Princess Bari

by Sok-yong Hwang

  Those are from your grandmother, Chilsung says. You’ll need them where you’re going. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll bring the boat back.

  I sling the bundle over my shoulder and start climbing the rugged mountain slope. Rocks tumble past; when I grab for a handhold, the rocks crumble or break away. I get stuck in a ravine and have to shimmy my way out and resume my climb. My palms, elbows and knees are all scraped, skinned and bleeding. When I finally reach a spot where I can see the castle gate, the path ends abruptly at the edge of a deep, dark cliff. I hear someone laughing on a rock right next to me.

  Kar-kar-kar! Where you think you’re goin’, Stupidhead? Karr-rr-rr!

  I look up to see the magpie sitting there. I’m too happy to see a familiar face to get angry.

  I have to go in there and get the spirit flower and the life-giving water. Help me!

  The magpie flicks his tail a few times, then flaps his wings and lands lightly on my shoulder.

  How ‘bout that rattle, hey? How ‘bout that rattle?

  I open the bundle and pull out the rattle. I hold it overhead and give it a good shake. A stone bridge appears in the dark. The magpie and I cross. With each step, the bridge collapses behind us and vanishes.

  The castle gate is shut tight, and is guarded by a pair of hairy sentinels, each with a single horn protruding from its head. They wear armour with dragons on the front, and wield fiery clubs.

  Egh! Too scary! The magpie warbles on my shoulder. One cake each! Throw it, throw it!

  The guards open their red eyes wide and shout: Who goes there?

  I throw a gaetteok into each of their gaping mouths. They swallow them and instantly bow to me. The castle gate screeches open. I hurry inside.

  I cross a long stone path and come to a smaller gate. A pair of dogs with fire blazing inside their mouths stand guard on stone slabs on either side of the gate. They jump down, growl and bare their teeth.

  One each, one each.

  Even before the magpie can finish muttering the words, I toss more gaetteok. The dogs swallow them and return meekly to their stone slabs.

  Inside the gate is a wide plaza where countless guards – hundreds upon hundreds, if not more – are lined up for a parade inspection. I see several paths at the far end of the plaza.

  White path, white path, the magpie chitters.

  I grab two fistfuls of gaetteok so I can throw them at a moment’s notice, and I make a run for the white path in the middle. The guards break formation and rush at me from both sides. I throw the gaetteok in all directions. The plaza descends into a mêlée as they tackle each other and fall over themselves to grab the food.

  I make it out of the plaza and reach a big, tree-lined garden. In the middle, red, blue, yellow and white flowers are in full, glorious bloom.

  Spirit flower! Spirit flower! the magpie cackles.

  I pace back and forth, unsure of which among the hundreds of flowers to pick.

  Stupidhead! Only the spirit flower. Only the spirit flower.

  The magpie can’t tell me anything more. I think about the white path and select the white flowers. I don’t take many – just three.

  Kar-kar-kar! Well done, Stupidhead! Karr-rr-rr!

  I tuck the three flowers inside my shirt. Buoyed by the bird’s laughing praise, I hop and dance about joyfully, straight over to where the garden ends.

  A fiery pond blocks the next part of the castle. This time I take out the rattle without asking the magpie first, and raise it overhead. The stone bridge reappears above the pond. I run across, the bridge collapsing noisily behind me with each step.

  As soon as I am inside, everything goes black; all around me are voices screaming and crying. Even the magpie seems frightened. His voice is low and trembles like a baby frog.

  This is it. The end of the western sky. The hell of eighty-four thousand, eighty-four thousand sufferings.

  The ceiling of the castle seems to reach as far up as the sky itself, and the air is filled with fog or smoke. When I look around, I see that the walls are filled with cells from floor to ceiling, like a beehive. I hear voices ordering others, spurring others, and more voices responding; the sounds of beating, and the sounds of weeping and wailing. I feel as if I am standing in deep jungle surrounded by howling creatures. My heart pounds, I am dizzy and I think I might collapse. Without help from the magpie, I reach into my shirt and pull out a spirit flower. I toss it into the air as forcefully as I can. It soars up, then coasts down slowly on a stray breeze. The flower pops like a balloon and tens of thousands of petals scatter in all directions, drifting about like snowflakes before turning into bright, white light. Words begin to flow through me, in time with the beat of an unseen drum.

  Gather, souls! Gather ‘round, spirits!

  Here, beneath the western sky,

  out here, at the ends of the Earth,

  those who sinned,

  those who were sinned against,

  souls bound together in Hell,

  caught in the endless cycle

  of life, death, rebirth, death, life.

  Unfetter yourself, unfetter each other,

  and rise up through the nine heavens.

  Return to life! Return!

  The air slowly fills with light, and the iron castle begins to crumble. Chunks of rock and metal melt away the moment the light touches them like ice in the sun. Soon there is nothing but flat land. The freed spirits crowd together: sinners who have lost their eyes, sinners without arms, sinners without legs, sinners without heads, sinners who have lost the entire lower halves of their bodies. They come pouring out, and even the guards cast down their weapons, rush forward and dance. The land is filled with dancing spirits.

  I turn around. There is the third and final part of the castle. I walk toward the heavy gate, which creaks open slowly by itself. A cold wind comes whooshing out. The magpie flies off my shoulder.

  Egh! Too scary! I can’t go. You go alone. You go.

  I step inside. There’s another wide plaza. At the centre is a big, black, foul-smelling pond. A half-moon-shaped bridge arcs over its centre. I start to cross the bridge, but an enormous cast-iron dragon suddenly appears on the other side. It rushes at me, clinking and clanging, its jaws open wide, spewing fireballs. The flames touch the surface of the pond, and in a flash the whole thing is ablaze. Flowers of fire flicker and flare up all around.

  I pull the final item from the bundle: the copper mirror. I hold it out in front of me, and as the light reflects off it, the flames freeze in place. The fire comes to a stop, like snowflakes on the branches of trees in winter or frost blooming across a windowpane. The iron dragon begins to crack; it breaks into pieces that fall to the floor and shatter, then turn to powder, then blow away. I cross the plaza and climb a staircase. At the top, I enter a high-ceilinged room. The King of Hell, in his shining golden armour and helmet with the visor down over his face, stands there waiting for me, his fiery curved sword held aloft.

  He booms: I don’t have a physical form, but I took this one for you!

  I’m here to free you too, I tell him, so behave yourself.

  He swings his sword. The flame wraps around my body like a whip and flings me away, hard. I hit the wall and fall to the ground. I am barely able to pull myself up, but I take a step toward him and the flame wraps around me again and hurls me across the room. As I stand, I hold up the copper mirror and shine it on the King of Hell. The light bounces off it, and his golden armour turns to jelly and slides off him, revealing the tiny body of an old man, bent over and frail with age, clad in rags. He sinks to the floor.

  Oh … I’m so tired! he mutters, in a voice no bigger than a mosquito’s. I press him for answers to my questions.

  There must be some knowledge I can take back with me.

  Now all mysteries will be solved.

  Where is the life-giving water?

  The old man tilts his head back as if lacking even the strength to lift his arms.

  Is there such a thing? Th
ere is a small spring out there, but that’s just the regular water we use to cook rice.

  I turn and exit through a back door. At the bottom of the stairs is a garden with a small well. I hurry down, crouch next to the well and scoop up water in my cupped hands. I drink from it twice. It tastes sweet and refreshing, just like the spring water from the mountains and rivers of my hometown. Nothing more. Disappointed, I stand up. Then I remember the flowers in my shirt, so I take one out and toss it into the air. It explodes, and as the petals drift down and turn to light, the final part of the castle is engulfed in an enormous cloud of dust and begins to collapse.

  Everything vanishes, and just as before, there is only a tranquil field with a few rocks and the quietly settling air. The magpie has returned and is perched on a rock, flicking his tail around and preening his feathers with his beak.

  There’s no such thing as “life-giving water”, I say bitterly.

  The magpie shrieks with laughter. Karr-rr-rr! Stupidhead! It’s what you drank, what you drank.

  I look around hurriedly at the empty field.

  The magpie chatters again: No one can take it, not the life-giving water. The bird keeps laughing – karr-rr-rr karr-rr-rr – and flies away.

  I plod toward the beach. When I reach the spot where the water rushes up onto the sand, I call out inside my head: Chilsung-ah! Chilsung-ah!

  The ship appears, and the gangplank descends. The moment my foot touches the first step, I am aboard, and Chilsung is welcoming me with his wagging tail.

  We go up into the crow’s nest, and the ship starts to float away.

  I didn’t get the life-giving water, I say weakly.

  Chilsung swishes his tail but doesn’t reply. The ship glides over the sea of sand. The variously attired men are still flailing their arms and shouting and sinking into the sand and re-emerging. As I look down at them, I mutter: Either take turns and let each other talk, or work together and speak for each other. Or maybe just don’t say anything at all.

  The sea of sand vanishes. Now it’s just normal blue sky and blue ocean with fat clouds overhead.

  We cross the sea of blood again. I see the ships floating like black spots in the red sky. The grey ship approaches, carrying people of all shapes and colours, refugees in tattered rags, my mother and sisters, souls from all over the world who were starved, tortured, worked or beaten to death, bombed, burned, drowned, terminally ill or died of a broken heart. Just as before, Becky leans her body over the front of the ship and looks at me.

  Tell us why we had to suffer like this. Why are we here?

  Something seems to take over my tongue. My voice turns young and high-pitched as someone else speaks through me.

  They say we’re here because of desire. In our desire to live better than others, we are cruel to each other. That’s why the god who rides that boat with you says he has also suffered. By forgiving them, you help him.

  When the words stop, the scene ends. The grey ship disappears without a trace. The red ship lit with torches approaches, carrying the people wielding weapons, people with their hair loose and dishevelled, arms torn off, legs severed, heads missing, people in blood-soaked uniforms, wrapped in gauze, leaning on crutches, eyes bandaged, people struggling to escape. This ship, which carries Lady Emily’s father and grandfather and my husband’s younger brother Usman, draws close.

  Usman calls out to me again: Did you find out why evil wins, and why we are stuck here with our enemies?

  I babble in the tiny voice of a little girl: There are no winners in war. What the living call justice is always one-sided.

  The scene ends. The red ship vanishes.

  The third ship, which has been waiting at a distance, approaches, jet-black from sails to hull and carrying men with explosives strapped to their bodies, men whose flesh and bones have been blown apart and are barely maintaining the outline of a body, like a swarm of dayflies hovering in the air. Fathers, brothers and husbands who took it upon themselves to punish their daughters, sisters and wives all ride the ship together. The man with the grenades dangling from his chest shakes his fist at me.

  Tell us the meaning of our deaths!

  The little-girl voice bursts out of me again: The gods grieve for the hopelessness you feel. They cannot help you with your despair.

  The woman in the burqa murmurs through the fabric covering her face: And what about the meaning of my death?

  I look at these phantoms, and for the first time I cry as if my heart is breaking.

  Men covered you up. Then outsiders said you had to take off your veils in order to be free, while your own men said you had to keep them on in order to maintain control at home. Your faces are the ones the gods grieve for the most.

  The black ship vanishes like a soap bubble bursting. The last ship floats toward me, silent as death, without the slightest sign of movement on deck, as if there are no torches, no light, nor even a single passenger. Then the silence is broken by whispers of laughter, and I can see the officials who tore my family apart on board, along with the men who betrayed my sister Mi, the loan sharks of Dalian, the snakeheads, the brothel owner.

  And Xiang. She leans over the side, pushing her skinny face with its protruding cheekbones toward me as she shouts: Everyone you hate the most is here. When will we be set free?

  The child’s voice comes out of me again: Mama is the one who’s bound. When she is free of her hatred, you too will be free.

  The ship slips past and slowly recedes. I sob in the little-girl voice: Poor Mama … Poor Mama …

  At last, I realize that Hurriyah Suni has been inside of me, sailing with me the whole time. The black ship vanishes into the dark.

  The old Korean boat I am on crosses the sea of blood. I pull the final spirit flower from my heavy, aching chest and toss it into the air. It hisses like the fuse on a firecracker and explodes, sending thousands, tens of thousands of petals through the air. They turn into bright light and illuminate sky and sea. Countless souls rise out of the water and turn into specks of light. They float up into the sky and unite. The sea of blood becomes a blue ocean, and instantly, the blue stretches all the way out to where the sea of fire begins.

  *

  For the nearly fifteen days that I spent locked in my room, barely moving, time seemed to stand still. After one long continuous dream, I had other choppy, disconnected dreams. Their plots all intertwined. I remembered the visions and scenes from those dreams in such a way that I could have described them to anyone later with perfect consistency.

  I sipped water and occasionally ate soup that Luna made for me – it was a more intense fast than at Ramadan. Grandfather Abdul had stopped by several times to check on me initially, but he must have decided that I needed some space. Every now and then I heard his footsteps on the stairs. They would grow softer the closer he got to my door, but then after a brief pause I would hear him tiptoe away again.

  One morning, I got up and took a warm bath and then prepared breakfast. I took the food upstairs to Grandfather Abdul’s flat, and we ate our first hearty breakfast together in a long time. He smiled at me and watched my every move, but didn’t say anything until we were sipping tea afterward.

  “I know it took some time, but I can’t tell you how good it is to see that you’ve finally sent Hurriyah to God. Thank you for getting through it.”

  “I think she’s still with me.”

  Grandfather Abdul was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

  “If that’s what you want to believe,” he said. “But at some point you’ll have to let her go. All souls begin new lives after death.”

  “Grandfather, how wonderful would it be if there were a water of life that could save the world? If only I could find it …”

  He looked at me, his gaze soft, and waited for me to continue.

  “I had this long, long dream that went on for several days. A dream in which I was searching for a life-giving water.”

  He took my hand gently and stroked it.

  “I do
n’t know what this life-giving water is that you were hoping for, but we have to weep for each other in order to save ourselves. No matter what awful things we go through, we cannot abandon hope in the world or in others.”

  I went back to work at Tongking. Everyone was happy to see me. Around the same time, I got a phone call from Uncle Lou. He said he was sorry to be the one to tell me the news.

  “Xiang jumped out of a window. She must’ve been on something.”

  After his call, I went into the break room and sat by myself. One of the scenes from the dream came back faintly. I pictured Xiang asking me when I would set her free. I sat there quietly with my face directed at the ceiling, until the tears rolled off my chin. I wasn’t crying from sadness, but from shame. A truly unbearable surge of regret washed over me. I’d been so exhausted with looking after myself that I’d never once gone to see her or even thought of trying to help her. And I’d hated her so much for Suni’s death.

  *

  The following spring, a new war began, in Iraq. On top of that, news reporters kept saying that war would soon break out in Korea as well. One day, I happened to see a television documentary about the famine I’d experienced long ago in the North. There were scenes of war and other terrible images, but of course not a word was said about the countless souls and spirits I’d met on my journey. Everyone gaped at the television screen like they were watching a fireworks display. And they ate and they drank and they talked and talked.

  I hadn’t been to see Lady Emily in ages, and she hadn’t requested any house calls from me in some time. I finally did go to see her, because of some news I’d received from Leeds. Grandfather Abdul had gotten a call from Ali’s father. He said a government official had come to their house asking about Ali and Usman, and wanted to know when they’d left for Pakistan, where they were headed, whether there had been any contact from Usman afterward and whether or not it was certain that Ali had gone there in search of his brother. Before the official left their house, he’d told Ali’s father: Your son is alive, but not free.