Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

“Well, ah, I suppose it’s the kind of meeting that’s bound to be a bit awkward, for both sides.”

The guide’s comments finally registering, Yosŏp nodded hastily.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday. This young fellow and I’ve become quite close now — isn’t that right?”

Reverend Ryu turned to look at his nephew, who lowered his head and grinned shyly.

“Comrade Ryu, does your uncle strike you as someone you’ve seen before somewhere? They say that’s how it feels when you’re reunited with a long-lost family member.”

Tanyŏl glanced sideways at Yosŏp’s profile for a second.

“Well, I wouldn’t really know, sir — I’ve never seen my own father.”

“Ah, is that so?”

In an attempt to return the guide’s friendly overtures, Yosŏp tried to do his part to keep the conversation afloat.

“I didn’t see it when we first met, but as I spend more time with him I’ve begun to recognize how much he takes after his father and grandfather.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, in any case. we are now on our way to see your sister-in-law, Reverend. How much time do you think you’ll need for the reunion?”

“Hmm. ”

Yosŏp decided to answer him with a question of his own.

“It’s been almost fifty years — how could a single day be enough?”

The Assistant Chief turned back to face the front of the car for a moment, apparently giving the issue some thought. He twisted around in his seat once more to address Yosŏp.

“All right. Two days. What do you say?”

“Thank you, thank you very much. But. would it be possible to spend the first day with my nephew’s family and the second visiting my uncle?”

“Your uncle. was there an uncle?”

The Assistant Chief-cum-tour guide hastily reached for his notebook. It had a blue vinyl cover, and he kept it in his inner jacket pocket — he was constantly checking it to verify this or that. Skimming over a page that was covered in names, running over them with the tip of his ballpoint pen, he came to a stop.

“Well, well, here it is.”

He looked up from the book for a moment, turned back and asked, “But this address here, this is Sinch’ŏn, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Facing the front once more, the guide muttered, “Huh, that means we’ll have to go all the way back. Let me see. we’ll send your request up and wait until tomorrow morning to find out whether or not it’s been approved.”

In less than half an hour they were in Sariwŏn, the second largest city in Hwanghae Province. There were high-rise apartment buildings and even two of those department stores — the ones that deal exclusively with foreign shoppers. A sign with red letters spelling out “Rice Cakes” whizzed by outside the car window. A small crowd was gathered out in front of a fish shop. Office workers and laborers were out on their lunch breaks, and so the city center was nearly as crowded as Pyongyang had been. Amazed, Reverend Ryu turned his head this way and that, taking in the sights.

“Actually, hang on — could we stop at a store somewhere?”

“What do you need to buy?”

“I can’t visit my sister-in-law empty-handed, can I?”

At that, the Assistant Chief turned to the chauffeur.

“Over there, at the corner of that intersection. See the store for foreigners?”

The car pulled to a stop, and the Assistant Chief led the way inside, Yosŏp and Tanyŏl following directly on his heels, side by side.

“But Uncle, you’re on vacation — why are you spending money?”

“It’s all right, don’t worry about it. Now, what’s something your mother might like?”

“She likes curly noodles a lot.”

“Curly noodles?”

“You know, those bone-dry noodles.”

Yosŏp finally caught on.

“Ahh, you mean ramen .”

There was a surprisingly large number of customers in the store; each cashier had several people waiting in line. Most of the goods for sale had been made in Japan and China. The whole place was basically an arena for circulating foreign currency. Following his nephew’s advice, Yosŏp bought a box of Japanese ramen. He also bought some clothes for his nephew’s children and a dress from Singapore for his sister-in-law. For his nephew, he bought a thermos and an electronic wristwatch. Then, remembering that he might be visiting his uncle, he decided to get several cartons of cigarettes, too. He started to put the Japanese cigarettes into a bag with the rest of the gifts, then stopped to take two of the cartons out and pack them separately in a vinyl bag — he would give them to the guide and the chauffeur. Just like that, he’d spent several hundred dollars in the blink of an eye. As he got ready to pay, random people around him came rushing up to rummage through his purchases, apparently for the sake of pure entertainment. Yosŏp felt a little flustered. He thought of the huge selections in the gargantuan New York shopping malls with their labyrinthine aisles, of all the times he had wandered around, quite lost, searching for the right exit. In stark contrast, this place was so simple and rudimentary that it seemed almost unreal.

They left the store and went on to make a stop at the city hall to meet the party agent who had brought Tanyŏl to the hotel in Pyongyang two days earlier. The Assistant Chief held his hand out to Yosŏp for a handshake.

“I’ll be saying good-bye here, Reverend, for the time being. We don’t know yet whether you’ll be able to make it to your uncle’s tomorrow, but, well, it should be all right.”

“I’m hoping for the best. Are you returning to Pyongyang?”

“No, I’m staying here tonight. If the order to do so comes down tomorrow, we may be going back to Sinch’ŏn together. The Sariwŏn City Authority will be assigning a guide to take care of you today.”

The new guide, his hair also combed neatly back, was wearing a short-sleeved people’s uniform. His complexion was dark and sunburnt, but he looked younger than Tanyŏl, whose hair was already half white. They changed cars and climbed into a Russian jeep, a vehicle often used by the local government offices. They left the city and drove into the suburbs. The road was, of course, unpaved, and the car jolted back and forth. A cool breeze blew in through the open windows and, following a series of tiny smudges that began to spread across the windshield, a shower of respectably sized raindrops began to fall to the ground.

“Ah, rain. Now the heat is really over,” murmured the guide in the front seat to no one in particular.

“I hope it doesn’t rain too much. The crops need sunny weather to ripen properly, don’t they?”

“Well, we still need some rain for the greens. Vegetable farming is important, too.”

Along either side of the road, fields of corn rippled gently in the wind. Past the cornfields, one could make out rice paddies. They were just starting to turn a ripe golden brown. The corn leaves, waving back and forth in the falling rain, looked positively delighted. As they entered the village, a line of low houses with tile roofs came into view. Every one of them had a waist-high wooden fence out front, painted white. Each household was growing beans, their vines creeping up the fences. Housewives peered out at them over their fences and beans. By the time they reached Tanyŏl’s house and got out of the car, some of the more curious neighbors had actually come out into the street, despite the drizzle. The Sariwŏn guide told them politely to go and mind their own business, but the small crowd stayed where it was, staring at Yosŏp and his suit and tie from every angle. Tanyŏl led the way, opening the latch on the fence and walking into the front yard. Reverend Ryu Yosŏp and the guide followed. From the front yard, they could smell some sort of frying and sautéing going on in the house. A tall, lanky boy in his teens suddenly appeared around the corner.