Lee felt his thighs cramping, but he pushed on. He desperately wanted to be back in Seoul. In a strange way, the darkened village represented those glittering lights in his mind. He wondered if he’d ever see those bright lights again.
“I’ll take you to Seoul one day and show you where I was raised. The air is not as crisp. The city is dirty, and the noise can be overwhelming, but for me, it’s home.
“Oh, the lights. You’ll love the lights. Everyone does, the first time they see them. Sure, you’ve got the beauty of the stars out here in the country, but our neon constellations are a sight to behold; a galaxy of man-made stars. They’re like rainbows, dazzling the eye.”
In his delirious state, he imagined a conversation with her. He felt as though he were replying to her as she questioned if anything could be as beautiful as the North Korean sky on a clear night or a field of wildflowers in the spring.
“Flowers?” he mumbled. “Flowers may look pretty for a day, but their beauty fades. City lights have no season. And the surge of the people. Ha, you’ll probably find it all a bit too much at first, but I love the bustle, I love the noise, the sense of purpose everyone has, whether they’re going to or from work, heading out to the mall or off to the theatre. There’s a symphony of humanity. Seoul never sleeps.”
Thin strands of light broke through from the shutters of the huts in the village.
A dog barked, but no one seemed to care.
Oxen stood in the fields, silently enduring the drizzling rain.
Lee fought to change his hold on Sun-Hee, wanting to give his arms some relief. She was completely limp. Her arm swung down as he shifted his hands and he almost dropped her as her weight shifted. Clutching at her frail body, he pushed on.
The diesel tank was easy to spot as it was mounted on a raised platform visible above the rooftops. The village must have used gravity feed instead of a pump when refueling tractors and fishing boats. The tank was next to the pier and he saw that boats could be refueled with ease. Yet the fishing boats at rest by the dock all had masts with wrapped sails tightly bound against the storm. Lee wondered if the tank had held any diesel in years.
Flecks of paint peeled off the aging tank. Spots of rust marred its legs. Steel rungs ran up one of the legs to a hatch on top. A wooden hut sagged beside the tank, its roof bowed with age. Smoke rose from the chimney. Light glinted out around the cabin’s window shutters.
Stumbling, Lee stepped up onto the porch of the hut. The wind blew the rain into his back. There was no handle on the door, no lock, just a rough wooden bolt set into the vertical wooden planks. Lifting the bolt and shifting it to one side would be easy. From there, the wind would probably blow the door open, but then reality struck him.
Up until this point, no one knew he was this far north. All the searches he’d seen by North Korean troops had been to the south. He was about to expose himself to the villagers, and that thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, sobering him.
This was one of the amateur mistakes they talked about in his evade and escape training: never trust the locals, their loyalty will always be with the defenders. He was risking detection by walking through the village, as any boot prints not washed away by the rain would reveal the presence of a stranger.
He should leave her.
Perhaps, he thought, he could lie her on the porch, knock on the door and run. No, just put her down and run. He needed to get out of the village before being spotted. Someone would find her in the morning. Would she last till morning?
Lee wondered what the grandfather would do. Would he betray him to the authorities? Perhaps he would help him? It was wishful thinking, but Lee wasn’t thinking straight. He was tired, hungry. Would the old man turn a blind eye? Lee needed food. He needed shelter. He needed to rest. Stealing a boat sounded like a good idea until he was down beside the dock, looking at the fishing boats with their rigging and their old-fashioned sails. Could he sail single-handed? What if they removed the rudder or locked the wheel at the helm overnight? Lee felt his mind struggling with the unknowns. What had seemed like a clear idea on the ridge, now felt like a disaster.
Standing there, he couldn’t think clearly. He was bitterly cold. His body ached. He could smell the distinct aroma of a stew wafting through the air. Temptation was the enemy.
There were voices inside the hut. Compassion must prevail, he thought. He’d saved Sun-Hee’s life. That had to count.
Lee fumbled with the wooden bolt, reaching blindly for it as he held Sun-Hee in his arms.
The door swung open and he was met with a rush of warm air. The dim glow of a fire flickered within the cabin. Lee staggered in, unsure what to say. An old man sat at one end of a rough hewn wooden table next to a young man facing the door. A gas lantern rested on the table, casting long shadows around the hut. A series of bunks had been built onto one wall, maximizing the space in the one room hut. Ragged curtains hung to one side, sectioning off part of the cabin.
At first, Lee didn’t realize that the young man sitting next to Sun-Hee’s grandfather was dressed in a uniform, but his eyes picked out the old bolt action rifle leaning against the wall by the rear door, barely a couple of feet from the soldier.
Silence descended on the hut.
The drab olive green lapels, red shoulder boards made from coarse wool, and polished brass buttons looked out of place inside the rundown cottage.
Lee froze.
He locked eyes with the young soldier, not sure what would happen next. He stood there with Sun-Hee in his arms. Water dripped onto the floor. The old man pushed away from the table and the legs of his chair scraped on the rough wooden floor.
“Sunny,” the aging man said softly, using a term of endearment for his granddaughter, or perhaps it was that Lee mistook his accent and this was how he pronounced Sun-Hee.
The grandfather hobbled to the door, his frame bent from arthritis. Although he was balding, with thin wisps of grey hair clinging to the side of his head, his eyebrows were dark and bushy. The leathery skin on his arms and hands looked cracked and worn. He reached out for Sun-Hee, saying, “My poor Sunny. What happened to you?”
Lee stepped forward, turning toward the bunks. He tried to crouch, but fell awkwardly to one knee as he placed her on the lumpy cotton mattress. There were no sheets, no pillows. The mattress stank of piss and sweat, but it was dry. Sun-Hee moaned. As gently as he could, Lee pulled his arms away, laying her on her side so her broken leg lay on top of her good leg. His crude splint had held, but the swelling and bruising on her lower leg looked severe.
Her eyes flickered.
The old man rested his hand gently on her forehead.
“Oh, my dear Sunny.”
Lee held onto the side of the bunk as he got to his shaky feet. Spasms rippled through his lower back muscles, causing him to grimace.
The soldier hadn’t moved. He had to be the brother. Lee could see the young man’s hands trembling but he kept them in sight on the table. There must have been some significance in keeping his hands in sight, Lee considered, as it seemed to take all his will power to maintain that posture. Lee didn’t understand why. Perhaps the soldier had a sidearm and would have grabbed it given the chance. Perhaps all he had was a knife and he mistook the flare gun strapped to Lee’s thigh as a pistol and didn’t want to force a mismatched confrontation.
The young man clenched his fists. His lips quivered as though he wanted to say something but was holding himself back to keep from saying the wrong thing.