Finding Junie Kim: Book II

But one boy stood still, pensively staring up at the lush green mountains that surrounded them.

He could make out the flash of the artillery that left small plumes of smoke in its wake.

Kitae made a derisive grunt. “The Reds don’t care about nothing but themselves and their stupid Communism.”

Others were locals who professed themselves to be Communists and denounced the Americans’ involvement in their government.

Before he could say anything else to reassure his friend, he noticed Sunjin shrinking, his unhappiness palpable.

As Minki and Kitae eagerly agreed, Doha seized his friend and shoved him into the pond, whereupon the others promptly splashed him with water.

Modest white outside walls crowned with slanting tile decorations gave no hint of the elaborate courtyards and inner living quarters that were hidden like pearls in their oyster shells.

A long, whispered conversation ensued before the police chief addressed the crowd.

He was a red-faced, blustery man who intimidated Doha.

In all his life, he had never worried about running out of food. But as he saw the sober faces of the adults, he was reminded of how his mother would always send baskets of food to Sunjin’s family and others.

“Communist leaders? Nonsense. They’re not leaders of anything! They’re just poor farmers listening to that Communist garbage. Especially old Moon. He’s just a drunkard. He’s no more a Communist leader than your ancient granny. Chief Song, you should release those poor wretches and let them go home.”

Doha knew him to be a huge fan of Americans, although his admiration was solely based on the fact that they resoundingly beat the Imperial Japanese Army.

At his words, there was an immediate clamor of loud voices arguing for and against the likelihood of a swift and easy Communist defeat in the hands of American military might.

The room abruptly went quiet in deference as Dr. Han slowly rose to his feet.

“But the army is conscripting all our young men.”

“And if they don’t enlist, they’ll be taken by the Communists anyway,” Mr. Choi said grimly.

We survived forty-five years of oppressive Japanese rule as they tried to systematically destroy our culture, our language, and break our spirit. But they couldn’t, because we are resilient.

She was not feeling well for several days. Nothing the shaman did was working; she was just getting sicker.

For a moment, Doha could see an angry, almost anguished expression on his father’s face as he turned away from Mrs. Jeong and rubbed his eyes.

“Mrs. Jeong, I’m going to do my best, but we don’t have much time now. If only you had brought her to me earlier, before her appendix ruptured. But now the infection has spread, and she’s gone septic. We must operate right away.”

There was a bleakness in his father’s eyes that weighed heavily on Doha’s heart.

“They didn’t trust modern medicines. They relied on folk remedies, herbs, and offerings to shaman. It was around that time that Korean medicine modernized. A lot of Korean doctors would get American medical school training and return to Korea. But even now you will find people who would rather pay money to ward off evil spirits than go to the hospital.”

Gunwoo let out a keening sound of such anguish it stabbed at Doha’s heart.

Only North Korean soldiers on patrol everywhere, their tan uniforms looking drab and dusty.

They knew they were close when the beauty of their surroundings was jarred by the loud weeping and wailing of distraught family members.

He wore them every day to work at the administrative offices where he was in charge of meticulous recordkeeping.

Hope and relief showed on his ravaged face.

Food was scarce because the soldiers had commandeered the supply house and were now rationing food out to all the villagers.

One day they were everywhere, policing everyone, indoctrinating the villagers on Communism.

Although Doha wasn’t hungry, his grandmother gently coerced him to eat every bite, stroking his back the whole time.

He chafed at the slow pace his sister kept.

Doha choked a little on his words as he could feel the frightened tears he was so desperately suppressing.

There seemed to be a watchfulness. An air of distrust and apprehension.

She was trying to appease the other woman, who kept screaming until the soldiers who were stationed at the marketplace came to her aid.

The normally placid, slow-moving ox was now on a rampage.

The desk guard’s voice dripped with disdain.

He kicked the rice balls at her as she flinched in dismay.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the huge bruise and the long red laceration on his sister’s arm.

At the mention of Sunjin’s name, Dr. Han closed his eyes and nodded somberly. “I’m so sorry, Doha,” he said.

His father slowly shared the entire ordeal of what had happened. There were so many people accused of being Reds or Communist sympathizers that the prisons had become overcrowded and they were holding people in the administrative offices. Their claim of fair trials for the accused were nothing but lies.