Hwang Sok-yong - Princess Bari

I headed down the mountain in the dark toward the railroad tracks that I’d spotted during the day. I felt the crunch of gravel underfoot before I saw the tracks. Chilsung and I stepped over the metal rails and up onto the wooden ties, and followed the tracks all night. I can’t remember if we stopped somewhere to sleep or if we walked straight on into the next night, but we eventually arrived near Gomusan Station. The whole area had been abandoned. We were walking down an alley past a long row of empty houses when I had the distinct sensation that there were people inside.

Who’s she?

Whispers were carried to me on the wind. Dark shapes as distinct as black clothes hanging on a clothesline in the middle of a moonless night began to appear one after another. One of them brushed past me and suddenly spoke in a clear voice:

Where are you going?

I wasn’t afraid. Even when it was just Grandmother and me in the dugout hut, with tigers and lynxes prowling right outside, I hadn’t been afraid; nor was I afraid later, when I was on my own in the woods.

What’s it to you where I’m going? Do you think I’m afraid of you?

The black shapes whispered to each other:

She says she’s not afraid!

Chilsung and I walked straight ahead without paying the shapes any attention, and came to a stop in front of a house. It had a wide courtyard and a wooden veranda, just like our house back in Musan, and the gate was open. I was about to go through it when Chilsung dug in his hind legs and let out a low growl.

It’s okay, boy. We’ll rest here until the sun comes up and then head to the station. When I walked into the courtyard, a breeze blew past me and whirled around the yard. I was about to step up onto the veranda when I heard a hoarse female voice right behind me.

You bad girl. How dare you walk right into someone else’s house?

When I turned to look, a woman with dishevelled hair was standing in front of the kitchen door. I could tell that it was the owner of the house — and that it was not a living person. Chilsung growled again.

I’m sorry, Auntie. I was looking for my mother, but I got so tired that I thought I could just rest here a little before I kept going.

Get rid of the dog. It’s scaring the kids.

He’s my little brother. He won’t hurt anyone. Auntie, how did you die?

Quiet giggles erupted in the corner.

She says that dog is her little brother!

Two children were standing side by side in the house. The taller one was a girl, the shorter one a boy. They looked to be about seven and four. I sat on the veranda while the woman and her two kids stood as far away from me as they could.

We can’t leave , the woman said. We’re waiting for their father to come back. He and I went all the way to Hoeryong and Chongjin to look for food, but there were no trains and we had to walk. It took us three days to get home. We found our children frozen and starved to death. I died right then of shock. My husband left and hasn’t returned. Look at the yard. Those are our neighbours. They all went first. We were the last to go.

I looked at the spirits, clumped together and wavering like dark smoke in the courtyard and on the threshold of the gate. I thought of what my grandmother would do and took the gaetteok I’d made before leaving from my knapsack, pulled off little pieces, and began tossing them into the courtyard. I tossed some to the woman and her two kids inside the house as well.

Eat up, everyone. Eat, eat, before you go. You have some too, and you, and you.

The shapes vanished at once. I gave a piece to Chilsung and had a small bite for myself before slipping into a deep sleep.

In the morning, we walked to the station. There were no employees, and no sign that anyone had been there in a while. I was squatting outside the station building when an elderly woman came tottering toward me.

“I’ve never seen you before. What neighbourhood are you from?” she asked.

“I’m from Musan.”

“Why’d you come here then? You should’ve crossed the river instead. My son and daughter-in-law left the country that way a long time ago. Said they were looking for work.”

“Grandmother, if I need to get to Puryong, should I take a train from here?”

“Train? Do people still take those? The train stopped coming here ages ago. Everyone who was still alive ran off as well. Let’s see. I suppose it would only take a day for an adult to reach Puryong on foot.”

The old woman let her basket drop. It held some pine bark and a few scraps of bellflower root.

“This stuff has been keeping me alive. You hurry on home now. Or go to the station at Chongjin like the other urchins. That’s the only way to survive, by begging and stealing.”

I reached behind to pull another gaetteok from the plastic bag in my knapsack, but the old woman snatched the whole packet from me. I would never have guessed from her slow shuffle and the way she’d spoken that her hands could’ve moved that fast. She stuffed two of the gaetteok in her mouth at once and started to chew. Her molars must have fallen out, because she nibbled futilely with her front teeth before trying to swallow them whole. I could tell from looking at her that the dry cakes were stuck in her throat. I offered her the bottle of water, and she hid the plastic bag behind her back before taking a long swig. Then she seemed to come to her senses. She let out a long breath and sat down for a moment before handing the bag and bottle back to me. “You should eat too,” she said.

“Please have the rest, Grandmother.”

She slowly ate them, one at a time. When the bag was empty, she offered it to me again. I stood to leave. Chilsung read my intent and started heading toward the tracks. “Run off now,” she said. “There’s no one left here anymore.”

On the way to Puryong, I ran into countless ghosts wandering the fields and villages every night. Each time they brushed past me on those empty village roads, I heard a low, spooky woooooo , like a heavy wind blowing through giant trees. Later, when I travelled to other parts of the world and saw numerous cities and glittering lights and the vitality of those crowds of people, I was struck with disappointment and disgust at how they had all abandoned us and looked the other way.

*

Ah, now we come to that awful day. The day of the inferno.

Chilsung and I were lost somewhere between Chayu Peak and Mount Goseong, outside of Puryong, when we smelled smoke. Chilsung started barking wildly. We were about to head down the mountain, but a strong wind suddenly gusted over us, and smoke rose up all over the ridge. When we went around a bend in the path, we saw that the lower half of the mountain was on fire. No, not just the mountain: all of Heaven and Earth was aflame. The air filled with the smoke of live trees burning, and the crackling of branches and popping of sparks sounded close at hand. The fire was still down at the bottom, but the flames were climbing fast.

I turned and headed uphill. Walking downhill hadn’t been too difficult, but the path back up left me breathless and my legs weak. I glanced back to see the blaze leaping up and being swept forward on the wind. The flames seemed to lap at a hillock on the other side of a narrow ravine. The smoke surrounded us and made it impossible to find our way. I climbed as fast as I could, but the fire was faster. Chilsung kept pausing to look back at me, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. By the time we made it to the top of the ridge, the flames had already reached the spot where we’d stopped to change direction.

I looked down at where we had been headed. The fire seemed to have started at the foot of the mountain: the flames skirted the hem and appeared to be climbing their way up through the folds. White smoke rose from the lower slopes that jutted out between the narrow ravines and long stretches of open field. Something was moving fast through the underbrush: several roe deer and water deer were on the run. They stopped at the top for a moment and glanced at us before springing over the ridge. A line of flame reached the western ridge and began to climb upward. Luckily, as there weren’t many trees, it had only weeds and small shrubs to feed on. But once it was joined by the rest of the flames coming up from below, the fire would spread to the summit in an instant.