Come to think of it, Kwangmyŏng Church, the church my master’s family went to, was a place someone like me wouldn’t dare go near, not once. Those who had families, even if they were tenants, invited or persuaded each other to attend, and some of them became regular churchgoers. A hand like me, though, and the other servants — we just worked all year round, filling up our spare time with chopping wood, feeding cattle, or baling hay. All we could do was listen to the hymns or the bells tolling in the distance.
I left Ch’ansaemgol and moved out to Ŭnnyul because of a fight with the Union. All the big landowners in the county had gotten together and formed this so-called Union, and their agents would handle the tenant contracts any old way they pleased. They had full control of all the farming expenses and tenant fees, and the landowners just managed the Union to their own advantage, taking a heavy commission. In Ŭnnyul they had to form a Farmers’ Mutual Aid Association because it was so bad — and since all the land was owned by the Company, all the tenants could unite without any internal conflicts. In our village, led by the people who’d gone to Mr. Kang’s night school, we set up our own mutual aid association, modeling it after the one in Ŭnnyul — but the Union bribed and threatened our members, one or two at a time, and pretty soon everyone left. It all came to nothing. I was sick and tired of living in that kind of place anyway and planned to move to Ŭnnyul to find some work, but then their Mutual Aid Association got rounded up. All the members were dragged all the way up to Haeju and. punished. Severely, for two months. They were all crippled and maimed when they finally came home.
Anyway, the comrades I’d befriended in Ŭnnyul introduced me to a subcontractor in the mining industry, and the whole lot of us ended up going to work at Kŭmsanp’o. The work was hard but living with friends, eating, and sleeping together in the barracks — it was ten times better than living alone in somebody else’s house as a servant. Right before liberation, all of us, not just the miners but the Japanese foremen, too — we were all having a hell of a time. Everybody was so tense that we’d frighten ourselves with the sound of our own breathing. Still, those first three years I spent there — those were the days. The blood in our veins boiled back then, hot and wild. Once every ten days the Workers’ Bulletin would circulate through the barracks, and a kid would come by to explain what was in it. Just like the weekly church bulletins, they were printed on cheap, coarse paper with a mimeograph machine. Through those bulletins I learned words like “socialism” and “class.”
On Liberation Day, I was coming out of the mine shaft with my fellow workers to have lunch — we were riding in the cart. The bell started tolling like crazy, and the Japanese foreman came out to stand in the yard, waiting for us in front of the office. The bastard mumbled, suddenly all humble, not at all like he used to be, and said that the mine was closing, that Japan had lost the war. Some of the men jumped up and down, shouting hurrah, hurrah, but most of us just stood there, bewildered, then slowly wandered back to the barracks. The subcontractor was there, handing out chits and telling us to go to the office to exchange them for money. He said that he, too, was leaving for good. I turned to a comrade who used to read the Bulletin with me, and said, “This mine, the rice paddies, the fields — all of it — it belongs to us now.”
“What are you doing here?”
Startled, Reverend Ryu Yosŏp recoiled and looked around. He had been sitting on a bench by the riverside. The owner of the abrupt voice had come up from behind, but now he was coming around the side. He sat down next to Yosŏp. It was the guide, Mr. All Back.
“Ah, well, you see. I wasn’t feeling very good, so I came out for some fresh air.”
“You’ve come quite a distance to get your fresh air, haven’t you?”
Yosŏp didn’t respond, turning instead to gaze quietly in the direction of the river. The hill beyond the far bank was thick with willow trees and covered in darkness, but the walkway along the water’s edge was bright enough thanks to the intermittent streetlamps. A man and a woman walked by, discussing something with their heads hanging low.
“Let’s go. Everyone’s been waiting.”
Pressured by the guide, Yosŏp got up from the bench. As they walked up onto the sidewalk, he could see a car waiting, its headlights on. Yosŏp got in the back seat — All Back had opened the back door and held it for him — and the guide took the passenger seat. As soon as Yosŏp got inside, Fatty, who’d been waiting in the car, spoke up.
“We’ve been very worried about you.”
“But why?”
Fatty’s good-natured face looked even more bloated as he laughed, his eyes looking pretty much closed.
“Reverend, you must try to understand our society. I guess this is what they call liberalism. You are a tourist, and you came here with a group.”
All Back turned around in the front seat and added, “We’ve been circling round and round this whole area looking for you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Yosŏp.
He meant it.
4. From One Generation to Another
THE SURVIVORS
YOSŎP GOT UP LATE the next morning.
He’d spent the whole night tossing and turning.
It might have rained during the night; as he lay there, the window shook in its frame, the wind still pounding against it. Strangest of all was the thought that he was lying in this city. As evening turned into night, every sign of life had somehow disappeared all at once — even the few lights that had shone here and there through the windows of the various buildings all blinked off. Drawing the curtains aside had revealed a pitch-black thoroughfare with every streetlamp turned off, lit only by the occasional set of headlights.
Yosŏp was the last one to eat breakfast, and the place was practically empty by the time he arrived. He had a bowl of soup and finished off his meal with a glass of Sindŏk Spring Water. He was coming out into the second-floor lobby when the professor waved at him from a corner armchair.
“Reverend! Over here!”
The professor began speaking in an animated voice as soon as Yosŏp sat down beside him.
“I’m going to meet my family!”
“When?”
“In about half an hour or so. The guide came and told me a minute ago while I was eating. I think other people are meeting their families, too — the scheduled activities for this morning have been canceled.”
“Why, that’s wonderful! Who’s coming? Have they told you?”
“Mother. my mother, she’s still. alive.” Suddenly overwhelmed, the professor’s voice cracked and tears started streaming down his face. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes and his forehead, all the way up across his bald head. He glanced at his wristwatch.
“Reverend, please. Please stay with me. I’m too nervous to handle this alone.”