“Not a moment’s peace in this house on account of you two girls!”
The morning had been ruined for everyone; the entire family stood and watched as Father hit the girls on the calves with the switch. But right then, I heard Sook’s voice inside my head: But it was Jung’s. Her shoes were on top of the stove. Mine were by the gate. The neighbour’s cat has been sneaking into the kitchen to steal dried fish. I saw the cat run off with one last night. I unconsciously babbled these words, which were buzzing in my ears. Father paused and Grandmother went to check the top of the cupboard next to the stove.
“What happened to that dried pollock I was planning to add to the soup?” she asked.
Relieved, Mother grabbed the switch away from Father and said: “See? It’s the cat’s fault.”
Father muttered something about “too many damn girls killing me with all this racket” as he picked up his files and documents one by one and left for work, while Grandmother comforted Jung and Sook.
“Why don’t we ask your father to buy you two some new shoes on his way home from work? Hurry on to school now.”
After my sisters had all gone, and I was the only one left at home, Mother said: “Well, that was strange. How did she figure out what Sook was trying to say?”
“What’d I tell you? Our Bari inherited the gift.”
Mother blanched.
“Please,” she said, “don’t ever mention those old wives’ tales of yours in front of their father.”
Two
One day, I think around the time I started school, Hindungi met up with a boy dog and got pregnant, despite being, as Grandmother put it, well into her old-lady years. The grown-ups all clucked their tongues and exclaimed what a disgrace it was, but Hindungi strutted about the courtyard, her sagging belly and teats swaying. She gave birth late one winter night when no one was looking. We were all lying in a row beneath the blankets when we overheard Grandmother and Mother whispering outside the door.
“How many are there?” Grandmother asked.
“One … two … three … What the —! Seven!”
“Will wonders never cease? They say flowers can bloom on an old tree, and sure enough this old granny’s had herself seven babies.”
The next morning, before Mother could come in, pull back our blankets and smack us on the butt to tell us to hurry, get up, get ready for school, we all rose at once as if on cue. Some of us rushed to change clothes first while the others spilled out into the courtyard in our long underwear. As we crowded in front of the doghouse like a school of minnows at the water’s edge, fighting over who would get to stick her face in the tiny doorway first, Hindungi — who had always been so gentle with us — stuck her head out the doorway, bared her teeth and growled. Mother warned us to back away.
“Give her space. She’s worried you’ll hurt her babies.”
When my older sisters took a hesitant step back, I saw my chance to get a peek inside, so I crouched down in front of the doghouse. Then, with my mouth firmly shut, I spoke inside my head: It’s me. Bari. The seventh. Don’t worry. I just wanted to see my little brothers and sisters.
Then, would you believe it? Hindungi staggered to her feet and stepped right out of the doghouse. The puppies, so tiny they could have fit inside my own tiny hand, were clustered together with their eyes shut tight on scraps of straw sacks. I stuck my hand into that warm puppy pile, gently pulled one out and cradled it against my chest. I could feel its heart beating softly against my fingertips. So you’re the seventh one too, just like me, I thought.
I was so engrossed with the puppy in my arms that I forgot anyone else was even there. When I finally looked back, Mother, Grandmother and all my sisters were standing in a semi-circle around me, staring silently down at the puppy and me. Even Father was standing at the edge of the twenmaru in a daze, but then he broke the silence.
“Don’t tell me they’re all girls, too.”
“Hey, hey,” Grandmother shook a broom at him. “Don’t ruin the morning with your grumbling.”
My sisters went back to arguing and crowding around the doorway to the doghouse, but Hindungi growled and blocked them with her body. Jung raised her hand as if to hit the dog.
“You stupid dog, why are you playing favourites?”
Hindungi got angrier and started to bark loudly. I put the puppy I was holding back in the doghouse.
I’ll keep you safe, I said inside my head.
Hindungi went back into the doghouse, tucked her babies between her legs and lay with her body curled around them. I could hear Jin, my oldest sister, muttering behind me: “Bari is so weird. Now she’s talking to dogs?”
No one had anything to say to that; at some point, they had all caught on to the fact that there was something different about me. But no one, not even Mother and Father, ever said anything out loud about my behaviour, because Grandmother would glare at them and take my side. That day stands out in my memory, but how I met Chilsung — the youngest of Hindungi’s litter — is only part of the story. You see, that was also the day our mother’s brother came to town.
Hyun and I were playing marbles in the courtyard when the wooden gate cracked open and someone stuck their head in and peered around. We took one look at that grown-up head, with its shaved hair on top of what had to be a very tall, gangly body, and we flung the marbles away and drew back to the far end of the twenmaru. Hyun was so scared that, although she refused to admit it later after we were all grown up, I was sure I saw pee trickling down her calves.
“Hey kids, where’s your mother?”
Undaunted, I took a step forward and demanded: “Who’re you?”
He peered around the courtyard some more and then stuck his whole upper body inside the gate.
“Assuming this is the right house, I might be your uncle.”
Mother, who’d been preparing dinner, stepped out of the kitchen as if on cue and ran over with her arms open.
“Aigo, look who’s here! When did you get into town? Are you on leave?”
At last our uncle stepped all the way into the courtyard, clasped our mother’s outstretched hands and gave them a shake.
“I’m out of the army now. How’s my brother-in-law …?”
“He’ll be home soon. Come sit.”
He was dressed in an old, faded work uniform and carried a canvas rucksack and an accordion. Before following our mother into the house, he gave each of us, still cowering in fright, a rough tousle on the head. He probably meant for it to be an affectionate pat, but it made me angry. Much better were the gifts that came out of his rucksack later, but first he stuck his hand in his pocket and snickered.
“I picked up something for you on the way here.”
Our uncle opened his hand and a black something or other leaped out at us. I took a few steps back, but Hyun fell right on her butt and shrieked.
On the ground next to her was a huge toad the size of a grown man’s fist. Its eyes bulging like brass bells, it inflated its throat and let out a loud gwaak! gwaak!. I grabbed Hyun under the armpits and dragged her away — her eyes had rolled up inside her head, and the whites were showing. Mother ran over and scooped Hyun up into her arms.