When My Name Was Keoko (14 page)

I was afraid that if I didn't take time now to remember these things, I'd wake one day unable to recall them at all.

Jung-shin had avoided me ever since the incident in the schoolyard with her sister. We hadn't spoken even once, and this left a large, ragged hole in my life.

The days of defense-preparation work without her company were truly miserable. And as unhappy and uncomfortable as I felt, I could see whenever I glanced at her that she felt a hundred times worse. Her shoulders were always slumped and her eyes dull.

What Jung-shin's father did was the responsibility of the whole family; her father's shame was hers as well. That was why she couldn't face me.

I was sure she hadn't known her father was
chin-il-pa
before the day when I guessed, for she had seemed completely bewildered. I thought again of Uncle—how he'd never mentioned anything about Jung-shin's family.

Now I thought I knew why. I hadn't known then what Uncle was doing, nor had Jung-shin known what her father was doing. We were just two girls playing together. That must have been what Uncle had thought.

It was what I thought, too.

After school one day I rushed out and found the popcorn man. If he was anywhere in town, he was easy to find; you just followed the sound of the loud banging noises—the popcorn inside the cannon. I bought a bag, then hurried to a street corner Jung-shin would pass on her way home.

Soon she came along, walking slowly, with her head down.
She saw me standing there and her steps slowed even more. "Hello, miss," I called as she approached. "I hear you are good at cat's cradle. I would like to learn some new patterns. Don't worry, I can pay for the lesson." And I held out the bag of popcorn.

It was a wonderful sight, the way her eyes instantly regained their sparkle. Right away she began to play along. "Well, I don't know," she said, striking a contemplative pose. "I am very good at cat's cradle, and I'm not sure if one bag of popcorn is enough payment."

"Who said anything about one bag?" I said indignantly. "Some of this is for me, you know! I was offering
half
a bag!"

We laughed together, and I knew in that moment we could still be friends.

One evening late in winter Tae-yul asked to speak to Abuji alone. After supper Omoni and I immediately rose from our seats and left the room. We took the dishes to the back of the house under the eaves and washed them there, so the men would have some privacy. I was dying to know what Tae-yul had to say; I couldn't remember any other time that he'd asked to talk to Abuji privately.

There was quiet in the house for a little while, but as we were finishing the dishes we heard Abuji's voice. He was shouting. "What do you mean by this? You would deliberately disobey my express command?"

I was stunned—Abuji never shouted. Omoni immediately covered her ears with her hands and hissed at me to do the same. Reluctantly, I raised my hands to my ears. I knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help it: I covered my ears without completely blocking my hearing.

I couldn't hear the words—only quiet, then more shouting. They argued for a long time—long enough for my legs to cramp. At last there was silence. Omoni cautiously lowered one hand. Then she told me to empty the water basin while she took the dishes back to the kitchen.

"Yobo, Sun-hee," Abuji called in a stern voice. I dropped the basin and hurried inside.

Abuji was pacing back and forth in great agitation. Tae-yul had obviously just bowed to him; he was on his knees on the other side of the low table. Unhappiness seemed to fill the space between them, the whole room. Following Omoni in, I took only one step past the threshold and stood next to the sliding door, making myself as small as I could.

"Tae-yul has something to say," Abuji said.

Tae-yul swiveled on his knees and bowed his head to the ground toward my mother. Then he raised his head but kept his eyes down as he spoke.

"Omoni, today I enlisted in the Imperial Army. I leave for training in Seoul tomorrow."

My legs turned to paper. I grabbed for the door frame to keep from falling as Omoni cried out. "Why, why? You're too young—how—"

Tae-yul's face was pale, but his voice was steady. "I volunteered."

At this Omoni threw her apron over her face and collapsed, sobbing wildly. Abuji thrust out his hands in anger and shouted, "Look at her! Look what you have done to your mother!"

Tae-yul rose to his feet and bent over her. "Omoni, please," he whispered.

This was an old trick of Uncle's. When we were younger, crying over some small hurt or disappointment, Uncle would lower his voice and speak to us in a whisper. We had
to stop crying in order to hear what he said. It always worked, and now here was Tae-yul doing it, as if he were the adult and Omoni the child.

It worked this time as well; Omoni stopped crying and sat up. Tae-yul bowed before her again.

"I ask all of you to try to understand," he said. "The war is going badly for the Japanese. We know this—we can see it everywhere. They talk a lot about those kamikaze successes, but you can tell from that very tactic how desperate they are. The soldiers at the airstrip don't even have ammunition for many of their guns anymore. One more soldier, and an unwilling one at that, isn't going to make a difference in the outcome. The Japanese are losing. It's only a matter of time.

"But if I join the army, things will be much better for you. Families of volunteers receive rice rations and other considerations. Look at Sun-hee's clothes," he said bitterly, glancing over at me. "It's a wonder they hold together now—there are more mending stitches than cloth. They'll give you clothing, better food—they'll treat you better."

He was speaking to Omoni; he'd probably said all this to Abuji earlier. "I'm eighteen years old now. I'm not a child anymore—I need to help the family the best way I can."

Omoni stared at him. "And what help will you be to us if you die?" she asked quietly.

I knew what she was thinking. We'd heard rumors that Korean recruits were sent in at the start of any battle, to clear the way for the Japanese soldiers behind them. The Koreans were always the first to die. If Tae-yul were sent into battle, he'd be in the front line....

For the first time Tae-yul shifted uncomfortably. "It's a real possibility that the war will be over soon. I'll have several weeks of training before ... before they send me anywhere. Perhaps the war will have ended by then...." His voice trailed off.

Omoni shook her head dazedly. Abuji had stopped his pacing and was standing with his shoulders bowed.

It was impossible to even imagine Tae-yul disobeying our parents in this way yet here it was, happening before my very eyes. And for what reason—to join the army and fight on behalf of the Japanese!

Suddenly, I was shouting. "You—you pig head! Don't you know I'd rather have a thousand patches in my clothes than lose my brother?"

In the next instant I saw the shock on all their faces. I was a girl, a younger sister—I had no right to express my opinion. But I didn't care. Omoni and Abuji weren't going to do anything—they weren't even going to try to stop Tae-yul, so it was up to me.

In the brief silence that followed I realized I didn't know what they
could
do. Lock him in his room?

It was so cruel. All of it—the occupation, the war, Uncle in hiding, Tae-yul going into the army ... I needed to get out of that room; the unfairness of it all was choking me. I whirled and bolted out of the house.

I ran out into the garden, all the way to the back, dropped to my knees and slammed my hand against the stone wall. Over and over I struck it in fury, hardly knowing what I was doing.

In the midst of my frenzy my wrist was grabbed from behind and held in an iron grip.

I wrenched it free and turned around. Tae-yul was standing there.

"Don't talk to me," I snarled, raising my hand toward him.

"Shut up, you stupid girl, and listen," he said roughly.

I was so stunned by his rude manner that I froze as I was, my hand in the air and my mouth open.

Tae-yul knelt beside me. "I'm sorry I spoke to you like that—it seemed like the only way to get your attention." His voice was gentle now. "There's more that I haven't told our parents. But I want to tell you because—because I want someone to know the truth."

I lowered my hand but said nothing.

He leaned toward me and spoke softly. "Sun-hee, Uncle is still alive and still working for the resistance."

Today a schoolboy ... tomorrow a soldier. Just like that. I can hardly believe how it happened, but at the same time I remember every last thing.

It starts out like any other day, working at the airfield as usual. In the late afternoon, all of us line up to turn in our spades. A military policeman stands by the tool shed, talking to the officer in charge of the airfield. Both of them are looking at me. My stomach lurches a little.

One of the guards takes my spade from me and tells me to report to the officer, who tells me to go with the policeman.

The policeman has a
car.
He waves at me to get in on the passenger side, starts the engine, and drives us off toward town. I can hardly believe it. Me, riding in a car!

I'm surprised by how bumpy it is—I imagined it would be smoother. But we're going so fast! We zip past my classmates, lining up again to march back to school. Their mouths hang wide open when they see me.

While I'm in the car I almost forget that feeling in my stomach. My elbow is on the edge of the open window so I can stick my hand out, the wind blowing through my fingers.

But when we arrive at the police station, the bad feeling comes back, twice as strong. The policeman takes me to a room and leaves me there. A table and two chairs. One small window with bars. I don't know if I'm supposed to sit down, so I stay standing, wondering why I'm there and getting more nervous all the time. It's the military police—it can't be anything good....

Finally, two cops come in—the one who drove me and an officer, tall for a Japanese, with bars and badges on his uniform. The driver stands by the door. The officer sits at the table and points to the other chair.

So I sit down across from him. I'm glad to sit—the funny feeling in my stomach is making my knees wobble a little.

The officer starts to talk. At first he sounds just like my teachers. Or the principal at our school. How much Japan does for Korea—roads, factories, schools ... How Korea is such an important part of the Empire ... How most of its citizens are grateful for the divine leadership of the Emperor.

At last he gets to the point, and I'm there ahead of him. I know exactly what he's going to say. I'm still scared, but at least I'm not surprised.

"A few citizens have proved to be less than grateful," he says. "They are liars and cowards who slander His Divine Majesty's Imperial presence in this country. There are only a few of them, but their voices are like the rotten spot on an apple. If they are not stopped, the rot will spread."

Uncle. He's talking about Uncle.

"Your uncle is among them," he continues.

I feel a flash of satisfaction, knowing I guessed right. Stay one step ahead of him, that's what I have to do. But I can't guess what he'll say next. And I'm afraid for Uncle.

Don't let him see how you feel,
I warn myself. So I keep my face steady, my eyes on his hands on the tabletop. He has them clasped together. They look strong, with big knuckles. I never thought before that even hands can look cruel.

He's still speaking. "He is obviously a very intelligent man, your uncle. A man who loves his country." A smile, like he's my friend. "We need men like him in our fight against the white devils. We think he would find it most rewarding to use his skills and talents on behalf of the Emperor."

Inside myself I almost laugh. Uncle, working for the Emperor! The officer doesn't know what a funny thing he just said.

He waits a moment, like he wants me to say something. I don't. So he goes on. "At present, your uncle is, you might say, a problem for us. We wish him no harm—we wish only for a chance to speak with him, to help him see how his slanderous activities hurt progress and success in this country."

Then he furrows his brow and gives this fake sigh. "Unfortunately, not all of my colleagues admire your uncle as I do," he says, his voice full of regret. "There are those who feel it would be better to simply ... eliminate him. They do not agree with my assessment that perhaps he can be reeducated."

Now he leans forward a little, like he's sharing a secret with me. "I have managed to convince them to give me a chance. To bring in your uncle so we can speak with him. If
this does not work—" He stops. Doesn't need to finish the sentence.

"That is why I have invited you here today" he goes on. Invited me—he's being funny again. Like I had a choice. "I am in need of your assistance. Your uncle would hardly trust a message from me and my colleagues. But if you were to convince him to come speak with us—and give him my word that he would not be harmed—well, you are his nephew. He would trust you."

He leans forward even farther and lowers his voice. "We have ways that a message might be delivered. With luck it would reach him and enable us to set up a meeting. With you first, of course. And then you would bring him to us."

He's done talking. He leans back and waits for me to say something.

How long does it take for a hundred thoughts to go through your brain? Less than a second? A second and a half?
You would bring him to us.
What a lie. They'd be waiting to arrest Uncle as soon as he came to meet me.

I'll never help them do it. Not in a thousand years. But I can't let this officer know what I'm really thinking—or feeling. Anger. Such anger, that he called Uncle—the bravest man I know—a coward.

I have to find a way not to do it. But he's not really asking me. He's
telling
me. It's a command. Something I can't refuse—something I
have
to do.

They're doing it again. Taking whatever they want. Grandfather's hair, Omoni's jewelry, Sun-hee's diary. My bicycle. And we can't do anything to stop them.