Year of Impossible Goodbyes (9 page)

The students gasped. But I clapped my hands in delight. I couldn't help myself. Listening to this hoy was as refreshing as diving into a cool stream. Then I realized all the first and second grade girls standing around me were staring in silent horror. Narita Sensei came over to me and hit me so hard that I fell to my knees crying. Principal Watanabe shouted something I didn't understand and a group of teachers rushed over to the boy and took him away. Everyone was ordered to stand at attention. A group punishment would be decided on. We were all in trouble, and we all knew we would never see that poor outspoken boy ever again.

Narita Sensei told me to follow her to Principal Watanabe's office. I was very scared and exhausted from the heat. I must have fainted. When I came to, the school yard was dark and I saw Mother looking down at me holding a wet handkerchief to my forehead. Mother said that Unhi was sent to fetch her; many other children had fainted as they were kept standing under the hot sun for so long. I felt ashamed. She and Grandfather always tried to teach me to be peaceful and merciful, but I couldn't help it. I saw all the spears against the wall, and I couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be to kill all those wicked Japanese as that boy had said. I didn't know how to change these awful feelings. Mother didn't scold me. Instead, she whispered in my ear "The war will be over soon. You can see it. The police are acting more frantic and desperate every day." She assured me it did not matter that I had gotten expelled.

The next several days were more difficult than ever. What little rice we were once able to buy was no longer available. They wouldn't sell us rice at any price. We ate all the barley and millet we had and whatever else we could find just to stay alive. We chewed on dandelion roots to try to appease our hunger, but our stomachs ached. Finally, after four days, Captain Narita made an announcement. He said the merchants had a limited amount of rice that could be purchased in return for very precious objects. This had happened before. It was their way of stripping us of whatever else we might still be hiding. Mother sighed. "They keep us hungry, and when the babies cry for food and the grandparents are weak and sick from hunger, Mothers will sacrifice even tHeir most cherished items for a small cupful of rice."

Mother took her silver hairpin off. Her long braid fell to her waist. She looked sadly at the tarnished pin that had once belonged to her mother, and she ran her finger over the little embossed flowers and birds. She handed it to me. "Let's polish it," she said. "Maybe it will get us enough rice for dinner. Captain Narita and the Japanese merchants probably think we still have some gold left, but this little bit of silver is all I have." For the first time, I would see how beautiful it was. While I worked, Mother fixed her hair with a wooden stick she had found in Grandfather's whittling basket. Aunt Tiger, who had been watching in silence, took off a small gold pin that she was wearing hidden on her undershirt. It had been a wedding gift from her husband. Together they went and joined the long line of ladies all hoping for a small bag of rice. I was ashamed. I did not stop Mother and Aunt Tiger from going. But I knew that if it were not for Inchun and me, they would have kept those precious items and waited a little longer. As they left, I heard Mother sigh to Aunt Tiger, "Will this never end?"

They were gone for a long time. They finally came back with a tiny bag of rice. "Soon we will have something decent to eat," said Mother as she walked into the kitchen. Suddenly, we heard her gasp. We ran into the kitchen and saw that the bowl into which Mother had poured the bag of rice was half filled with sand.

"They did it again," said Aunt Tiger. "Even when they sell us so little, they mix it..." Aunt knelt on a clean straw mat. She had a deep fan-shaped straw container into which she put some rice and swirled it around making the grains dance. The white grains of rice flew out of the container and landed on the clean mat while the heavy sand remained in the container. Aunt was so skillful that I knew she had done this before.

That night we each had a few precious mouthfuls of white rice for dinner.

August brought wild winds and torrential rains to Kirimni. The long days of summer were swelteringly humid, and the dense air weighed heavily upon us. It was more than Mother could stand. She lay in bed burning with fever. She could not retain any food. She became thinner and paler each day. Sometimes she would mumble and cry in a delirium. She talked to Grandfather as if he were sitting next to her. She often called out to the sock girls. She asked for her sons, but not for Inchun and me. When she opened her eyes and saw us sitting next to her, she didn't recognize us. She would close her eyes again and resume talking to people who were not there.

One day Inchun started to shake her. "Mother," he screamed. "Nobody is here but
Nuna
and me! Why don't you talk to us? Why can't you look at us?" He began to sob uncontrollably. I told him to stop, but crying was exactly what I felt like doing. Mother had always been the one to nurse us back to health. I was afraid. When Grandfather took to his bed, he went to join his merciful Buddha. Maybe Mother would too. Or she would go to see her Catholic God in Heaven.

Aunt Tiger sent Kisa to the convent to see if they had any special medicine. She also wanted to know if the convent would make an exception and let Theresa come home for a few days. When Aunt asked for Theresa, I knew she was afraid Mother would die. Maybe seeing her firstborn would be enough to make Mother well again. Mother was so proud of Theresa's religious calling, and talked about her all the time. Theresa looked just like Mother, too. She was tall and very fair, with large almond eyes. Whenever Mother spoke of Theresa, I couldn't help feeling a tinge of jealousy. Once I asked her why she didn't talk of me and miss me as she missed Theresa.

"You say the craziest things!" said Mother. "You are here with me all the time. How can I miss you?" We laughed and laughed and I felt very silly. Theresa had not been home for as long as I could remember, but I often thought how wonderful it would be if she were with us. I couldn't wait until Kisa returned home; maybe he would bring the medicine and Theresa.

Kisa came through the gate walking quickly, tipping from side to side. I thought he might fall over. He was back earlier than we had expected. He waved his arms in excitement all the while as he tried to catch his breath. "The war is over!" he blurted out. "The war is over! Japan has lost! The nuns got a message from the Bishop, who heard the Emperor surrender unconditionally. But the Bishop told the nuns to be very careful and to stay indoors, because it is more dangerous than ever to anger the Japanese now. Most Koreans don't know yet, and the Japanese aren't anxious to spread the news. They want to retreat safely first. For now, they have all the weapons and are still in power here. We have to be careful." Kisa pulled out a small package and handed it to Aunt, saying, "Reverend Mother said that the nuns shouldn't be traveling now, but she thinks this medicine will help. You all stay inside for now. I'll be back." He swung his arms back and forth vigorously to help propel himself to town.

It was August 15, 1945, a day I would always remember as if it were my own birthday. I ran to Mother's room and cried, "Mother, the war is over! You have to get up, you have to get up!" I shook her.

Aunt Tiger came and pulled me away. "She is getting a little bit better, but you must give her time," she whispered urgently. "Come with me. Let's prepare some of this medicine for her." I did everything Aunt Tiger said. I didn't want Mother to leave me. The day she had been praying for had finally arrived. Inchun and I stayed beside her the rest of the afternoon and fed her the medicine that Kisa brought from the convent.

Late in the afternoon, Kisa came hopping back on his good leg. He didn't have the patience to limp. As he drew near the house, he shouted, "We're free! We're free! I've been telling everyone. The flag with the bloodshot sun is being taken down. They are putting up our flag!" Then,
he fell to the floor as if his left leg could not support all the excitement within him. He started to weep. Aunt Tiger fell to her knees beside him and hugged him. Crying with joy and relief, they ran out into the yard, fell to their knees, and kissed the ground. Inchun and I stared at them. Tears filled my eyes.

I kept hoping that Mother would get up and rejoice with them. Inchun and I watched her sleeping. Then we shook her and screamed, "You have to wake up! Look, Mother, look! Kisa and Aunt Tiger are going crazy."

To our delight, she opened her eyes and weakly murmured, "What is happening?"

"Mother, the war is over!" we shouted. "The war is over just as you always said! Kisa found out when he went to the convent."

Mother closed her eyes and whispered, "I knew my God would not forsake me." Her lips quivered and tears streamed down her pale, sunken cheeks. "Your father will return soon ... and your brothers and the sock girls. If they are alive, they will all be home soon." Inchun and I held her trembling hands and listened to her mumble for a long time before she finally fell hack asleep. We watched her begin to breathe evenly and then tiptoed outside to see Kisa and Aunt Tiger.

Aunt Tiger was busy talking about all the things she would do when her husband returned from the Japanese labor camp, and I knew that Kisa was thinking of the sock girls. Aunt Tiger said that all the Koreans who had been imprisoned by the Japanese police would be released. For now, there was little we could do but wait for the Japanese to leave. I hoped my father and brothers would return soon, and I wished that Theresa would come home. I resented all of them for being away, especially now when Mother was so sick.

Kisa told Inchun and me not to go outside. It was dangerous, for the streets were filled with Japanese residents guarded by the Japanese police as they retreated from Korea. Kisa told us that some of the Koreans were so overjoyed to be free of the Japanese that they were smashing the Shinto shrines and defiling the temples. But they had been too impetuous. The Japanese soldiers and police were still everywhere with their swords and guns. They did not hesitate to kill the Koreans. Some of the frustrated townspeople then began attacking the pro-Japanese Koreans who had lived in relative comfort all these years. Aunt Tiger and Kisa were dismayed by such violence. It was a time to rejoice in our newfound freedom and peace and to begin planning our new lives.

Inchun and I stayed indoors with Mother for the next few days while Aunt Tiger and Kisa went about keeping abreast of the latest happenings. Inchun and I stayed by Mother's side, bringing her cool compresses and giving her the medicine that Kisa had brought from the convent. Her fever finally broke. She was able to retain some food and regained some color in her cheeks. She rested in bed quietly. After a couple of days, she got up and walked around the house. With Mother up and about, Inchun and I felt at last we could truly rejoice. I suddenly wanted to do all the things that I had been dreaming of for all these years.

With Kisa's help, Inchun and I staked out a small plot in the front yard, and put some rope up around it. Then, Inchun and I dug furrows in the barren earth. I ran to get the packages of seeds. The paper was so old it crumbled to bits as I opened the packages. We planted all the seeds we had, not knowing what was in season. We just planted everything. I asked Mother to find some azalea seeds. I wanted to see flowers of all colors surround me. Mother laughed. "Not everything grows from seeds, you know." She was still weak, but she sat and watched as we ran about in the dirt. "Leave a little path for us to walk so we can garden," she murmured happily. I couldn't wait for the marigolds, dandelions, wild lilies, and pansies to burst into bloom. It was so wonderful to be free! No more Japanese school, no more speaking Japanese, no more Naritas no more fear no more no more!

Mother asked Kisa and Aunt Tiger to get out the big brown earthen
kimchee
-jar hidden in the kitchen. Inchun and I offered to help, but Mother said, "No, from now on, no more grown-up chores and worries for my children. You are going to play, and read and enjoy the carefree days of childhood. Leave everything to the grown-ups." Aunt Tiger and Kisa smiled and pushed us away.

I grabbed Inchun and we ran into Grandfather's room. I yanked off the drab tablecloth that hid Grandfather's beautiful hand-carved scholar's desk. How wonderful it was to be able to enjoy this beautiful desk and know that no one would take it from us anymore. I opened all the drawers and took out the oxtail brushes, the black slate inkwell, and Grandfather's Chinese books. I spread them out on the table and said, "There, Inchun, you can sit and draw all you want and copy all those letters and drawings all day long. You no longer have to draw in the dirt with wooden twigs."

"But I like drawing in the dirt," he said.

"Well, now you can do whatever you want." Inchun plopped himself down in front of the scholar's desk and with a flourish picked up a brush.

I ran to Mother's room, took out the record player that the nuns had given me, and dragged out all four of my records: the Brahms lullabies, Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, Mozart sonatas, and a collection of American songs with "Oh My Darling Clementine" and "Home on the Range." I spread them out on the floor for everybody to see. I cranked up the old record player and put Beethoven on with the volume way up. No more hiding under blankets late at night with the volume so low we had to strain our ears to listen. The sun was shining brightly and I jumped around humming and combing my hair. I shouted to Inchun, who was in the next room, "Do you hear that, Inchun? Come here and listen to the music!" "The whole town can hear it," said Mother. "We are free, but not free of manners. Turn it down, don't make us all go deaf!" Through her scolding, I detected the twinkle in her eyes.

Later, Mother called us out to the yard for a surprise. The Japanese flag that had flown in front of the entrance to our house for as long as I could remember was now replaced by our Korean flag. How strange it was to see our beautiful flag so boldly displayed. Then she led us into my room. On the floor, she had laid out several beautiful silk
hanbok—
Korean outfits—in bright red, green, pink, white, and blue. The red one had a beautiful rainbow pattern on the sleeves and at the bottom of the skirt, and the pale blue one had silver trim and deep blue flowers embroidered on it. I chose the pale blue
hanbok
with the flowers on it and rubbed it against my cheek. It smelled musty from being buried in the earthen jar for so long. I ran into the other room, pulled off my drab gray outfit, and put on the elegant dress. I felt so grand.