“He will help me do what?”
“What you do then is up to you, Suk-bo. Just remember what I did for you.”
“What is happening, Byong-woo? Why are you telling me this?”
He leaned in, and in the dark, I saw his face clearly. For the first time, I saw compassion in his eyes. “I am saving you again, Suk-bo,” he said. “Now, stop asking questions and try to get some sleep.” He rolled away from me and curled up behind the steering wheel.
I pulled my blanket to my chin and tried to understand why Byong-woo wanted me to escape from the rebels after I set off the bomb. I could not think of a reason. If I did my job creating a diversion, surely Il-sung and Jin-mo would be pleased with me. I would be a hero at camp. The women would accept me and the fighting men would treat me as if I was one of them. The stigma of being married to a Japanese man would be gone. But instead, Byong-woo wanted me to run.
I leaned against Byong-woo and he put an arm around me. He smelled like cigarettes, but I’d grown fond of the smell on him. I usually thought of Hisashi when I lay with him. But for some reason, this time I did not. As the wind howled outside the truck, I reached up and pressed Byong-woo’s arm into me.
I didn’t sleep that night. I expected that we’d rise before it was light, but the sun was already up when the men outside began to stir. Byong-woo woke with a start. He sniffed and shook himself awake. “We have to go,” he said.
Outside, the wind had died, but low dark clouds filled the sky. Byong-woo took me by the shoulders and made me face him. “Remember what I told you last night,” he said. “The town of Wiwon. A fisherman named Xu-han.” I nodded that I remembered.
We went to where the women had prepared a meal of rice and vegetables. We ate in silence. When we’d finished eating, Jeon-suk brought water to the fighting men, who filled their waterskins. Ki-soo and another woman gave out dried meat and geonppang hardtack.
We sat for a while, waiting. Men checked their rifles and then checked them again. Others scratched at the dirt with sticks while still others stared off into the distance. Eventually, Jin-mo said, “It is time to go.”
Byong-woo pointed to the back of the truck. “The bomb is in a sack in the truck. Get it and come with me.”
I got the sack, heavy with the bomb inside, and we went to where the fighting men had gathered. I remembered the explosion of the small bomb Byong-woo and I had set off, and I wondered what kind of power this bomb would have. I assumed it would be huge and deadly.
Jin-mo addressed the men who had their rifles slung over their shoulders. He gave a briefing of the mission and divided them into two groups. He would lead the frontal assault, he said. Byong-woo would lead a second assault from the side once the Japanese started to advance. Commissar Kim would direct the raid from the rear, and he and a handful of men would guard the retreat.
Then, Il-sung stepped forward. He took several seconds to scan the group of men. Then he said, “We fight for our mothers and fathers and for all who came before us.” His voice was powerful and filled with passion. “We fight for our children and our children’s children and for all who will come after. We fight for our country.” He looked at the gray sky. He nodded. “It looks like it will rain,” he said. “That is fitting. We will rain fury on the Japanese dogs.” He looked at the men with fire in his eyes. “Fight today, men, with the courage of the righteous!” The men shook their rifles and nodded eagerly. I glanced at Byong-woo. He wasn’t nodding with the others. Instead, he was staring at me.
And then we set off. The men moved quickly, and after several hours of hiking we’d crossed over the hills and looked out over the Yalu River. It was much smaller than it was in Sinuiju. We went to the riverbank and started to cross, the men holding their rifles and ammunition above their heads. The water was cold, and I was afraid that the bomb would get wet. Byong-woo helped me keep the sack above the water. The river came up to my chest, but I was able to wade across without having to swim.
After we’d crossed the river, we were in Korea. At the river’s edge, I took a deep breath and filled my lungs. The sweetness of my home flowed through my veins. For the first time since I’d left Sinuiju, everything seemed familiar and safe. I was home.
I didn’t have time to savor the feeling. The group quickly climbed the bank and gathered around Jin-mo. “The Japanese camp is less than a mile away,” he said. “This is where we split up. My group to the right, Byong-woo’s to the left. Commissar Kim and his men will stay here. Keep low. It will be dark soon.”
Jin-mo looked at me. “Suk-bo,” he said. “Go with this man.”
A tall, lanky man named Dae-ho stepped forward. He held his rifle with both hands as if he couldn’t wait to use it. He jerked his head, telling me to follow him. I picked up the sack with the bomb and we headed straight as the rest of the men split into two groups.
Dae-ho moved quickly, and I had to run to keep up. We crossed a field and then another. Just as Il-sung had predicted, a cold rain started to fall. The dirt turned to mud, making it hard to walk. We reached a line of trees and Dae-ho held out his hand for me to stop. By then, it was almost dark. The rain made a splattering sound on the mud. Through the rain I saw an open area on the other side of a field and the shape of tents inside. Light from lamps dotted the camp and men moved about.
Dae-ho pointed. “Take your bomb and set it off as close as you can to the camp. Stay low. If they see you, wait until they get close and then set off your bomb. Kill as many of them as you can.”
I took the bomb out of the sack. It was a stiff cardboard box and was much bigger than the one I’d set off in the field with Byong-woo. I looked at the fuse. It was short, less than a foot long. I felt inside the sack to see if there was a longer fuse, but there was nothing.
“The fuse is too short,” I said.
Dae-ho nodded. “It has to be short so it will burn quickly and the enemy won’t see it.”
“But I won’t be able to get away.”
“Most likely you will not,” Dae-ho said. He held out a match. “I was ordered to shoot you if you don’t light the fuse. I was also told to tell you to remember your son.”
I did think of my son, and my shoulders sagged. I realized they’d been planning this all along. Though I’d become Byong-woo’s woman and learned how to make bombs, they’d used me just as Jeon-suk said they would. I wasn’t ready to die. I’d endured all this time with the rebels, hoping to see Hisashi and Young-chul again someday. I wanted to see my parents’ house in the village, too. But it wasn’t going to happen. If I didn’t do what they said, if I didn’t light the short fuse, they would kill me and my son.
I grabbed the match from Dae-ho and glared at him. “Tell Commissar Kim that if he does not keep his promise to take care of Young-chul, I will haunt him for the rest of his life.”
“Just light the fuse,” Dae-ho said.
I pushed the bomb back into the sack. I walked into the field, keeping my eyes on the tents and men in front of me. A strange calm came over me. As I crossed the field, I thought of Hisashi. It had all started with him. By marrying him, I had invited the curse of the two-headed dragon, and it had led me to this. As I walked through the rain toward the camp, I was at peace. I’d had a great love with Hisashi. We’d had only a short time together, but it was more than I’d had a right to expect. We would never have it again. I’d had to betray my husband with Byong-woo. Perhaps setting off the bomb was the best way for it to end.
Three-quarters of the way across the field, I could see the faces of the Japanese soldiers. I was close enough to hear their voices. I remembered that Il-sung said I should try to set off the bomb so it killed as many soldiers as possible, but I wasn’t going to do it. I believed that, like Hisashi, some Japanese were good men. They didn’t deserve to die and I wasn’t going to kill them. I would set off my bomb away from the camp where it would kill no one except me.
I took the bomb from the sack and set it on the ground. I dropped to my knees. I found a rock to strik
e the match with. I lit the fuse. I lay in the mud next to the bomb. The rain fell harder, splashing all around me.
As the fuse sparked and hissed, I thought the two-headed dragon would come to laugh at me, but it didn’t. There was only the cold, wet mud underneath me and the bright yellow sparks of the fuse. The sparks quickly reached the bomb and I closed my eyes and waited for the explosion. The fuse hissed for a second more, and then it stopped. I opened my eyes and saw it had gone out. I put my finger where the fuse met the bomb. The fuse had burned all the way inside. I remembered Dae-ho said he’d shoot me if he didn’t see me light the fuse. Well, I had lit the fuse but the bomb didn’t go off. I looked behind me and didn’t see Dae-ho. I took the rock and broke open the box. There was no fulminate or black powder inside. There was only sand.
“Byong-woo,” I said aloud.
I heard gunfire from the other side of the camp. Soldiers shouted and began to run around. They gathered in small groups with officers pointing the directions they should go. A truck started, then another. A machine gun fired from inside the camp at targets on the other side.
“A town called Wiwon,” I said to myself. “A fisherman named Xu-han.”
And then I ran. I ran across the muddy field to where I’d left Dae-ho. Rifle fire from the camp grew more intense. The machine gun thundered and there was a loud report from a mortar explosion. A shot rang out from somewhere in front of me. A circle of mud splattered at my feet. Through the rain, I saw a yellow flash. A bullet whistled past my head. It was Dae-ho and he was trying to kill me.
I dodged to my left and ran to the line of trees at the edge of the field, slipping and falling in the mud as I went. I crawled behind a bush and lay on the ground. I heard the sloshing of footsteps approaching, so I pulled my knees to my chest. The footsteps came closer and stopped inches away. I held my breath. The rifle fire from the battle in the camp was constant now. The machine gun never stopped firing. Another mortar lit up the sky. From the mortar’s light I saw Dae-ho standing above me with his rifle at his shoulder. He scanned the field for me. As the light faded, he lowered his rifle and turned away, running toward the river.
I stayed where I was, not sure if Dae-ho was still looking for me or if he had gone back to join the rebels. Eventually, the battle was farther away, at the other side of the camp. The rain soaked through my clothes, and I began to shiver.
I lifted my head above the bush. I didn’t see Dae-ho. I ran toward the river. Mud clung to my shoes, making it hard to run. I came to the riverbank, where I heard the battle raging upstream. The rebels had retreated. From the sound of the gunfire, the Japanese were not far behind them.
Three days, Byong-woo had said. Downriver. Wiwon. I moved as quickly as I could along the river. In the dark with a hard rain falling, I couldn’t see where I was going. Bushes and branches grabbed at my legs. I wasn’t making progress so I climbed up the bank. I was drenched and very cold. I found a hollow that gave cover from the rain. I curled up inside it.
I heard the battle far away now and I guessed the rebels were in full retreat. I had not set off the bomb to create a diversion for them and they probably assumed I’d betrayed them. And as I shivered inside the hollow, I prayed that they would not kill my son.
TWENTY-FOUR
Although Byong-woo had told me to travel at night, I couldn’t see well in the dark and was constantly tripping and running into branches. I ripped a gash in my leg that looked bad. I hit my head on a branch, raising a lump. I was making little progress, so I decided I had to travel when I could see. I walked high above the riverbank away from the deadfall and trees that hung over the river. I drank rainwater from ditches and dug roots to eat. I watched for Japanese soldiers and the rebels. I thought it was ironic that I was wanted by both.
On the third day, I got dysentery and I had to stop. As cramps racked my stomach, I found a ravine and hid under an overhang. I vomited, but for three days I’d only eaten roots and leaves so all that came up was a stringy, green mass. After a day in the ravine, the dysentery had eased, but I was hungry, cold, and exhausted. The gash in my leg throbbed. Every breath was a chore; every move, painful. I wanted to stay in the ravine. But the rebels were going to put Young-chul on the street. I had to get to Sinuiju to save him. But first, I had to get to Wiwon.
I pulled myself out of the ravine and headed downriver. I crossed over fields and pushed through thickets. I waded across the tributaries. I was making progress but grew weaker by the hour. I no longer had the energy to watch for the Japanese or the rebels.
Midmorning on the fifth day, I came to a road that ran alongside the river. The Yalu was wide here—twice as wide as where the rebels had crossed. I took the road and soon saw a village. I stood in the road in a daze. I looked at myself. My clothes were rags and my shoes were torn apart. Cuts covered my face and hands. The gash on my leg was hot and red. My hair had pulled out of its braid and hung in strings around my head. I reached up to twist it into a braid again. I did one turn, then two. The world began to spin. I couldn’t feel my legs. I hit the ground with a dull thud. Everything went dark.
I awoke to the face of an old man looking at me. Above him was a thatched ceiling like the one in the house I’d grown up in. The man said something, but I couldn’t hear him. I turned my head to the side and saw a window and sunshine outside. I heard a voice. I turned to the man. His lips moved and the voice I heard was his. “You,” I heard him say. “Now!”
I closed my eyes and concentrated on what he was saying. “Wake up,” the man said. “You, wake up now!”
I opened my eyes. “Yes,” I said.
The old man grinned a crooked grin. “Good!” he said. He shuffled to an iron stove and poured something into a tea bowl. He brought it to me. “Medicine,” he said. “Drink it.”
I tried to push myself up, but everything hurt. I lay back down. The man lifted my head and brought the bowl to my lips. “Drink!” he said. I took a sip. The liquid was hot and bitter. I pushed it away. “Drink it all,” the man insisted. He lifted the bowl to me again, and I drank everything inside.
He laid my head down. “More in a little while,” he said. “Now, you rest.” I turned to the side and watched as he took the tea bowl to the stove. His hair was pure white and untied so that it fell down his back. His clothes hung on him as if he’d shrunk since he’d put them on. Though it was winter, he wore sandals instead of shoes.
I was under a blanket, lying on a mat. I wasn’t wearing my shoes, and someone had put clean clothes on me. I felt something cool on the gash in my leg. The bump on my head throbbed.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“What?” the old man said.
“Where am I?” I repeated, louder this time. The medicine was starting to wake me.
“I cannot hear you,” the man said. He came and dropped to his hands and knees next to me. He pointed his right ear at me. “Shout into my ear,” he said.
“WHERE AM I?” I said as loud as I could.
“Ah,” the man nodded, “you are a guest of the house of Mr. Wu, in the village of Wiwon,” he said proudly. “I am Mr. Wu!”
“How did I get here?”
“What?” The old man leaned his ear to me again, making his white hair fall over his face.
“HOW DID I GET HERE?”
Mr. Wu nodded. “My grandson brought you to my house. He found you lying in the road.”
“HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN HERE?”
“Two days,” Mr. Wu replied.
Two days. I tried to push myself up again. “Young-chul,” I said. “I have to get to Sinuiju!” I got halfway up, then collapsed onto the mat.
“You will not go anywhere,” Mr. Wu scolded. “In one hour, you will have more medicine. Then you will eat. I am making fish stew.” He pushed himself from the floor and went to the stove.
I dozed for a while and then Mr. Wu gave me more medicine. Though I was still weak, I was able to sit up. I saw that someone had put leaves on the gash in my leg and covered it with a c
loth. It still hurt, but it itched, too, and I could tell it was healing. Mr. Wu brought me a bowl and chopsticks. Inside the bowl was a hot milky stew. The aroma was heady. “Eat,” he said.
With the chopsticks, I picked up a piece of fish and ate it. It tasted wonderful. I took another bite of fish and then carrots and onion. I lifted the bowl to my mouth and sucked in the broth. I hadn’t had food this good since I’d left the Saito house.
“More?” Mr. Wu asked.
I nodded, and he took my bowl to the stove and filled it. I ate the second bowl and set it next to me. The hot stew warmed me and I felt better.
“Thank you,” I said with a bow of my head.
“The medicine will heal you,” he said, taking my bowl. “The stew will make you strong.”
He put the bowl in the wash bucket and came and sat in front of me. “Who are you?” he asked. “Who is Young-chul?” He turned his ear toward me.
“I am Suk-bo,” I said, remembering to talk loudly. “Young-chul is my son.”
“Where do you come from?” He turned his ear to me again.
My mind was clearing and I remembered that I was wanted by the rebels as well as the Japanese. I didn’t know who this man was. Wu was a Chinese name, so he might be a Chinese rebel or he might be a spy for the Japanese.
“I come from Sinuiju,” I shouted into his ear. “I am looking for a fisherman named Xu-han.”
Mr. Wu threw his head back and laughed. “Xu-han is my grandson! Why do you want Xu-han?”
“I am married to Byong-woo,” I replied.
Mr. Wu stopped laughing. He pushed himself up and went to the iron stove. “Xu-han will be back tonight,” he said sternly.
As he stirred the pot, he shot a look at me from over his shoulder. I could tell he didn’t want me in his house. It had to be something about Byong-woo. I knew I didn’t have the strength to go to Sinuiju on my own, so I lay down and pulled the blanket over me. I closed my eyes and waited for Xu-han to come home.
The Spirit of the Dragon Page 20
