure we know what it says.”

  I did my best to interpret what the paper said. It was addressed to Father and said that Mr. Pak was not going to return to his farm and that Father was to take it over. The administrator would hold Father responsible for producing the same amount of vegetables as Mr. Pak had. A shortfall would result in punishment. Father was to start his new responsibilities immediately, before the farm fell into too much disarray.

  Father stared at the box of new tools. “Well, this does not seem like much of a gift now, does it?” he said. “And so, to answer your question, Suk-bo, yes, we are going to Manchuria.”

  “Seong-ki,” Mother pleaded, “if we go now, we will disobey a direct order. Mr. Saito came all the way from Sinuiju to give you his gift. It would be an insult to an important man like him. It would be dangerous for us to leave now.”

  Father continued to stare at the box. “I am not a farmer, Jo-soo. And Suk-bo is not Japanese.”

  “We could send word to Pyongyang for Kwan-so to come home,” Mother said. “Our son could help on the farm. We could make it work.”

  Father raised his fist and brought it down hard on the box of tools, putting a crack in the lid. “When will we stop letting them oppress us?” he growled. “When will we stand up for ourselves? They are taking everything away. They are killing us. I won’t let them. We must fight! We leave for Manchuria tonight.”

  Father pushed away from the table. Before he left, I cried out, “Appa, I will willingly marry Hisashi. I believe Mr. Saito when he says they will treat me well. And Hisashi is nice.” I reached inside my dress for the box Hisashi had given me. I opened it and showed Father the hairpin inside. “He gave me this,” I said.

  “It is kanzashi,” Father said, as if the word tasted bad. “It is Japanese.”

  “I do not want to go to Manchuria,” I said.

  Father looked at me. There was anger in his eyes, and his chin was firm. “We leave for Manchuria tonight,” he said again, “and you are going.” He marched out of the house through the back door.

  I’d never disobeyed my father before. I’d always done exactly what I was told. I did so, because that’s what I was expected to do. Sure, there were times I wanted to do something else, like when Father said I had to help Mother in the garden and I wanted to go for a walk, or when he said I needed to run an errand when I wanted to read one of my books. And sometimes, I would interpret his request to my advantage, like when I would take a long way around to do his errand and visit the Kwan girls. But I never directly disobeyed him. And I would never have dreamed of doing so for something this important. Until now.

  I had decided the second Hisashi gave me the hairpin that I was going to marry him. I was prepared to argue with my father and even disobey him if I had to. Now, Father said we were going to Manchuria.

  But what could I do? I couldn’t run to Hisashi and tell him Father was fleeing to Manchuria. They would arrest him and throw him in prison like they’d done to Mr. Pak. I couldn’t run to my aunt, either. She would agree with Father and send me right back home. My brother in Pyongyang was too far away. I could hide in the forest, but I certainly couldn’t hide there for ten days.

  My mother was the answer. She had argued with Father about the Japanese for as long as I could remember, and like me, she wanted to stay. But how far would she go? She was Father’s wife, and wives were supposed to obey their husbands.

  “Ummah,” I said, “I will not go. I am staying here to marry Hisashi as you said I should.” Saying this, defying my father, was terrifying. It was as if I was defying not just Father but tradition itself. I was rejecting our way—that a daughter never disobeys her father. And I was agreeing to marry a Japanese man.

&nb
sp; Mother gave me a satisfied look. She said, “I will stay here with you. If both of us stay, your father will stay, too. I will tell him.” She tried to put on a brave face, but her once-square shoulders sagged, and I saw that her fights with Father were taking away her beauty and grace. I felt a pang of guilt for taking sides. And I was afraid that Father would hate me for siding with Mother. I wanted it to be like it was before, when he wasn’t angry all the time and Mother’s shoulders didn’t sag. But those days had disappeared years earlier, and I knew that after this day, they would never come back. So I sat quietly at the table as Mother went to the shed to talk to Father.

  Mother returned after just a few minutes. I hadn’t heard any arguing or shouting or pounding from the work shed. Mother didn’t say a word about what she and Father had said, and I didn’t ask. All day, I heard nothing from the shed, and I didn’t see Father at all. I didn’t know if he was working or if he had gone to Mr. Pak’s farm. Perhaps he’d left for Manchuria without us. That evening, I emptied my rucksack as Mother put away what she had packed. She dragged the box with tools to the shed. After the sun set and I lay on my mat for sleep, all I knew was that I was not going to Manchuria that night and that in ten days I would marry Hisashi.

  I didn’t see Father the next morning, either. When I awoke, I asked Mother where he was. “I do not know,” she said. “He never came into the house last night. I went to the Pak farm this morning to see if he was there. Mrs. Pak said he never came.”

  “He must have gone to Manchuria,” I said.

  Mother did not reply. We sat in silence as I ate a quick breakfast of millet and beans. Then, I set about doing my chores. I listened for noises from Father from inside his shed, but I heard nothing. I looked out to the forest but didn’t see him there. The new box of tools with the cracked lid had not moved from where Mother put it the night before.

  I finished sweeping the floors while Mother sat at the table and did nothing. I wanted to ask what we would do now that Father was gone. I knew what would happen to me. I would live in a beautiful house with servants and good food. Mother, however, needed Father. Without him, she would be like poor Mrs. Choi, dependent on the generosity of the village. And now the village did not have Mr. Pak or Father, and it would surely suffer.