Chapter 11.12:The Real Reds Come to Town

11
Mama, I Am So Sorry!


Dad was subpoenaed to appear and testify about the mountain commies by the local police often who beat him more often about the whereabouts of the partisans. He did never see any of them; Nor could he collaborate with any man or agency who had not appeared before him.

Still, the police were interested in him nonetheless. He could tell them about his huge load he was able to carry home. It was firewood mostly. Grass, weeds and bits of wood for fermented fertilizer during summer time. He could tell them about how to snare roe deers whose meat was so nice. But he didn't have any knowledge about the partisans.

There were shifts personal and social. I transferred to the 2nd grade of Oksan Elementary School. The local police called in Don and interrogated him about partisans more severely than ever before.

But Don had nothing to offer. My Mom Boolim shed more tears than ever before as my grandma "grilled" her on every gamut of trivia ranging from poor cooking skills to her daughter-in-law's mode of addressing his son. Her daughter-in-law should not have dropped honorifics. She was supposed to use them when she talked to her husband.

Whenever I saw my mom lower her head and sob with muted sounds, I hated Grandma. There was no moment allowed for my mom to sit and take a minute's break. All kinds of orders were given Mom to do this or that. She did not receive any praise for her chores done nevertheless.

Worse thing was that the widowed Mrs. Euiseong Kim did not allow her daughter_in_law to join the dining session, either. However, both her son Don and her darling grandson me Dano did not face up to her because me Dano was afraid of her too much and Don was such a filial son. Fact was that I was endeared by her so much as "my beloved puppy" that I did not and could not have any guts to reject the opportunity, not joining her dining table on which stewed and fried meat or/and fish were served from time to time.

Mom was taken to task too much too often by her mother-in-law for tons of reasons. Mom was supposed to rise earlier than Grandma of course: Tardiness was not excused. She was supposed to keep track of a lot of household things, keep the garden clean, and above all things keep fire alive.

If and when she let the fire die, Grandma chided Mom like she would do a dog. Even since the stick matches were brought in the house, Mom had to keep the fire seed in a fire pot or something. Everytime the undesirable incident broke out, Grandma's abusive words flew over the fence: "You bitch will ruin this family!"

Mom's feet were busy as well as her hands. More often than not she was supposed to husk barley using a wooden treadmill which was used to peel the husk off barley with a wooden grinder attached to it. Barley meal was so made by boiling the husked barley twice.

I wonder it might have been the only and the last moment that Mom had ever tried to address her husband on even and friendly terms, when, watched by her tigerish grandma, she was greatly reproached the rudeness, "How dare you drop honorific suffix toward your husband!" The virtues of a nice wife were carped on Mom by Grandma. Husband was sky high. No, husband was the sky itself.

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Mom was not given a seat on the dining table, which was not understandable. She was supposed to eat something out in the kitchen which had been installed out of the room or far down on the room floor separated from the main diners whereas Grandma and her grandson dined together at the same wooden dining table. Dad occupied another separate dining table.

I pronounce Mama by myself into the air. I've sinned so much which I think is unpardonable. Sorry, Mom! I am so sorry! I have been a coward. I had to face up to Grandma and ask her to sit you together with us at the same dining table. Oh, Mama!



12
The Real Reds Come to the Sun Valley, 1950

On one winter morning of 1949, a nine-member unit of army soldiers came to the valley and bivouacked on the hilly pass. They put up a large tent and spent days and nights there. I took a visit to the tent from time to time and watched them survey large military maps and asked about them. They were treated to white rice, or pure rice. All the rice and side dishes had been served by my parents, who collaborated with the army, thinking that it was the right thing to treat the Korean army soldiers.

However, the soldiers didn't stay there long. They stayed for about a week or so. My mom got there one morning like the previous morning with the early morning's meal prepared on a large oval bamboo box to find that they were gone. Like the wind. There were no traces that they had been there. The wind filled what had been emptied by them. The sunlight was shining.

Boolim had stood there motionless for a while. A sense of security had settled in Sun Valley while they had been there. Boolim and her husband had had a joyous moment discussing the next day's menu which would go to the hill tent. But out of the blue fear and anxiety gripped them. She missed the void they had left behind. She was concerned about their security and worried about the engagements they would have to confront. In an earnest prayer they wished them a good luck.

There were no regular contacts linking to greater places of the outside. There might have been newspapers in greater places like Kilan myon town a little far away from the valley. But even if there had been ones, their deliveries might not have been available. Another impediment to the outside contact might have been their comparatively higher fees.

There were no transistor radios at the valley town. But even if they had had one, its very possession could have provided a cause for suspicion from the authorities, that is, they could have been suspected of collaboration with the Reds or something. Spring was about to go. The noise of the hilly insects was heralding the advent of the early summer.

The casual word of mouth was the only communicative vehicle by which they could be cognizant of what was going on. And the words of mouth designed to mean something played a major role in relaying the news of the outside world. We had been geographically isolated so much that it was not until the strange accents were heard and the strange uniforms were observed by our very eyes that we realized there exist the real Reds in the world.

But oops the real Reds came to the valley. With the wind. They were a contingent of a dozen or so army privates from North Korea. They were so young and so short that their rifle bodies almost touched the ground. They looked to be in their mid-teens. Their salient feature as the Reds was the red shoulder bands depicting stars.

They looked famished and fatigued. As soon as they got into the cottage ground they asked for "something to eat." My grandma Mrs. Euiseong Kim sought understanding, scared and stunned, saying, "We have barley only, husked and twice boiled." "That will do," they said, with desperation in their voices. They put water into barley bowl and ate them up with smacks of lips. After a short break of eating jobs, they left, with strange accents of "thanks for the meal" trailing behind.

A heavy engagement erupted that very night, without warning, somewhere on the hilly mountains. Probably between the South Korean soldiers and the invading North Koreans. I wondered who had shot initial rounds.

There was no moon that night. Darkness shrouded, like fogs, the valley and the surrounding hilly mountains. All through the night there were clings and clangs in the air. In between the barrages of bullets, there might have been shells flying and pounding and exploding on the places far and near the cottage.

We the family members were terrified, in heavy bedding, hugging each other and shaking all over. There were great flashes in the windows, followed by momentary hiatus of silent darkness and a boom which shook the house and which we guessed it had exploded somewhere near the house. When the next day broke and the battle was over, morning calm settled again in the valley as if nothing had happened. Had they been all dead?

There was a scream somewhere outside. It was Mrs. Euiseong Kim's. "What's that?" great-grand mother asked in a low voice, sitting up. My dad bolted out of the room. "What's up, Mother?" he shouted in astonishment. "Come and see here," she said. She was standing at an entrance of a bean row contiguous to the rear garden. She pointed to a big hole dug deep and round.

It was a crater which had been made by a mortar shell explosion last night. All the family ran to the scene and blurted exclaims, pointing to a mortar shell shrapnel just resembling a large pumpkin. Mrs. Euiseong Kim cited a secret assistance of samshin, or the three gods. "Samshin halmae duggida," (Three godly grandmothers saved our lives!), she chanted, bowing deeply with clapped hands.