Hwang Sok-yong: Princess Bari

I’m too sad to live, I say. Please cheer me up.

It’s okay, Bari. You’ll pull through.

Chilsung leads the way. I glide behind him along the white path. We stop at a beach covered in white sand, with large boulders here and there. Grandmother is dressed in white and stands with her back to the sea. The hem of her skirt flutters in the breeze.

Grandma, first I lost my family, and now my husband and daughter are gone.

Consider the world, she says, as I burst into tears. The people who brush past you on the street are gone as soon as that moment passes. Think of those you saw yesterday, or even a moment ago. They’re gone. You can’t hear them or see them. Your daughter Suni is here with us.

Grandmother gestures behind me, and I turn. There she is. She stands next to Chilsung in a white, doll-sized Korean blouse and skirt that match my grandmother’s. I put my arms out to pick her up, but just like Chilsung, she takes a step back with each step I move forward. I struggle to reach her, but she keeps her distance.

Don’t bother, Grandmother says. Your body that you treasure so much in life is not you. It houses your spirit. When you leave your body behind, you’ll become like us. Sadness, happiness — that all belongs to the world of the living.

Then I’ll join you now.

No, you still have work to do. You’ve met a lot of people on your travels with questions they need answered.

Yes, and in the old tales, Princess Bari told them she would find the answers during her journey to the otherworld.

Yes, yes, that’s right. And you have to find the life-giving water.

Grandmother turns toward the sea. An old, wooden Korean ship with two yellow sails appears. The ship is five, maybe ten times my height. An arched ramp comes down so Chilsung and I can board. Grandmother gives me a little push.

Get on!

As usual, Chilsung goes first and I follow. When I look back, the coastline has disappeared and the ship is floating in the middle of the blackness. We sail through the sky instead of on water. Chilsung and I stand on the ship’s bridge, under the canopy.

First we’ll cross a sea of fire, Chilsung explains. Then a sea of blood. Finally, after we pass the sea of sand that swallows even the lightest goose down, we’ll reach the iron castle.

Where is that?

At the end of the western sky.

We leave the darkness, and the blazing sea of fire begins. Flames shoot into the air on either side of the ship, and acrid clouds of dark smoke billow around us. I cannot make out any shapes in the fire below, only sounds. I hear the thunder of bombs exploding, guns firing, bullets whizzing, airplanes and helicopters and tanks and armoured cars flying, racing, and rolling by amid constant gunfire and explosions. A crowd lets out a tremendous roar. Women and children scream. Voices shout.

March!

Hands up! Don’t move!

Exterminate the devils!

Glory to God!

Shoot them all! Kill them! Smash them! Wipe them all out!

The din threatens to make my head explode, no matter how hard I press my hands over my ears.

Then the flames and smoke vanish, and darkness surrounds the ship again. The noise fades and finally stops. I lower my hands.

Oh, that was awful , Chilsung says. That hell was built in your world first. That’s why it looks the same in this world.

The sky slowly fills with a reddish glow as in the late evening, and down below I can see waves of dark red: the ship is crossing the sea of blood. I begin to make out shadowy buildings far off in the distance, like a city skyline.

What city is that? I ask Chilsung.

Those are the ships of the dead. They stay here in the sea of blood.

As we get closer, I see grey ships of different shapes bobbing this way and that. Standing on the decks in the dim lamplight are men, women and children, naked or dressed in rags. Among them, I recognize the people I met on the road and in mountain villages between Musan and Puryong. Thinking I might see my sister Hyun or the rest of my family, I search the crowd.

Finally, I spot them. There’s my mother and Jung and Sook, who were sent to Puryong. Hyun, who froze to death in the mountains, is with them. Ah, so they all died after all. Just as I can always tell when I’m dreaming, I know that this place is not the world of the living but a vision of the otherworld. I call out to them.

Mother! Sisters! Hyun!

But all they do is stand in a row and face front, as if they cannot hear me.

The scene changes without mercy, showing me every corner of the inside of the ship in turn. People of all races are on board. It carries souls from every corner of the world who were starved, tortured, worked or beaten to death, or who were terminally ill, bombed, burned, drowned, or who died of a broken heart.

Someone leans over the front of the ship and shouts: Tell us the reason for our suffering! Why are we here?

It’s Becky.

I don’t understand this, I call to her. Why are you all in the same boat?

This is the inside of your mind. Don’t forget my question.

As the ship she is in slides past mine, I shout: I’ll give you an answer when I return!

Another ship passes slowly. Glowing red torches light every inch from stern to bow. Standing in rows inside it are people wielding spears, arrows, knives and guns, people with their hair dishevelled, their arms torn off, legs severed, heads missing, people dressed in blood-soaked uniforms, wrapped in gauze, leaning on crutches, eyes bandaged, people struggling to escape.

I see Lady Emily’s father and grandfather. I see American and British soldiers, and I see my husband’s younger brother Usman with a long beard and a round, white topi prayer hat on his head. He calls out: Bari, tell us why evil wins! And why we are stuck here with our enemies!

I shout: I’ll tell you when I return!

The ship I am in slowly glides over the surface of the sea of blood. Another ship approaches. It is jet-black from sails to hull. Inside this ship, men and women stand, their mouths shut tight, chests and stomachs hung with clusters of explosives. Some of the men are stripped naked, their bodies twisted and deformed by burns and shrapnel, while others have no bodily form at all and instead their flesh — which had been blown apart and scattered in every possible direction — hovers in the air like a swarm of flies forming the vague shape of a person.

Old and young men with long beards and stubborn faces. Women with hijabs and haggard faces, or with distorted faces that look like they’ve been burned, bodies covered in bruises and open wounds from the lashings they received. Women covered from head to toe in loose, shapeless burqas . I see an unfamiliar man with grenades strapped to his chest shaking his fist at me.

He yells: Tell us the meaning of our deaths!

A burqa -clad woman standing next to him murmurs behind the fabric covering her face: Tell me what my death means, too.

Unsure of what their questions even mean, I reply: I’ll tell you when I return.

Another ship approaches. It seems to have no torches or lamps, nor even a single passenger on deck. It drifts toward us as silent as death, without even the slightest sign of movement on board. Then, in the darkness, I begin to make out faint shapes.

The silence is broken by a spooky laugh. The government officials who took my father away are there, as are the men who chased us from our home and the men who tormented and sold my sister Mi after she crossed the Tumen River alone. The loan sharks in Dalian, the men I saw on the smuggling ship: they are all on board. The snakeheads who shoved us into the containers, the men who raped us in the dark belly of the ship, even the fat brothel owner who laughed when she saw my flat chest: they are there too.