Year of Impossible Goodbyes (11 page)

Having taken everything they deemed valuable, they came over to us. The young one with the beautiful blue eyes and pretty hair said, "
Khorosho
" with a smile. Inchun held on to me tightly. The young soldier peered over at Inchun and smiled. He pointed to his bald companion and said, "Comrade." Then, he said "
Khorosho
" again. It seemed to me that he was saying "hello," but later I learned that he was trying to tell us, "It's all right." Inchun repeated after him. The young soldier lifted Inchun up, twirled him in midair, and laughed. I screamed. I was afraid they would hurt him. I held my arms out for my little brother and the soldier put him down gently and patted Inchun's soft black hair. Looking at us tenderly, he bent down and pointed to himself. "Ivan Malenkiv," he said.

We both stood there in silence and stared at him. I didn't want him to touch Inchun again. They had taken what they wanted, and spat seeds all over our clean house. I wanted them to leave. But they were not cruel like the Japanese, and even though they carried those huge guns, I wasn't as terrified of them as I had been of Captain Narita. I wondered why. Maybe it was because their blue eyes and yellow hair reminded me of Father Carroll. As Ivan Malenkiv smiled at us so warmly, I thought that maybe we could become friends sometime. He patted us on the head, motioned to his companion, and they climbed out through the torn rice-paper paneled door.

The Russian soldiers roamed the streets of Kirimni and the smell of dark bread permeated the air. I stood by the gate watching with fascination as they meandered about, laughing and talking loudly in Russian while eating and drinking. Although it was only late September, they wore heavy wool coats, long black boots, and thick fur hats. Some took their hats off, revealing their hairless pink scalps. Mother told me to come inside, for she, like many of the other townspeople, was afraid of these "giant barbarians with their special guns." Inchun obeyed Mother, but I was too curious.

As I stood by the gate, I felt as though I had been transported to a distant land. The cruel and oppressive memories of the Japanese were still fresh, yet the whole town had been transformed, filled with sounds and smells that were so different. "
Khorosho, khorosho,
Comrade," the Russian soldiers yelled repeatedly.

A jeep drove by slowly, and a familiar voice called out in Korean from a loudspeaker, "Hello, Comrade!" It was our neighbor Mrs. Kim, riding in the jeep beside a tall, pretty, blue-eyed woman with yellow hair.

Mrs. Kim called out in Korean, "Comrades, Comrades! We are all comrades and are all equal in the eyes of Mother Russia. No one will ever again have to worry about being cold or hungry. We will share the fruits of our labors. Our Russian comrades and our party leaders are here to protect us. They are our friends. Come to the town square. See how our Korean flag flies proudly alongside the Russian flag! We are friends and partners. The capitalistic Americans have not come here because they know how poor we are now that the Japanese have extracted all the gold, tungsten, and coal from our mines. But the Russians have come to help us start anew. Conic to tHe square and celebrate. There is food and drink for all comrades, young and old, men and women alike."

It was the first time I had ever heard Korean being spoken so loudly in the street. I shook my head to be sure I wasn't dreaming. Only a few weeks before, I had been hit for whispering in Korean. My neighbors started to come out of their homes and were staring at the jeep incredulously. Mother, Aunt Tiger, and Inchun came out, too, and stood right behind me in amazement. I began to follow the jeep with the others, but Mother grabbed me by the arm. "You are not going anywhere," she told me. "We are waiting tight here until father and brothers come. Then we are going south to where the Americans are." I wanted to follow the crowd and see what was happening, but she tightened her grip. I was furious.

"What are you talking about? What's happening?" Aunt Tiger whispered to Mother. "You don't think the Americans are coming?"

"I sent Kisa to the convent this morning. He found out that the Americans are staying in the south. They've split our country in two and established a border called the Thirty-eighth Parallel. Many Koreans have begun to flee to the South. But it's become very dangerous. The Russians shoot at anyone who attempts to cross the border. It's too soon to tell what will happen. We must wait and see. Meanwhile we must be prepared." Then Mother looked sternly at me. I knew what that meant. Everything we talked about here was secret and I must never repeat anything. Inchun also looked at me sternly, and I had to laugh.

Days went by. Many of our neighbors who had gone to the town square had joined the Russians. Mrs. Kim gave them three books written in our own
Hangul.
One of the old ladies next door who didn't know how to read came to Mother in tears. "Please, will you read these books to me?" she begged. "I haven't see a book written in Korean since the Japanese took my husband away." She started to sob.

To soothe her, Mother offered her tea and sweet rice cakes. "I am sure Comrade Kim will read them to you," she said. "For now, come and join us." She put her arm around our neighbor and led her inside. The lady showed us a red book with her Korean name written in Hangul. After she had gone, Mother sighed. "The Russians are so clever," she told us. "We have been starved and treated like slaves for so long that we can be won over with a few kind gestures. People don't realize they're being brainwashed."

"Can you blame them?" snapped Aunt. "How are they to know there's anything better? Your Americans aren't here. I heard they're in Japan helping the Japanese! They're nearby now, but they just don't care about us!"

The next day, Comrade Kim came to visit. She was accompanied by the pretty blue-eyed woman with yellow hair. I was so happy that I ran toward them. I was drawn to the woman's pretty eyes and the red badges on her uniform. Comrade Kim smiled at me. "This is Comrade Natasha," she said, patting me on the head. "Comrade," she added, "this is our smart little comrade Sookan. She can attend the Little Proletariat School."

"
Mulnon,
" Natasha replied, which means "of course" in Korean. It was strangely exhilarating to hear this woman with the blue eyes and yellow hair speak Korean. But before I could respond, Mother came out and grabbed me by the arm. Then she smiled and greeted Mrs. Kim and Natasha. When Mrs. Kim asked where Aunt Tiger was, Mother seized the opportunity to send me inside to get her. Natasha smiled as she saw Aunt Tiger approaching and said, "
Anyong haseyo,
" meaning "How are you?" Aunt Tiger was taken aback to hear Natasha greet her in Korean. All she could do was nod in response.

With the grown-ups of the household assembled,
Natasha gave us three books and asked us to come to the town meeting that evening. It was more of an order than an invitation. Comrade Kim commented that we were one of the few families that had not yet joined. Smiling, she said, "It is best to join to ensure the safety of our men. The Russian officers want a description of your husbands and sons. They will help search for them and make sure they come home to us." Having said that, she knew Mother would not refuse to come.

That evening, a jeep with a loudspeaker drove by to lead us up the hill to the meeting. We went out into the street and joined the happy masses. It was fun to be part of such a high-spirited and boisterous crowd, laughing and shouting in Korean. We walked along the path that ran along the base of the hill of Unhi's house. I looked up at the house and barely recognized it. A huge Korean flag and a huge Russian flag flew side by side, and giant portraits of Stalin and Lenin had been hung from the building. An old man gazed up the hill saying, "Under the Japanese, we were not even good enough to walk in this part of town where they all lived. Now our flag has been raised along with the Russians'." Mother and Aunt just walked on in silence.

When we arrived, Comrade Kim greeted us with a big smile and handed us each a red book with our names on it. "This is your I.D. card," she told us. "You should bring it with you to your nightly meetings." Another woman handed us red arm bands. Natasha gave us red scarves to wear around our heads. The large room was already filled with people. When everyone had arrived, Natasha started singing a spirited tune about the Volga Rivet and Mother Russia. The crowds quickly learned the refrain and began to sing the praises of Communism.

Then she sang a catchy tune that I liked: "We the little proletariat of Mother Russia are secret leaders. Small but important comrades, important leaders. Bad Capitalists, bad Imperialists. Marxism is the best. Our leaders, our leaders, they are our friends. We share equally. We are all friends, we are all equals. Little proletariat can do important work. We are important, we are important, we are important comrades." I sang out loud and was happy until I looked over at Mother and Aunt. I realized that they were barely mouthing the words. I felt guilty for enjoying myself so much, but everyone else, even Inchun, seemed to be having a good time at this festive gathering.

After a few more songs, we ate a huge meal and then were told to sit in front of a big screen. We were to watch a film about Mother Russia. I had wondered what Russia was like, and I couldn't wait for the movie to begin. The lights dimmed, and loud Russian music started to play. Masses of happy Russian proletarians filled the screen, waving red flags as they marched and danced in Red Square in celebration of May Day. Then I saw the vast fields of golden wheat and the happy farmers. The narrator said, "Mother Russia is a workers' paradise. No one wants for anything in wonderful Mother Russia."

We came home very late and I was exhausted. Mother and Aunt said nothing on the way hack. Early the next morning, at the crack of dawn, we were awakened by a loudspeaker. "Comrades, rise and shine. The sun is up. The happy proletariat of Mother Russia must begin to build the workers' paradise. There are streets to be swept, fields to be cleared, and crops to be planted. Here are your hoes, rakes, and brooms. Come." We donned our red scarves and red arm bands and went outside. One of the Russian comrades was standing at our gate waiting, and counted to see that we were all there. He put us on a truck which stopped at house after house until the vehicle was full.

We were driven to the outskirts of the city. One Russian comrade rode in the back with us and led us in song as we sped along. Mother and Aunt along with several other women were dropped off near an old minefield. They were to clear the land. Inchun and I and several other children were dropped off at a factory to sweep and clean. Inchun and I swept the grounds for several hours. At lunchtime, we were driven to another large building already filled with people. We looked for Mother and Aunt, but couldn't find them. So, Inchun and I ate with the other children. Soon we were taken back to the work site. Late in the afternoon, they picked us up and said we were going to see a movie. We drank barley tea, and sat down in front of the large screen. It was the same movie we had seen the night before. I was glad when it ended and the truck took us back home. Mother and Aunt were getting off another truck as we pulled in, and we ran to their waiting arms. Exhausted from the hard work, Inchun and I tumbled into bed.

Every day was more or less the same. We worked, sang variations of the same old songs, heard the same praises of Communism and Mother Russia, and saw the same happy faces of the Russian proletariat in the movie they showed over and over again. Incessantly, the loudspeaker blared the praises of the great Russian leaders. The town was so noisy I could hardly think. There was no need to think. Our every activity from dawn to dusk was programmed for us. We wore identical black pants, white shirts, and red scarves, and each morning when we were picked up for work, we were told what to do and how to do it. I had not learned anything new since that first Party meeting. I had begun to realize that Mother and Aunt were right.

Every day the Russians criticized the capitalistic Americans to make us feel the way they did. I found it harder and harder to tolerate the Korean women who worked so hard for the Party, fervently spreading Communist philosophy. They were so happy and proud to be leaders, and we called them our Town Reds. I was tired of it all, but there was no choice. We had to go to work and to the Party meetings every day to have our red I.D. books stamped. Each week, they counted the stamps before they gave us our rice ration.

The monotonous days turned into weeks and then months. It had been almost a year, and my father and brothers had still not returned. Aunt Tiger continued to wait for her husband. I missed the sock girls and I wished we could see even one of them. But we had no news of them. Our town was sparkling clean, and the red Russian flags, the red banners, and the big pictures of the "kind Marxist leaders" were everywhere.

Everything seemed to be in perfect order, but once in a while, we would hear of people trying to escape to the South. The dedicated Town Reds started a campaign to identify traitors. Over the loudspeaker they made their announcements: "Comrades, beware of the traitors who try to escape to the capitalistic South. Russia has no mercy for traitors. Those who have tried have been shot to death." Every time we heard these announcements, we couldn't help worrying whether we were on "the list." As Aunt Tiger put it, we weren't like the Town Reds, we were "Phony Reds" or "Pinks" who reluctantly did as we were told.

The special school for "The Little Proletariat" was finally established. Instead of attending the Party meetings with the grown-ups, we had our own meetings. With Natasha and Comrade Kim, we sang special songs and while we ate, we watched that same old movie. We were constantly told how important we were. Comrade Kim said it was our duty as little proletarians to teach the grown-ups. If we knew of grown-ups who did not show complete dedication to the Party, we should come and tell Comrade Kim and Natasha, and they would help us. They encouraged us to talk about our families and tell them what we talked about at night. Many of the children told stories about what their families were doing and received prizes for their candor. Inchun and I said as little as possible. We were not very popular at the Little Proletariat School. A little boy named Hansin was so thrilled to be a little proletarian that he talked all the time. One day he mentioned that a stranger had come to his house, and after that we never saw him or his family again. I started to grow more and more afraid of the Russians and the Town Reds.