Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

“It is my understanding that your uncle used to be the managing director of his Cooperative Farm. I hear the people there still think very highly of him,” the guide continued, getting into the car.

Whenever the conversation turned to the topic of her family, Yohan and Yosŏp’s mother would always take a moment to brag about her younger brother. According to her, even as a child he’d been a grown-up. He was so thoughtful and openhearted that their father had wanted him to become a minister. “And to think he’s turned into such an ox of a man!” she used to say, lamenting the loss.

It was right around lunchtime when the group entered Sinch’ŏn once more, just as it had been on their first visit. This time, though, the car drove straight through the downtown area, racing north for a good fifteen ri 37or so until they reached the wide open fields of Ŏruri. Soon after that they found themselves at the base of a low mountain — a largish hill, really — that rose gently up from the middle of the fields. They were in Some. A Cooperative Farm village with the mountain at its center, the place was completely surrounded by rice paddies. The paddies were already beginning to turn gold and, with just the right amount of clouds up in the sky, the breeze, too, was agreeably cool.

The Some Farm was somewhat larger than Tanyŏl’s village. Single-story houses and cement brick duplexes lined the streets. Most of them appeared to be empty, probably because it was harvest season and the majority of the villagers were out in the fields. What looked like some sort of community center but turned out to be the farm office was situated in the center of town, along with a library and a public nursery. Grass lawns and rows of trees bordered either side of the concrete walkways, giving the whole scene a parklike look. Wooden benches had been placed here and there, and when they got out of the car they spotted a couple of old men straddling one of the benches, playing changgi. 38The managing director, a woman, came out of the office to meet them. She exchanged a few words with the Pyongyang guide, greeted Reverend Ryu, and took them over to the elderly changgi players. One of them, his eyes meeting Yosŏp’s instantly, slowly got to his feet. The woman introduced Yosŏp to the old man.

“Grandfather, your nephew has come to see you. This person right here is—”

Before she had a chance to finish, the old man broke in, a big smile lighting up his face.

“You’re Yosŏp, aren’t you! But why are you here alone?”

The voice and expression alone were more than enough for Yosŏp to know that this old man was, indeed, his uncle. Uncle Some’s back was still straight, and his face didn’t look any darker than it had in the old days. He had obviously begun balding, but he’d dealt with this by shaving the rest of his head to match — meanwhile, on the other end of his face he’d managed to grow himself quite a fine beard.

“Uncle! Have you been well?”

As Yosŏp bent at the waist to offer up a deep bow, his uncle grabbed him by the arms and drew him in for an embrace. Pulling away slightly, he looked into his nephew’s face with reddened eyes.

“Your mother.?”

“She passed away — long ago.”

“And Yohan? Where does he live?”

“He also. he died a few days ago.”

The old man blew his nose with a resounding honk and thumped his nephew on the back.

“Come, let’s go home. The whole family’s waiting for you.”

Yosŏp looked around, trying to see if he could remember his maternal grandparents’ old home, but nothing in his line of vision seemed familiar aside from the low mountain in the open fields. Walking along at his uncle’s side, Yosŏp said, “Thank you, Uncle, for taking such good care of Tanyŏl and his family.”

“Well, well, so you’ve seen your sister-in-law, have you?”

“Yes, sir. I stayed with them last night.”

“She’s been through a lot over the years. I hear you’re a minister now, is that right?”

When his nephew answered to the affirmative, the old man nodded several times.

“How old are you now, Uncle?”

“Me? I’m eighty-five.”

Uncle Some walked ahead, going to the front of a two-story duplex and pushing open a side gate attached to the low hedge fence, just like the one at Tanyŏl’s house. The small front yard, which led into a vegetable garden, was filled with people. Uncle Some introduced his son, a man in his mid-forties who stood towards the front of the small crowd, as well as his daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Inside the house, someone had already set the table for lunch — just as it had been at Yosŏp’s sister-in-law’s. His uncle had always been an extremely quiet person by nature, and his entire family seemed to take after him. They must have felt rather awkward in the presence of Yosŏp, who was essentially a stranger; whenever their eyes met his they would simply respond with a broad, innocent smile. No one dared to actually speak throughout the entire meal.

That afternoon, Yosŏp followed his uncle to the Farm Management Office and took a look around the Farm Library where, he was told, his uncle worked part-time. Uncle Some briskly informed Yosŏp that the library held some three thousand volumes, many of which were donated by households belonging to the farm. The rest had been sent from different locations throughout the country. There was no bragging nor supplementary information — it was a far cry from the flowery explanations Yosŏp had gotten used to from the other guides.

In the evening, the managing director brought over some alcohol. Though Yosŏp declined initially, he eventually ended up accepting a few glasses, feeling somewhat obligated by the presence of his uncle. It had apparently been a while since Uncle Some had had any soju ; the old man busied himself making up for lost time by putting back glass after glass. His face, looking so healthy and flushed, belied his age. His laughter grew more and more frequent.

“Let’s move on up to the second floor!”

Picking up a pair of candles, Yosŏp’s uncle walked out into the front yard. Without a clue as to what was going on, Yosŏp followed him out and discovered that a series of cement steps had been attached to the outer wall of the house. The door at the top of the staircase was thrown open to reveal a three-room apartment. It was identical to the one downstairs in terms of its layout — the second floor entryway was really the only difference. A single, faint thirty-watt bulb hung from the middle of the ceiling in the main room.

“Is this place yours, too?”

Uncle Some laughed.

“Ha, ha, so it would seem, at least for now. A family was supposed to move in, but they were reassigned at the last minute, so this little apartment is still vacant. It’s cool here all through the summer, like one of those royal villas from the olden days.”

With that, he put the candles down on a small, round wooden table that was marred by a number of scorch marks. He lit them.

“Why the candles? It’s not even that dark yet.”

“The lights go out after nine. Lately they’ve been going out even earlier — they have to send the electricity to the factories first, so there’ve been cuts out here in the rural communities—”

In the middle of his sentence, the lightbulb actually sputtered and blinked out. It seemed dark at first, but once their eyes began to adjust, the space around the table seemed brighter than ever.

“So. What was it that killed Yohan?” his uncle asked, out of nowhere.

“Well, I don’t really know. He was quite healthy — he only started looking a little worn out these past few years. his sons left, you see, after his wife passed away. They moved to other cities and started their own families. He was living all by himself.”