Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

“I don’t know if you know this, but our family has been Christian for generations. You, too, were christened as a baby. Your father was a presbyter, and I’ve become a Protestant minister. A lot of the things we believed in conflicted with the ideology of the People’s Republic.”

“No, no, it’s not the religion that bothers me — that’s just a relic of the dark days, all that superstition and such. I don’t even care whether you were reactionaries or outright criminals — but, killing people? Why did you kill people?”

“People hated and killed each other back then. Now even those who survived are dying, leaving this world one by one. Unless we find a way to forgive one another, none of us will ever be able to see each other again.”

Yosŏp went and sat down in a chair facing his nephew, taking the younger man’s hands in his own. The nephew didn’t pull away, and the uncle continued.

“Your father thought you were all dead. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you alive and well like this, to know that you’ve made a life for yourself as a part of this society, even joining the Party.”

His nephew hung his head once more and burst into tears yet again.

“You have no idea, no idea how much I had to suffer to become a Party member.”

The next morning, when Yosŏp went down to the dining hall for breakfast, he found All Back waiting to take him back up to the second floor. There, in the same compartment, the supervisor was waiting for them.

“You met your nephew yesterday — that must have been wonderful.”

“It was a bit awkward. It would have been better if we’d had a chance to spend the night together and talk more about the rest of our family.”

The supervisor nodded.

“We’ve considered that as well. Today we will be arranging an exclusive event for you, Reverend. We’re also looking into the possibility of giving you a chance to see your family again. Perhaps even spend the night with them.”

Standing beside the supervisor, All Back interjected, “Today, you visit your hometown, Reverend.”

“My home. Sinch’ŏn?” Reverend Ryu Yosŏp found himself stammering.

All Back went on, “It won’t take more than an hour or so to get there — we now have a highway that runs all the way across Hwanghae Province down to Kaesŏng.”

“We had a reason for wanting to see you. it was decided that we really must tell you something. For the sake of the solidarity of our people, there is one thing you must be sure to keep in mind, one thing you need to understand. The fundamental reason we are divided is the influence of foreign powers. Imperialist Japan and Imperialist America have made us this way.”

The supervisor held out his hand for a handshake.

“Go and see for yourself how your hometown has changed, Reverend. We’ll see each other again later.”

Yosŏp wandered back down into the dining hall and looked around. He spotted the professor between the oval tables that held the morning’s breakfast. Yosŏp went over and sat down across from him.

“How was yesterday’s family reunion?”

“I looked for you afterwards, but they said you were meeting your family as well.”

“Yes, they located my nephew. I heard about my other relatives, too.”

“That’s wonderful. I feel a little. different, now,” said the professor, smiling awkwardly. “Now that I’ve met my mother and my older brother, this whole place is starting to feel rather cozy and comfortable. It’s so much better here than in America — everything there is so different, so alien.”

Glancing around, the professor lowered his voice. “Reverend, it seems the communists, too, can be quite humane, eh?”

“Well, of course. all men are children of God.”

As the members of the group finished up their breakfast and began heading back to their rooms, Yosŏp turned to the professor.

“It looks like I’m going to be visiting my hometown today.”

“Is that so? My, my, that certainly is special treatment.”

The two men didn’t discuss it any further. Yosŏp didn’t want to get into any details, particularly concerning his brother, with anyone who wasn’t his flesh and blood.

They already had a car ready, so Yosŏp simply packed a shirt and some toiletries in a small bag and headed out. September had arrived, but the weather outside, away from the air-conditioning, was still rather hot and humid. The only person waiting in the car was the chauffeur. Yosŏp climbed into the back seat, and All Back got in the front. Once they passed the outskirts of the city, the view consisted of nothing but mile upon mile of vegetable fields, dotted here and there along the edges with clusters of adobe-brick tenement houses. Soon they were entering a four-lane cement highway.

The highway was practically empty, with only the occasional freight car rattling by. They stopped at a checkpoint on the provincial boundary, and All Back rolled down his window to display some sort of travel permit. Writing something down in his records, the guard let them pass. With no road signs in sight there was no way to know exactly where they were, but after an hour or so of driving the car veered onto a side road. It was a narrow dirt road flanked on either side by fields of sorghum. The car stirred up little dust; the dirt was tightly packed. Not long afterwards a paved road appeared, followed by a street lined with houses and buildings.

“Can you tell where we are?” the guide asked, turning around to look at Yosŏp. Yosŏp looked out the window and concentrated. The fields went on and on, but as the outline of a mountain off in the distance gradually came into view, he realized it looked quite familiar — it was a shape he recalled, albeit vaguely.

“Ah, that looks like Kkonme. ” he mumbled to himself, remembering the long-forgotten names of the mountains around his hometown — Mount Uryŏng, Mount Hwa. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized that the roads themselves were nearly the same as they had been, too, although the buildings and houses were different. He spotted several men and women standing together on the side of the street. All Back motioned towards them.

“Stop over there.”

Following the guide’s instructions, the chauffeur pulled the car over in front of the small group. As they climbed out of the car, one of the men, who had gray hair and wore short-sleeved working clothes, approached Yosŏp. The guide introduced them.

“Reverend, this is the Party Secretary of Sinch’ŏn County.”

Assuming the title would be equivalent to that of mayor, Yosŏp made a deep, courteous bow. The man took Yosŏp by the hands, saying, “You’ve had a long, arduous journey.”

All Back turned towards the old man who stood behind the party secretary.

“This is the Comrade Director of the museum.”

The whole company began walking, stepping on each other’s heels as they followed a narrow side path. Eventually they reached a brick wall set with a large gate of vertical bars. Next to the gate was a sign, a square, wooden board that read, “Sinch’ŏn Museum.” Inside the gate, a spacious paved yard was occupied by a couple of parked buses. The museum was a two-story building that looked like a typical Korean school: a front door placed directly in the middle of the façade with straight rows of windows stretching out to the right and left. A pine tree and a tall poplar each shaded a side of the door. Walking into the building, one was presented a view of the staircase that led up to the second floor and a set of hallways on either side that led away to the opposite ends of the building. A quote from Chairman Kim was posted on the wall facing the front door. A woman in hanbok who’d been following quietly behind the director of the museum came forward and bowed to Yosŏp, holding a thin stick with both hands.