Year of Impossible Goodbyes (13 page)

Mother looked deep into Aunt Tiger's eyes. But before Mother could speak, Aunt Tiger said, "I want to stay here, you know. I want to remain here until my husband comes back to me. I know he's not dead. He'll come back for me; he can't live without me."

"Maybe he went directly to the South from Japan. He probably heard the Russians were here and that many of the Northerners were escaping to the South. Maybe he is looking for you there ... Why don't you come with us? Convince Kisa to come with us, too. We'll all risk it together."

Aunt Tiger took Mother's hands in hers and said resolutely, "Listen to me. All these years you were my strength. You were the one always helping me. I came to you as a bitter and spiteful woman whose only remaining objective in life was to get revenge on the Japanese for killing my parents and my babies and taking my home and husband from me. But thanks to you, look at me. I now have many people whom I love and most of all, I am able to help many people. I've found new purpose in life. This simple woman is going to do some good. I now know so many people who want to escape to the South. I want to help arrange a few more trips for the neighbors and then I will leave. It won't take too long."

Aunt Tiger left for her midnight Party meeting. As usual we draped thick blankets over our rice-paper paneled doors for fear that even the dim candlelight might attract the attention of the comrades. Mother told us to get some sleep. I lay awake filled with fear and anticipation. I watched the low candle burning, and listened to Mother walking about the dimly lit house. We were all afraid. So many things could go wrong. Once it was discovered that we were gone, the Communists would know that we had gone to the South. Kisa and Aunt Tiger would surely be suspected and punished. We had heard many cases of how those who were left behind were punished as traitors of Mother Russia. I tried to remember all that had happened today. It was too overwhelming to think that we were to escape without Kisa and Aunt Tiger. I could not imagine life without them. They were the family that I knew and loved. I knew them better than I knew my own father and brothers. I heard Inchun snoring softly beside me as we waited. My thoughts started to disperse into millions of bubbles. My entire body was suddenly overcome with exhaustion and I began to sleep.

When I woke up, I saw Aunt Tiger kneeling at the side of my bed. She must have just returned from the midnight Party meeting. She was smiling. She looked tenderly over at Inchun, and pulled his covers around him. "We will let him sleep a bit longer," she said. "I wanted to have a few moments with you before all the rushing about begins." Instead of saying anything special about our leaving each other, she started rummaging through her bag. She had brought some food from the Party meeting for our trip. Surely she was trying to hide her face as she searched for so long through her small bag. Her eyes were filling with tears. As Mother walked by, Aunt Tiger pulled out some money. "Keep it," she said. "Just in case something happens and you need it." Mother shook her head. Mothers eyes were closed and her lips were trembling. But Aunt Tiger insisted. "Please, I beg of you, let's not waste time talking about my coming along anymore." Mother looked down at the ground. Then she took the money and put it in the sock that she kept hidden under the long skirt of her
hanbok,
her
chima.

It was hard to believe we were finally leaving Pyongyang. We were all ready. The guide was to arrive any minute. I went and sat with Inchun. We could hear the two grown-ups rushing about in the next room near the kitchen. It was windy and cold, and I listened to the rattle of the thin rice-paper paneled doors. I knew it was the last time I would hear the familiar sounds of our old house. I looked around the room. There were a few things I wished to take, but I knew I couldn't. If only I could take one of Grandfather's oxtail brushes with me.

Inchun and I must have somehow dozed off as we waited. Aunt Tiger came and tapped us awake and said, "He's here. Hurry." We followed her to Mother's room. Mother was dressed in dark clothes and had wrapped her head with a dark kerchief. The guide sat opposite her. He was a thin little man with a wrinkled leathery face baked by the sun. His small black eyes cast a strange light as he looked at us. In his rough chapped hands he held the pouch that Kisa had brought from Father. Next to him, propped against the wall was his A-frame.

The guide stood up, saying, "Good, you're ready. Children, remember, if you are stopped and questioned by anyone, I am your uncle. I came from Yohyun to fetch you in a hurry because your grandmother in Yohyun is dying. No matter how many times you are questioned, that is all you should say. Say you don't know anything else. You are children and you will get away with it. When we go through the checkpoint where they check passports, you stay behind me. The guards know me, because I live in the neighborhood and pass through often. They know I have many children. They'll probably just think you are mine. If your mother is pulled aside for questioning by the Russian soldiers, don't let them know she is your mother by making a scene If all three of you are captured, the Russians will interrogate you separately and your mother probably won't make it. It'll he easier for your Mother make up some explanation if she's alone. As soon as they see a woman traveling with her children, they think she's up to something and start investigating. So, don't cry and call out to her. Don't even look back Just follow me and match along casually The soldiers will probably look your mother's passport over and let her go. She can catch up with us later."

While he spoke, Mother looked at us and when he was done, she said, "Remember to do exactly as he says." We understood. Mother said to the guide, "If for any reason I am detained and it looks as though it might take some time, please take care of the children. I put some extra money in the pouch for their use just in case. Perhaps you could take the children safely to the South first and come back for me." Then Mother looked at us and said, "Everything will be fine. Just listen and do as he says. We'll all be fine."

Aunt Tiger sat down beside us. "You needn't worry about these two children," she told the guide. "They are wiser than some old folks I know."

The guide slipped the pouch Mother had given him in his chest pocket underneath the many layers of strange clothing he was wearing. He strapped on his A-frame and headed toward the door. Aunt Tiger desperately reached out and grabbed our hands. Little Inchun burst out crying. Aunt Tiger hugged him and said, "Now, now, what is this? I'll be coming right after you." I saw Aunt Tiger wipe away her tears.

Mother gently pulled Inchun from Aunt Tiger and hugged him. "Don't make this any more difficult than it is," she whispered to him. "Everything will he fine, you'll see." Meanwhile, the guide was waiting impatiently outside the door. He made a hissing noise like a cat to get us to hurry. We left Aunt Tiger standing in the yard stating out into the darkness. It was strange to leave this house where I had lived all my life. It was strange to leave everything I loved. Inchun had not even taken his little top. We were allowed to take nothing but a small snack and our passports. The guide took the passports from us and Mother kept hers. We did not question him. He was the leader. He knew the Russian soldiers' rules and schedules, just as he knew which streets were safe and when. Our lives depended on him. We had to obey him unconditionally. Yet I feared we had entrusted our lives to a greedy farmer.

Mother held our hands. The guide walked so fast that we had to run to keep sight of him as he wove through the small back roads of Kirimni leading to the train station. Often we heard the harks of the Russian guard dogs patrolling the main streets. At this, we would stand perfectly still until we heard the barking fade into the distance. The guide did not look back once to see if we were following him.

We chased after him for two hours in fear that we might lose him. The cold, gray morning light was greeting us. I could see the train station in the distance. Now we were out in a wide street and had joined a crowd of people heading toward the station. Farmers and peddlers were bringing their wares to sell to the passengers on the train. Many of the people at the station looked as if they had slept there. Perhaps they had missed the midnight train. Many had cages of chickens and rabbits, or crates of food with them. I suddenly noticed that the guide had disappeared.

I nudged Mother and she whispered, "Don't say anything, just stay next to me. He knows what he is doing." We sat on the cold concrete and waited. Inchun just listened and did not say a thing. His pale little face was still streaked with the tears he had shed when we left Aunt.

The Russian soldiers and North Korean police, with their guns flung over their shoulders, were walking around the station scrutinizing everyone. Mother pushed my head down into her lap and closed my eyes with her hands. We sat quietly amidst the hundreds of other passengers who were waiting for the train. I wondered how many of these ragged farmers and peasants were headed to the South as we were. They looked gloomy and tired, with their heads between their knees, hoping to avoid the attention of the police. It was safest to look like all the others and blend into the crowd. The police and the soldiers lifted several of the sleepy faces only to let them drop back down. They wove through the crowds practically stepping on peoples legs and hands.

A big boot stepped between Inchun and me, almost crushing my hand. The hem of the man's heavy khaki coat brushed against my face. It smelled awful, and left me feeling afraid. Up close, the guns looked even bigger than I had thought. I was supposed to keep my head down and my eyes closed, but I followed the police with my eyes. They must have been looking for someone. Mother pushed my head back down again, and she rested her hand on my head to make sure I would not look around. After a while the police went away. The guide reappeared and sat at the opposite corner of the station. He put his A-frame down, leaned against it, and went to sleep.

Finally, the train arrived. The station became chaotic as people got off the train and stepped through the crowd. Most of them were farmers who had come to sell then water at the station or at the Pyongyang city market. They carried big bundles of fresh eggs and corn, live chickens, and handicrafts. The smell of steamed corn and sweet rice cakes filled the air. The women balanced big baskets on their heads, and some had babies strapped to their backs. The vendors called out to the crowds, trying to sell their goods, and some of the people who had been sleeping and waiting around the train station for so long got up to buy food.

Mother didn't buy anything. We had to rush to the train to follow our guide. I wished we had a minute to buy one of those steaming ears of sweet corn. I was hungry and cold. But Mother took us by the hand and led us along. The station was so crowded that we were pushed by the swarms of people moving toward the train. Mother was constantly on the look-out for our guide, while holding tightly to us. The masses of people parted only for the armed police or the soldiers. Pushing and squeezing to make room where there was none, some people cried out in pain or fell and were stepped on. Mother lifted Inchun and carried him so that he would not be crushed or separated from us. There were too many people. The train was already full. By the time we were pushed onto the train we had lost sight of the guide. I could see the anxious look on Mother's face as she searched in all directions.

There were no seats or windows. I heard people say the Japanese had broken all the windows and removed the seats before they left. The cold wind blew through the cars. None of this mattered, though. We were desperate to find our guide. We were completely lost without him. We hadn't even realized that the train was already well on its way. People began to settle down. Some were able to stake out a small space on the floor to sit. We huddled together on the floor, trying to dodge the damp night air. Mother kept looking around while trying not to attract the attention of the secret police, who seemed to he hiding everywhere.

I don't know how long we sat on the cold floor of that crowded train. My whole body ached. I wanted to stand up and stretch my legs, but Mother said that if I stood up, there might not be enough room for me to sit again. At least all the bodies pressed against each other helped us stay a little warmer. But Inchun, cold, hungry, and uncomfortable, began to sob. He had a stomachache and vomited. People made rude remarks and stood up. I was glad when they stood because they now served as shields against the wind.

As we crossed over the Daedong River for the last time, I realized how silly I was to have thought that I would be able to say goodbye to it. I loved the Daedong River. I remembered taking walks along its banks when I was little. Those times seemed so far away it was almost like a fairy tale.

The packages of food that Aunt had packed were now lost. It didn't matter. The train smelled so awful I couldn't have eaten anyway. I closed my eyes as the rickety train rattled along while the rain and wind came rushing in on us.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mother pulled us up gently. It was our turn to get off the train. I couldn't see the guide. Perhaps Mother had caught sight of him or had received special instructions before we left. We walked with the crowd, relieved to be off the train. Up ahead I thought I saw our guide with the A-frame on his back.

All I could see for miles were rice paddies and fields. On a narrow mud walkway between the rice paddies, some of the others who had gotten off the train with us were walking single file toward a little house that must be the checkpoint for passports. The guide was far in front of us. I was walking behind an old man, Inchun was right behind me, and Mother was in the rear.

It wasn't raining anymore. The setting sun cast a pinkish glow on the long line of people ahead of us and created a wave-like shadow on the empty fields. The corn had been cut and the rice harvested. Save for a few bales of hay, the fields were bare. I kept looking back to make sure Inchun and Mother were behind me. After a long walk, we finally reached the guardhouse where many people were lined up, waiting to have their passports checked. Mother looked worried and she shot a disapproving glance at mc whenever I looked back at her. The line was long and we moved forward very slowly.