(Park Yoo-jin)They bring her the girl, feverish and squirming, sweat beading on her creased brow. Maybe seven or eight years old. Dysentery. They must act now if the girl is to stand a chance. Yoo-jin shows them which tea leaves will help cut the fever, how to crush mugwort root for a stomach compress. The women have gathered what little Western medicine they can scavenge, but she cannot decipher the labels. At last she finds a bottle with Japanese script—an antibiotic she prays will help.
‘Another broken tea cup.’
‘The eternal sea calls to us all.’
‘Where is your hairbrush, Dear One?’
The compress eases the girl’s stomach cramps and she stops squirming enough for Yoo-jin to help her swallow the pills with tea.
Halmeoni. Do not call this one to paradise yet. She is too young. Watch over her and my hands now.
‘Beautiful granddaughter. There is no need. Your hands are steady, and already the little one’s form is less full in the land of shadow.’
She signals to the women that the child should sleep. They file out of the hut, bowing or touching Yoo-jin’s shoulder as they go, carrying the child back to her home.
Do gods like those in each stone and bird also live in each tiny white pill?
She walks to the shore, watches the tide returning, lets the sound of waves and gulls replace the voices of the dead. So many now. Ever more restless.
A flicker of memory. On a rocky beach near Masan, watching fishing boats with her mother. Eons ago.
Eomma, I dream of you and wake unable to recall what I have seen. But your voice is the same. I dream of home, of halmeoni and abba. I long to return, but my shame is so great. Is this my home now, this place where I am tongueless?
‘Sister? Are you lost?’
She starts at the voice, did not see the company of soldiers approach. Koreans in khaki with red sashes. The man’s accent from the north.
‘But how . . . how did you know I speak hanguk-aw?’ She gestures to her rough-cut hemp trousers and tunic, too shocked to run, though she fears a trap.
The soldier grins. ‘You were talking to yourself. Don’t worry, sister, we won’t hurt you, or anyone in this village. Today is a day to celebrate. You haven’t heard? General Mao has won his long war. We are free to return to our homeland, to join the struggle there.’
The other soldiers shout agreement, and Yoo-jin fears she gazes upon a legion of the fallen, until the soldier reaches out and touches her shoulder.
‘Sister, you seem unwell. Come with us—we have medicine and food. Tomorrow we will return to Shinuiju by rail. Eat with us, at least. Tell us your story.’