The women, middle-aged ajummas who came to church nearly every evening to pray, recognized him as Pastor Baek’s older brother.
“They’ve taken him,” the eldest one cried, “and Pastor Yoo and the Chinese boy Hu. You have to help them—”
“What?”
“The police arrested them this morning—when everyone went to the Shinto shrine to bow, one of the village leaders noticed Hu mouthing the words of the Lord’s Prayer when they were supposed to be pledging allegiance to the Emperor. The police officer who was supervising questioned Hu, and Hu told him that this ceremony was idol worshipping and he wouldn’t do it anymore. Pastor Yoo tried to tell the police that the boy was misinformed, and that he didn’t mean anything by it, but Hu refused to agree with Pastor Yoo. Pastor Baek tried to explain, too, but Hu said he was willing to walk into the furnace. Just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! Do you know that story?”
“Yes, yes,” Yoseb said, annoyed by their religious excitement. “Are they at the station now?”
The women nodded.
Yoseb ran outside.
Noa was sitting on the steps of the police station, holding his baby brother, who was asleep.
“Uncle,” Noa whispered, smiling with relief. “Mo is very heavy.”
“You’re a very good brother, Noa,” Yoseb said. “Where’s your aunt?”
“In there.” He tilted his head toward the station, unable to use his hands. “Uncle, can you hold Mozasu? My arms hurt.”
“Can you wait here just a little longer? I’ll be right back, or I’ll send your mother outside.”
“Umma said she’d give me a treat if I didn’t pinch Mozasu and kept him still. They won’t let babies inside,” Noa said soberly. “But I’m hungry now. I’ve been here forever and ever.”
“Uncle will give you a treat, too, Noa. Uncle will be right back,” Yoseb said.
“But, Uncle—Mo’s—”
“Yes, Noa, but you’re very strong.”
Noa straightened his shoulders and sat up. He didn’t want to disappoint his uncle, who was his favorite person.
Yoseb was about to open the door of the station, but he turned at the sound of Noa’s voice.
“Uncle, what do I do if Mozasu cries?”
“You should sing him a song while you walk back and forth. The way I did when you were his age. Maybe you remember?”
“No, I don’t remember,” he said, looking tearful.
“Uncle will be right out.”
The police wouldn’t let them see Isak. The women had been waiting inside the station, with Sunja going outside to check on Noa and Mozasu every few minutes. Children weren’t allowed in the station, so Kyunghee had remained near the front desk, since she was the one who spoke Japanese. When Yoseb entered the waiting area, Kyunghee gasped, then exhaled. Seated beside her, Sunja was doubled over, weeping.
“Do they have Isak?” Yoseb asked.
Kyunghee nodded.
“You have to talk quietly,” she said, continuing to pat Sunja on the back. “I don’t know who’s listening.”
Yoseb whispered, “The ladies at the church told me what happened. Why did that boy make such a fuss about the bowing?” Back home, the colonial government had been rounding up Christians and making them bow at the shrines each morning. Here, the volunteer community leaders made you do this only once or twice a week. “Is there a fine we can pay?”
“I don’t think so,” Kyunghee said. “The officer told us to go home, but we waited in case they’d let him out—”
“Isak can’t be inside a jail,” Yoseb said. “He can’t.”
At the front desk, Yoseb lowered his shoulders and bowed deeply from the waist.
“My brother’s in poor health, sir; he has been this way since he was a boy, and it would be difficult for him to be in jail. He just recovered from tuberculosis. Is there any way he can go home and come back to the station tomorrow so he can be questioned?” Yoseb asked, using honorific Japanese.
The officer shook his head politely, indifferent to these appeals. The cells were full of Koreans and Chinese, and according to their family members, nearly all of them had some sort of serious health problem that should preclude them from jail time. Although the officer felt bad for the man pleading for his truant brother, there was nothing he could do. The minister would be held for a very long time—these religious activists always were. In times of war, there had to be crackdowns against troublemakers for the sake of national security. It was pointless to say any of this, however. Koreans caused trouble, then made excuses.
“You and the women should go home. The minister is being questioned, and you will not be able to see him. You’re wasting your time.”