Hwang Sok-yong - Princess Bari

Ah, and the worst of them all: terrifying, hateful Xiang twists up her face and glares at me. As the ships we are in slide past each other, she shouts: This boat carries the people you hate most. When will we be set free?

I tear at my chest and yell back: I will never set you free!

When will we be free of you?

I shudder and say automatically: I’ll tell you when I return.

The ship crosses the sea of blood, and is enveloped in darkness again. The sky grows light. Fine sand floats in midair like fog. Below the ship stretches a wilderness of sand with no end in sight no matter how far I look. There is nothing but sand all the way to the faint horizon.

This is the sea of sand that swallows even the lightest goose down , Chilsung explains.

What kind of place is this?

Just what it sounds like. It swallows up everything.

I look out over the clean, peaceful-looking white sand. Something is moving. People, each in different attire, hold sacred texts aloft. They talk loudly in languages the others cannot understand, barely able to keep their footing in the sand. There are more: religious leaders from every corner of the world are assembled there. From their wigs to their hats and their gowns and their black and their white, they all look the same. They speak different languages, each saying different things, which makes their words sound like some kind of peculiar incantation.

They are so intent on drowning each other out that their words become garbled and lose all meaning. Their faces flush dark red, their eyes bulge and they raise their sacred texts with one hand while waving the other at the ground and at the sky. But there is no chance that the sand will simply leave them be — they struggle to keep their balance as their legs slowly sink into it. They sink to their waists, their chests, their throats, and then their heads disappear and all I can see are their flailing arms before they vanish without a trace, and there is nothing left but sand. All is quiet for a moment, but suddenly the sand spits them back out; their bodies fly up, and they resume their endless talking and arguing. Then the sand slowly sucks them under again. Over this monotonous, noisy, ludicrous sea of sand that swallows even the lightest goose down, our ship drifts silently.

The ship arrives at a beach that looks similar to the one from which we departed. The sand bristles with rocks, and dark stone mountains tower in the distance. Standing firmly at the top of one of the mountains is a cast-iron castle, rusted to a reddish-black. Each square window in the perfectly square castle glows with light.

You have to go in there and bring back the spirit flower and the life-giving water , Chilsung says. But I cannot bring myself to leave the ship.

I’m scared , I tell him. I can’t do this on my own.

The story that’s been handed down to us from long, long ago says that Bari is the only one who can do this .

No sooner do I set my foot on the gangplank than I am already standing on land. Chilsung holds a wrapped bundle in his teeth; he tosses it over the side of the ship. When I open it, a copper rattle, a copper mirror and gaetteok made from sorghum flour are inside.

Those are from your grandmother , Chilsung says. You’ll need them where you’re going. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll bring the boat back .

I sling the bundle over my shoulder and start climbing the rugged mountain slope. Rocks tumble past; when I grab for a handhold, the rocks crumble or break away. I get stuck in a ravine and have to shimmy my way out and resume my climb. My palms, elbows and knees are all scraped, skinned and bleeding. When I finally reach a spot where I can see the castle gate, the path ends abruptly at the edge of a deep, dark cliff. I hear someone laughing on a rock right next to me.

Kar-kar-kar! Where you think you’re goin’, Stupidhead? Karr-rr-rr!

I look up to see the magpie sitting there. I’m too happy to see a familiar face to get angry.

I have to go in there and get the spirit flower and the life-giving water. Help me!

The magpie flicks his tail a few times, then flaps his wings and lands lightly on my shoulder.

How ‘bout that rattle, hey? How ‘bout that rattle?

I open the bundle and pull out the rattle. I hold it overhead and give it a good shake. A stone bridge appears in the dark. The magpie and I cross. With each step, the bridge collapses behind us and vanishes.

The castle gate is shut tight, and is guarded by a pair of hairy sentinels, each with a single horn protruding from its head. They wear armour with dragons on the front, and wield fiery clubs.

Egh! Too scary! The magpie warbles on my shoulder. One cake each! Throw it, throw it!

The guards open their red eyes wide and shout: Who goes there?

I throw a gaetteok into each of their gaping mouths. They swallow them and instantly bow to me. The castle gate screeches open. I hurry inside.

I cross a long stone path and come to a smaller gate. A pair of dogs with fire blazing inside their mouths stand guard on stone slabs on either side of the gate. They jump down, growl and bare their teeth.

One each, one each.

Even before the magpie can finish muttering the words, I toss more gaetteok . The dogs swallow them and return meekly to their stone slabs.

Inside the gate is a wide plaza where countless guards — hundreds upon hundreds, if not more — are lined up for a parade inspection. I see several paths at the far end of the plaza.

White path, white path , the magpie chitters.

I grab two fistfuls of gaetteok so I can throw them at a moment’s notice, and I make a run for the white path in the middle. The guards break formation and rush at me from both sides. I throw the gaetteok in all directions. The plaza descends into a mêlée as they tackle each other and fall over themselves to grab the food.

I make it out of the plaza and reach a big, tree-lined garden. In the middle, red, blue, yellow and white flowers are in full, glorious bloom.

Spirit flower! Spirit flower! the magpie cackles.

I pace back and forth, unsure of which among the hundreds of flowers to pick.

Stupidhead! Only the spirit flower. Only the spirit flower.

The magpie can’t tell me anything more. I think about the white path and select the white flowers. I don’t take many — just three.

Kar-kar-kar! Well done, Stupidhead! Karr-rr-rr!

I tuck the three flowers inside my shirt. Buoyed by the bird’s laughing praise, I hop and dance about joyfully, straight over to where the garden ends.

A fiery pond blocks the next part of the castle. This time I take out the rattle without asking the magpie first, and raise it overhead. The stone bridge reappears above the pond. I run across, the bridge collapsing noisily behind me with each step.

As soon as I am inside, everything goes black; all around me are voices screaming and crying. Even the magpie seems frightened. His voice is low and trembles like a baby frog.

This is it. The end of the western sky. The hell of eighty-four thousand, eighty-four thousand sufferings.

The ceiling of the castle seems to reach as far up as the sky itself, and the air is filled with fog or smoke. When I look around, I see that the walls are filled with cells from floor to ceiling, like a beehive. I hear voices ordering others, spurring others, and more voices responding; the sounds of beating, and the sounds of weeping and wailing. I feel as if I am standing in deep jungle surrounded by howling creatures. My heart pounds, I am dizzy and I think I might collapse. Without help from the magpie, I reach into my shirt and pull out a spirit flower. I toss it into the air as forcefully as I can. It soars up, then coasts down slowly on a stray breeze. The flower pops like a balloon and tens of thousands of petals scatter in all directions, drifting about like snowflakes before turning into bright, white light. Words begin to flow through me, in time with the beat of an unseen drum.