The Guest

by Hwang Sok-Yong

  Slow down, Big Sister, or you’ll get indigestion!

  Hong laughed out loud. Then, as her eyes met mine, she awkwardly held the half-eaten sweet potato out to me, still smiling broadly.

  Yosŏp, you should have some of this, too.

  It’s okay. I’m going home for lunch soon—we’re having rice.

  Then, feeling a bit guilty about my thoughtless reply, I added, We should move out of here tonight. I’ll bring you some rice too, later this evening.

  After they’d finished eating, the two girls cupped their hands and drank from the mountain stream. For the first time, they both looked comfortable and lighthearted. Kang brought out the black leather case that she had left lying under the trees. I was expecting it to be full of guns, or at least something in that general category. Instead, she opened the case in a way that looked as if she were splitting it in two and took out a violin—something I’d only seen in pictures until then.

  I had an accordion myself, but I lost it on the day I hurt my leg, Hong volunteered.

  Yes, but you still sing very well, Big Sister, Kang said, bracing the violin against her shoulder and pressing down on it with her chin.

  Are you Christian, Yosŏp?

  Yes. I’m going to go to a seminary when I get older. Do you go to church?

  I went to Bible school one summer—a long time ago.

  With that, Kang applied the bow to the strings and began to play. The first song she played was the hymn I’d sung as I climbed up the side of the ravine. Unlike my voice, which had only just begun to change and so was wrought with unexpected squeaks and cracks, the fragile sound of the violin, trembling as the notes went lower and lower, touched me deeply.

  Please, play something else. Just one more.

  Kang and Hong thought together for a moment. Kang spoke first.

  What about “Touch-me-nots”? That’s one of my favorites.

  Kang began to play, and Hong, her voice rather low and quite deep, sang.

  Inside the wall, touch-me-nots bloom.

  Standing there, so melancholy,

  Endlessly long, hot summer days,

  Always you bloomed so gorgeously,

  Beautiful maids, maids pure and true,

  Once smiled and played, welcoming you.

  The violin seemed to sob more than ever at the crescendo, and the song’s melody left me with a long, lingering aftertaste. My face burned, my throat soared, and, out of the blue, tears gushed out of my eyes. Sniffling, I wiped my face with my sleeve. Ah, suddenly, an entirely different world was opening before my eyes. Each of us must have been deep in our own thoughts; no one said a word. After a long silence, I asked them, What kind of soldier carries music instead of guns?

  Well, you see, we’re members of the Cultural Enrichment Corps. We go around from troop to troop and perform for them to cheer them up.

  It occurred to me that these girls probably hadn’t done a single thing to be ashamed of in this war. I was capable of making judgments, too, just like my big brother and his friends. I resolved then and there to protect those girls.

  As soon as it got dark that night, I crept out of the house with a blanket and a basket of cooked rice. I led the girls down the ravine, taking them across the fields and into the orchard. The place was packed with the gnarled, twisty branches of the naked apple trees. I had a specific spot in mind—we’d used the place to set up the headquarters of our gang when we were little kids. It was a mud cellar, about six feet deep and roofed with thatched straw, set into the sunny side of the small hill at the far end of the orchard.

  When we got there we lifted the straw cover aside and looked down inside. It was pitch black and impossible to see into, but a soft, warm earthy scent wafted up from inside. I took some matches out of my pocket and kindled a little resinous knot of wood from a pine tree, something we used a lot those days when candles were hard to come by. The whole cellar lit up. Tiny saplings, about as thick around as a finger, had been planted densely all over the room. In one corner there was a sprinkler, a small hoe, a shovel, and a bucket, all next to a stack of hay. I spread the blanket over the haystack. It looked spacious enough for two people to lie down. Sitting on the haystack, Kang Miae and Hong Chŏngsuk polished off the food—all I could find to bring them was some cold cooked rice and a bowl of kimchi. Reaching into their military jackets, they each took out a stumpy looking spoon, rubbed it a couple of times on their sleeves, and got down to business. They were the same kind of spoons we used in regular households, but their long handles had been cut in half to make them more portable.

  Picking up a bucket, I went out to get some water. I walked down to the entrance of the orchard, where the trail cutting through the fruit trees met with the main road leading into the village. There, left over from the Japanese occupation, stood a run-down clapboard warehouse used for storing fruit. There was a water pump in front of the warehouse. I pumped water out into the bucket, together with a racket of rusty, squeaky noises. On the way back, carrying the bucketful of water, my heart began to grow warm. I had taken a great fancy to Kang Miae, so small and slender, just like a little girl. I believe it began at first sight.

  I never went anywhere near the orchards during the day, only going to visit the girls at night. Each day it became harder to find food for them. Some days we had leftover rice, but often the only thing left after our meals were the newly washed dishes. Sometimes I’d go over to my brother’s house and search out some more sweet potatoes. Other days I’d be reduced to scooping up some fresh beans from the cellar. I’d been taking care of the girls for eight, nine days maybe—not quite ten. It was only the middle of November, but snowflakes had already started to fall from the sky and each day was much colder than the one before.

  Before I actually did . . . what I did, I went home about three or four times. Once, I know, I went by car because I was delivering some food. On my other visits, I probably just took a bicycle. I think it was during my second visit home, around dinnertime or so, as I sat, for the first time in a long while, for a meal that Mother had prepared. Not really thinking anything of it, I said, I don’t see Yosŏp anywhere.

  Ha! Tell me about it. Who knows what he’s up to—he goes out practically every night these days.

  This may be the boonies, but it’s still not a good idea to be roaming around after dark, especially not now.

  I think the boy’s just growing up. He puts away a couple of bowls of rice in no time at all, said Father.

  A couple? Ha! It’s a lot more than a couple! Yesterday he came back from one of his evenings out and practically inhaled all the leftovers in this house, said Mother.

  Even then, though, I didn’t think much of it. I headed back to our wing behind the main house to see my pregnant wife and my little daughters. I was on my way back out when I saw something dark lurking around the kitchen.

  Who’s there?

  It’s only me, Big Brother.

  It was Yosŏp. Remembering what our parents had said, I thought I’d give him a hard time.

  What the hell do you think you’re doing, wandering all over the place these days?

  Oh, well, my friends and I, we’ve set up this . . . clubhouse, and . . .

  A clubhouse? How old are you? You’re such a child! You’ve got no sense at all. Wandering around after dark these days is a good way to get yourself shot. There are no sides anymore—you got that?

  Yeah, I got it.

  Listen, Yosŏp, when I’m not around, you gotta take care of Mother and Father, especially now that your sister-in-law can’t do everything. Boys barely a couple years older than you are out there right now, fighting, shooting guns. At night, you stay put at home. Understand? Answer me!

  Yes. Yes, I will.

  Later that same afternoon, there was quite a scene up at the county hall. Ch’oe Pongsu, the leader of the Youth Corps, had called Sangho to his office and was screaming at him. When I walked in, Pongsu immediately started yelling at me as well.

  What in the hel
l is going on here? A member of the Youth Corps covering for a Red? Does that make any sense to you?

  Looking from Sangho, who sat there hanging his head, to Pongsu and back again, I asked, What the hell are you talking about?

  Oh, so, you didn’t know either? The leader in charge of the northeastern districts has been reported and arrested—he was harboring a female Party member!

  As we reached the one-month mark after taking control of the district, the level of official discipline began to crumble. They say it happened because our patriotism had been corrupted. Some of us began to extort property from the Party members, taking their lives as a kind of mortgage, and many of our men started taking advantage of the women. Rape cases became more and more frequent with each passing day, but we all just left each other alone, pretending nothing had happened. I turned to Pongsu.

  Commander, are they saying that he acted dishonorably, as well?

  I wouldn’t really say dishonorable . . . she’s a good looking one, a woman teacher, so I guess they probably fell for each other.

  A female teacher?

  Ah, what did they say her name was . . . I went down South in ’48, so I don’t know any of these new people.

  For the first time, Sangho spoke.

  You know her, too. Remember that teacher? Ms. Yun?

  Oh, oh yeah, she used to board with the family who ran that store.

  I see you comrades know her well. What’s this bitch about, eh?

  I’d only ever seen Ms. Yun from a distance, but you could definitely say that she had piqued my interest. Her hair was just long enough to put up in a ponytail and twist around to fall over one shoulder. She would wear a white chŏgori and a black velvet mongdang ch’ima that just covered her knees—very neat and gentle looking. I used to stop and gaze after her for quite a while whenever she happened to pass me on the street, inhaling her city fragrance. She must have used apricot-scented face cream; whenever she walked by I felt as if I were standing in the midst of an orchard.

  I know her well enough—we lived in the same village. I believe she’s from Haeju. From what I’ve heard, she’s quite a decent girl—

  Pongsu cut in.

  According to the report I received, she made a speech at a People’s Rally. Is that correct?

  Oh, yeah, that’s right. I remember she read something in the school playground, telling people to volunteer and join the army.

  Well, now that everybody knows about it, we can’t just let her go.

  What’s going to happen to the commander of the northeastern district? We will have to reinvestigate his dedication to our ideology.

  My memory fails me, but I’m pretty sure we never ended up killing him. After all, he was on our side. The commander was, however, under “ideological investigation” for some time, which means he was probably beaten to within an inch of his life by the boys who used to be under his command—it’s likely he ended up a cripple. I do know that the man was dismissed from all official posts. Who knows, maybe he took refuge in the South, going down with the mass retreat. Ms. Yun, on the other hand, was locked up in the storage room of the police station. Later she was transferred to a hot-spring resort run by the government. That was where I eventually helped her to rest for all eternity. It was better for her that way.

  Anyway, after hearing the news I went back home for the night. Yosŏp was nowhere to be found, and no one knew where he might have gone. He did, however, show up again around supper time, so our entire family—my parents, my own family, and Yosŏp—we all got a chance to sit down together for a change and enjoy a meal. I decided to leave Yosŏp alone for the time being. After supper, Father and I talked for a while about what was going on with the war, especially on the front lines. Pretty soon after that I retired to our wing. The sun had set but it wasn’t completely dark yet. Just having finished my business in the outhouse next to the fence, I was getting to my feet when I spotted someone walking across the cabbage fields. He was treading recklessly over the furrows, ignoring the tall, densely planted cabbages. He could have walked along the levee path, instead! I guess that’s just how your mind works when you’re a country boy at heart. I yelled at the top of my lungs, Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?

  The figure turned towards me, his voice dying away before it had even begun. It was Yosŏp. I walked out past the fence, shouting for him to come over to me. As I got closer, Yosŏp hurriedly hid something behind his back. Peering over his shoulder, I could see that it was some sort of bundle.

  Turn around. Let me see. What have you got there?

  I snatched up the bundle and opened it. Out came a gourd containing some cooked rice and a little china bowl filled with pickled radish and bean paste.

  What is going on here?

  I just brought it out to eat with my friends while we play.

  All of a sudden, I remembered all the things my parents had told me earlier, about how Yosŏp had been inhaling bowls of rice and running around the village after dark. Thinking of what had happened at the office that day, a horrifying possibility dawned on me.

  You little brat—tell me the truth! Where are you taking the food?

  Grabbing him by the collar, I shook him back and forth, demanding that he speak. With a surprising amount of sincerity, Little Brother started rubbing his hands together, pleading his case.

  Big Brother . . . this is a secret, just between us, okay? Promise you won’t tell.

  A secret? You little idiot! Do you have some sort of death wish? You want them to storm in here and kill our entire family? Who have you been hiding?

  Girls . . . from the People’s Army.

  Girls? How many?

  Two. They don’t even have any guns.

  Where are you hiding them?

  Hanging his head, Little Brother wouldn’t open his mouth. I knew very well that bullying him wouldn’t do any good at that point. I changed my tone of voice and asked him again, gently this time.

  Where are they? I won’t hurt them, I promise.

  He wiped his eyes with his sleeve—he must have been crying with his head bowed down. Getting impatient, I went on, imploring, You’re so dense! Don’t you see? If the neighbors find out, they’ll suspect us! How can I help the girls if I don’t know where they are?

  I could tell he was right on the verge of bursting into tears as he finally blurted, I hid them in a dugout in the orchard, the one right over the hill.

  I pushed him lightly on the back.

  Well, go on then.

  Wha-at?

  How can they eat if you don’t take them the food?

  Big Brother, you mean, really . . . ?

  And with that, I sent him on his way. I didn’t go back to the county hall that evening. Much later that night, I went into the main wing of the house and saw that all the lights were turned off—obviously, everyone was asleep. I went to the stepping stone beneath the wooden floor and checked to make sure Yosŏp’s sneakers were there nestled between the grown-ups’ komusin. They were. He was back. Sticking a U.S. Army issue flashlight into my cartridge belt, I checked the magazine of my revolver to make sure it had enough bullets, opened up the chamber to check that, and set the safety. I was about to leave the house when I changed my mind and turned around. I went into the storeroom next to the house and went through the various tools instead—sickles, hoes, shovels, and so on. I grabbed a pick.

  The little trail in the orchard was our playground when we were children. As we grew older, we would walk along it with the workmen, going out to help pick the apples. I knew every nook and cranny of that place. I approached the mud cellar without making a sound. Just as a precaution, I put down the pick, took the revolver in my hands, and released the safety pin. Holding the flashlight in one hand, I switched it on and shone it into the cellar. Startled by the sudden light, the two people who had been sleeping inside sat bolt upright, covering their faces with their hands. Aiming the gun at them, I spoke.

  Hands up. Come on out.

  Rustlin
g around, they got up and climbed out of the hut. They were children, no older than high school age. I’d dealt with countless stragglers in town, just like these, so I didn’t even bother asking for their ranks. I asked them the only thing that was important.

  Anybody else besides you two?

  No. Just us.

  Where’s your platoon?

  We were separated a fortnight ago.

  The smaller one had answered my questions, but the big one suddenly spoke up.

  Are you a soldier of the National Defense Army?

  That doesn’t concern you. Kneel down over there. Hands up on your head, that’s it.

  The small one was hanging onto some sort of black bag or something, which was starting to bother me. Yosŏp told me that they had no weapons, so I knew I’d be able to take care of them myself without any problems, as long as I was cautious.

  What is that? Toss it over here.

  It’s a musical instrument—a violin.

  Toss it, I say!

  The thing dropped to the ground at my feet with a resounding thud, flying open as if it’d been split in half. I picked it up.

  So it is. A fiddle.

  I’d seen peddlers in the marketplace playing “Yangsando”or “Hwangsŏng of Yesteryear,” so I knew a fiddle wasn’t anything special. I shook it a couple of times to make sure there wasn’t anything inside it and tossed it to the ground. Then I crushed it with my foot.

  In spite of myself, the shriek that burst from the lips of the little one startled me to the core.

  Quiet! Before I take care of you both with just one shot.

  Pulling them to their feet, I forced them to walk in front of me. With the revolver at my waist and the pick over my shoulder, I steered them down to the fruit storehouse, shining the flashlight to illuminate the path. I had them kneel on the slope with their backs to me. As I gripped the pick in my hands, the bigger girl, without looking back, said quietly, Let us sing.

  With that, she started singing some sort of military song. Without a word, I let fly at the bitch, striking her body over and over again with the pick. She fell straight forward and rolled down along the slope. Brandishing the pick, I turned and swung, aiming at the small one. I missed. I think I must have hit her in the shoulder. She bent in half, screaming, then twisted back around to look me in the face.