Year of Impossible Goodbyes: Chapters 2–4

Aunt Tiger insisted she would make a visit to my sister Theresa’s convent to get one of those fancy books the nuns decorated with pictures of saints and angels.

It was really a very humble feast, but a special occasion for us, since we had never before dared to have such a celebration.

Haiwon’s embarrassed delight made her look beautiful. Her face was flushed and for once she was speechless and remained silent long enough for me to see how pretty the shape of her mouth was.

Haiwon became even more flustered upon seeing Grandfather.

She knew the honor that was being bestowed upon her.

Haiwon unrolled the scroll of white rice paper. Grandfather had painted a beautiful winged horse flying toward the sky. Underneath it there were two Chinese characters in his fine calligraphy that said “thousand patience” and her name in Hangul.

The brass dishes were lovely and we each had a sliver of meat in our soup.

Haiwon started to cry hysterically.

Captain Narita whispered in a chilling monotone, “So, you are doing something on your own again. Did you forget that there is a war going on and that we must do all we can to help the Imperial soldiers fight the White Devils?”

The Korean nobility had been welcomed guests among the Japanese, who were eager to use Korea as a bridge to Chinese culture.

As I mustered an awkward smile, I quickly said, “You know what? These branches smell so good. Let’s give them to the sock girls. I know they don’t even have time to talk to us, but they can smell the pine as they work. Those mean soldiers did us a favor after all. We always said we wanted to give the sock girls something. These branches are small and are the perfect size for them to take home. The tree will grow again. Let’s water the roots first.”

I longed to see his calm meditative expression.

“It’s bad enough that we have to live under them,” she said. “Who wants to talk about it? There’s no time for inquisitive children now. Don’t bother your Grandfather with these questions either. He was tortured for so long by the Japanese — you shouldn’t make him talk about it; it will only cause him pain to think of such things.”

While I was brooding in my room and blaming Aunt for my frustrations, she dashed into my room and startled me.

Aunt Tiger, tired and somber, left the room.

I looked over at his scholar’s desk with its many mysterious drawers. It was draped with some drab gray cloth to conceal it from the Imperial police, but I knew by heart its beautiful carvings depicting Buddhist monks and temples.

Hidden in the drawers were Grandfather’s oxtail brushes, the ink slate, and the books of Chinese poetry.

I was overwhelmed by such praise and my face burned with embarrassment. Instead of vehemently denying this praise as I should have done, I said nothing as I promised Mother not to talk.

Then Mother said wistfully, “Under that special hat, your grandfather’s hair was drawn into a small bun, called a topknot, on the top of his head. But when the Japanese occupied Korea, they gathered all the scholars in the town square and cut their topknots off. It was only hair,” she continued, “but to your grandfather and the other proud scholars, it was a symbol of their culture and identity.”

I knew from my catechism lessons that old people needed some special blessing from a priest.

Mother continued as if she were anxious to be done with it. The determination in her eyes discouraged me from asking any more questions.

“It was a hard life in Manchuria,” she said haltingly, “but we were happy working for the independence movement. But not for long. The Japanese soon found us, and once again, in the middle of the night, they set fire to our homes. The soldiers, ready with their guns and swords, waited outside people’s homes and shot them as they came running out of their burning houses. There were massacres in all the small Korean settlements.”

After several months, Father and his friends managed to rescue Grandfather from the soldiers, and they sent him to Pyongyang disguised as a peasant.

His breathing was very heavy and low, and he did not open his eyes. His face had taken on a bluish quality. But then a faint smile allayed my fears.

After folding the blanket around his ankles to protect him from the draft, she stepped away.

I felt so privileged to be allowed to take care of Grandfather.

Aunt Tiger was busy taking care of little Inchun, who cried inconsolably.

As soon as I thought of his peaceful face and the cool touch of his hand and that little chuckling Buddha, my anger, frustration, fear, and utter loneliness began to subside.

“Harmony will prevail,” he used to say. “After darkness, there will be light. The light cannot come without the darkness. Better days are bound to come now.”

Startled and annoyed, I retorted, “Twelve, of course.”

I watched as the three of them entered the ugly barrack.

There was silence, then violent cries of anguish.

She stood listlessly outside the barrack clutching the door handle.

Mother didn’t seem to be listening. With her fists clenched, she stared at the barrack, praying for a revelation to save her dear sock girls.

Mother looked more and more frail. Her face had become flushed with fever.

I noticed Aunt Tiger glancing at her with grave concern.

Each day Mother waited expectantly for Captain Narita.

We just kept working, but I could sense that with each passing day, Mother and Aunt Tiger were growing more and more apprehensive.

One morning as we worked on in the stagnant heat, Mother said, “I never thought I would say this, but I wish Captain Narita would come by. We need to know if there is any hope. They’ve been working so hard, and we haven’t been paid in weeks now. We’ll all go hungry soon. If he doesn’t come by tomorrow morning, maybe I’ll go to his office and see if those awful guards will let me see him.”

Oblivious of the torrential downpour, the girls started sobbing.

Oblivious of the torrential downpour, the girls started sobbing.

“Please do not take them...some of them are not even fifteen,” Mother implored.

I fell asleep as I listened to their devout prayers against the drumming of the rain.

I felt the bright sun was heartless and cruel to shine so derisively, and I shut my eyes in defiance.

I felt the bright sun was heartless and cruel to shine so derisively, and I shut my eyes in defiance.