What is going on here?
I just brought it out to eat with my friends while we play.
All of a sudden, I remembered all the things my parents had told me earlier, about how Yosŏp had been inhaling bowls of rice and running around the village after dark. Thinking of what had happened at the office that day, a horrifying possibility dawned on me.
You little brat — tell me the truth! Where are you taking the food?
Grabbing him by the collar, I shook him back and forth, demanding that he speak. With a surprising amount of sincerity, Little Brother started rubbing his hands together, pleading his case.
Big Brother. this is a secret, just between us, okay? Promise you won’t tell.
A secret? You little idiot! Do you have some sort of death wish? You want them to storm in here and kill our entire family? Who have you been hiding?
Girls. from the People’s Army.
Girls? How many?
Two. They don’t even have any guns.
Where are you hiding them?
Hanging his head, Little Brother wouldn’t open his mouth. I knew very well that bullying him wouldn’t do any good at that point. I changed my tone of voice and asked him again, gently this time.
Where are they? I won’t hurt them, I promise.
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve — he must have been crying with his head bowed down. Getting impatient, I went on, imploring, You’re so dense! Don’t you see? If the neighbors find out, they’ll suspect us! How can I help the girls if I don’t know where they are?
I could tell he was right on the verge of bursting into tears as he finally blurted, I hid them in a dugout in the orchard, the one right over the hill.
I pushed him lightly on the back.
Well, go on then.
Wha-at?
How can they eat if you don’t take them the food?
Big Brother, you mean, really.?
And with that, I sent him on his way. I didn’t go back to the county hall that evening. Much later that night, I went into the main wing of the house and saw that all the lights were turned off — obviously, everyone was asleep. I went to the stepping stone beneath the wooden floor and checked to make sure Yosŏp’s sneakers were there nestled between the grown-ups’ komusin. They were. He was back. Sticking a U.S. Army issue flashlight into my cartridge belt, I checked the magazine of my revolver to make sure it had enough bullets, opened up the chamber to check that, and set the safety. I was about to leave the house when I changed my mind and turned around. I went into the storeroom next to the house and went through the various tools instead — sickles, hoes, shovels, and so on. I grabbed a pick.
The little trail in the orchard was our playground when we were children. As we grew older, we would walk along it with the workmen, going out to help pick the apples. I knew every nook and cranny of that place. I approached the mud cellar without making a sound. Just as a precaution, I put down the pick, took the revolver in my hands, and released the safety pin. Holding the flashlight in one hand, I switched it on and shone it into the cellar. Startled by the sudden light, the two people who had been sleeping inside sat bolt upright, covering their faces with their hands. Aiming the gun at them, I spoke.
Hands up. Come on out.
Rustling around, they got up and climbed out of the hut. They were children, no older than high school age. I’d dealt with countless stragglers in town, just like these, so I didn’t even bother asking for their ranks. I asked them the only thing that was important.
Anybody else besides you two?
No. Just us.
Where’s your platoon?
We were separated a fortnight ago.
The smaller one had answered my questions, but the big one suddenly spoke up.
Are you a soldier of the National Defense Army?
That doesn’t concern you. Kneel down over there. Hands up on your head, that’s it.
The small one was hanging onto some sort of black bag or something, which was starting to bother me. Yosŏp told me that they had no weapons, so I knew I’d be able to take care of them myself without any problems, as long as I was cautious.
What is that? Toss it over here.
It’s a musical instrument — a violin.
Toss it, I say!
The thing dropped to the ground at my feet with a resounding thud, flying open as if it’d been split in half. I picked it up.
So it is. A fiddle.
I’d seen peddlers in the marketplace playing “Yangsando”or “Hwangsŏng of Yesteryear,” so I knew a fiddle wasn’t anything special. I shook it a couple of times to make sure there wasn’t anything inside it and tossed it to the ground. Then I crushed it with my foot.
In spite of myself, the shriek that burst from the lips of the little one startled me to the core.
Quiet! Before I take care of you both with just one shot.
Pulling them to their feet, I forced them to walk in front of me. With the revolver at my waist and the pick over my shoulder, I steered them down to the fruit storehouse, shining the flashlight to illuminate the path. I had them kneel on the slope with their backs to me. As I gripped the pick in my hands, the bigger girl, without looking back, said quietly, Let us sing.
With that, she started singing some sort of military song. Without a word, I let fly at the bitch, striking her body over and over again with the pick. She fell straight forward and rolled down along the slope. Brandishing the pick, I turned and swung, aiming at the small one. I missed. I think I must have hit her in the shoulder. She bent in half, screaming, then twisted back around to look me in the face.
Please, sir, let me live! Help!
I struck her again, and this time I caught her on the back of the head. That shut her up. I turned around and hurried away, going around to the front of the storehouse. The blood must have spattered — my face and the front of my shirt felt wet. I sat down in front of the water pump and washed my face and hands, then drank some water from my cupped hands. Still feeling kind of flustered, I went back home, got on my bicycle, and raced all the way back into town.
At the time, the only thought on my mind was that I had to get rid of them as quietly as possible, before anyone else realized what was going on. The bodies stayed there, sprawled out behind the warehouse, until some villagers discovered them and buried them. Yosŏp, of course, must have seen them on the following day when he took them their food. He didn’t say a word about it, not for several decades — but then one day, he asked me if I prayed when I did it, in that moment. I, of course, answered that I had.
December arrives. The U.S. troops and the National Defense Army are being pushed back. The Chinese Communist Army has entered the war. As the news that Pyongyang has been seized reaches the members of the Youth Corps and the security forces, they prepare themselves to retreat. They arrest all the people who have been under investigation, even those whose degree of participation was marginal at best, families of those who’d simply joined the Women’s League, the Professional League, or the Democratic Youth League, and the families of soldiers. Some of the families are small units of survivors who have already lost the rest of their relatives. By now, trials are being held not just in town but in every village in the county. The cold-blooded killings at the storehouse in Wonamri and the slaughter at the reservoir and on the bridge all happen within a few days of each other, beginning on December 2. During the day they roam the streets to hunt men; at night they search the empty houses and gather together to drink. Many of the young men have collected quite a number of valuables and other items. They are waiting for a suitable means of transportation. They are eager to start moving south, even if it’s just a few miles.
