Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

“Hey, hey, get over here — your granduncle’s arrived.”

Tanyŏl waved the boy over.

“Uncle, this is my oldest.”

“Oh, I see.”

The boy bobbed his head at him, and Yosŏp grabbed both his hands, holding and shaking them as he examined his face. Tanyŏl looked around again.

“Where’s your sister run off to? And your mother?”

“Big Sister’s gone out to the field, ’cause it’s raining. Mother’s cooking in the kitchen, and Grandmother’s inside.”

Apparently having heard the voices clamoring outside, an old woman opened the sliding door to what was probably her room, which had a tiny wooden veranda attached to it. Yosŏp studied her features carefully. She was awfully wrinkled, and her front teeth were now missing, but the narrow chin and the creased eyelids — they were familiar.

“Sister-in-law, it’s me. It’s Yosŏp.”

“What’s that? Why, I can’t. am I dreaming or awake? You sure you’re my little brother-in-law?”

“Yes, Sister-in-law, yes I am. I’ve come alone.”

The two reached out for each other simultaneously and, as their fingers interlaced, the sister-in-law let a few of her tears fall onto her brother-inlaw’s hands.

The family feast, the first of its kind in a long, long while, lasted well into the evening. The actual family members consisted of Tanyŏl’s family of four, Yosŏp and his sister-in-law. Also in attendance, however, were the guide and the director of the Management Committee of the Sariwŏn Cooperative Farm, who was also a Party member. Most likely, the people from the farm had lent a hand in getting the food ready. Finding the unfamiliar spices and salty seasoning unpalatable, Yosŏp put down his spoon after a few half-hearted tries. His sister-in-law kept clucking her tongue, worried.

“This — well, toenjang tchigae was always Brother-in-law’s favorite, but we just can’t get good toenjang these days. You just can’t find it any more, not even in the countryside.”

“Ah, come now, he’s traveled all the way from America! I’m sure he’s not interested in toenjang tchigae . ”

At the words of the committee director, the guide spoke up, his tone all-knowing.

“Oh no, you see, that’s exactly it — all the more reason why he must be hungry for the flavor of his own people. It’s just too bad that koch’ujang 34and toenjang are all factory-made these days. They don’t have that special homemade taste anymore.”

It was only after evening had turned into night that the visitors finally excused themselves, leaving the family members to themselves at last. The house consisted of three rooms: two bedrooms with a living room in between, the way it used to be in the old days. The living room had a heated floor and doubled as both anteroom and guest room. Tanyŏl seemed to be quite satisfied with his present life as a supervisor at the farm, saying that the housing conditions were much better in the countryside than in the cities, and that food, at least, was plentiful. The main bedroom was offered to Yosŏp, he being the honored guest, but Yosŏp categorically refused and insisted on sleeping in the living room. He and his sister-in-law settled down, readying themselves to try catching up on all the impossibly overdue news and stories. As the night deepened the rain shower turned into a veritable downpour, and Yosŏp could hear the water running down through the gutters along the eaves. Someone must have put a bucket underneath the spout; the water made quite a racket as it gushed into the overflowing container.

“I hear their father passed away.”

Not without difficulty, Yosŏp’s sister-in-law finally opened her mouth after the rest of the family had retired for the night. He could sense that she wanted to ask more about her husband. It seemed that Tanyŏl, who’d returned two days earlier from their first meeting in Pyongyang, had already told his mother what little he knew.

“That’s right. He passed away quite suddenly, three days before I left America to come here.”

“Was he sick?”

“No, not really. He was pretty healthy. He passed away in his sleep. The church took care of his funeral. Ah, yes — please, don’t be upset by this, but Big Brother remarried after we went down South, after he’d spent a great deal of time alone. She was gentle, and she had a good heart — the match was made by our fellow churchgoers. Big Brother had two sons, Samyŏl and Pillip, from that marriage.”

“I see. So that man lived to die a natural death. If he’d only taken us with him — then, at least, I could have tried to forget. I spent ten years of my life living as a sinner, back in Ch’ansaemgol.”

“Sister-in-law, come, let us leave that in the past.”

“Do you have any idea how many people Ryu Yohan killed? Just the ones I know of — and you can be sure that wasn’t all — number no less than ten in our village alone.”

Yosŏp remained silent for a moment before he opened his mouth again.

“I remember.”

“What happened to Father-in-law and Mother-in-law?”

“Father did very well down South. His business was a success, and he even built a church before he passed away. Mother passed away a year before Big Brother immigrated to the States, so we buried her with Father.”

“They tell me you’ve become a minister?”

“Yes, I have a parish in America.”

His sister-in-law bowed her head for a moment. Then, in a small voice she said, “Would you say a prayer and read from the Bible for me?”

“Even now. you still believe in God?”

She glanced quickly in the direction of the bedroom. Her voice hushed, she replied, “There are times when I still pray. once in a while, when I think of my father.”

“What kind of. what do you say. in your prayers?”

Shifting to correct her posture, she smoothed her white hair neatly back with both hands and said, very calmly, “I’ve thought about it all my life. I mean, why is it that men hate each other so much when everything in this world has been created to make us better? Even the Japanese couldn’t have had so much hate. I was left here, alone, as a sinner. I lost all my daughters because I couldn’t feed them properly, and trying to go on with that one over there, the only one I have left, well, I couldn’t help but think. God, too, has sinned.”

It suddenly occurred to Yosŏp that his brother’s hatred had stayed with him until the day he died. The thought made his heart pound. Was it fear that had kept Big Brother’s hatred alive? Was it terror that the people who’d been tortured, punished horribly like the victims of the inquisitors back in the churches of the Middle Ages — terror that they might come back to life? Having spat out the most blasphemous words possible for a Christian to say, Yosŏp’s sister-in-law sighed heavily.

“God, too, has sinned,that’s what I used to think. He looked down on this blazing hell, and he remained silent. Lately, though, I’ve started thinking about it differently. It’s been a long time since I last read the Bible — I’ve forgotten almost all of it. But Job, Job I remember. My father used to tell me all the Bible stories when I was a small child, as if they were fairy tales. God and the devil had a bet, I remember, to see if Job could hang on to his faith. There comes a time, too, after he becomes a leper, when even Job feels bitter against God. They say suffering is something that man is born with. The people your brother killed — well, they all had souls. They weren’t Satan. Ryu Yohan wasn’t Satan, either. His faith was twisted, that’s all. I know now. I know that God is innocent.”