by Sumi Hahn
Dong Min swatted his friend. “Not for the hard kind, dummy. Winter freezes are best for those.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that k-kind.” Gun Joo tried to think of something else to say, but couldn’t, so he started digging again, a little too vigorously.
Lieutenant Lee pursed his lips before shouting to Woon and Junja, who were several paces away. “Come back you two! I need to ask a question!”
Woon and Junja trotted back. The secretary tried to hide his irritation under a smile. Why was the annoying lieutenant delaying his afternoon diversion?
“What do you know about these mushrooms, Woon?”
“Not much, sir, but I’m sure the girl could tell me everything I need to know, sir.”
Lieutenant Lee rubbed his hands, smiling. “How fortunate for us, secretary, that we ran into our resident cow experts just as they were finishing up this trench. Apparently, these two country boys know all about mushrooms too!” Lieutenant Lee placed his arm on Woon’s shoulders. “You’re an educated city man like myself, so your time is far too important to waste on mushrooms. We can let these two escort the girl to the mountain instead. You and I can return to camp and attend to another mountain … of paperwork.” He laughed loudly at his own joke before pitching his voice low for Woon’s benefit. “I’m thinking of that important transmission from headquarters. It would be better for you to stay in camp in case it arrives earlier than scheduled.”
Secretary Woon couldn’t think of a valid objection. He thrust his basket at Dong Min, inwardly cursing the two bumpkins for thwarting the romantic afternoon he had anticipated with a naive country girl.
“Excuse me, sir, but how are we supposed to go to the m-m-mountain if it’s b-banned?” Gun Joo could hardly believe his luck at being ordered to spend time with Junja, whose face was unreadable.
Lieutenant Lee snapped his fingers. “That’s right. I almost forgot. Clever Woon here made a special pass. It will identify you as Nationalist soldiers on a secret mission.” He pulled the paper out of his pocket and frowned. “Did you know, Woon, that there’s no name or date on this pass? How did I not catch that earlier? Bah, it’ll probably work just fine. Woon is very clever with these kinds of things. I have no idea what I’d do without him.”
Woon’s smile was more of a grimace. The knuckles on his fist grew white.
Lieutenant Lee noted these details while continuing his chatter. “Well, then, be quick about your mushrooming, lads.” He turned to Woon. “Let’s go back to camp and have a quick drink before we get back to work that really matters.” When he thumped the secretary’s shoulders, he noticed the gun holster, which gave him another idea.
“Boys, I think you should borrow Woon’s weapon so that both of you are armed. You’re heading into enemy territory, after all. If you run across some Communists hiding in the mushrooms, make sure you shoot to kill.”
Thirty-Four
“Stop walking so fast!” Dong Min was gasping as he tried to keep up with Junja and Gun Joo, who were walking side by side at a brisk pace.
The three of them had gotten a ride from the village to the foothills of Hallasan from a passing farmer with a team of horses who was heading into Seogwipo to look for work at the American base. When the man saw the two boys in uniform walking alongside the road with Junja, he stopped to ask where they were headed and had given them a ride without asking for compensation.
“Please pass word to your officer that I helped you!” the farmer said, making them promise not to forget the favor. The man sat in the cart, bobbing his head, and looked relieved when the three of them stepped off.
“Why do you suppose he gave us a ride for free?” Junja finally broke her silence.
“Because we could have taken the cart and the horses away from him.” Dong Min patted the handgun in its holster. Firearms were too scarce for every soldier to carry his own, so Lieutenant Lee had divided the weapons and ammunition between partnered pairs. Today had been Gun Joo’s turn to carry the handgun, but because the lieutenant had given them Woon’s revolver, both of them were now armed.
“Why would the farmer think we’d take his horses?” Junja shook her head. “That’s crazy!”
The fat boy pointed to his weapon. “Because of this.”
Gun Joo swatted his friend. “That’s wrong! Stop it!”
“Calm down, Gun Joo. I didn’t say it was a good thing that we could have taken the cart, just that the farmer knew we could have.”
The three of them fell silent. Terrible rumors were circulating through the village about torched crops, seized animals, and people disappearing, as if snatched by ghosts. The elderly blamed the Communists while the young blamed the Nationalists. Those who refused to take sides pointed their fingers at the American military, which sent orders to every police station and constabulary force on the island. “Don’t blame the dogs—look at the ones yanking their ropes!”
Among the soldiers stationed at Junja’s village, there were disgruntled mutterings about Lieutenant Lee’s leniency toward the civilians. Instead of commandeering the village stores as he could have, the lieutenant had installed a strict system of rationing. Hunger darkened everyone’s mood.
The chill prodded Junja, Gun Joo, and Dong Min to move briskly. Junja’s handmade leather shoes slipped against the occasional stone. Gun Joo stayed close, ready to grab her if she stumbled. He was grateful for how surefooted he was in his boots, though they remained painful to wear.
“Damn, it’s cold.” The fat boy blew out a white plume. He slapped his gloved hands together. “I can’t believe you were diving a couple weeks ago.”
The start of winter had closed the official harvest season. Because of the food shortage, Junja knew that she would have to brave the frigid waters again. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering at the possibility. “I don’t think that was the end of water work for me. Not with so many mouths to feed.” The ocean, always dangerous, was much more deadly in winter. Only the young and strong worked the water during the cold months. Elders, with their waning heat, did not endure such trials.
Dong Min shuddered. “I don’t know how you women do it. I can’t even bear to put my hand in the water.”
“We have to eat,” Junja said. “What choice do we have? Anyways, we don’t dive deep. We just gather what we can close to shore.”
As the path grew steeper and more slippery, the three of them stopped talking, to pay attention to their footing. The leaves of summer lay on the ground, frozen into a brown mat that covered the narrow path winding through the forest. Sunlight streamed through the stark branches, and patches of frost powdered the ground. The trickling stream and the crunch of leaves under their feet were the only sounds they heard as they climbed the trail.
“Gaw, gaw!” A large blackbird fluttered overhead, settling on a tree to cock its head. Another one landed alongside the first.
When a third stopped to perch, Dong Min started jumping up and down and waving his arms. “Go away! Get outta here!”
A fourth blackbird stopped to add its cackle to the eerie chorus. “Gaw, gaw! Gaw, gaw!”
The fat boy’s shoulders slumped. “Four blackbirds. All of them telling us to leave. We should turn around. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Junja, who was also spooked by the quartet of birds, shook her head. They were almost there. Silly to let a bit of superstition turn them around. She jumped when Gun Joo touched her on the hand.
The boy apologized, pointing. “Over there, near the stream. A lot of birch trees. Probably a lot of mushrooms.”
The three of them scrambled down into the ravine while the blackbirds followed, flitting from branch to branch. Water was still trickling, but patches of ice clogged the rock bed. Junja and the boys studied the trees and found what they were looking for: large, protruding scabs of wood. The two boys copied the girl’s motions as she scraped the knobby growths with sharp rocks. The four blackbirds watched, eyes glittering.
“I think this should be enoug
h.” Dong Min glanced nervously at the birds. “We should head back down.”
Gun Joo looked at Junja. He would follow the girl’s lead.
Junja took a breath. The sun was blinding. Nothing bad could happen under such a blue sky. She decided to take the chance. “I’d like to pray to the Mountain God.”
Dong Min nodded, looking around nervously. “Sure, why not? This seems like a good place. Gun Joo and I will duck around the bend to give you some privacy. Better yet, maybe we should pray too. It never hurts to remember the gods.”
Junja shook her head. She wanted to see if Suwol was home. She couldn’t go to Cloud House with two Nationalist soldiers.
“The proper place is higher up, about an hour’s walk. I’ll be fine by myself. You two go back.”
Dong Min shook his head. “Sorry, but you’re our responsibility. We have the guns and the pass. You might get mistaken for a Communist.”
Gun Joo held up his hand, motioning for them to be quiet as the birds started making a ruckus.
“Gaw, gaw! Gaw, gaw!”
Off in the distance, shouting. And a faint keening noise, as if someone were crying.
The blackbirds repeated themselves, urging them to leave. “Gaw, gaw!”
Dong Min whispered. “Smells like trouble. I think we should take cover.” He pointed to a rocky overhang on the opposite bank, which was pocked with openings, many of them large enough to crawl into.
The three of them moved swiftly. Gun Joo took Junja by the hand, leading her over the slippery rocks of the stream. Despite his help, she almost lost a shoe when her foot became wedged between two boulders. One of the caves plunged deep into the hillside and was large enough to hold all three of them. Gun Joo motioned for Junja to crawl in first. He and Dong Min slid in afterward, taking up watch on their bellies.
The approaching voices grew louder and more distinct. A man was cursing at someone, telling them to move faster. Children were wailing.
Dong Min rubbed dirt onto Gun Joo’s cheek, hissing. “Cover your face with mud, pretty boy, unless you want everyone to see your white face glowing up here.”
Dong Min had already smeared his brown face. Gun Joo took off a glove, grabbed a fistful of dirt, and spat into it.
In the back of the cave, Junja felt faint. She tried to calm herself. An hour’s walk up the trail would have led her to Suwol’s home. Who would be coming down the path from that direction? Why were they shouting and crying?
When Gun Joo noticed the white cloud of breath coming from his mouth and nose, he wrapped the lower half of his face with his scarf. Dong Min did the same. The fat boy raised his eyebrow and pointed to his holster. Gun Joo nodded. Both boys took out their handguns and readied them.
The approaching group of people grew louder. Two voices were distinguishable above the weeping crowd. One of the voices belonged to a foreigner. The other spoke both Korean and English.
“How much longer to go?” The foreigner sounded like he was whining.
“Two more hour to main roads, sir.”
“Some of these people won’t last that long.”
“The American says that these people will not last another hour.”
A third voice entered the conversation. “Then let’s pull off here, into this ravine.”
“Where are we going to put all these people? The holding cells are full. And where are all the men?” The foreign words sounded harsh and nasally to Junja’s ears.
“The American wants to know where the men are.”
“Why does he keep asking the same question over and over? Is he an idiot? How should I know? The women claim they’re all dead. But they’ll say anything at this point.”
“They say all mens dead, sir.”
A large group of people were scrambling through the trees to enter the ravine. Gun Joo could see that most of them were women and children, dressed inadequately against the bitter cold. A few children were clutching their mothers’ hands. A small woman carried a barefoot child whose head lolled back and forth against her shoulder, like a limp doll’s.
Gun Joo smelled something burning. He craned his head to see a dirty column of smoke in the distance.
A child’s voice pierced the forest. “Mama, I’m cold.”
“Hush.”
“Why did they shoot all the pigs?”
“Shh. Don’t talk.”
Five soldiers herded the group toward the stream, using the points of their rifles as prods. At the back of the group, two women held up an old man, whose stick-like legs were exposed and whose feet were bundled in cloth. The women flanking him stayed close, trying to shield his body from the cold with their own. A soldier at the rear shouted and pushed them forward with his rifle. One of the women stumbled and fell. Gun Joo closed his eyes, sickened by the sight. Next to him, Dong Min stifled a gasp.
He scooted over to whisper. “Gun Joo, this is wrong. We have to do something.”
“What can we do? We wear the same uniform they do. If we announce ourselves, they might make us do something we don’t want to do. We should keep hiding and stay quiet.”
Junja could not bear to stay at the foot of the cave any longer. She shifted position, pushing aside the boys’ legs, so that she could squeeze in between. She had already covered her face with dirt, and her head wrap was covering her nose and mouth. Gun Joo sensed her warmth and was grateful that his flushing face could not be seen. He pressed against the wall of the cave, trying to give the girl more room.
Junja stared down at the shivering women and children, who were trying to warm themselves by huddling close together. She shook her head and pressed her fist against her mouth.
“Do you know them?” Gun Joo could smell the musk of her head as he leaned in close to speak.
“I think so.” Her anguished whisper brushed his ear.
The foreigner spoke again. “Why are we stopping here?”
“The American officer wants to know what we’re doing here.”
“Tell him we’re following his general’s orders, just like he is.”
The people were prodded into a shivering mass by the stream. Someone started moaning. Two of the uniformed men were conferring, helmets close together. Nationalist soldiers, like Gun Joo and Dong Min, but in combat gear. The two men moved apart, and one of the men walked to another soldier.
Gun Joo wished he could hear what they were saying. The helmeted soldiers moved into position next to each other. After a moment, both men lifted their rifles.
Three more soldiers followed suit and raised their guns, pointing them at the terrified villagers. A slim man in green walked in between the rifles and their targets. A Nationalist officer, he paused to light a cigarette before addressing the shivering group.
“Where are the men hiding?” He exhaled smoke.
No one dared respond.
The officer took another draw from his cigarette. He sounded bored. “Do I have to shoot someone to get a response?”
A small woman stepped forward. Her face seemed to flash white. “The men are dead.”
A low moan escaped Junja. The woman sounded like Suwol’s mother.
Gun Joo covered her mouth with his hand.
“If you continue to lie, we will shoot each and every one of you until someone tells the truth.”
“We’ve already told you the truth, but you won’t believe us. If you’re going to kill us, then do it before we freeze to death.” The small woman raised her fist.
The officer struck the woman with such force that her head whipped sideways, and she fell to the ground.
He shouted, “How dare a woman speak like that to a man? I asked a simple question. Where are the men? I will spare whoever tells me the truth.”
The weeping grew louder. A commotion started at the back of the trembling group of villagers. The old grandfather was slowly making his way to the front by holding onto the shoulders and arms of the women he passed.
“Father, please!” a woman sobbed out.
The old man
tried to stand straight but couldn’t. He leaned on the women as he spoke in Japanese, his voice shaking with age and chill.
“Jap-loving gehsekki scum. I’m the only man left alive. You want to kill me? Then kill me. Only cowards threaten women and children.”
The Nationalist officer walked over to the old man and spat into his face. He responded in Japanese. “You’re already more dead than alive, old man. A bullet would be wasted on you.”
The American turned to the translator. “What are they saying?”
“They speaks Japanese.”
“Why? Are they spies?”
The translator didn’t answer the man’s question, pained by his ignorance. Were these foreigners unaware that their handpicked Nationalist officer had once been a notorious Japanese collaborator? Or did they simply not care that they were working with traitors?
The translator swallowed before turning to the former collaborator, who was now his commanding officer. “The American wants to know if you and the old man are Japanese spies.”
The officer laughed, a sharp bark. “The American doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants a good excuse for his conscience. Tell him what he wants to hear.”
The translator hesitated. He wanted to stop what was going to happen, even as he despaired that his English was adequate to the task. “He say they not spy. Nobody spy. Nobody Communist.”
“Where are all the men? It doesn’t make sense, a village filled with women and children, when the mountain has been banned. The men are obviously in hiding because they’re Communist spies. The orders are clear.”
The translator felt sick to his stomach as he translated.
Up in the cave, Junja shook her head, horrified. Surely, the translator had made a terrible mistake. She desperately wished she could understand what the American had actually said.
The collaborator threw his cigarette butt into the sluggish stream, where it floated for a moment before disappearing under the slush. He shouted to the five soldiers positioned around the huddled women and children.
“Shoot the senile fool. Shoot them all. We’ve wasted enough time here.”