The Guest

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  When did this happen?

  We just barely made it out of there!

  Are you the only survivors?

  No way to know—we just scattered in every direction.

  Sinch’ŏn must rise up—we can’t just take this sitting

  down!

  We’re running out of time.

  Sangho raises his voice, calling for everyone’s attention, All right, all right. Let’s put our heads together. If we don’t act right away, Sinch’ŏn, too, will end up a whirlpool of blood. We have to secure public order before the Crusaders arrive. Anyone who wants to survive must fight.

  We must rise at once! Tomorrow!

  We have to take over the town first.

  Once we’ve taken over, we need to eliminate anyone who shows the least sign of resistance.

  Now, now, we just have to hold out for a couple more days. The Reds are retreating even now, and they’re undermanned.

  As soon as the sun sets tomorrow, we need to assemble our forces, one group in Namsan and another here in Hwasan, and mount a surprise attack.

  It is agreed that they will take action the next night. They decide which buildings should be occupied. The first target is the police station, where they will be able to secure some more weapons. Next, they decide to organize a squad to take over the county hall, the office of the Democratic Youth League and Women’s League, and the office of the Department of Defense. They plan to take over the entire town first and arrest any Reds, along with their families, that live in or near town—all before dawn. It is the only way to ensure their own safety. Yohan makes a suggestion.

  When dawn breaks, we must be prepared to give our lives to God. We may have to make do without a hymn, but we must have a prayer. Now, let us pray.

  They all lower their heads. Yohan begins his prayer in a low voice.

  Our Father in Heaven, we have guarded our faith under the oppression of the Communists, the enemy of the Holy Ghost. Thou hast told us to wear the armor of God, to become strong so that we can fight against the scheming designs of the devil. Thou hast shown us that the battle we wage is not a battle of flesh and blood but a battle for sacred service and divine power, a battle against the rulers of the dark world, against Satan, that evil spirit. The only way we will win this war is to rely upon the power of God and to prepare ourselves with the weapons of God. The Crusaders of freedom are just around the corner, coming to liberate our brothers in faith, but the army of Satan continues to threaten us. Let Michael, the Archangel, come among us and grant us the wisdom and courage that was once bestowed upon Joshua and David.

  The prayer complete, they all raise their heads. Each young man, like one enveloped by the flames of the Holy Ghost, burns with hatred and abhorrence—for Satan himself.

  The next day, we all went down into our respective villages and gathered up our peers, other men who’d been lying low. Then we heard that some of the men from the meeting we held the night before, the ones whose beliefs were well known in their villages, had been arrested by armed police officers and members of the Democratic Youth League later that same night. I was waiting at the funeral house, in hiding once more, when my brother Yosŏp came to tell me that Father, too, had taken refuge. I asked him where, and he said that he was in the same place I’d hidden before, under the wooden floor of our outer wing. I was relieved—I’d hidden there safely for three months. Yosŏp told me that Pak Illang had brought a bunch of men and combed through our house. Sangho joined us later on. He said that his father, Presbyter Cho, had been taken prisoner and that we needed to go rescue him immediately. We divided the party into detachments, joining forces with young men from all the villages in the area—Ch’ansaem, Palsan, Yongdaengi, Onjŏng, and Sansuri. We moved out towards Hwasan, avoiding the main roads by taking the paths that cut between the rice paddies and dry fields. There were quite a number of us, from all the neighborhoods around town except for Kyot’amni.

  It wasn’t until ten o’clock that we all managed to regroup in Hwasan. Christians from the lower township were in charge of the gathering in Namsan, and we heard quite a few had come together there as well. Initially, we numbered about three or four hundred total. Among those of us waiting in Hwasan were some who had fought in Chaeryŏng, so we had about sixty people with arms. All through the night more young men kept on coming to join us, and so our numbers kept increasing. Silently, we moved down into town. The men with firearms went first; those who had nothing but cudgels and farming equipment fell behind. We knew there wouldn’t be many people at the police station or the county hall, so we weren’t too scared. The two buildings faced each other, so we divided the party and attacked both simultaneously. By the time we got to the center of town, the Namsan group was coming in, too. The men guarding the police station couldn’t put up much of a fight against a force our size. We passed through the front gates with no trouble at all and gunned down the man who’d been standing guard, running straight on into the building. We opened every door and shot anyone we found on the other side. Within ten minutes, we had the entire two-story police station under our control. After a few shots over at the county hall, it quieted down there, too.

  We sent an armed party to the office of the Department of Political Defense and inspected the armory in the police station. Those of us who’d had nothing but clubs and scythes now had real weapons. That’s when the group that was supposed to handle the Department of Political Defense sent for us—they needed us to hurry over there. Sangho and I rushed over to find them holding two prisoners. There had been six at first, but four had resisted during the attack, and were shot. The enemy had been interrogating the believers they had taken into custody. As soon as they received news about the uprising in Chaeryŏng, they’d started executing the prisoners. If only we had put our plan into action a day earlier, those men might have lived. We found about thirty bodies in a well in the backyard. The body of Sangho’s father was there, too. It looked like the enemy had driven the prisoners into a well and thrown a hand grenade in after them. The division of the People’s Army that had been in Chaeryŏng had already moved north, in the direction of Hwangju and Sariwŏn. The enemy we came across that day had been left behind—they were cut off from their army, completely isolated. They had taken care of the rebels, as they called us, but they hadn’t had time to evacuate yet. After questioning the prisoners, we sensed that they had been planning to leave the next day.

  We posted a crack team of armed men at each key point and set out to capture the Reds we knew best. If you were unable to find the one you’d been assigned, you were supposed to bring in their family members instead. We knew what had happened in Chaeryŏng, so we ordered the men not to kill individual prisoners—we wanted them as hostages. Sangho was grinding his teeth in rage, but he instantly understood the intentions of us commanding officers. We arrested practically everyone who lived in town, taking entire families into custody. We crammed them into the warehouse at the police station and into the second floor of the county hall. Morning arrived. Dividing our forces into smaller units, we began moving out into all the different townships. If we were going to succeed in annihilating the enemy, we had to take care of them separately—we couldn’t give them the chance to join forces.

  I probably woke up around six o’clock that morning, as usual. Hearing a shot ring out in the distance, I jumped up and went out into the yard. I could just make out a group of sturdy young men flocking in through the alleyway. Back then nobody really had much of a front gate—just a fence surrounding the house with wooden poles marking the entrance. Half a dozen men entered my yard without betraying the slightest trace of hesitation. I could see that one of them was a young fellow I knew well from church.

  What on earth do you think you’re doing? And at this hour?

  In response to my surprise, the young man pointed straight at me.

  Arrest that heretic son of a bitch!

  All the young men had their guns trained on me. A couple of them pounced on me, beating me w
ith the butts of their rifles. One of them struck me on the head and I saw stars—all the strength drained out of my body. Another smashed into my back, and I fell flat to the ground. Using an electrical cord, they tied my hands behind my back. I came to my senses as I was stumbling along, and I turned to the young man I’d recognized.

  What have I done to justify this kind of treatment?

  You accepted a post as a committee member of the Christian League. For that, you deserve to die ten times over.

  And that was how I ended up being dragged all the way to the county hall downtown. I was one of the luckier ones, though. If you were arrested someplace far away or if you fell into the hands of someone who’d been holding a grudge against you, well, then you were just shot on the spot. The atrocities those young men, thronging about in tens and twenties, committed in their own neighborhoods and in town—they were . . . beyond words. When they brought me to the county hall I just sat there at first, kneeling on the floor. The place was teeming with armed youngsters—they kept coming in and out, in and out, and if your eyes happened to meet theirs, they’d jump on you and kick you senseless, beating you with their guns. I watched a member of the Women’s League bleed to death on the concrete floor after one of them stamped her head into the ground.

  Hey, you! Get over here!

  A young man had approached us, but I couldn’t tell who he was talking to.

  I’m talking to you, you son of a bitch! he screamed, pointing right at me.

  I staggered to my feet, my hands still bound behind me, and walked towards him.

  Get in front!

  He pushed me into a room. Inside were two men. One was standing by the window with his back turned. The other was sitting at a desk. It was Cho Sangho.

  Well, untie the man’s hands.

  The young one who’d brought me obediently complied, untying my hands.

  You may go now.

  When the young man left, the man who’d been standing by the window turned around and came forward—it was my nephew, Yohan.

  Uncle, what’s happened to you? Sit down, sit down.

  I wasn’t myself at all. Still rather uncertain, I sat down and dropped my head—I must have looked frightful—I had dried blood all over my mouth and chin, and a clot of blood covered a tear in my scalp. My nephew handed me a bag of Sŭngri40 Biscuits—that was my meal. Cho Sangho sat there and watched as Yohan wiped the blood off my face with a handkerchief, but he didn’t say much. I asked for a glass of water and I finally started to come to my senses after I managed to take a couple of sips.

  What’s all this about?

  Yohan raised his hand, gesturing as if to physically shut me up. The Reds, they killed his father. Shoved him in the well.

  Enough, said Sangho. He turned to me.

  I understand how it was that you became a committee member of the Christian League. You saved my life that day, sir, and today I will save yours.

  That’s how I survived. Thanks to Sangho and Yohan. They told me not to go back home. Yohan took me back to the county hall.

  The worst will be over in the next three days, he said. Just stay put right here until we’re done cleaning up the Reds. We can’t say for sure who’ll be making raids on your village.

  What he had me do was cook meals with the womenfolk. So many people were brought in as prisoners over those three days. Whole families—women, elders, children—even newborn babies were being arrested. There was an underground air-raid shelter that’d been built during the Japanese occupation, and as soon as the war broke out, they’d dug a deep trench all around the building. As far as I could tell, the important Party members were all shoved into the air-raid shelter. All their families, women or men, young or old, were forced in there, too. All the younger men and women, the ones who’d been in the Democratic Youth League or the Women’s League—they were taken to the police station and locked in the storage room. Families of soldiers and just plain farmers who’d happened to join the Party, they were all told to get into the trench in front of the Party building and stay there.

  The men who were set to stand watch outside town caught some soldiers from the People’s Army—stragglers, I guess—and brought them in. All they did with those men was ask their rank, regiment, and destination. Then they dragged them into the backyard of the police station.

  There’s something I have to mention here. When the sun set that evening, the sky was full of red dragonflies. I know you’ve heard it said that the sun is perfect at that time of year for laying the rice out to dry—well, we were well into autumn by then and the skies were crimson, ablaze with the setting sun. I think it was the day before the occupation forces were expected to enter. The public square where the police station and the county hall stood side by side is still wide, even today—the security forces, except for those who were left at the headquarters, had all gone out to guard the outskirts of town, and the rest of the boys had split up to roam around and find the Reds who were still hiding—so the streets were all empty. There were only four or five men standing guard at the air-raid shelter and the trench. Suddenly a group of Yohan’s men showed up with two soldiers of the People’s Army in their custody, still wearing their yellowish uniforms. The young man walking in front had one end of a wire in his hands. The other end of the wire had been pierced through the nose of one of the People’s Army soldiers. The front of the soldier’s jacket was soaked with the blood that ran down his face. I don’t know if one of the guns was his, but the guy in front was carrying two. Behind them came the second People’s Army soldier, who turned out to be a short-haired young woman. Who knows what happened to her military cap. She was being led by a wire that bound her hands together—the other end of that wire was tied to the waist of the first prisoner. She still had her uniform but she was barefoot. Four more of Yohan’s men followed behind her.

  They say they’re brother and sister.

  I could hear the guy who held the wire in his hands, speaking loudly to the guard in front of the county hall.

  How many have we brought in today? This is already the fifteenth or sixteenth, isn’t it?

  Have they brought many in from other places, too?

  Hey, why didn’t you just take their guns and waste them on the spot? Why bother dragging them all the way back here?

  They all went into the building. Quite a while later, the piercing screams of a young girl reverberated through the hall. It was getting quite dark by that point, and, well, they’d stripped those kids naked and dragged them back outside. They took them to the backyard of the police station. The short-haired girl had a small rear, and her legs resembled those of a sparrow. Wailing, she trailed after her big brother, her arms wrapped around her chest and her head hanging low. They disappeared around the fence, and I heard a couple of shots ring out. I came close to forsaking my God. Oh, but that wasn’t hell, not even close. It was the following night that would shake my faith to its very core—and continue to do so for fifty long years.

  Ch’ansaemgol comes into view. The new highway leading into town passes below the mountain and, on either side of the road, the hillocks have been cultivated into orchards. In the orchard, small trees with neatly trimmed branches are heavy-laden with apples right on the verge of turning a perfect crimson. Nestled against the foot of a hill to its north, the village faces south. Near the lower road, pine trees and zelkova trees set off the red zinc roof of the Kwangmyŏng Church. The cross in the bell tower is clearly visible.

  A group of about ten young men come marching from the direction of the town. They leave two people at the entrance to the village, and some others climb up the ridge of the hill that rises up behind the village. They are on the lookout for anyone trying to leave. The remaining handful start searching the houses.

  Right around the time Uncle was first brought in from Some, I set out to Ch’ansaem with a group of my men. I was in charge of the neighborhoods in Ch’ansaem and Palsan. As you can imagine, the ones I wanted to get my hands on most were Illang a
nd Uncle Sunnam. The people who lived on the outskirts of town still had no clue about what had happened the night before, but if we were going to clear the area there was no time to lose. We wanted to try and capture the two men themselves, but if they were already gone we decided we’d bring in their families instead. We weren’t going to let the same thing that happened in Chaeryŏng happen to us. We would either gain supremacy over the town from the very beginning or take the families as hostages so that the Reds wouldn’t ever get the chance to really rally their forces.

  I took the lead when we entered Illang’s house. We’ve talked before about how Illang used to live alone in the village sarang, and for quite a while, too. After the land reform, though, when he became the chairman of our little People’s Committee, he got himself a plot of land and built a house. He built it, actually, on the same spot the sarang had once been. The original structure had been nothing more than a thatched hut with one bedroom, almost like a shed, but Ichiro had his new house built with walls of cement brick; he even put up a decent slate roof. It was a two-bedroom house with a spacious office on one side. Without a word, I walked up onto the wooden floor ahead of the others. I could see that three large bundles had been packed—they were planning to flee at daybreak. It was still in the wee hours of the morning when I burst through the sliding doors. The whole family was asleep, lying side by side.

  Wake up, you son of a bitch, I growled, my voice low.

  I poked Illang’s face with the tip of my gun. Illang looked up at me, his brows knitting up for a second, then sat bolt upright. His wife woke up, too. He’d married late in life, but his wife was still young. I knew her face. She used to work at the hot springs, doing laundry. They had a girl who was about three years old and a newborn baby.

  Drag them out!

  At my command, my men rushed into the room and hauled them all out into the yard. Illang’s wife started to cry, and the children sat up screeching as if they’d been stung by bees.