Winston lost his balance and fell backwards, partly from the change in weight from losing half of his load, and partly because of what had happened — this woman he had known since birth experienced a singularly horrifying and lonely death, and he was failing to give her the veneration that she deserved. He punched the firm ground with a tight fist until his fingers bled — wanting to bellow or to somehow take revenge on those bastards that had taken over his property, those who had invaded his country, or those inept politicians in Washington, D.C. who had fucked it all up. Instead, he lowered his head and wept softly. After a moment, he lifted his head and saw Woo-jin gazing at him. Winston was at a severe disadvantage, on his ass, without his gun, and the only weapon he possessed — the shovel — was fifteen feet away at the hole. Still, he scrambled to his feet and faced his enemy, wondering how long he had been observed.
Woo-jin heard the shovel penetrating the earth as he approached the trash pile. Winston wasn’t being as quiet as he thought. Woo-jin placed the canvas trash bag down and readied his weapon, training it on the black man digging the hole. He crouched down, and when Winston started dragging the girl’s body toward the hole, Woo-jin understood what was happening. This man was burying his dead. Woo-jin thought it was honorable and remarkable that this man would risk his own life for the sake of the dead. And then she tore in two.
Woo-jin watched as Winston wept for the girl. He stood and walked slowly toward them, his standard issue DPRK Type 68 pistol, the only weapon he was issued, at the ready. When Winston saw Woo-jin, he stood and raised his hands over his head. Neither man said anything. Woo-jin, seeing that Winston was unarmed, marched right on up to him, his quivering pistol trained on the old man.
“I help,” Woo-jin said, in broken English.
“Scuse me?” Winston asked.
“I help. I no hurt you. You no hurt me?”
Winston surmised the request. Clearly, if this PLA soldier wanted to kill him, he would have already sent a bullet through his heart. Winston was a reasonable man, and perhaps that’s what he also saw in Woo-jin’s eyes.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“We hurry.”
Woo-jin holstered his weapon, turned and ran back to the canvas sack, brought it to the trash pile, and emptied it. In an instant, he sprang back toward Winston and laid the canvas bag next to Julie.
“Roll,” Woo-jin said.
Winston rolled Julie’s top half onto the canvas sack while Woo-jin did the same with her bottom half.
“Go.”
Winston motioned to the entrails that remained on the ground.
“We get we get. Hurry hurry.”
“Okay.”
Together, the enemies moved Julie quickly to the hole and gently placed her body next to it.
“You put,” Woo-jin said as he snatched the shovel and sprinted away.
Winston rotated Julie’s body off the canvas sack and into the hole. He turned both of her halves upright and folded her arms across her chest. Woo-jin returned with the shovel burdened with her innards and placed them on top of her, near where they belonged.
“Hurry hurry. Take that,” Woo-jin said, still carrying the shovel and pointing at the canvas sack. Winston grabbed the sack and they scooted back to the other bodies. Winston placed the sack next to Med and grabbed ahold of his shoulders. Woo-jin slid the blade under Med’s belly, and with one hand on the shovel’s handle and one hand holding onto Med’s pants, he and Winston rolled the corpse onto the canvas sack in one piece. They transported the body to the hole and placed it at Julie’s side.
“Hurry,” Woo-jin said again, sprinting back to the trash pile with both the canvas sack and shovel. Winston was getting tired. By the time he got back to the trash pile, the sack was near the PLA soldiers and the shovel was readied under a body.
“Hurry hurry.”
Winston gave Woo-jin a queer look. Though there was room in the hole for a third body, but certainly not a fourth, he hadn’t planned on burying any of his enemies.
“We bury for honor,” Woo-jin said, “no matter what crime. They son, too. They husband and father, too. They make mistake.” Woo-jin stepped a pace closer to Winston, and with great conviction said, “we all make mistake. Now hurry hurry.”
Winston and Woo-jin carried the first PLA soldier’s body back to the hole and placed it on top of Julie. They widened the hole, Woo-jin using the shovel and Winston on his knees digging with his hands, just large enough for all four bodies to fit. They went back for the last body, the soldier who had raped Julie, and placed it on top of Med. Woo-jin shook off the canvas bag — it was covered with black blood and maggots — and rolled it up.
“You cover now.”
“Thank you,” Winston said.
“My name Woo-jin.”
“Winston.”
Winston held out his hand to the young PLA soldier. Woo-jin shook it and ran off, back to the encampment, praying that nobody had realized how long he was gone.
Winston finished burying the bodies, still keeping an eye out for Jimmy, and was faced with a problem he hadn’t anticipated — he was left with an excessive amount of sand. From where he stood, it would be impossible for anybody to see the burial site unless they physically walked to the spot, so he piled the sand onto the grave creating a mound, found a fallen branch that still had some leaves left on it, and swept the evidence of their dragging Julie’s body. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. When he was done, he climbed back under the overpass to await Jimmy’s return. He’d have to wait until dark to go home.
He rested at the far end of the overpass near the water treatment plant, five feet up the steep concrete incline, and out of the hot sun. He thought about Woo-jin and why the PLA soldier chose to help bury the bodies instead of just killing him. There was something in Woo-jin’s eyes, he thought, empathy, perhaps compassion.
Winston rubbed his fingers along a long welt on his lower abdomen. Even through his hoodie it was considerable — a reminder of a time in his life that had caused him grievous pain, and a topic that was always off-limits with others. One of the perks of becoming a naturalized United States citizen was the eligibility for active military duty. Winston enlisted in the army in 1971, just months after he and May were married. His rationalizations were that the experience would be good for him, he wanted to serve his new country, and the G.I. Bill might help pay for a college education, and all for just two years of service to his new, beloved country. May naturally despised Winston for a long while for that decision, and for springing it on her after they had exchanged vows. But Mayor Wellbeloved supported him, citing it as one of the smartest and bravest decisions a young black man could have made in the highly turbulent, post-civil rights era. May eventually came around and accepted Winston’s decision, but she wasn’t happy about it.