After sending him back to the holding cell I went to speak with the police officer in charge, but before the man would speak to me he checked in with people at several different desks, deliberately taking as long as possible.
All right. If he wants to join the army, I’ll turn him over to the Department of Military Mobilization — but keep in mind that we need you, Comrade, and one other person to guarantee his trustworthiness.
I’ll have no problem doing it, but who else do you need?
Well, I’m afraid it will have to be a Party member.
It was then that I thought of Sunnam. I set out for his office at once. I explained the situation to him, got his signature, put down my name and my fingerprints, and brought it back to the police station. After that, though, no one really kept track of what actually happened to Sangho. The war was escalating too fast. Later on I learned, rather belatedly, that the recruits had been sent off to Sariwŏn in a truck. Thanks to the U.S. air strikes our vehicles could no longer move about during the day, so they only got started as twilight set in. Since headlights were banned, too, the truck was probably going about as fast as a bicycle. My guess is that Sangho simply jumped off the back of the truck as it made its way to Sariwŏn.
A breeze blew in through the open window, and the bedroom door came ajar with a clunk. Yosŏp woke up, dazed from sleep.
Come out here for a minute.
Eh, eh. who’s there?
Yosŏp squinted, peering through the darkness. He thought he could see something faint and whitish floating in through the crack of the open door. Fumbling in the dark, Yosŏp walked out of the bedroom. He had the feeling that someone was waiting in the pitch-black living room. As he came out of the room, he saw a row of milky white phantoms all clustered together. The one who’d called out to him was waiting by the door. As he might have expected, it was Big Brother Yohan. The thing was murmuring, This’ll probably be the last time. All of us are gathered here together.
Yosŏp looked around at the line of phantoms standing along the wall. More than a dozen of them, he thought. They looked like pieces of white laundry hanging on a clothesline under an aging moon. They looked like bleached pieces of darkness, slightly less drenched in black.
Sŏngman. You, too. Come out here.
Yosŏp turned around to look towards the voice and saw Uncle Sunnam standing in front of Uncle Some’s room. Just like Yosŏp, his uncle, too, came stumbling out of his room. Without being told to do so, Uncle Some came over to stand beside Yosŏp, staring at the phantoms lined up by the wall. Uncle Sunnam opened his mouth again.
Before we take Yohan away we’re going to free him — him and all the people he killed. The things you do in life, the good and the bad, may be dissolved when you die, but we should still go over what really happened before we leave.
Yosŏp and his uncle, the two living men present, sat down towards the upper end of the living room. Big Brother Yohan and Uncle Sunnam seated themselves across the way, at the lower end, and the phantoms of the villagers slowly slid down from their places along the wall and sat down on the floor. The different genders of the ghosts were vaguely discernible, but it was almost impossible to identify them exactly.
As in a dream, the scenes were completely out of sequence, impossible to piece together, some of them shown in great detail while others whizzed past.
A river runs through wide fields. The area beyond the levee is thickly wooded with willows and poplars. Over there, where Chosan Hill comes into view — that’s Chaeryŏng. Under the aging moon, the neighborhood is pitch black. A man hurries home from the fields. Gasping loudly, he stops briefly to catch his breath, exhaling deeply, and slows down for a moment. Apparently in spite of himself, his steps quicken once more.
He’s not taking the main road that leads into town — he turns down an alley instead. Drawing closer to the Sŏbu Church, he walks further down the alley. The path is packed on either side with straw-thatched huts and shingle-roof houses. He stops in front of one of the wooden doors, looking at it for a moment before extending his hand to knock. The bell hanging on the door rings out, followed by the sound of someone coming out into the yard. The voice is cautious.
Is someone out there?
It’s me. Ryu Yohan.
The door opens and Ryu Yohan steps into the yard. His host leads him to a room in the backyard. Inside the messy room filled with heaps of grain sacks, two men sit together on a straw mat. They get to their feet to greet the new arrival. At one end of the room a low oil lamp glows quietly, blinking in and out. Yohan enters, his host following closely behind. Yohan shakes hands with the two young men, then asks his host to sit down.
Presbyter, please accept my humble bow.
Come, there’s no need — Presbyter Ryu Indŏk is also safe and well, I assume?
Yes, sir. We’ve left the church open as well.
It’s truly amazing that you’ve all been able to escape discovery for so long. These two have also just come down from the mountain. How far have our Crusaders gotten?
The word is that they will be in Haeju by tomorrow at the latest.
Good, good. This is all made possible by the grace of our Father. Well, go ahead and chat — I’m going back out to keep an eye on things.
The host steps out and Yohan begins the district meeting with the two Christian Youth members. One is the youth group leader at Sŏbu Church, and the other is a deacon who’s been shuttling back and forth between Anak and Sinch’ŏn, acting as a messenger.
It has been decided. This time, we will be the first to rise up and seize power, Yohan says.
The deacon nods.
Yes, we’ve also been informed. We got a message from Mount Kuwŏl.
Yohan continues, This coming October 13, Chaeryŏng and Sinch’ŏn will rise together. Mount Kuwŏl will come down to Anak, cutting off the path of retreat that leads to Hwangju and Sariwŏn.
And the weapons?
We must first raid the police box in the village and then the police station in town. Then we will take over the county hall.
It would be nice to have some guns.
Smiling at the youth group leader, Yohan replies, We have nothing but a few pistols — but remember, the area is completely empty. All the able-bodied boys have gone to the front. We can get by with picks and scythes if we have to.
Dozens of young men line the top of the levee, lying on their stomachs. In their hands they are holding picks, scythes, and clubs. At the corner of a three-forked road stands a police box, its light shining brightly. Someone whispers, How many inside?
Just a couple. The night watch.
We have to cut the telephone lines first. Then we can just beat them to death.
They don’t seem especially alert or tense as they get up and stroll across the street. The moment they get to the police box, they holler out in unison and rush inside. They fall on the two officers dozing at the desk, striking them with clubs and spearing them with their scythes. Moving into the back room, they kill a man who appears to have been taking a nap. They drag the limp bodies to the side, laying them side by side behind the desk, and break the locked storeroom door with a pick. Five rifles and some bullets. They arm themselves as well as they can. Cutting the telephone line, they turn out the lights and move back out into the street.
Thus armed, the young men make their way through the dark, moving towards the town. Without a moment’s hesitation, they swarm the police station. There are about two hundred of them. The ones who have guns head for the main building. They seize all the officers on night duty and make them kneel along the floor. In less than ten minutes, the attack is over. Not a single shot is fired. Here, they find plenty of weapons: automatic firearms and even a few cases of dynamite.