Hwang Sok-yong - Princess Bari

“Now pay attention, all of you,” Grandmother said. “The Republic can’t look after every single one of its subjects anymore. Why do you think they’re calling it the ‘Arduous March’? The only thing in this world you can rely on is your own family. Don’t forget that.”

“Listen to your grandmother. Don’t mention to anyone that we have food to eat. They say half of the houses in the village down the way are empty.”

As we couldn’t have others seeing smoke from a cooking fire several times a day, Mother only made rice in the mornings when she lit the stove to heat the house, and we would eat half and save the rest for later. Fortunately, as our father was vice chairman in charge of customs and trade in the city, we had some coal briquettes left in storage and were able to heat the stove even in the middle of the rainy season. The chairman’s family, who lived across from us, had also been able to stockpile food, thanks to our father’s acumen.

“If we’d stayed in Chongjin, we’d be starving by now,” our mother would say while clearing away dishes. Then her thoughts would turn to Jin, who’d gotten married, and Sun, who was in the army. “ Aigo , Jin’s pregnant now. I wonder how she’s getting enough to eat. But Sun must be eating well if she’s in the army?”

One day, Chilsung disappeared and had not returned home by sunset. Grandmother saw me pacing outside the stone wall and came out to talk to me.

“Don’t worry, Chilsung is fine. I’m sure he’ll be home soon. Don’t tell your father, and don’t let him off the leash next time.”

I squatted down in the corner of the wall. Then I closed my eyes tight and pictured Chilsung. The darkness behind my eyelids slowly paled into a milky light. I saw a road, a field, rows of cornstalks flattened in the wind, and among them, a white creature. Our little Chilsung was lying on his side with his legs stretched out. I opened my eyes wide.

“Grandma! I know where he is. He’s in the middle of a cornfield way over there.” I took off running without a thought as to any danger. Grandmother followed me, first trotting, then slowing to a walk. The fields were blanketed in fog.

“Slow down, girl! I told you, Chilsung is fine.”

I passed the train station, crossed the rail crossing, and ran up a low hill. I could see the cornfield. I could hear the cornstalks and the long, flat leaves stirring in the wind. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted into the dark.

“Chilsung- ah ! Chilsung- ah !”

Grandmother panted as she climbed over the hill. I stood there with my ears perked, trying to make out any other sounds among the rustling of the leaves. To my right, I heard something that sounded like a short grunt. I pushed my way into the centre of the field and spotted Chilsung’s white fur and outstretched legs. When I cradled his head, he yelped and shook my hands off.

“He must be hurt. Don’t touch him,” Grandmother said.

“How are we going to get him home?”

“I’ll bring your sisters back with the wheelbarrow we keep in the shed. You stay here.”

She disappeared into the dark, and it was just Chilsung and me in the middle of the cornfield.

Bari -ya!

Startled, I looked behind me.

I almost died! Strange men grabbed me and dragged me into the mountains!

Chilsung’s breath was weak and shallow. From that moment on, I was not only able to convey my unspoken thoughts but also to hear Chilsung’s thoughts, the same way I could hear Sook’s. I closed my eyes and thought: It’s alright. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll be better in no time.

Mi and our grandmother came back with the wheelbarrow, and we carried Chilsung home in it. When we got to the house, we took a closer look at his injuries: his ear was torn, he had a large open wound on his back and a telephone wire was wrapped around his throat, digging deep into the flesh under his jaw.

Grandmother clucked her tongue. “Guess he got away from the bastards who were planning to eat him.”

“He’s family to us, but meat to everyone else,” Father said. He used a pair of pliers to remove the wire noose and applied ointment to the torn ear and the cut on Chilsung’s back. Then he wrapped the injuries with strips of fabric. We took apart the doghouse that Hindungi had lived in back in Chongjin and used the wood for kindling, and spread straw on the floor of the shed to make a bed for Chilsung. It took over two weeks for him to return to full health.

*

All summer, rain fell like a hole had been torn in the sky. The heavy rains that had started at the end of July kept going long past mid-August. The corn and vegetable gardens planted on the mountain slopes were swept away, and even the terraced fields carved high up into the curve of the mountain ridges had collapsed in places from landslides — the red earth beneath the topsoil exposed — or were buried completely under mud. The Tumen River overflowed its banks, and every low place in the city of Musan was puddled with mud. Roads and train tracks buckled and caved. On the radio they said the entire country was underwater. Bodies floated in the flooded fields and at the edges of the cities.

The part of the city we lived in was on relatively high ground, so other than a little bit of flooding on the road to the customs office, we were unaffected. It wasn’t until the end of August, nearly ten days after the floodwaters had drained away, that equipment arrived from the city, and soldiers on border patrol and young men who’d survived the famine and flooding were able to repair the railroad tracks and the roads. Though autumn was on its way, there was nothing, not a single crop, left in the fields to harvest. Like us, those who survived were probably nibbling away, bit by bit, at the grain they’d secretly stashed. We had one meal of porridge that was both breakfast and lunch made from boiling roughly ground corn meal with wild greens — groundsel, goosefoot, Chinese plantain and such — that my sisters and grandmother picked in the fields, and we had rice only at dinner. Hyun, who had a delicate constitution, used to set her spoon down weakly next to her bowl of porridge, and whine:

“Mom, can’t we have rice instead? I can’t eat this. It’s too bitter.”

“Don’t be so fussy. A lot of people have died because all they have to eat are wild greens. We just need to make it through the winter.”

After the heat had broken and the crickets were starting to sing, we heard the rumbling of an engine outside. No one, not even anyone from the army base or the People’s Committee, had been able to drive one of the Sungri trucks or Soviet-made jeeps for a long time, on account of the fuel shortage, so we stared at each other wide-eyed, wondering if it wasn’t perhaps a car from China carrying familiar merchants. Mi took the lead as we headed out to the courtyard. A white car was already making its way up the hill. With my keen eyes, I recognized Uncle Salamander in the front seat. Ah, Grandmother was right! He was indeed a god come down from Heaven. The moment the car pulled up in front of the house, he got out and looked around at us.

“You’re all still alive!” he exclaimed.

“ Aigo! Look who’s here! Our saviour!” Grandmother shouted and clasped Uncle Salamander’s hands.

Mother came running out of the house, and Father, for once unmindful of looking dignified, bounded into the courtyard in his bare feet.

“Xiaolong is back!”

“Elder Brother, I’ve been worried sick about you. But things will be better now … Look back there. There’s a shipment of food coming through customs.”

The first thing he unpacked when he got inside was a box of moon cakes for us kids to eat, followed by a sack of rice, three bags of cornmeal, two cans of cooking oil and some wheat flour. Before anyone could even tell us to help ourselves, we’d ripped open the box, tore off the plastic wrappers and started munching away, a moon cake in each hand. The sweet filling melted on our tongues. (Years later, after I came to live in London, I would often find myself biting into a slice of pie fresh out of the oven, only to realize that nothing in the world would ever taste quite as good as those moon cakes did that day.) Mother and Grandmother sat with their backs turned to wipe away their tears discreetly, and even Uncle Salamander looked away and took a long drag on his cigarette.