There wasn’t a scrap of truth in what you told Eun-sook and Seon-ju, that first day at the Provincial Office.
In that same square you’re looking at now, where hordes of people gathered to demonstrate, from old-timers in their fedoras to boys of twelve and women carrying colorful parasols, that day when they loaded the corpses of two men who had been shot in front of the train station into a handcart and pushed it at the very head of the column, it wasn’t a neighbor who caught that last glimpse of Jeong-dae, it was you yourself. And it wasn’t as though you just caught sight of him from a distance; you were close enough to see the bullet slam into his side. At first the two of you were hand in hand, excitedly making your way to the front. Then the ear-splitting sound of gunfire tore through the afternoon and everyone was pushing and shoving, trying to run back the way they’d come. Someone shouted, “It’s okay, it’s just blanks!” One group tried to push back to the front again, and Jeong-dae’s hand slipped from yours in the turmoil. Another deafening cannonade of shots, and Jeong-dae toppled over onto his side. You took to your heels and fled. You pressed yourself up against the wall of an electrical goods store, next to the lowered shutter. There were three older men there with you. Another man, who seemed to be part of their group, was running over to join them when a spray of blood suddenly erupted from his shoulder and he fell flat on his face.
“Good God, they’re on the roof,” the man next to you muttered. “They shot Yeon-gyu from the roof.”
Another burst of gunfire rang out from the roof of the next building along. The man Yeon-gyu, who had been staggering to his feet, flipped backward as though someone had pushed him over. The blood spreading from his stomach washed greedily over his chest. You looked up at the faces of the men standing next to you. No one said anything. The man who’d spoken was shaking silently, his hand over his mouth.
You opened your eyes a fraction and saw dozens of people lying in the middle of the street. You thought you saw a pair of light blue tracksuit bottoms, identical to the ones you were wearing. Bare feet—what had happened to his sneakers?—seemed to be twitching. You tensed, about to dash over, when the man standing next to you seized hold of your shoulder. Just then, three young men ran out from the next alleyway along. When they shoved their hands under the armpits of the fallen and hauled them up, a burst of rapid-fire gunshot exploded from the direction of the soldiers in the center of the square. The young men crumpled like puppets whose strings had been cut. You looked over at the wide alley adjoining the opposite side of the street. Thirty-odd men and women were pressed up against the wall, a frozen tableau, their staring eyes riveted to the scene in front of them.
A few minutes after the gunfire had ceased, a strikingly diminutive figure dashed out, unhesitating. The man ran as fast as he could toward one of the people lying on the ground. When another burst of rapid-fire gunshot put paid to his efforts, the man who’d been keeping a firm grip on your shoulder moved his large, coarse hand to cover your eyes, saying, “You’ll only be throwing your life away if you go out there now.”
The moment he took his hand away, you saw two men from the opposite alleyway run toward a young woman as though pulled by a huge magnet, grab her arms, and lift her up. This time the gunfire rang out from the roof. The men somersaulted head over heels.
After that, there were no more rescue attempts.
Around ten minutes of tense silence had passed when a couple of dozen soldiers stepped out of their column, walking in pairs toward those who had fallen nearest them. They worked swiftly and methodically, dragging them back to the other soldiers. As though this were the cue they’d been waiting for, a dozen men ran out from the next and opposite alleyway, to lift up those who had fallen farther back. This time, no shots rang out. The men who’d been standing with you left the safety of the wall to retrieve a group who had breathed their last, then hurriedly disappeared down the alleyway. And yet, you made no move to go and help Jeong-dae. Left alone, you were frightened and, thinking only about avoiding the snipers’ sharp eyes, shuffled quickly sideways along the wall, your face pressed up against the bricks, your back turned to the square.
—
The house was quiet that afternoon. Despite all the upheavals, your mother had still gone to open up your family’s leather shop in Daein Market, and your father, who’d injured his back a while ago carrying a heavy box of hides, was lying down in the inner room. You pushed open the main gate, which was always left with one half unlocked, the metal rasping against the stone. As you stepped into the yard, you heard your middle brother chanting English vocabulary in his room.
“Dong-ho?” Your father’s voice carried clearly from the main room. “Is that Dong-ho come back?” You didn’t answer. “Dong-ho, if that’s you, then get in here and give my back a trample.”
Giving no sign of having heard, you walked across the flower bed and pushed down on the handle of the pump. Cold, clear water crackled into the nickel washbasin. You plunged your hands in first, then scooped up the water to splash over your face. When you tilted your head back the water ran down over your jaw, along the line of your throat.
“Dong-ho, that is you outside, isn’t it? Come in here.” With your dripping hands pressed against your eyes, you remained standing on the stone terrace. After a while, you slipped your feet out of your sneakers, stepped up onto the wooden veranda, and slid open the door of the main room. Your father was lying prone in the center of the room, which was thick with the smell of moxa cautery.
“The muscle was giving me pain earlier, and I couldn’t get up. Give it a trample down near the base.”
You peeled off your socks and lifted your right foot up onto your father’s lower back, careful not to press down with your full weight.
“Where’ve you been gadding off to? Your mother kept phoning to ask if you’d got back. It’s not even safe to go around the neighborhood, with this demo. Last night there was shooting over by the station, and some people were even killed…it doesn’t bear thinking about. How can anyone go up against a gun with nothing but an empty fist?”