Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“What’s he saying?”

“Asking who’s there.”

“You handle this.”

The room opening onto the veranda was unlit and seemed empty. Yong Kyu tried to open the sliding glass door but it would not budge. A man’s quaking voice came up from directly below the veranda. Toi stepped forward and replied in Vietnamese. The man below was silent for a moment, then the sound of metal clinking was heard.

“It’s a submachine gun,” Toi said. “You should put your hands up like me.”

As a bright flashlight showered their faces, Toi and Yong Kyu half-stood from their squatting positions with both hands in the air. There seemed to be two people on the ground below.

“Take out your ID and throw it down to them,” Toi said.

Yong Kyu did as told. There was brief whispering and then one of the men spoke in English.

“You invaded a civilian residence without permission. We can’t trust your identification. Come down here. The Korean first.”

The flashlight moved to a narrow passage between the roof and the veranda.

“Walk straight over there and you’ll find a metal staircase. Come down. And no unnecessary movements.”

Yong Kyu fumbled his way down the metal steps. He had no choice but to assume a position with his back to them. The staircase was steep like a ladder and very wobbly. He reached the ground and then Toi followed after. Two men were standing there. The lankier of the two had a submachine gun aimed at them while the heavier one was holding the flashlight.

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

“You’ve seen the ID,” Yong Kyu said without moving. “Isn’t that good enough? We’re on duty assigned for joint investigation with the national police. You’re interfering with our duty.”

“Sergeant, we understand that you’re here as an allied force to help us, but, say what you will, this clearly was a house break-in. I’m going to report you to a department I know. Let’s go inside.”

Toi said something in return, but the older man responded sharply in a reproachful tone. They turned to enter the interior of the house. Without warning, a black form rushed up and jumped at Yong Kyu. It was the German shepherd, a dog about half Yong Kyu’s size. It bit him on the arm and held on. Yong Kyu pulled out his.45 and started to aim it at the dog’s head.

“Don’t shoot,” a feeble voice shouted.

The man holding the submachine gun struck the dog with the barrel and the dog emitted a squeal of pain and ran off. Yong Kyu could feel blood saturating his torn sleeve. The feeble voice turned out to belong to a boy with a blocked crew cut. The boy helped Yong Kyu to his feet and then led him quickly into the front hall.

“Go in, please.”

Behind them Toi had raised his voice and was protesting about something in Vietnamese. The boy yelled at them. Yong Kyu followed the boy into the living room and sat down on a wicker chair. Then the boy brought a first-aid kit and skillfully tore off the bottom of Yong Kyu’s shirtsleeve. Not yet fully conscious of the pain, Yong Kyu gazed at the others in the room with a blank stare. The heavy-set middle-aged man was wearing glasses, sharply creased suit pants and a short-sleeved shirt. His hair was nearly white. The other man who had aimed the gun at them was in full ARVN uniform.

“I’m the director of the Da Nang Red Cross Hospital and this man is my chauffeur.”

Having said this, the older man gave some instructions to the boy and looked after Yong Kyu’s wound himself. Blood was flowing from two deep punctures. It did not seem very serious, but the dog’s teeth were so sharp the skin was lacerated as if sliced with a knife. After applying some Mercurochrome and antibiotic powder, the man wrapped a bandage around Yong Kyu’s arm and said, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to harm you. But you scared us. We thought you were guerillas.”

“But I showed you my ID.”

“Well, there you are. Only problem now is we can’t be sure whether or not the dog has rabies.”

“Has what?”

“A disease that makes dogs go crazy.”

“Ah, I see. But to find out the dog will have to be killed.”

“No! He doesn’t have rabies!” the boy yelled at Yong Kyu in a shrill voice.

Yong Kyu turned around and found that the armed chauffeur was gone. Toi was sitting across the room, still wearing his mercury-mirrored sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. The boy was standing beside a woman who had brought in drinks of some kind.

“Let us use your veranda for tonight and the dog won’t be taken away,” Yong Kyu said.

“Just what were you doing up there anyway?”

The owner of the house asked and once more Toi began talking in an excited tone. The man nodded and then conferred with his wife.

“Very well,” the man said to Yong Kyu, “you’ll be needing an inoculation.”

“A what?”

“A shot.”

“Fine. Toi, go on up and stay there. I’ll take a short break.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Look, it’s not like I stepped on a mine.”

Toi spoke with the boy, who then led him upstairs through the inside steps. The woman placed a glass of juice on the table, saying something in Vietnamese. Yong Kyu took off his bloodstained shirt and dropped it on the floor by his chair.

“If that’s what it was you would’ve done better to request my cooperation through the police. Come to the hospital tomorrow and I’ll have them give you a shot.”

“It’s all right. And I’m sorry. Your veranda just happens to be a perfect lookout spot. We made a mistake.”

The boy came back down. Then another person walked in from the front hall facing the living room. It was a Vietnamese girl wearing a black ahozai . She was very slender and barefoot, with her long hair combed back.

“This is the first time a foreigner’s been in my house,” said the hospital director. “This is my family. That is my wife, this little boy is my son, and the girl who just walked in is my daughter.”

Yong Kyu bowed to each of them in turn. The boy held out his hand with a smile but the girl just fixed her eyes on Yong Kyu with a stern glare. The mother spoke to her daughter, seemingly explaining what had happened. The boy spoke in English.

“I’m Huan, and I attend the Catholic Middle School. My father is Dr. Tran Van Thieu. My sister Phuoc, a senior at Pascal High School. My mother is Mrs. Hue.”

“I’m Sergeant Ann.”

“In our family, Father and I can communicate with you. In the old days, we had an American staying with us.”

“A medical officer, a surgeon, once worked at the Red Cross Hospital to help us. Thanks to him Huan speaks English pretty well. Where do you stay?”

“At the Grand Hotel.”

“Aren’t you a soldier?”

“Yes, as I said I’m a sergeant.”

Huan’s sister, Phuoc, sharply spat something out and walked out of the room.

“What is it?” Yong Kyu asked the boy. “Your sister seems to be in a bad mood.”

“The Da Nang students don’t care much for foreign soldiers. For you people kill children, that’s why.”

“Ah, don’t mind that,” Dr. Tran said, “Viet Cong propaganda. . Well, I’m sure mistakes of that kind happen on the battlefield often enough.”

Yong Kyu made no response to that remark. Instead, he said, “Thank you for the use of your veranda. Please lock the upstairs door after we go out. When we finish our mission we’ll leave quietly the way we came.”

“As you like.”

Dr. Tran and his wife exchanged bows with Yong Kyu and then Huan showed him the way upstairs. As he walked up the steps, the boy said, “Thank you for letting Gene stay.”

“Who’s Gene?”

“The dog that bit you.”

“Ah, it’s all right. It just slipped my mind to bring something tasty he’d like.”