Hwang Sok-Yong - The Guest

That doesn’t concern you. Kneel down over there. Hands up on your head, that’s it.

The small one was hanging onto some sort of black bag or something, which was starting to bother me. Yosŏp told me that they had no weapons, so I knew I’d be able to take care of them myself without any problems, as long as I was cautious.

What is that? Toss it over here.

It’s a musical instrument — a violin.

Toss it, I say!

The thing dropped to the ground at my feet with a resounding thud, flying open as if it’d been split in half. I picked it up.

So it is. A fiddle.

I’d seen peddlers in the marketplace playing “Yangsando”or “Hwangsŏng of Yesteryear,” so I knew a fiddle wasn’t anything special. I shook it a couple of times to make sure there wasn’t anything inside it and tossed it to the ground. Then I crushed it with my foot.

In spite of myself, the shriek that burst from the lips of the little one startled me to the core.

Quiet! Before I take care of you both with just one shot.

Pulling them to their feet, I forced them to walk in front of me. With the revolver at my waist and the pick over my shoulder, I steered them down to the fruit storehouse, shining the flashlight to illuminate the path. I had them kneel on the slope with their backs to me. As I gripped the pick in my hands, the bigger girl, without looking back, said quietly, Let us sing.

With that, she started singing some sort of military song. Without a word, I let fly at the bitch, striking her body over and over again with the pick. She fell straight forward and rolled down along the slope. Brandishing the pick, I turned and swung, aiming at the small one. I missed. I think I must have hit her in the shoulder. She bent in half, screaming, then twisted back around to look me in the face.

Please, sir, let me live! Help!

I struck her again, and this time I caught her on the back of the head. That shut her up. I turned around and hurried away, going around to the front of the storehouse. The blood must have spattered — my face and the front of my shirt felt wet. I sat down in front of the water pump and washed my face and hands, then drank some water from my cupped hands. Still feeling kind of flustered, I went back home, got on my bicycle, and raced all the way back into town.

At the time, the only thought on my mind was that I had to get rid of them as quietly as possible, before anyone else realized what was going on. The bodies stayed there, sprawled out behind the warehouse, until some villagers discovered them and buried them. Yosŏp, of course, must have seen them on the following day when he took them their food. He didn’t say a word about it, not for several decades — but then one day, he asked me if I prayed when I did it, in that moment. I, of course, answered that I had.

December arrives. The U.S. troops and the National Defense Army are being pushed back. The Chinese Communist Army has entered the war. As the news that Pyongyang has been seized reaches the members of the Youth Corps and the security forces, they prepare themselves to retreat. They arrest all the people who have been under investigation, even those whose degree of participation was marginal at best, families of those who’d simply joined the Women’s League, the Professional League, or the Democratic Youth League, and the families of soldiers. Some of the families are small units of survivors who have already lost the rest of their relatives. By now, trials are being held not just in town but in every village in the county. The cold-blooded killings at the storehouse in Wonamri and the slaughter at the reservoir and on the bridge all happen within a few days of each other, beginning on December 2. During the day they roam the streets to hunt men; at night they search the empty houses and gather together to drink. Many of the young men have collected quite a number of valuables and other items. They are waiting for a suitable means of transportation. They are eager to start moving south, even if it’s just a few miles.

After I delivered Tanyŏl and went out for a cigarette, I began to think. We couldn’t just leave him there, and I thought maybe my older sister might be able to protect him since her husband was a Party member.

Let’s name the baby Daniel. The Lord protected Daniel, even in the lion’s den.

That can wait. The pain is killing me.

I realized my only option was to leave by myself. I left the house, telling my wife I was going to my sister’s house to ask for help since she was in no condition to be on the road. My older sister lived in a neighboring village, Palsan, and my younger sister, two years my junior, had married a man in Unbong and settled down there. Since I’d missed the advance trucks that left the day before to stay and help with my wife’s childbirth, it was crucial that I get at least as far as the pier in Haeju by the end of the coming day. That was the final meeting point. By two o’clock, I could already feel the imminent arrival of dawn hanging over the mountain forests. The mist began to climb up over the ridges and spread itself out over the fields. The night was still but the air was icy.

Entering the village of Palsan, I managed to find my sister’s house with a series of ready guesses. It was in a narrow alleyway bordered by a long stone fence on either side. A huge ginkgo tree marked what looked like the entrance — the stone fence simply ended, and the ginkgo tree appeared. I turned the corner, but as I stood facing the blind alley that led to my sister’s house, a sense of uneasiness suddenly enveloped my entire body.

Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, the wide wooden gate — rather fancy for a rural house — stood wide open at the end of the alley. It looked to be grinning ominously. I unslung the 30-round automatic carbine from my shoulder and held it at the ready. The front yard was empty and the house, two rooms built side by side, was dark. I went closer and called out softly, Sister, are you there?

No answer. I opened the door to one of the rooms. Sweeping the room with my flashlight, I found it was empty. The mattress was laid out, but the blankets had been thrown to the side, as if someone had just hurried out of bed. I thought I heard something at the back of the house. Aiming the rifle, I walked along the fence and went into the backyard. Something dark was squatting down, crouched close to the ground.

Who’s there?

Without turning, the black thing muttered, What have we done to deserve this, what crime have we committed.?

Brother-in-law?

Switching the flashlight on, I shone the light around the yard. A long skirt and a pair of bare feet were visible next to my brother-in-law.

Oh, God! What’s going on?

Your sister. She’s dead.

I’d seen so many dead bodies over the previous month that the scene itself didn’t strike me as being particularly shocking. I just wanted to find out who had dared to do such a thing to Ryu Yohan’s sister.

Who’s done this?

Suddenly grabbing me by the collar as I crouched down next to him, my brother-in-law started shaking me back and forth, bursting into tears.

Who else but you and your kind would do something like this?

What? We did this?

That’s right. Sangho was here. Lucky for me, I happened to be hiding under the floorboards.

I barely managed to get him off of me — he kept shaking me by the collar, hollering that the only way a farmer could get by these past few years had been to join the Party, asking me what deadly crime I thought he’d committed.

We thought since you were a vice-commander, we’d be safe — even in hiding, I wasn’t too worried — and now, look! We’ve been struck by lightning!