Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

The campaign against the Supreme People’s Assembly representative election, which was to be held on November 3of that year, became the last public movement to be organized by the Christians. It just so happened that the day was a Sunday, and the Joint Presbytery of the Five Provinces of the North held a meeting. They adopted a strong stance against what they saw as the state’s general persecution of the Church. Sunday being a sacred day, there was to be no participation in any kind of public event whatsoever except for church services. All throughout the nation, ministers and churchgoers gathered in their churches and prepared to become martyrs. They refused to participate in the general elections.

We gathered together at Kwangmyŏng Church. Sunnam ordered the place surrounded, and the men who used to be our servants and the boys from the peacekeeping troops did exactly that. Sunnam entered the church all alone. The number of believers had gradually decreased in the months following liberation, so only a few dozen people were in the church that day. All the so-called churchgoers from before — those who used to welcome their minister’s home visits — they were now reluctant to openly attend church services since the beginning of the land reform movement, afraid they might fall into the Party’s bad graces. Unarmed, Sunnam sauntered into the church, his step firm as he took off the work cap he always wore. At the time, our church was run by a preacher named Mr. Kim, someone my father had recruited from the Pyongyang seminary. Mr. Kim was about the same age as Sunnam. Sunnam was in the habit of visiting the church every now and then, but he always addressed the new preacher as “Comrade Kim,” never “Preacher Kim.”

Comrade Kim, isn’t today’s service over yet?

On the preacher’s behalf, my father looked up and replied, We’re in the middle of a prayer meeting. Would you like to join us?

You know very well, sir, that today is election day.

Well, you see, our prayers are not yet finished.

Oho, and to whom do you pray so ardently, sir?

Isn’t it obvious? Where do you think we are? This is God’s sacred temple.

Obviously biting his tongue, Sunnam swept his eyes over the inside of the church, all the way from the top of the ceiling down to the pews. He mumbled, And just where is this God of yours? If He exists, why can’t you show Him to me?

Springing up from his seat, Father pointed at Sunnam and shouted, How dare you! How dare you show such disrespect! This is a holy house of God—

Calm down, sir. Let’s just call a spade a spade, that’s all I’m saying. My point is that I have no trouble seeing the masses that cry out for the sovereign power of the People, but I still can’t seem to spot God anywhere.

You fool. Can you look into your own heart and see your conscience?

Sunnam’s reply was immediate, as if he’d known for a long time that he would one day be asked this exact question.

Just as your heart is different from mine, each of our hearts is different from any other.

And with that, Sunnam turned around and left. We all stayed at the church, praying until well after midnight. At daybreak, Sunnam returned. Though he did not try to reenter the building, he did stand at the gate and call out to us in a resounding voice, his tone soft, This is the last time. I promise not to come anywhere near this village again. It’s just that Sunday is over now, and we’ve left the County Committee office open until dawn, just for you. Come and vote. I will be forced to report the names of those who abstain from performing their civic duty.

That son of a.

Clenching my fists, I began to rise from my seat when Father pulled me back down.

Come, come, we must protect the church. We must survive.

Quite a few of the people who stayed at the prayer meeting all through the night went to the county office and voted that morning. On the following day, our preacher was arrested and taken to Haeju before any of us even realized what was happening. A sizeable number of religious workers throughout the country were taken into custody that day. Still, even then, the church continued to be guarded by the true believers, and, above all, the services we held in private homes through individual house calls continued to be quite popular. You see, those home services also doubled as our information network.

A door opened. Tanyŏl’s voice floated out of the dark.

“Uncle, are you out there?”

Sitting on the sofa, Yosŏp turned towards his nephew.

“I’m over here. Why did you get up? You ought to sleep.”

By the time he turned back around, the phantoms were gone. Tanyŏl fumbled with the curtain and drew it aside. The sky outside was turning pearly gray with the break of dawn. Tanyŏl came over and sat down across from his uncle.

“It looks like you had some trouble sleeping.”

“I was thirsty, so I got up for some water.”

His voice still drenched in sleep, Tanyŏl mumbled, “I saw my father in a dream. for the first time in my entire life.”

“Oh yeah? How was it?”

“His face wasn’t very frightening, really. He was dressed in white.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No. He just watched me.”

Yosŏp walked over to the window and listened to the birds twittering. The world was waking up again. Tanyŏl came up and stood by him, looking out the window. The day was still not quite light. Quietly, as if to himself, Tanyŏl spoke.

“To tell you the truth. I shouldn’t say this, but. ”

Yosŏp waited patiently for his nephew to continue. Tanyŏl’s voice faded into silence even as he said the words.

“Mother prays, every now and again. She has ever since I was a little boy.”

“What kind of prayer?”

“Father’s hands — she said that he stained them with blood, right after she gave birth to me. She said she had to pray for forgiveness.”

“Stained with blood, yes. But. ”

Reverend Ryu Yosŏp let out a long sigh and added, “There’s no such thing as a soul beyond redemption.”

IT WAS ALREADY AFTER ELEVEN when Yosŏp and his party finally finished breakfast and left the guest house at the hot springs. The Assistant Chief was the only guide to accompany them, and the car and chauffeur were the same ones that had driven them out of Pyongyang. Although the day before had been hot and humid, today’s skies were thick with low-hanging clouds. The clouds weren’t exactly black — they were closer to gray, really, and they were just floating around, clumped together. It didn’t look like the kind of sky that would be content to sprinkle a light shower; once the first drop actually fell, it would probably pour incessantly throughout the entire day.

“I wonder if we’ll finally get some rain today. This heat is just too much. I can’t stand it,” said the Assistant Chief, looking up at the sky as they drove away.

“The radio forecast said it’ll start raining sometime this afternoon or evening,” offered the chauffeur.

“Ah, it’ll be cooling down, then.”

They drove slowly along the dirt road they had traversed the previous day, only picking up speed when they reached the paved highway that connected Pyongyang and Kaesŏng.

“Well, did you relatives enjoy your time together last night?”

The Assistant Chief turned to look around from the passenger seat as he swept one hand back across his neatly combed hair. Yosŏp was watching the buildings. They looked like factories of some kind, and they were whizzing by on the other side of the empty, white cement road. Reading a sign that sat against the side of a hill, he realized it was a pig farm.