Soldiers of the People’s Army
were despatched to every hamlet in the occupied areas.
One soldier arrived in Bongdong-myeon, Wanju, North Jeolla province.
A greenhorn soldier, always laughing,
he drank the liquor
that the villagers offered with a village girl,
then went into the bean-field with her.
This became known.
His comrades hastily shot him: no trial, nothing.
After that, not one but three soldiers
were stationed in Bongdong-myeon.
A little later, two left.
The third stayed for the last two months
of occupation, then left.
He never accepted a single leaf of tobacco,
let alone a free drink.
This greenhorn soldier left
firing blanks from his submachine gun.
At the foot
of the village’s clay walls and crumbling reed fences
balsam prospered, flowering
no matter who went or didn’t.
A Cow in Gangneung, 1953
War
affects cows, too,
dogs, too.
The war
made not just the eyes of humans
but the eyes of animals bloodshot.
During spring plowing,
one cow would not obey.
Urged on:
This way!
This way!
it just flopped down on the ground.
Shin O-man of Gangneung put up with that.
As Shin O-man’s son
was pouring out the boiled cattle feed
he was gored
and one horn pierced his thigh.
Shin O-man couldn’t put up with that.
With his wooden club.
he gave the cow a blow on the back
War
drives humans mad,
cows too!
He considered selling it,
then, calming down,
decided to wait
a little longer.
Seeing as how the long-drawn-out negotiations for an armistice
are almost over, surely the war is heading away
from our cow, all that we have
and part of the family.
Kim Jong-ho
His mother,
his younger sister,
and his two younger brothers
were caught and killed by the departing commander of the People’s Army.
Kim Jong-ho, who ran away and so survived,
caught the commander’s daughter,
dragged her into an empty house,
raped her, then killed her.
He also caught another commie’s wife,
raped her, then killed her.
He killed in that way
three times,
or four,
or five,
then, on a full-moon night,
climbed to a hilltop and wailed.
After that he drank every day.
He smashed the window of the tavern.
He grabbed the bar-girl by the hair and swung her around.
The neighbourhood menfolk
carted him off,
his limbs flailing.
He went away. Somewhere.
His house was sold off.
Sim Bul-lye
The war was over.
The war had lasted three years which felt like thirteen.
The near-empty crocks on the storage terrace made whining sounds.
The blue sky descended
on the soy sauce left in the crocks
and wept salty tears.
Early summer,
on the sixth day of the Armistice,
she appeared at Daejeon railway station
wearing a nylon skirt
and a nylon blouse
she’d been storing somewhere,
and sporting a parasoclass="underline"
Sim Bul-lye.
Almost all who intended to return to Seoul were back.
Daejeon too had gone back to being the same old Daejeon.
The sky alighted close by.
Sunlight poured down on the parasol,
repaired some days before;
sweat pearled on the young woman’s breasts.
Yi Song-won, the boy from Gasuwon
who had come visiting every night in her dreams
no longer visited.
He had come visiting every night
since being killed while fighting in the Iron Triangle.
His mother called a shaman;
only after a costly exorcism
was his soul set to rest.
That day she was off to visit her aunt in Jochiwon.
Her aunt who’d been inviting her at every turn:
‘Call on me,
call on me.’
So she set off.
She did the washing, cooked the rice,
finished the sewing, swept the yard,
nursed her father,
drew water at dawn,
drew water at night
Finally, free of housework at last,
she went flying along.
What kind of man did her aunt have her eye on?
She could guess why her aunt wanted her to visit.
She might look young,
but deep inside
she knew what was what.
Sim Bul-lye.
Bak Yeong-man
As a child, he was best at the Thousand-Character Classic.
Ikki eon, ikki jae, on ho, ikki ya…
as he finished the last line of the Classic,
his flushed face looked cute.
Bak Yeong-man,
a boy with a good-looking prick –
like a distended ripe pepper when he pissed.
A boy good at twisting thin straw ropes
like his father,
Bak Yeong-man.
In the war he lost a leg.
Field hospital, then
military hospital.
After a long fight,
at the end of long treatment,
he returned to his hometown
with a false leg,
on a crutch.
His neighbours threw a party for him
with makgeolli and dried fish.
The barley fields were the same as before.
The mill was gone,
the miller’s daughter Sun-yeong was gone.
They said she’d married a refugee from Seoul.
Damn it!
By the time he’d smoked two cigarettes, he’d got used to despair.
He relieved himself.
Seok Nak-gu
Old Syngman Rhee was quick to run away.
He left Seoul in secret
a day ahead
of American ambassador Muccio.
In the official residence of the governor of South Chung-Cheong province,
Rhee ate buckwheat noodles
with his wife Francesca.
His face was contorted.
Once Suwon was threatened
he left Daejeon
for Daegu.
He had been the first to run,
leaving everyone in Seoul behind.
He fled, deceiving the people into thinking
that the President was still in Seoul.
Is that how he did things during the Independence Movement?
He hated the insecurity of Siberia,
Manchuria,
and China.
He sought out safety with wealthy America.
If you talked about that carelessly,
the bar owner reported you as a red.
Dragged away by Counter-Intelligence,
soon you couldn’t walk.
Drunkard Seok Nak-gu
was sentenced to three years in prison,
three years confirmed on appeal,
reduced to two-and-a-half by the highest court.
His daughter lost the offer of a job she had got.