Major Chaek summoned Woo-jin to cart the mechanic’s body to the trash pile. The boy, who now wore a clean uniform, picked up the mechanic’s head — it was heavier than he imagined — and laid it onto its own torso. He rummaged through the mechanic’s strewn tools, choosing the largest screwdriver he could find, and pushed it into the mechanic’s left eye, threaded it behind the septum and through the right eye, and plunged the remainder of the screwdriver into the mechanic’s chest, all while his superior officer and several soldiers watched. Woo-jin thought he would have been reprimanded for treating the mechanic’s body with such humiliation, but he perceived a faint smile on the Major’s face as he grabbed the corpse by the feet and pulled it up the driveway behind the T-14 Armatas, which were just leaving the compound.
“Make sure you clean it up,” the Major said to Woo-jin, pointing out the trail of blood from the mechanic’s body.
“Yes, sir!” Woo-jin exclaimed.
He dragged the body onto the road and through the woods and dumped it near Jimmy’s body, but as far away from where they dropped any food that Winston might scavenge. He looked around, hoping to see the friendly black man’s face, but Winston was in the apartment, daydreaming of Mayor Wellbeloved’s barbecued brisket, a delicacy the Mayor reserved for family events, and wondering where their next meal was going to come from. Woo-jin walked to the overpass and peered up.
“Hello? Winston?” he gently inquired.
Silence.
He stood near where Winston had left the apple and stared at his feet. He wanted nothing more than to be with Seul-ki, but he knew that going home and building a life with her was unlikely. With his brief respite over, he trotted back to the encampment, found a bottle of bleach, and scrubbed the mechanic’s drying blood from the driveway. It took him until mid-afternoon to remove the stains, but he was happy that he finally had something to do other than emptying trash. When he was done, he and a few of his teammates kicked a football around the Sparrows’ back yard under the watchful eyes of Major Chaek and General Kim Kyok-Chun, who supervised the practice with folded arms and gritted teeth. They were pleased with the team they had strung together, and especially with Woo-jin, who took natural command on the field, which was a dichotomy to his life as a timid, clumsy soldier.
“He’s good,” the general said.
“He is a poor soldier,” the Major replied, “but we will be ready.”
“You have no goaltender, Major.”
“He will be here soon.”
“Good. Big Day coming.”
“Yes, General.”
With that, the general returned inside as the Major stepped off the porch and closer to the football action. Ten Korean soldiers took up two sides and batted the football across the Sparrows’ wide yard. Occasionally, the ball landed in the Russian or Middle-Eastern living quarters and they taunted the Koreans for engaging in such a frivolous activity, but they always returned the ball into play, especially when Major Chaek glared and grunted at them. After an hour or so of practicing, an American pickup truck pulled into the driveway and a Korean soldier emerged from the bed. Major Chaek smiled widely when he recognized the man.
“Come! Come meet your goaltender!” Major Chaek commanded the team.
The ten men marched to the driveway to meet their new teammate, gasping when they saw him. Woo-jin’s blood boiled.
“This is your goaltender, Sang Dong-joo! He is a member of the Korean DPR National Football Team, and as such, a national hero. As some of you may recall, Sang Dong-joo came to the aid of a young girl back in Seoul who was being brutalized by, one can only assume, a Republic of Korea savage. This is when he lost his eye — a martyr for the great Democratic People’s Republic of Korea! And, despite losing his eye to our enemy, Dong-joo is still a great and powerful football player. Please welcome him!”
The team greeted the newcomer with much fanfare, while Woo-jin’s reaction was subdued, mindful of being obvious about the hatred he felt for this man — the one who violated Seul-ki. Woo-jin briefly recalled taking his eye after the attack, and a rage swelled inside that he feared and knew he must subdue and control if he ever wanted to see Seul-ki again.
The players took the field again, and continued practicing for the big game. Woo-jin did whatever he could to score against Dong-joo, but he was just too talented of a goaltender. None of the players could score against him, which both pleased and angered Major Chaek. The scrimmage ended in a stalemate and the soldiers went about their normal activities. After dinner, Woo-jin collected the canvas trash bag and started to empty the bins into it by himself, wondering if he should ask the Major about his suddenly-missing partner. As he started to transfer the trash from the barrel near Medusa by hand into the canvas bag, Dong-joo strutted up to him.
“I’m supposed to help you,” the one-eyed man said, “nice game today. You’re a good defenseman.”
“Thanks,” Woo-jin mumbled with lowered eyes, still working on the trash, and intentionally refusing to acknowledge Dong-joo’s deft sportsmanship. Dong-joo waited patiently for the compliment that Woo-jin wasn’t going to give, wondering why a man he had never met before was being rude to him, and assumed Woo-jin was jealous of his athletic ability. A half-eaten sirloin steak (the majority of their meat came freeze-dried in cans with a shelf life of 25 years) with plenty of good meat still left on the bone lay on the top of the trash. Woo-jin salivated — he had never tasted a sirloin steak — and he was tempted to keep the meat for himself and enjoy it in the relative safety of the toilet — but with Dong-joo hovering over him, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide it. Thinking that Winston might find it, he attempted to place it gingerly into the canvas bag, but as he did, Dong-joo saw the steak and tore it from Woo-jin’s hands, emitting a very Western, “whoa!” and promptly bit down on it, indifferent to who might be watching. Dong-joo was a protected favorite, even more so than Woo-jin, and he consumed the steak with much spectacle. Woo-jin finished emptying the bin while Dong-joo ate. There wasn’t a scrap of meat left on the bone when he was done. He burped loudly and motioned for Woo-jin to open the canvas sack, dropping the bone on top of the trash.
“Get that side,” Woo-jin said.
Dong-joo grabbed the sack and they were off. They walked in silence until they reached the trash pile, neither man interested in making conversation, which was a relief to Woo-jin. They dumped the trash as prescribed and went back to the camp where Woo-jin showed Dong-joo how to fold and store the bag.
“Rest up, Comrade. Big day tomorrow,” Dong-joo said as he disappeared into what used to be the mechanic’s tent.
Winston watched as the two solemn soldiers walked the routine, up the driveway, down the road twenty paces, into the woods, and to the trash pile. Of course, he could only see as far as to the end of the driveway. He noticed Woo-jin’s new partner and his one eye upon their return — Dong-joo wore no eye patch, choosing instead to showboat his crimson sunken socket. Winston was anxious for night to fall so he could repair the wall under the cover of its dark embrace — or perhaps to go out and search for food. At lights out, the three bright lights and one generator were switched off. One loud generator continued to hum, powering the electronic equipment inside the house, while giving him cover in the event that he made noise. The gap in the wall made him paranoid all that day, and they had eaten through the very last bit of their food supply. After midnight, Winston removed the t-shirt that he had earlier stuffed into the gap, leaned his back against the inner false wall and, using the barrel of the rifle, he applied direct and increasing pressure to the plywood where it split. It took no more than a minute, and he was able to close the gap to almost-new condition. What he really needed was one or two short lengths of 2x4 lumber to wedge between the outside wall and the still structurally-sound hurricane shutters to help keep the splintered plywood from buckling back inward. He thought there might be just what he needed in the main part of the barn.