Yes, they were Korean Communist soldiers, four of them, and they had climbed the cliff with bags full of plunder. They must hide here, watching for escapees on the tracks, Hideyo thought.
“Let’s divide what we got.” Hideyo recognized a voice from the night before.
“Not now. Meet me at my house and we’ll divide there.” A short soldier seemed to be head of the group.
“You’ll take all you want and give us junk again,” the deep voice said.
“Yeah!” another agreed.
“Shut up and do as I say.”
“No. Divide the treasures now or I will report you!”
Suddenly the short soldier’s machine gun went off, the loud burst echoing on the mountain. Smoke rose to where Hideyo was sitting.
“Now, you want to be dead or do as I say?” said the head of the group, and he looked down coolly at the man he had just killed, and walked off.
The others stood there. They looked at each other. The wind blew, the pine tree swayed, and Hideyo prayed the branch where he sat would not break. He held tightly to the blanket and the coat and tried not to put too much weight on the branch.
The killer was stalking toward the east, his gun on his shoulders. The other two, still staring at the dead man, finally picked up the leader’s large bag and ran to catch up.
Hideyo stayed on the branch until everything was quiet. He dropped the blanket and coat, then slid down carefully. He checked the dead soldier’s gun, but the bullets were gone so there was no use taking it. Also, it would be heavy to carry. Quickly he headed southwest.
But he stopped and went back. Carefully he removed the uniform from the still-warm body. The clothes would be useful, as the Korean outfit he was wearing was badly torn. The jacket was soaked with blood but Hideyo crammed it into his rucksack. He untied the dead man’s shoes and tried one on. Too small.
He walked all day, keeping to the woods even though there was no path. Below, a glimpse of the tracks now and then was his guide. The moon came up and he dragged on. Now it was getting cold, and he pulled all his underwear, socks, and his student’s uniform from the rucksack and put them on. On top of those he wore the thin, badly worn Korean clothes borrowed from the Lees. Somehow he could not throw away these garments, perhaps because he had loved the Lees.
He began to lose track of dates and months. All he knew was that fall was there because the trees turned to bright colors and some already stood naked and shivering when the wind blew. He had found no water since he had strayed to the mountain. On top of that, a diet of mushrooms had caused severe diarrhea and his stomach ached.
Finally he had to rest. As soon as he found a suitable place, maybe a small burrow, he would sleep. He was terribly cold. The moon shone over the entire earth to give light, but why did it not give heat to warm him? He thought the beautiful moon was most unsympathetic. He found a spot and went to sleep.
When he awoke in the morning heavy frost surrounded him. He took deep breaths and saw them in the air as steam. His feet were numb. Hunger pains struck him and he sensed that he would soon starve.
He’d freeze to death if he did not keep on walking.
He covered his head with the tiny fur coat, got the rucksack on his back, and caped himself with the blanket. He started to walk but he was so weary he could not walk fast.
Between the trees he saw a vegetable field. Food! He dragged himself down to the field but nothing was left there but frozen clods of earth. He pushed himself back to the mountain thicket, and went on.
There were times when he wanted to give up walking and fall asleep on the frosty ground, but something told him that if he did he would never wake up in this world.
It began to snow. In Nanam he had been delighted to see snow come, but now he hated it. He looked up at the sky and opened his mouth wide, trying to catch some flakes, but the snow did not fill his hungry stomach.
I must live through this, he thought. I want to see Mother and my sisters. They must be having a bad time too. I’ve got to make it to Seoul! He talked to himself. The thought of Father, so lost and far away, came too.
The snow turned into a blizzard. His shoes, rubber-soled tabi, were torn to shreds, his Korean clothes were frozen, and he was totally exhausted. He could not see an inch ahead. He sat down by the roots of a large tree and rested. So drowsy. He shook his head to wake himself. I cannot die here, he thought. But how long can I walk without food?
The tears streamed and stung his chapped face. His hands, cracked open, bled. His eyelashes were freezing and he blinked many times.
He decided that he would try to walk once more. Using all his energy, he stood up. He took one step, slipped, and fell. He had no strength to brace himself against the blizzard. Again he got up, took a step. Whenever he fell he had a hard time getting up, and the rucksack felt like tons of stone on his back.
Suddenly in the distance, between the trees, in the blizzard, he saw a faint red light. He stopped and looked. Now nothing. Then the light again. Was it his imagination playing a trick on him? Or could it be a farmhouse? He focused his eyes on the light; then it disappeared. He took off his glasses, trying to wipe them, but his clothes were frozen. Whatever it is, I must walk there. I must! This time he saw the light clearly. He took one step, another, and another. He got caught by branches, stumbled over the tree roots, and fell. He lay there, no energy left.
Then he lifted his head and began to crawl toward the light. It looked warm. He found that he was crawling down a mountain slope. Twigs slapped his face, his entire body felt numb. Now he was lying on the ground. I’ve got to get there! Again he focused on the light. It was still there, as if to tell Hideyo to hurry and come.
He got to his feet. He felt terribly dizzy and staggered, but he dragged on. To the light, to the light. At last he reached a small farmhouse, lost all control, and collapsed.
SEVEN
“THAT IS OUR HOMELAND, LITTLE ONE.” Mother pointed from the ship to where the island floated in the deep morning fog. Miles of soft hills linked together.
We had been three days crossing the rough Korean Strait, and at last we were entering the Japanese zone of Tsushima Strait. In spite of seasickness I was excited. We would be landing in our own country, welcomed and safe. Our grandparents would feed us and give us fine beds. I leaned on the guardrail and watched the island come closer and closer. I was already carrying my rucksack and wearing my blanket.
When the ship docked at Fukuoka, a Japanese man wearing a white arm band that said “Committee” stood at the foot of the gangplank. Using a megaphone, he was saying something over and over, but I could not understand his southern accent. Mother said he was telling the refugees to find their places. We looked for a large “K,” and soon forty of us stood beneath the sign. A man at a desk, his face blank, took our names and a young committee member told the “K” group to follow him to the refugee camp.
All these years I had dreamed of my beautiful homeland and its cheerful people, and now I was completely taken aback by demolished Fukuoka. Burned fields, wrecked houses and buildings. What trees there were stood painfully without branches and with deep scars of fire. The sky was clear and crisp but I saw not a bird. Isn’t there one bird to sing and welcome us? I thought, searching the sky. Besides, the attitude of the men we had seen seemed to say, “Why did you come? We could do without you.”
“Watch out!” Ko told me. I tripped on the cracked asphalt road and fell.
I got up, and I saw that my left shoe had split open at the toe and had separated from the sole. I had to lift that leg much higher, the sole flapping. The fall wind began to bite me and my shaven head.
We walked for two hours. The refugee camp was the auditorium of a girls’ school, and the hundred who got off the ship were to stay there until we found someplace to go. It was small, and again we were squashed against each other. Mother, Ko, and I found a corner, dropped our burdens on the floor, and rested.
I was hungry, but the committee man who had led us he
re said we must find our own food. We could cook outdoors and use the school toilets.
There were half-rotten apples and orange peels in my rucksack.
“Wait,” Ko said, “don’t eat them.” She took me outside. “Find some rocks.” In a small circle of rocks she built a fire, cut the good part of the apples in small pieces, added water, and cooked them in the two mess kits. She put the fire out carefully when the apples were cooked.
“Our first meal in the homeland,” she said, acting cheerful, as she took the food inside. She poured a large portion into Mother’s wooden rice bowl. “And the first hot meal since we had that roasted corn.” She divided the remainder.
Mother held the bowl and gazed at it for a long time. The apple water steamed. She shook her head gently and shock was in her voice. “These bowls and the few belongings we have here are the only mementos from our beloved home.” Slowly she brought the bowl to her lips.
For the first night in my homeland we spread two blankets beneath us, snuggled together, and covered ourselves with Mother’s large blanket. My blanket, once fleecy white, was gray, dusty, and stained with blood. I knew I could sleep in peace, without the sound of airplanes or the danger of being bombed, attacked, or raped, but often during the night I jerked awake and sat up in fear that someone might attack me or steal our belongings. When I had to go to the toilet I woke Ko, frightened that men were hiding there.
Mother went alone to the post office next day to wire my grandparents in Aomori that we had arrived. Two days later the message was returned, care of the refugee camp. Unable to deliver.
Mother began to worry. What had happened to her parents? Ko suggested that we leave at once for her hometown, Aomori.
“No, I cannot go without Hideyo,” Mother said. “Now that we are safely here all I think of is Hideyo.” Her voice trembled into tears.
It was strange we did not think more of Father, whom we loved dearly. But he was so far away and probably, we knew, now in the hands of the Russians, who had won the war. We prayed that somewhere he was safe.
Every day we rolled our blankets and, carrying our loads, walked the long distance back to the shipyard to ask if any Korean fishing boats had arrived, and if anyone had seen Hideyo. Over and over Mother described him. Week after week the ship that had brought us came back from Korea with another hundred refugees—but no Hideyo.
It was November. We had been at the refugee camp over a month and we were told that we must leave, to make room for newcomers.
“Please, another week!” Mother begged. “We are waiting for my son.” He might be dead by now, she was told. We were taking needed room.
“Let’s leave today,” said Ko. “I won’t stand such treatment.”
She went alone to the shipyard and left a message at the office to tell Hideyo we were going to Aomori at the northern tip of Honshu. The office gave her three train tickets.
I was surprised to see how much smaller Japanese trains were than the ones I was used to in Korea. We were able to get into third class, but it was packed with refugees and discharged soldiers. The aisles were filled with standees, and young men hung from the sides of the cars. On top of the train people clung together like grapes on the vine.
The train smelled of rotten fish. Ko whispered that many would get off as the train stopped at stations and we would find space to sit. She didn’t think she could stand all the way. But as for me, the thought of meeting my grandparents so excited me that I decided no matter how tired or hungry I became I would not complain.
Then, as the train jolted along, Mother announced that we would get off at Kyoto.
Ko and I cried together, “We’re not going to Grandmother’s?”
“I’ve thought about it over and over,” said Mother. “You must get back to school and Kyoto is the only town that escaped bombing.”
“No,” Ko protested, “let us go north with you. School can wait. We’ve only missed it for three months and a few more days won’t matter.”
But Mother shook her head. Kyoto was the place where she had received a cultural education when she was young. It had much to offer.
“Is there anyone there we know?” Ko asked. “Where can we stay?”
“We’ll find a place to stay. Your education comes first,” Mother told her. “As soon as I settle you girls I’ll go north and find out what has happened.”
“I don’t want to go to school,” I said. “I want to go with you.” Mother closed her eyes and did not answer.
Instead of many people getting off the train, more got on, and we were pushed and squeezed. Again and again my wounded chest was hurt, and I put my hand over the sore spot automatically to protect it. Ko leaned against the wooden panel of a toilet, Mother leaned on Ko, and I leaned on Mother.
Three days on the train. No food. My stomach ached with emptiness and thirst. There was not even space to take my rucksack from my back. I asked Mother to open the flap and find just anything. She handed me some orange peels, and though they were dry they had a sweet, tart taste. I chewed and chewed and swallowed. Mother and Ko did the same.
I thought my legs had turned to a pair of sticks and that I could not stand much more. So when the train pulled into the Kyoto station I moved with vast relief.
In the station we found a spot. Ko scouted and said there was a public well outside the buildings, and she stayed while Mother and I went for a drink. As I scooped water from the well pool, the western sky, fiery red, was reflected in the water. I suddenly thought of Hideyo. Would he ever find us? Or was he really dead? I began to cry.
Mother asked what was wrong. I did not want to mention Hideyo so I said, “I won’t like this city. I want to go with you!”
“You must learn to take likes and dislikes in this world,” Mother told me, drying my wet face. “I will be back and I promise never to leave you alone again.”
We used our usual techniques in the station, finding good spots, taking turns sleeping and watching our belongings. These were now our only possessions in the world.
Ko was at the well, washing and rinsing some clothes, when I woke the next morning. I stepped out of the station to join her and found heavy frost on the ground. I wet my inch-long hair, trying in vain to make it lie down.
“Look!” Ko cried. “A streetcar!”
I had never seen a streetcar, and I stood still in amazement. A few people got off or on the car and then it moved on, bells chiming. The people who had got off were walking briskly into the station. They wore beautiful clothes. They passed by us.
“Going to work, I suppose,” said Ko.
That was a different world. Here in the station there were refugees, beggars, wounded soldiers, pickpockets, orphans, and prostitutes, making this their home. A few feet away people in decent clothes were going peacefully to work, with homes to go back to.
Mother, wearing her national clothes, dusted off her shoes and went to the city hall to inquire about schools. She took the small pouch from her chemise pocket and gave Ko ten yen (about three cents). Three hundred and sixty yen were a dollar. She said that if we saw a man pushing a food cart to buy something to eat. She asked a policeman at the exit for directions and he pointed. She bowed slightly and went.
“Mother is getting terribly thin,” said Ko. “Let’s surprise her with lots of food.”
The Station Hotel stood about four blocks away, and, carrying our loads, we found an alley behind the building. There was cooked rice in the big garbage cans, half-eaten roasted fish, pickles, and seaweed. We packed our mess kits full and hurried back to the station. Mother came back, very tired. We found a bench and opened our kits.
“I have learned about good schools,” Mother said. “I’ll take you there tomorrow.”
“I have no clothes!” I protested. “And look at my shoe, ripped open. I don’t want to go to school!”
I was going to school, she told me, to learn and to become an educated person. I did not need to decorate myself.
Ko was busy the rest of t
he day. She aired the thin summer trousers and blouse I had worn when I left Nanam. She washed my head, and I tried again to flatten my hair, but it stood up as soon as it dried and I looked like a porcupine. Ko washed my back, reaching under my blouse, at the well. She told me to crawl under the bench and get some sleep, as my day would start early. I went to sleep wearing my overcoat and the soldier’s clothes and wrapped in my blanket, hoping tomorrow would never come and send me to school.
Mother woke me early, and Ko made me wash and put on my Nanam clothes. Mother did a strange thing. She emptied her big wrapping cloth and took the cloth with her to the toilet. Then she came back and told Ko to put back all the humble items. Ko wished me luck, and Mother and I headed for the streetcar stop.
Though I did not want to go to school, riding on the streetcar fascinated me. I watched the city scene from the window, and Mother pointed out ancient buildings and a castle and explained what they were. “You will like it here,” she assured me.
The two-story Sagano Girls’ School stood at the foot of Atago Mountain, surrounded by camellias and bamboo trees. We crossed the frosty ground. My heart beat loudly as I sat next to Mother in the principal’s office. My head was full of questions. Would they take me? Would the girls like me? Be nice to me? Through a glass door I could see well-dressed girls with bright bags, and then I looked down at my shabby trousers and shoes, the left one tied with a piece of the same rope Mother had used, so long ago, to tie my wrist.
The school clerk, also well-dressed, brought Mother a tea tray and bowed. As she left she glanced at my head and almost smiled. I knew I looked funny, and again I stroked my head to make that hair lie down, in vain.
“Good morning.” A man had come in. “I am Mr. Ishida, the principal.”
So Far from the Bamboo Grove Page 8