The Guest

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  It was only after evening had turned into night that the visitors finally excused themselves, leaving the family members to themselves at last. The house consisted of three rooms: two bedrooms with a living room in between, the way it used to be in the old days. The living room had a heated floor and doubled as both anteroom and guest room. Tanyŏl seemed to be quite satisfied with his present life as a supervisor at the farm, saying that the housing conditions were much better in the countryside than in the cities, and that food, at least, was plentiful. The main bedroom was offered to Yosŏp, he being the honored guest, but Yosŏp categorically refused and insisted on sleeping in the living room. He and his sister-in-law settled down, readying themselves to try catching up on all the impossibly overdue news and stories. As the night deepened the rain shower turned into a veritable downpour, and Yosŏp could hear the water running down through the gutters along the eaves. Someone must have put a bucket underneath the spout; the water made quite a racket as it gushed into the overflowing container.

  “I hear their father passed away.”

  Not without difficulty, Yosŏp’s sister-in-law finally opened her mouth after the rest of the family had retired for the night. He could sense that she wanted to ask more about her husband. It seemed that Tanyŏl, who’d returned two days earlier from their first meeting in Pyongyang, had already told his mother what little he knew.

  “That’s right. He passed away quite suddenly, three days before I left America to come here.”

  “Was he sick?”

  “No, not really. He was pretty healthy. He passed away in his sleep. The church took care of his funeral. Ah, yes—please, don’t be upset by this, but Big Brother remarried after we went down South, after he’d spent a great deal of time alone. She was gentle, and she had a good heart—the match was made by our fellow churchgoers. Big Brother had two sons, Samyŏl and Pillip, from that marriage.”

  “I see. So that man lived to die a natural death. If he’d only taken us with him—then, at least, I could have tried to forget. I spent ten years of my life living as a sinner, back in Ch’ansaemgol.”

  “Sister-in-law, come, let us leave that in the past.”

  “Do you have any idea how many people Ryu Yohan killed? Just the ones I know of—and you can be sure that wasn’t all—number no less than ten in our village alone.”

  Yosŏp remained silent for a moment before he opened his mouth again.

  “I remember.”

  “What happened to Father-in-law and Mother-in-law?”

  “Father did very well down South. His business was a success, and he even built a church before he passed away. Mother passed away a year before Big Brother immigrated to the States, so we buried her with Father.”

  “They tell me you’ve become a minister?”

  “Yes, I have a parish in America.”

  His sister-in-law bowed her head for a moment. Then, in a small voice she said, “Would you say a prayer and read from the Bible for me?”

  “Even now . . . you still believe in God?”

  She glanced quickly in the direction of the bedroom. Her voice hushed, she replied, “There are times when I still pray . . . once in a while, when I think of my father.”

  “What kind of . . . what do you say . . . in your prayers?”

  Shifting to correct her posture, she smoothed her white hair neatly back with both hands and said, very calmly, “I’ve thought about it all my life. I mean, why is it that men hate each other so much when everything in this world has been created to make us better? Even the Japanese couldn’t have had so much hate. I was left here, alone, as a sinner. . . . I lost all my daughters because I couldn’t feed them properly, and trying to go on with that one over there, the only one I have left, well, I couldn’t help but think . . . God, too, has sinned.”

  It suddenly occurred to Yosŏp that his brother’s hatred had stayed with him until the day he died. The thought made his heart pound. Was it fear that had kept Big Brother’s hatred alive? Was it terror that the people who’d been tortured, punished horribly like the victims of the inquisitors back in the churches of the Middle Ages—terror that they might come back to life? Having spat out the most blasphemous words possible for a Christian to say, Yosŏp’s sister-in-law sighed heavily.

  “God, too, has sinned,that’s what I used to think. He looked down on this blazing hell, and he remained silent. Lately, though, I’ve started thinking about it differently. It’s been a long time since I last read the Bible—I’ve forgotten almost all of it. But Job, Job I remember. My father used to tell me all the Bible stories when I was a small child, as if they were fairy tales. God and the devil had a bet, I remember, to see if Job could hang on to his faith. There comes a time, too, after he becomes a leper, when even Job feels bitter against God. They say suffering is something that man is born with. The people your brother killed—well, they all had souls. They weren’t Satan. Ryu Yohan wasn’t Satan, either. His faith was twisted, that’s all. I know now. I know that God is innocent.”

  “Sister-in-law, what is it that you want from me?”

  “I want nothing. Peace on earth, glory in heaven—that’s what’s on my mind. Even if the world is filled with sin, we human beings should just try to get rid of it a little at a time as we live our lives.”

  “Sister-in-law, let me say a prayer.”

  At his words, Yosŏp saw her slowly clasp her hands together and lower her head. Doing the same, he drew a deep breath and began.

  “Our Father in Heaven, I have returned to my home. Father and Mother and Big Brother Yohan, one by one, have left me—they have gone on to the next world. Though our family left this place together, I have returned alone. Here is my sister-in-law, Thy faithful daughter. Daniel, who was named after one chosen by God, is here also, living with his own family. Those of us who left this place lived our lives without hope, believing that those we left behind had all passed away, and yet here they are, alive and well. I have seen with my own eyes that this land, too, is still a home for souls Thou hast not forsaken—I know this now. Please, Lord, help us to not resent the suffering we caused each other in days long past. Help us to forgive one another. Accept my sister-in-law’s faith, faith as precious and as fragile as a flower bud in midwinter. Help it to grow. Forgive my family for all their sins. Though I, too, am a great sinner with no redeeming qualities, I pray. In the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  As Yosŏp finished his prayer, he just barely heard a faint amen come from his sister-in-law, her head still hanging low. Yosŏp reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out his Bible, turning to the page he had in mind. It was the beginning of the confrontation between God and Satan over Job.

  Then Satan answered the LORD, “Does Job fear God for nothing? Have you not put a fence around him and his house and all that he has on every side? You have blessed the work of his hands, and his possessions have increased in the land. But stretch out your hand now and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face.” The LORD said to Satan, “Very well, all that he has is in your power; only do not stretch out your hand against him!”

  Yosŏp skipped ahead to the scene where Job, after he has lost everything, protests against his fate:He has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes. I cry to you and you do not answer me; I stand, and you merely look at me. You have turned cruel to me; with the might of your hand you persecute me. You lift me on the wind, you make me ride on it, and you toss me about in the roar of the storm. I know that you will bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.

  Yosŏp closed the Bible and turned to his sister-in-law.

  “Here we are shown that God keeps a different godlike being near him, a being that acts as an enemy to human beings. God is presented with the temptation to make a wager by this enemy. This shows us that God, though he is omniscient and omnipotent, can also possess inner conflict. This is not a blasphemy—it simply means that the recognition of God as the perfect being th
at he is can only come to us when, and only when, a human being’s belief in him is absolute. In this mire of sin, a human being is born anew only when he truly repents before God, the perfect being.”

  Yosŏp finished his brief sermon. The faintest of smiles hovered around his sister-in-law’s face as she whispered to herself, “I knew it all along. . . .”

  She addressed him once more.

  “Both the oppressors and the oppressed have suffered because of the test. Brother-in-law, do you know why I couldn’t go on believing in the same way I used to?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Well, what that thing, that so-called husband—what he left behind was not his family.”

  “What was it, then? What did he leave behind?”

  “Guilt. What else? It was because of guilt that I couldn’t bring my faith back to life.”

  Only then did Yosŏp remember the pouch in his pocket. He brought it out, just as he had done with Tanyŏl. Untying the string, he took out the tiny bone.

  “This is Brother Yohan. After he was cremated, I kept this to bring here with me.”

  He held out the little sliver of bone to his sister-in-law. She stared at it for a moment before reaching for it, picking it up with her thumb and forefinger. The tips of her fingers trembled slightly. She examined it closely, holding it right up to her eyes, then suddenly clutched it with both hands and hung down her head—unlike his nephew, however, she didn’t cry.

  “Why did you bring this here?”

  “It just happened that way.”

  Yosŏp decided not to tell her about seeing his brother’s phantom. Instead, he said, “I may pass through Ch’ansaem tomorrow. I’m thinking about burying it there.”

  His sister-in-law was still holding the bone in her hands.

  “Who asked him to come back like this, in this awful form?”

  At the end of a long silence, she handed the thing back to Yosŏp. He took it quietly, putting it back in the pouch and fastening the string tightly. His sister-in-law said, “At least he’s back, thanks to you, even if it is like this. Now that that spirit full of sin has come home, the souls who have been waiting to greet him will cleanse him. Uncle Sunnam, Uncle Ichiro, Pak Myŏngsŏn’s sisters Chinsŏn, Yŏngsŏn, Insŏn, and Tŏksŏn, Uncle Chungson’s wife, the lady teacher at the elementary school, and well, the people from those things they did in that warehouse—”

  To stop the flow of words spilling out from his sister-in-law, Reverend Ryu raised his voice.

  “Enough!”

  For a long moment, the two sat together in silence. Unable to get up and leave without seeming awkward and abrupt, Yosŏp remained seated, listening to the pattering of the incessant rain. At length, his sister-in-law whispered, “There’s no God of Israel, no God of Chosŏn. God . . . God is simply God.”

  She looked at Yosŏp.

  “You’re a minister, so you should know . . . do you think I, too, can go to heaven?” she asked.

  Yosŏp answered, “Observe the law of the nation. And pray, even if it’s all by yourself.”

  7

  The Birth of a New Life

  WHO LIVES IN THIS WORLD?

  IN THE MIDST OF A DARKNESS that could have belonged either to the depths of night or the morning hours just before dawn, Yosŏp felt sleep slowly falling away—a vague, faraway sound reached his ears. It was still raining; he could hear the water as it fell endlessly from the rainspout.

  Hey, hey, wake up.

  With a start, Yosŏp looked around. Where am I? Ah, right. This is Daniel’s house. His family must be asleep now in their bedroom, and Sister-in-law is probably sound asleep in the next room. I see it’s still raining.

  Yosŏp. Wake up, I say.

  The sound was coming from the head of his bed. Slowly he sat up and looked behind him. Big Brother Yohan’s phantom had come to call yet again.

  Big Brother . . . you’re back again. How long do you mean to follow me around?

  Until you let me go.

  Where’s Uncle Sunnam gone? Has he left you to yourself?

  They’ll all find their way back eventually.

  So. What brings you here today?

  Listen, you have to bury me in Ch’ansaemgol.

  Then you’ll leave—without any lingering regrets?

  Yes, I’ll follow my friends, go wherever it is they’ve gone. I’m so relieved to see that Daniel is here.

  Daniel hates you, Brother.

  That can’t be helped. Everybody here hates me. But you know, it’s a brand-new world for those who’ve been reborn.

  Well, the thing that inspires all the hate shouldn’t follow them into that new world, should it? You need to cleanse yourself and leave.

  I told you, that’s why my friends are waiting to take me with them.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, the phantom disappeared. Yosŏp lay down again to the endless sound of rain.

  The rain stopped the next morning, but the sky remained murky. Everyone was up early, making a fuss over setting the breakfast table just as they had over dinner the night before. Yosŏp saw his sister-in-law open the side gate along the hedge fence and walk into the front yard. She held a hoe and a bunch of flowers in one hand. From the doorway of the living room where he’d been sitting, Yosŏp called out to her.

  “Where did you go so early in the morning?”

  “To pick some flowers . . . no flowers in the neighborhood. I’ve been all the way to that hill over there.”

  “What kind of flowers are they?”

  “Ah, this, these are . . . what-do-you-call-them . . . Siberian chrysanthemums.”

  She held up the bundle, revealing a cluster of yellow pistils nestled inside the white petals, and came up into the room. Using a pair of scissors, she trimmed the stems evenly. Then she walked over to the kitchen and said to her daughter-in-law, “What, don’t we have a bottle or something? Fill one with water for me.”

  Tanyŏl’s wife handed her a soda bottle filled with water, and the old lady put one stem at a time, each at a different height, into the mouth of the bottle. When she was through, she sat back and gazed at her handiwork. Walking into the main bedroom, she called out to Yosŏp.

  “Come in here.”

  Yosŏp entered the room and was slightly taken aback. The dining table had been pushed up against the wardrobe, and although the rice and soup and other side dishes weren’t arranged in any ceremonial fashion, they were obviously set for a purpose other than that of a regular family meal. Yosŏp’s sister-in-law placed the flower bottle carefully at the head of the table. Bewildered, Yosŏp asked her, “What’s all this?”

  “I know it’s not the old way, but these days this is how people around here make do.”

  “But who is this chesa35 for?”

  “Who else? Who but that poor ghost? It’s for the man who died so far from home.”

  While they were talking, Tanyŏl, his wife, and their children had entered the room, all washed up and dressed neatly. Yosŏp had performed memorial services often enough, but this was his first time at a traditional chesa for one’s ancestors, especially in a Christian household. He just sat there with his mouth shut, feeling awkward. His sister-in-law looked at her son.

  “What are you gawking at? Come on now, bow,” she chided.

  At a silent sign from Tanyŏl, the family of four got to their feet and lined up, single file. They bowed towards the head of the table, one half bow followed by two full bows. Then, like well-behaved children, they all sat down quietly along the wall. They sat like that for a long while, silent, their heads lowered. Again, it was his sister-in-law who broke the silence.

  “Go ahead and pray,” she blurted out. “You, Brother-in-law, you don’t live here—you’re not from here, so it shouldn’t matter if you pray.”

  “Mother . . .” Tanyŏl began, raising his voice, but his mother stopped him.

  “I say it shouldn’t matter. Besides, a ghost won’t understand if you don’t speak his language, no?”

  “Wh
at’s all this talk about ghosts in front of the children?”

  Turning to her grumbling son, the mother spoke freely.

  “They live inside you, inside me—they’re everywhere. Come, say your prayer.”

  Yosŏp hesitated for a moment but ultimately reached into his inner pocket for his Bible.

  “This is a book, so . . . instead of saying a prayer I’ll just read a passage from the Bible.”

  As he began to thumb through it, a random passage caught his eye.

  “What have you done? Listen; your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground! And now you are cursed from the ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you till the ground, it will no longer yield to you its strength; you will be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth.”

  Cain said to the LORD, “My punishment is more than I can bear.”

  Yosŏp flipped to a different page and continued to read out loud.

  While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”

  Yosŏp closed the Bible and returned it to his pocket. No one spoke until his sister-in-law said to her daughter-in-law, “Now, now, hurry up and bring in the breakfast. The children will be late for school.”

  They brought in the rice and soup, and everyone ate in silence. As soon as the children had said their good-byes and left, Yosŏp’s sister-in-law asked him to come to her room. Once there, she took out a small bundle from her chest of drawers and pushed it towards him, saying, “Take it with you.”

  “What . . . is it?”