The Old Garden

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  I fumbled for the switch and turned it on. The room became too bright, and I had to sneeze. With the return of the light, the darkness disappeared at once, and with it our fear. Once we had quickly fed ourselves ramen noodles and sour kimchi, we were ready to push aside every worry and trouble of the world. I opened the back window and looked outside. About an arm’s length away, there was the neighboring house’s cement block wall, and connected to it was the slate roof of the house.

  “Why don’t we just sleep? I don’t think anything will happen tonight,” said Dong Woo as he took down the bedding and jumped onto it. I agreed with him.

  “I guess we can worry about it when the sun rises again tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget the contact point.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  We fell asleep with our clothes on and important papers packed in our backpacks and placed by our head. I don’t know how long we slept. We heard someone knocking on the door. I sprang up first, followed by Dong Woo. We were also wearing our shoes.

  “Hello? Open the door, please!”

  The back window was already open, too.

  “Who is it?”

  Dong Woo asked as he signaled to me with his eyes. I stepped up to the window and put one foot on the neighboring wall.

  “I’m the head of this neighborhood’s association.”

  Dong Woo shouted back as he followed me and stepped up to the window.

  “Give me a minute, I need to put some clothes on.”

  I was already up on the roof of the neighboring house, using the wall as a stepping stone.

  “What are you waiting for, break it down!”

  Someone yelled, and I heard several feet kicking the plywood door. Dong Woo climbed over the neighbor’s wall. I lay down flat on my belly under the deep shadow of the roof. Someone flashed a light out the window and shouted, “The alleyway behind, they ran toward there!”

  “I knew they were on the wanted list!”

  There were footsteps running all around. There seemed to be at least seven or eight of them. They left the light on and searched our room, through our books and clothes and all our things. It was almost four in the morning when two of them who stayed behind packed everything up and finally left. I looked around to make sure there was no one around, and when I was certain of it I jumped from the roof to the alley. I ran toward the pine forest at the edge of the neighborhood. It was fortunate that we had packed at least one bag each. As I left the residential area I came upon a crumbling hill and a weed bush filled with chirping crickets. I struggled to walk up the hill without a path. At first, the hill was overrun with acacia trees, and my pants legs kept catching on their branches. I forced my way into the forest and found a place to sit where the pine trees grew more sparsely. I had not exercised in a while, so I was out of breath and sweat covered my forehead and chest. From the hill, I saw the gloomy rooftops of the slum below and the streetlamps and lights of the city further down. A blue and red neon sign continued flashing a word I could not make out on top of a high-rise with no lights on. For the hunted, Seoul was as foreign as a city in a different country. There were many different houses imbedded in the darkness like pebbles, but there was not one room for me to lie down in. As I caught my breath and calmed down, I belatedly realized that the forest was filled with a chorus of insects. I still remember clearly that early fall morning, listening to little insects singing and understanding the small creatures’ joy of life in the midst of a world full of pain and danger. For years in my solitary confinement, I would hear the sudden appearance of crickets, usually on the first day of autumn or around then, and I would always think of that early morning on that crumbling hill waiting for the sunrise just after I had barely escaped capture.

  When the sun came up, I went down the other side of the hill and into a busier neighborhood. This was at least three or four bus stops away from where we used to live, so I was not too nervous. I went to our contact point. I took a bus downtown and walked to a Catholic church near a university hospital. We chose this place because the garden of the church had three different exits, each connected to three different commercial districts. The backyard was also nicely wooded, and there were wooden benches all over the place. Once seated, it was possible to observe the church building without being too conspicuous. As I walked onto the church ground, I saw Dong Woo emerging from the wooded area and waving at me. I was relieved. I had been anxious not knowing whether he had been caught after he climbed down the wall. We sat next to each other on a bench in the most secluded area under some wisteria trees. Dong Woo took out a small carton of milk and a piece of bread from his backpack and smiled as he handed them to me.

  “First, eat.”

  “What happened? I thought you were caught in the alleyway after you climbed over the wall.”

  “Don’t ask. I climbed over to the neighbor’s house but they were already guarding every alley. So I climbed another wall and went to the next house, but this house’s yard was small and there was no place to hide. Then I saw a big plastic container with a lid next to the door. I opened it, and thank God, it was almost empty except for a couple of used briquettes. So I climbed in and closed the lid and crouched down. Ugh, my legs were cramping, my feet were numb, I almost wanted to go out and turn myself in!”

  “We have papers, but our books and everything else we owned were taken.”

  “What can we do now? Anyway, there must be traces of our real identities in there, and they’ll begin to tighten the net.”

  Quickly, I fumbled around inside my shirt and found a pocketbook. I took out the ID card that was hidden in the inner flap of the pocketbook and put it into the inner pocket of my jacket.

  “We need to burn the pocketbooks first. There are too many phone numbers and notes.”

  “Just memorize the most important numbers. If we need them, we can always ask around, and most of all, we should not contact anyone directly.”

  “You do have an ID card, don’t you?” I asked Dong Woo.

  “It’s not mine. It was made somewhere near Inchon. There was a factory worker who’s good at photos and government seals.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Of course. I was searched several times outside of Seoul and had no problem.”

  We each took out our datebooks and tore out every page, including the vinyl covers, and we made a pile under a bench and set them on fire. The papers flared up quickly. There was a little bit of smoke, but there was no one around so early on a weekday morning in the garden of a Catholic church. The vinyl burnt with a stench, leaving only a handful of black ash. Dong Woo patted my backpack.

  “What should we do with these papers?” he asked. “We can’t get rid of them.”

  “This is our organization, right in here. We have to protect it. How about safekeeping it at Kun’s factory?”

  Dong Woo paused for a second.

  “Wait a minute, it’s not like they knew where and who we were and came to raid us. It was a coincidence that we were caught during a crackdown.”

  “But that will change from now on. Our case will be sent to a different department. I bet they realized right away that we are wanted. There were books. And our names may be written somewhere in one of those books.”

  “At the very least, they’ll figure out our real names. Not to mention what we look like.”

  “For a while, we need to remain inconspicuous. Let’s call Kun and talk with him.”

  I paused.

  “We have to be careful not to cross paths with those from Kwangju.”

  As soon as we left the church, we found a public phone near the bus stop and called Kun. He came immediately to meet us near the East Gate market. We walked into a twenty-four-hour café in the market and gathered around a corner table. There were a few store owners from other cities and truck drivers sleeping sprawled on chairs. As soon as we sat down, Kun scolded us.

  “You know, it’s really frustrating. What did I say? Didn’t I tell you that they’ll be looking eve
rywhere and that you should move as fast as you can?”

  “We were just putting it off for a few days. It’s our fault.”

  “Well, no more of that. Now, this is a real emergency. It’s October now, so let’s break up for a couple of months.”

  Dong Woo shook his head when he heard Kun’s opinion.

  “Two months is too long. Let’s say we’ll take a break for one month. We’ll need to start running the organization again in the new year. What are you going to do?”

  I realized Dong Woo was talking to me, but I could not think of a single place to go so quickly.

  “How about you?” I replied.

  “I’m thinking of leaving Seoul.”

  “We’ll remain in contact?”

  “Of course. I’ll call Kun once a week and report back that I’m okay.”

  “Okay, there’s a place I’m thinking of going, too.”

  I was the first one to go through my pockets and take out money.

  “Okay, let’s do some accounting right here. I have about . . . 500,000 won right now.”

  Dong Woo also pulled money from his pants and jacket pockets and put it on the tea table.

  “I have . . . 400,000 won. Kun, you should contribute some, too.”

  “Oh, shoot. All I have right now is money to buy yarn. Fine, I’ll put down one half of what I have.”

  The total was 1,200,000 won.

  “We should set aside an emergency fund for the organization,” suggested Dong Woo. “We can’t waste money like water. After all, it was collected by our sponsors. We can get by with half of that.”

  “What are you talking about? We can start an emergency fund among the knitting factory club members. You should split that money between the two of you.”

  I took out 500,000 won from the pile and handed it over to Kun along with my backpack filled with papers.

  “We’ll work for a living. You’ll need money to organize a meeting next month.”

  “Wow, I got interest of 200,000 won within a minute!”

  Dong Woo got up first and patted my shoulder.

  “Okay, let’s get going. I’ll leave first.”

  We did not ask each other where we would go. Dong Woo left the café and I remained a bit longer, seated facing Kun.

  “How’s the factory going?”

  “It’s so busy we may need extra hands. It’s fun, too.”

  “Do you live there, too?”

  “We found a monthly rental, a two-room place, and it is the biggest house in the slum! In one room, Jung Ja and Hae Soon and I eat and sleep, and we put the knitting machines in the other room and on the porch. It’s livable. By the way, where do you plan to go underground?”

  “Somewhere near Seoul.”

  “Report back to me at the beginning of each week, please. And leave a name.”

  “Fine, let’s use Kim Jun Woo, it’s the one I used before. I should go, too.”

  I left Kun in the café and walked toward the market. It was past the early morning rush hour and somewhat in between the busy times of day, so the storefront was pretty quiet. I had decided to go to Anyang. We all learned the rules of the runaways from a little book, a collection of European experiences, and those rules were quite beneficial in urban areas. It was Kwon Hyung, the one who was helping Nam Soo and supporting Bong Han’s hiding, who found the book from a street vendor selling foreign books from the US army base. Kwon Hyung spent ten days translating it, and we typed it, made it into booklets, and distributed them to various groups. I still remember some of the basic principles from the book.

  When an activist goes underground, this means he is walking into the life of faceless people, disconnecting himself from familiar surroundings and identities. He should have no name, nothing distinctive. He should also learn the basic skills of making a living, just like any ordinary citizen. He should be ready to function in any job that is offered to him. A person without work loses his ability to survive, and furthermore he cannot be trusted by many who might have provided assistance to him. So find a job, and find as soon as possible neighbors and friends who can surround the weakened self in that unfamiliar territory he has just entered.

  Disconnect any communication with the past. No telegrams, no letters, no personal deliveries, but above all, no telephone calls. When there is an absolute need for communication between two runaways, they must go through a third party connected to both of them, and the third party needs to double check everything. The third party in charge of communication needs to check safety before everything. The organization should be aware of the runaway’s situation from afar, and it should never attempt to assign the runaway to any position or to communicate with him.

  The runaway should avoid built up areas. His appearance and speech should be ordinary. It is not advisable for the runaway to walk through the downtown area. When walking in the city, use the inside of the pedestrian passages and utilize storefront windows. When walking across a pedestrian crossing, wait behind the crowd for the signal to change. When among the crowd, do not walk too fast or too slow. When using public transportation, do not travel long distances. If there is a need for a long trip, divide it into several segments and switch modes of transportation. When riding a bus in the city, the safest spot is right behind the driver, the row toward the traffic and closest to an exit. The rows toward the pedestrians, and especially the window seats, are dangerous. Move around mostly at night; the next safe time is early in the morning, but avoid rush hours when there is a surge of crowds. Be invisible and inconspicuous so that no one can remember you.

  The rules continued endlessly. But there was one thing that stuck with me for a long time.

  The first duty of a runaway to his peers is that he should never be captured. For a runaway, hiding is the most important activity. He is a germ carrier who can spread danger to the others. Therefore, he needs to isolate himself and fight with himself until all danger is cleared.

  Discipline, integrity, self-sacrifice, faith, courage . . . there were many words like that hidden between the lines, and they constricted my whole body. It was like panting with a hot, dry tongue. Such dry, overheated sentences made me thirsty, so that I wanted to drink cold ice water streaming down between rocks until my chest was frozen.

  The grapevines from the old days were no longer there in Anyang. Instead, there were small sweatshops, bars full of hookers, and an open sewer full of dirty waste water. I was actually happy to see overgrowing reed canary grass by the open sewer. I presume this is gone by now, replaced by high-rise apartment buildings.

  I found the woodworking shop owned by Sergeant First Class Yim. He was about ten years older than me, and he was the staff sergeant in charge of my barrack when I was serving in the military. I met him once by chance after I was discharged, when I was almost forced by friends in the movement to teach at a night school in an industrial area. The night school usually ended around ten at night, when the night shift began. I met at a street-side bar with a friend who was also teaching at the night school, as we were hoping to fill our stomachs with a bowl of noodles and a bottle of soju. A few men were in there, already tipsy, drinking soju and grilling a plateful of chicken intestines and cow’s heart. We were late and we did not have a lot of money, so we squashed into a corner and ordered. The three middle-aged men were loud. Two of them were wearing uniforms from an electronics company while one was in a suit, and the one in a suit called the ones in uniforms sir and poured them glass after glass of soju. I knew a few girls at the night school who worked long hours at the electronics company and were paid ridiculously low wages, and I glared at the men at the bar from time to time, taking the girls’ side. At one point, the man in the suit glanced at us and met my eyes. He first turned away then looked back at me. I had also recognized him. He leaned over and asked me, “I was just wondering, where did you do your military service?”

  “Sergeant Yim, it’s me. I’m Oh Hyun Woo.”

  “Hey, you bastard! You’re Corporal Oh! I was t
hinking from the moment you walked in that you looked really familiar!”

  That night, Sergeant Yim and I went on to another place. Within a few months of my discharge, Sergeant Yim had also quit the military as a career soldier. Soon he found a job as an entry-level worker in the woodworking department of an electronics factory, and it did not take long for the manager to realize that there was a professional soldier in his charge. Within a year, Yim was promoted to a foreman position. He received more training and proved himself to be a good manager of other workers, so he rose again to the head of his department in five years. By that time, he was well aware of the workings of the woodshop, and he was able to figure out where to get supplies and how to find a job as a subcontractor. He left the factory with a few skilled workers and opened his own, and so he had become a success story after being discharged from the military, so to speak. That night, completely drunk, he dragged me all the way to his home right next to his factory in Anyang. He had this vague idea that a night school teacher like me could only be seditious, doing things that could not be beneficial to our nation. He was afraid to get involved, but he confessed that somehow he was in awe, too.

  “What do we know about what you’re really doing? I just know that you believe in something. There are those who fight, then there are those of us who have to feed the family and survive.”

  Whenever he was drunk, Sergeant Yim repeated something similar to that.

  I walked along the Anyang stream. On top of the furrows alongside an unpaved road was the cement block structure that housed the woodworking factory, and behind it an almost identical structure that served as living quarters. Piled up in front of the factory were raw materials and waste, and I could hear from outside the piercing noise of an electric saw. I looked around in front of the factory, then finally pushed open the plywood door and looked inside. I saw Sergeant Yim in a vest, his head wrapped in a towel and his mouth covered with a mask, concentrating on his task. I pushed the door open further and walked into the factory, the air filled with sawdust. I could not hear what he was saying because of the noise, but I did see him waving at me from his station. He walked over and yelled into my ear, “Hey, Corporal Oh! I haven’t seen you for years! Let’s go outside.”