Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

What on earth do you think you’re doing? And at this hour?

In response to my surprise, the young man pointed straight at me.

Arrest that heretic son of a bitch!

All the young men had their guns trained on me. A couple of them pounced on me, beating me with the butts of their rifles. One of them struck me on the head and I saw stars — all the strength drained out of my body. Another smashed into my back, and I fell flat to the ground. Using an electrical cord, they tied my hands behind my back. I came to my senses as I was stumbling along, and I turned to the young man I’d recognized.

What have I done to justify this kind of treatment?

You accepted a post as a committee member of the Christian League. For that, you deserve to die ten times over.

And that was how I ended up being dragged all the way to the county hall downtown. I was one of the luckier ones, though. If you were arrested someplace far away or if you fell into the hands of someone who’d been holding a grudge against you, well, then you were just shot on the spot. The atrocities those young men, thronging about in tens and twenties, committed in their own neighborhoods and in town — they were. beyond words. When they brought me to the county hall I just sat there at first, kneeling on the floor. The place was teeming with armed youngsters — they kept coming in and out, in and out, and if your eyes happened to meet theirs, they’d jump on you and kick you senseless, beating you with their guns. I watched a member of the Women’s League bleed to death on the concrete floor after one of them stamped her head into the ground.

Hey, you! Get over here!

A young man had approached us, but I couldn’t tell who he was talking to.

I’m talking to you, you son of a bitch! he screamed, pointing right at me.

I staggered to my feet, my hands still bound behind me, and walked towards him.

Get in front!

He pushed me into a room. Inside were two men. One was standing by the window with his back turned. The other was sitting at a desk. It was Cho Sangho.

Well, untie the man’s hands.

The young one who’d brought me obediently complied, untying my hands.

You may go now.

When the young man left, the man who’d been standing by the window turned around and came forward — it was my nephew, Yohan.

Uncle, what’s happened to you? Sit down, sit down.

I wasn’t myself at all. Still rather uncertain, I sat down and dropped my head — I must have looked frightful — I had dried blood all over my mouth and chin, and a clot of blood covered a tear in my scalp. My nephew handed me a bag of Sŭngri 40Biscuits — that was my meal. Cho Sangho sat there and watched as Yohan wiped the blood off my face with a handkerchief, but he didn’t say much. I asked for a glass of water and I finally started to come to my senses after I managed to take a couple of sips.

What’s all this about?

Yohan raised his hand, gesturing as if to physically shut me up. The Reds, they killed his father. Shoved him in the well.

Enough, said Sangho. He turned to me.

I understand how it was that you became a committee member of the Christian League. You saved my life that day, sir, and today I will save yours.

That’s how I survived. Thanks to Sangho and Yohan. They told me not to go back home. Yohan took me back to the county hall.

The worst will be over in the next three days, he said. Just stay put right here until we’re done cleaning up the Reds. We can’t say for sure who’ll be making raids on your village.

What he had me do was cook meals with the womenfolk. So many people were brought in as prisoners over those three days. Whole families — women, elders, children — even newborn babies were being arrested. There was an underground air-raid shelter that’d been built during the Japanese occupation, and as soon as the war broke out, they’d dug a deep trench all around the building. As far as I could tell, the important Party members were all shoved into the air-raid shelter. All their families, women or men, young or old, were forced in there, too. All the younger men and women, the ones who’d been in the Democratic Youth League or the Women’s League — they were taken to the police station and locked in the storage room. Families of soldiers and just plain farmers who’d happened to join the Party, they were all told to get into the trench in front of the Party building and stay there.

The men who were set to stand watch outside town caught some soldiers from the People’s Army — stragglers, I guess — and brought them in. All they did with those men was ask their rank, regiment, and destination. Then they dragged them into the backyard of the police station.

There’s something I have to mention here. When the sun set that evening, the sky was full of red dragonflies. I know you’ve heard it said that the sun is perfect at that time of year for laying the rice out to dry — well, we were well into autumn by then and the skies were crimson, ablaze with the setting sun. I think it was the day before the occupation forces were expected to enter. The public square where the police station and the county hall stood side by side is still wide, even today — the security forces, except for those who were left at the headquarters, had all gone out to guard the outskirts of town, and the rest of the boys had split up to roam around and find the Reds who were still hiding — so the streets were all empty. There were only four or five men standing guard at the air-raid shelter and the trench. Suddenly a group of Yohan’s men showed up with two soldiers of the People’s Army in their custody, still wearing their yellowish uniforms. The young man walking in front had one end of a wire in his hands. The other end of the wire had been pierced through the nose of one of the People’s Army soldiers. The front of the soldier’s jacket was soaked with the blood that ran down his face. I don’t know if one of the guns was his, but the guy in front was carrying two. Behind them came the second People’s Army soldier, who turned out to be a short-haired young woman. Who knows what happened to her military cap. She was being led by a wire that bound her hands together — the other end of that wire was tied to the waist of the first prisoner. She still had her uniform but she was barefoot. Four more of Yohan’s men followed behind her.

They say they’re brother and sister.

I could hear the guy who held the wire in his hands, speaking loudly to the guard in front of the county hall.

How many have we brought in today? This is already the fifteenth or sixteenth, isn’t it?

Have they brought many in from other places, too?

Hey, why didn’t you just take their guns and waste them on the spot? Why bother dragging them all the way back here?

They all went into the building. Quite a while later, the piercing screams of a young girl reverberated through the hall. It was getting quite dark by that point, and, well, they’d stripped those kids naked and dragged them back outside. They took them to the backyard of the police station. The short-haired girl had a small rear, and her legs resembled those of a sparrow. Wailing, she trailed after her big brother, her arms wrapped around her chest and her head hanging low. They disappeared around the fence, and I heard a couple of shots ring out. I came close to forsaking my God. Oh, but that wasn’t hell, not even close. It was the following night that would shake my faith to its very core — and continue to do so for fifty long years.

Ch’ansaemgol comes into view. The new highway leading into town passes below the mountain and, on either side of the road, the hillocks have been cultivated into orchards. In the orchard, small trees with neatly trimmed branches are heavy-laden with apples right on the verge of turning a perfect crimson. Nestled against the foot of a hill to its north, the village faces south. Near the lower road, pine trees and zelkova trees set off the red zinc roof of the Kwangmyŏng Church. The cross in the bell tower is clearly visible.