by Julie Lee
One of the squid boys turned to Youngsoo. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Youngsoo said, turning still and quiet.
“This is our market,” the boy said, stepping closer, fists drawn. “You and your sister need to get out of here!”
Who did he think he was—this kid no bigger than me, wearing a shirt and pants two sizes too small? His market? My laugh exploded like a bag of flour—pah!
The boy glared. “Do you think this is funny?” he asked, and—while keeping his gaze fixed on me—punched Youngsoo in the stomach.
“Hey!” I screamed. That sound of fist hitting flesh—like the back of Omahni’s cleaver pounding fresh suckling pig—made my stomach turn.
Tears sprang from Youngsoo’s eyes. He doubled over, gasping.
In a flash, I lunged forward, my body nothing but shoulders and fists. Pummeling. Grabbing. Tearing. The hard bone of his jaw against the rock of my hand. Voices crowded around: It’s a girl! A what? Get her off him! Arms pulled me back, stopped my knuckles mid-swing.
I looked around.
So many boys, red-faced and huffing, stood in a circle, staring at me. “She’s crazy,” one of them said. “Yeah, a possessed witch,” another answered. The boy I’d hit said nothing; he only blinked and cupped a hand under his bloody nose. And before I knew it, he and his friends were gone.
“Are you okay, Youngsoo?” I asked, kneeling beside him.
He nodded. I helped him up on his feet. My hands throbbed, covered in small cuts. I took a deep breath and leaned against someone’s display, the adrenaline draining from my body. I was tired of fighting.
“C rations!” an old, sunbaked woman cried, sitting squat on the ground, a toothpick wedged between her teeth. Dark metal cans covered the top of her wooden crate. “American C rations! Delicious!”
“Excuse me,” I asked her wearily. “Can you tell me where I can find Kang Hong-Chul’s house?”
“Eh? Kang Hong-Chul?” The toothpick bobbed up and down as she spoke. “Are you another one from the North he’s helping? Thousands of you are coming into our city, and now there’s a water shortage! What do you say to that?”
“So you know him?” I asked, flushed with excitement.
“Tell him that he owes me another game of baduk. He’s probably afraid of losing again.” She laughed, baring gums with missing teeth. “His fish stand is at the end of this row, but his house is down that side street. Now unless you’re going to buy some C rations, get out of my way, kids. I’m trying to earn a buck here.”
I thought I would run, but I found myself walking down that road, slow and steady, thinking of a sunset and how it never rushes. It was late afternoon, and the light was already changing. The air dimmed and thickened, like in a dream. All market noises fell behind, and in the hush I could hear only Youngsoo’s wheezing.
“Get on my back,” I said, stepping in front of him.
To my surprise, he shuffled past me. “No, I don’t want them to think I’m a baby.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll be easier if I carry you,” I said, grabbing his hand.
He pulled away. “No, I want to walk by myself!” His voice was strained, like thin glass on the verge of breaking. Blue veins showed through his white skin. Normally, I would’ve yelled at him for snapping at me, but something about the way he whined—like an infant born too soon, its pink lungs still forming—kept me quiet.
I let him go and trailed a step behind. We passed clay-tile roofs and low stone walls, the house numbers inching higher: 8810…8812…8814. We needed only to find house number 8818, and this long journey would be over. Everything I’d hoped for would finally come true.
Every so often, Youngsoo bent to catch his breath. When he coughed, he winced and put a hand to his chest—something I’d never seen him do before.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand in a single swipe, then threw his arm down in frustration. Another coughing fit overtook him, leaving him quiet and limp. “Noona, will you carry me?” he asked in a small voice.
“Of course.” I knelt and let him climb on my back. Light as air.
thirty-six
House 8818. I stood on my toes and peeked over the stone wall. Inside the courtyard, a man sat by a small firepit roasting squid inside a wire fish basket. I couldn’t see his eyes, only the back of his neck, which was caramelized from the sun.
Youngsoo and I peered at him, unblinking, our necks stretched long. We looked like ghosts, bony and dirty, our hair tangled like nests—only we didn’t know it until Jisoo spotted us from inside the courtyard and screamed like a pig being slaughtered.
“What did you do to him?” Omahni had said, bobbing Jisoo up and down as he cried.
I wasn’t sure why I’d done it. Sometimes grown-ups pinched babies because they were too cute. Sometimes kids pinched each other when they were annoyed. For me, I think it was a little of both.
Abahji gave me a funny look, then tousled my hair. He turned to Jisoo and kissed him on the forehead. “Happy first birthday, my son. What will you pick for your doljabi?”
Omahni had set the birthday objects on the floor: a spool of thread, a pencil, a book, money, and rice. When I had turned one, I had chosen the book, which meant that I would have a studious mind. At Youngsoo’s dol, he grabbed the rice, a sure sign that he would never go hungry. And today, we would learn Jisoo’s fate.
“Happy birthday, Jisoo! I can’t believe it’s already your dol,” Mrs. Kim said as she helped Omahni decorate the table with rice cakes, fruit, and dates.
Jisoo tugged on the sleeve of his pink-striped jacket and at his blue vest with the gold pattern. Abahji set him on the floor in front of the different things.
We watched and waited.
Jisoo sat, then held his arms up toward Abahji. Everyone laughed.
“No, son,” Omahni said. “You have to pick something.” She stood behind the row of objects and waved her hands to entice him.
Jisoo started crawling. He looked at all the choices, then at Omahni as if to ask whether he was really allowed to touch such things. Omahni nodded. Jisoo smiled, then grabbed the money.
Everyone roared.
Jisoo burst into tears, his eyes wide in alarm. Tiny droplets darkened the front of his bright blue vest.
“Wah! One son will be rich, and the other son will never go hungry. Two blessings! Now you’ll never have to worry about begging in the streets!” Mrs. Kim said to Omahni.
At which Omahni covered her teeth and laughed, her eyes tearing.
The room burst into celebration. Jisoo reached up for someone to hold him, and when no one did, I picked him up, sorry for what I’d done, his soft, fuzzy head warm against my cheek.
Jisoo. The same fuzzy hair, the same stick-out ears, the same bloodcurdling shriek. He was longer and thinner, but it was still him. Why wouldn’t he stop crying? The man whipped around and looked up at us. His face changed color.
I lost my balance and toppled against rock and pavement. Youngsoo slid off my back. My side would bruise to deep purple days later, but for now, I could feel no pain. We lay there, stunned by the fall and what we had just seen: Jisoo, our baby brother, back from the dead.
The gate flew open, and the man rushed to our tangled bodies. Keeping his gaze on us, he turned his head slightly over his shoulder and shouted, “I think they’re here!”
He pulled us up with one arm each, and when our faces came close, I could see eyes like Omahni’s staring back at me. “Uncle?” I whispered.
He laughed and didn’t look like Omahni anymore. “That’s right, it’s me, Uncle! We thought…”
But then his face crumpled like brown paper, and rivulets of tears ran down the folds.
Youngsoo and I leaned on him, watching. It didn’t matter that I’d never met him before—in that instant, he was part of the same family-shaped lump that had permanently lodged in my throat. Uncle wiped his eyes and guided us, hobbling, through the gate.
There was a garden
on one side and a storage shed and outhouse on the other. Large earthenware jars lined the base of the courtyard wall. And hiding behind one of those urns was Jisoo, still wailing.
Uncle picked him up and patted his back until he quieted. Jisoo stared at us, and we stared back, his eyes as vacant as a chicken’s.
He’d forgotten us. I put a hand to my cheek as if I’d been slapped.
Jisoo wrapped his arms around Uncle’s neck, then nestled his head against his shoulder as if he’d been doing it his whole life. Youngsoo reached for my hand, and I held it tightly.
Footsteps thundered from inside the house. The front door slid open. A woman stood in the doorway, as sturdy as anyone with crop-picking in her blood. And from behind, a smaller figure pushed her way past:
Omahni.
For a second, our eyes locked, a jumble of emotions rushing through that tunnel of space between us. It was like seeing home—hot soup and rice, the warm ondol floor, even scoldings in the kitchen.
How is it that my daughter got the tan skin? Can’t depend on you for anything. You’re overreacting—you’ll learn how to keep house.
No. What did it matter? We were together again. A spring of joy burst inside me.
“Children! My children! You’re alive!” Omahni screamed. She rushed toward us, her long white sleeves billowing like wings and her hands fluttering over our faces. Youngsoo threw both arms around her, and Omahni pressed her cheek against the top of his head. “My son, my precious son,” she moaned as Youngsoo held her tightly and wouldn’t let go.
I watched and smiled extra hard, ashamed of the sudden ache in my chest.
“Sora-ya,” she said, her eyes glistening, “you came; you brought your brother here safely.” When she hugged me, all I could think was that I had done a good job delivering what she wanted most.
Without warning, the big-boned woman yanked me close, and I found my face squashed against her bosom. “Thank God, you children are alive!” I heard her muffled voice say. There were long, stifled gasps and hiccups, and when she finally let me go, I could see that she was crying. “Sora-ya, I remember when you were just a tiny baby.”
And then I knew. She was Auntie, and I hugged her back.
“Your father is out looking for work, but he should be home any minute now. Oh, you children are going to give him the best surprise of his life!” Uncle said as Jisoo hid behind his leg with one eye peering out.
My heart lifted. Abahji had no idea about us, and we were going to surprise him. Youngsoo and I glanced at each other, smiling, and between coughs he bobbed up and down in excitement.
It was already getting dark. Abahji would be here soon. Lights from inside the house glowed into the courtyard. I was moving through a dream. Floating.
thirty-seven
“Come inside,” Uncle said, ushering us through the front door.
His house stretched in a long line, all the rooms in a row with sliding rice-paper doors separating them. It was even prettier than Myung-gi and Yoomee’s house back home. We entered the middle section—the sitting room—sandwiched between a kitchen on one side and a bedroom on the other. A colorful wardrobe decorated with slivers of painted ox horn stood against the wall. We sat on a wooden floor around a low table.
“Your parents and Jisoo arrived about three weeks ago,” Auntie said, carrying a tray full of rice, steamed corn, dried squid, and bubbling daenjang jjigae from the kitchen. She clattered bowls across the table, hastily filling them with food as if we would disappear in a puff of smoke if we weren’t fed soon. “Tell them what happened, Sister-in-law,” she said to Omahni.
That was when Omahni told me how they came to Busan: In a convoy of U.S. trucks, we crossed the Taedong River over a pontoon bridge. Where were you? Only two wool blankets between the three of us. Just enough rice from our pack. Killed a pigeon; roasted it. What did you eat? Crossed the border in the same truck, bouncing up and down, our heads jiggling. How did you get across? Tootsie Roll for Jisoo. Cigarette for Abahji. English lesson for me. Were you heading south?
I listened carefully. Across the Taedong River in a truck? Roasted pigeon? Wool blanket? And since when did Abahji smoke? My head spun.
Youngsoo smiled at me.
“Hurry, children, eat,” Auntie said.
The smell of soy sauce, garlic, sesame oil, and fermented soybean suffused the entire house. My stomach grumbled loudly, practically talking at the table, and everyone laughed.
“Once your father gets here, you’ll have to tell us everything that happened,” Omahni said, looking straight at me.
I swallowed.
I took a piece of dried squid and tore it between my teeth. It was warm and savory. My first food in Busan. Nothing would ever taste as good. I started shoveling spoonfuls of rice into my mouth while everyone sat around watching as if it were live theater. I thought I even saw Auntie adjust a small cushion behind her back, so she could be more comfortable as she watched.
Youngsoo only picked at his food.
Omahni began to feed him, but the metal gate clanged outside in the courtyard. Everyone’s head pointed toward the sound.
“Your father! He must be home!” Uncle said, getting up to open the door.
I dropped my spoon. My open palms hit the table. Everything inside me started jumping. For a second, I mixed up panic with excitement and didn’t know whether I should run to the door or hide.
I heard his voice wafting from the courtyard: Any word on the children?
And then he was inside, seeing us. The next thing I heard was him shouting our names, his voice cracking and shaking.
It wasn’t until I saw my father standing in the doorway that I realized how much I’d held in for so long. Every glob of grief I’d swallowed, every worry I tamped down came gushing out of me. But more than that, the way his belt cinched his waist to almost nothing got its hooks into the meat of my heart. I wasn’t ready for it.
His knotted work hands, their fingernails lined with dirt, reached out and held me.
“Abahji!” I screamed, a wellspring of fear and joy inside me. Bursting.
He still smelled faintly of millet, but also fish and smoke. “Sora-ya, I’m so sorry,” was all he could say, touching my face. I burrowed into his shirt. His arms around me shook.
Finally, he wiped the dribble from his nose and sat down at the table, cradling Youngsoo and me on his lap. He kept looking at us as if we weren’t real. “Youngsoo-ya, I bet you were brave,” he said, squeezing my brother. Then he looked at my dinner plate and said, “Wah, look how beautifully our Sora eats,” as if my chewed-up cob were a work of art. Which made me want to sob even harder.
Jisoo stomped over to Abahji and tried to push us off his lap. Everyone laughed through their tears.
“I prayed you two would find your way here,” Abahji said, letting us slide onto the floor beside him.
“Tell us what happened,” Omahni said, leaning toward me. “How did you get here? Where were you after the bombing? How did you find food?”
Youngsoo and I looked at each other, the hesitation heavy between us. How much did I want to tell? That I’d stolen food from peddlers, scraped it from the bottom of burnt pots, accepted it with cupped hands from strangers? That I sometimes went for days without finding any at all? I lowered my face.
The room quieted.
Abahji rubbed the back of his neck, hard. He gripped the table with one hand, then turned to me. “Tell us everything, Sora.”
Omahni sat still, only her mouth twitching.
I cleared my throat. Where to begin? There was too much to say.
“After the bombing on the hill,” Youngsoo said, surprising us, “we thought you’d been killed. We looked for you anyway…but then there were shots. We ran until there was no one around.” Everyone was listening. “We walked across rivers on chunks of ice. We walked through woods in the snow. We stayed overnight in abandoned houses. Then we took a ferry to Seoul and got on a train, just ahead of the Reds. Noona saved my life. She sa
ved it a hundred times.” He tried to say more, but his body twisted in a coughing fit.
“When did you pick up that cough?” Omahni asked, concerned.
“After the bombing,” Youngsoo said, sipping water.
“That long ago?”
“Yes.” He curled inward, hugging himself. “But I’ll be fine.”
She put a hand to his forehead. “Well…good food and rest should fix that.” She smiled and patted him hard on the back until I thought his head might pop off. Then she straightened her shoulders and looked at each of us.
“Everything that happened, it’s all over now,” she said, as if making a royal pronouncement. “Now, eat! We all must eat!”
The stalled room cranked into motion. Food was passed around the table. Everyone talked at once. Youngsoo slid close to Omahni, and she put her arm around him.
“Noona,” Uncle said to Omahni.
My head snapped up. How strange to hear someone call her Noona. I had thought of Omahni only as my mother, not as someone’s older sister. I tried to imagine being grown one day and visiting Youngsoo and his wife in their house, but I couldn’t see it.
Uncle placed a hand on Youngsoo’s head and said, “A mother without her son is like a turtle without its shell. You are a lucky woman, Noona, to have found your son again!”
Your son.
Uncle grinned and clapped me on the back, but his heavy hand suddenly felt like an iron weight bearing down on me.
thirty-eight
After dinner, Abahji and Uncle went out to the courtyard to finish roasting squid for Uncle’s fish stand, and Omahni filled a basin with warm water for us to wash up. Though I craved a full bath, I knew that would have to wait until another day when we could all go to the public bathhouse.