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By Root 1105 0

He was thin, as we all were, but his health was now stable, recovered from a dangerous and painful ulcer he’d suffered during the first several months in Seoul. I had found a good pharmacist two tram rides downtown, and while discussing treatment options, discovered he had classical training and a wealth of traditional remedies. But one night not long ago, probably because of his relationships with Chinese herbalists, the pharmacist disappeared. His shop was taken over by a cranky suspicious man who asked too many questions. I felt safer buying the rare plants and powders I needed from Dongsaeng’s clandestine and expensive contacts.

I heated broth and tea for Unsook, then went to the outbuilding to fill the scuttle. The Seoul house and a stable full of coal had been gifts from Imo. By the time of my release from prison, it was clear that all of Korea’s and Manchuria’s resources were being siphoned to feed Japan’s war with China. Another new law mobilized hundreds of young Korean men and women to fill a void in manpower caused by the war. They called it voluntary, but I’d heard of missing sons and daughters, and few youths dared to loiter on city streets. Being married and having been recently arrested made me ineligible for “government service.” Though I would never forget my imprisonment, I understood it was merely a kink in a tightening noose of government wariness and suspicion. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to make myself feel less guilty, but once we’d moved outside of our Gaeseong walls, I saw how fortunate we were to have kept our estate for as long as we did. As we packed and sold furniture, we learned that many other landowners had suffered a similar fate. Downtown, Gaesong’s main thoroughfare had become a noisy stream of trucks shuttling troops to China, pushcarts jammed with contents of homes, and foot traffic as thousands of people migrated either forcibly or for safety. We tended the graves a last time and bid painful goodbyes to Kira, Joong, Byungjo and Cook, who would venture north to Nah-jin or farther, if necessary. We prayed we’d meet again, but by now, a year later, I realized there was little hope of that. On our day of departure the Japanese soldiers came, immediately knocked down the gate to widen the entrance for vehicles and razed the front gardens for parking. We left quickly and no one looked back.

In Seoul we fought our way through a train depot filled with people and confusion, blasts of steam and the clamor of trains coming and going, the squalor of refugees and beggars of all ages in pitiful condition. My mother, taking the fifth journey of her life, was admirably fearless and mainly concerned with Father, who could barely walk for the pain of his ulcer. After hiring carts for our possessions, we found Imo’s house occupied by a few pieces of heavy furniture, gourds, some crockery and kettles, and an old man from Imo’s church who guarded the vacated property. He delivered a letter from Imo, in which she explained her decision to finally leave the capital, fearing that her adopted son, who had recently graduated from college, was vulnerable to the labor draft. She had moved to Busan and purchased a house on the outskirts of the city, away from hubbub and scrutiny. “And so,” she wrote, “what a blessing that you have decided to come to Seoul, eliminating for me the headache of trying to sell this house, which is much too large for just us.”

It was when she read this letter that I saw Mother cry for the first time since the Gaeseong house was lost. I understood that her tears were for the shame of having to accept Imo’s thoughtful generosity, and I felt so undeserving of my own tears of remorse that they remained deeply buried.

I bent to scoop from the diminishing pile of coal and thought about Unsook. The costly orchid infusion had worked well, opening her breathing passages. I didn’t dwell on Dongsaeng’s folly with the topaz, knowing that my last length of silk would bring a good price. The skirt with embroidered chrysanthemums was one of the few things I hadn’t sold when living with Calvin