Princess Bari (7 page)

*

There are times when I am in the middle of a dream and I think to myself,
I'm dreaming right now
, even as I keep following the course of the dream. When the Great Princess Bari appeared in my dream, I was strolling along a wide, empty beach. At the other end of the beach, on the white sand devoid of any tree and under the blue sky devoid of any cloud, stood a single house. It had a huge tiled roof and latticed windows and doors. The next thing I knew, I was inside. Pillars with a circumference as wide as my arms could reach around stood in a row. Sunlight slanted down into a broad corridor that looked like a palace or temple that I would later come to visit after I'd left the North for good, but stone walls blocked the light from reaching any further. It was so dark that I didn't move from where I stood, but then the room began to brighten, as if someone had turned on a small lamp, and the faint, glimmering light spread up the walls all the way to the ridgepole at the top of the high ceiling. I took a step forward, and then another step. Someone appeared in the light. It wasn't a golden light, rather a bright glare like the sun on a summer day, and in it hovered the white silhouette of a person. I wasn't sure if it was her hair colour or just the light, but her hair was all white and held in an old-fashioned chignon with a long hairpin, and she wore white mourning clothes. The countless pleats in her long, loose skirt swayed as if stirred by a stray breeze. Her face was white too; I could not tell whether she was old or young, but I could sense that she was smiling gently. The figure, which floated there impassively, vanished when I took a step back and reappeared when I took a step forward. But when I stepped into the room again later, she was gone. I committed the vision to memory. I never saw her again, but that was because Chilsung and my grandmother would sometimes appear in my dreams instead to help me, even after I'd travelled to a faraway country.

*

Five days passed, and then months passed, and still Father had not returned. Grandmother had told me a few days after he left: “He's gone to Puryong to bring back the family.” But I'd already known. It was dangerous enough for him to have escaped when he was being punished for our uncle's crimes, but it went without saying that going back there for the rest of the family was just plain stupid. Yet what could we do? Had I been in his shoes, I would've done the same.

When summer began, Grandmother and I started foraging for mushrooms and medicinal herbs deep in the mountains for us to eat with the grain we received from the farmer's family. We would each fill a sack with bellflower and bracken, which grew in abundance, and
lingzhi
mushrooms, which were called the “mushroom of immortality” and earned us the most money when sold. We also collected
chaga
and
neungi
mushrooms, and a type of medicinal rhubarb, and peonies.

Grandmother knew everything there was to know about the mountains. She taught me how to avoid poisonous mushrooms and plants. If we'd sold the patch of
lingzhi
mushrooms we'd discovered one day in a thicket on the slope of a hill amidst a tangle of oaks and alder, we could have made a fortune. But instead we limited ourselves to a few handfuls now and then, mixed in with the bracken and bellflower roots, in exchange for a steady supply of rice and sundry food items. One day, we filled our sacks with bracken and headed for our treasure trove to collect a few mushrooms. I worked at the top of the slope while Grandmother, who said her legs were bothering her, rested and warmed herself in the sun in a flat clearing at the bottom of the hill. I spotted some astragalus root growing from the stump of a tree, and remembered that Grandmother had told me it was good for restoring energy in the elderly.

“Grandma!” I yelled. “I've found astragalus!”

I'd called out to where she was sitting with her back turned at the bottom of the hill, but she remained squatting and didn't budge. She had the hoe, so I hopped and slid down the hill to her.

“Grandma, I need the hoe,” I said, and tapped her on the arm. She slumped over to one side. Her arm and shoulder were stiff. When I looked down at her face, her eyes were closed. A single line of blood had trickled out of her nose and pooled in the wrinkles around the sides of her mouth. I placed my head against her chest and listened for a heartbeat, and I even tried placing one finger under her nose to feel for any breath, but there was no question that she was dead.

I sat there for a long while and wept openly. After much time had passed, I felt like my crying had echoed out across the empty forest and was making its way back to me, so I stopped. I sat there blankly for a little longer, and then started to dig away the earth with the hoe. I didn't have the strength to dig very deep; I think I only made it far enough to cover up her body and no more. I dragged her body into the hole and covered her with a thick layer of soil. I couldn't bear to watch her face disappear beneath the dirt, so I took the empty fertilizer sack that we always had with us and used it to cover her face.

“When Father returns,” I told her, “we'll give you a proper burial in a nice, sunny spot.”

I trudged back down the mountain. Now I was the only one left in our empty hut.

How many days did I lie there alone? One night, I awoke with a start. An owl was hooting somewhere far off, deep in the woods. I didn't know what it was, but something was calling me. It wasn't a voice or anything with form, and yet something like an invisible thread seemed to be tied to one of the hairs on my head and was tugging very gently. The annoying sensation reminded me of walking into a spider web in the dark, but instead of waving my hands around to try to shake it off, I let it happen. I poked my head out of the hut and gazed off at the pale dawn breaking on the horizon.

I got ready to leave. I dressed warmly in layers, and on top of the farmer's daughter's old tracksuit, I put on a blue hooded parka made of some synthetic fabric that was likewise a hand-me-down from the daughter and zipped it up all the way to my chin. Into the canvas rucksack that our family had been using ever since Musan, I added the emergency food supply I'd spent the entire previous day preparing. I'd made
gaetteok
from the flour we had left and wrapped them in plastic, fried the uncooked rice and ground it into a powder and washed the single gourd's worth of small black beans left over from the sprouts my grandmother had grown in a pan and divided into plastic baggies. Of the household items we'd acquired from the family, there were several hard plastic soda bottles. We'd used them to store water, bean paste and cooking oil. I decided to take only the water bottle.

When I made it down the mountain and was turning the corner into the orchard, I heard the familiar sound of Chilsung's bark. I wanted to see him before I left, so I headed toward the house instead. As soon as I came up to him, tiptoeing quietly so as not to wake the family, Chilsung wagged his tail so hard that his entire butt moved side to side. I wrapped my arms around him.

I'm off to look for Mom and Dad
, I said.
Once I find them, we'll all be together again.

Chilsung's response thundered inside my head.

Bari-
ya
! Take me with you! I can help! Undo the leash!

No, wait for us here. I'll be back in a few days.

When I was done reasoning with him, I crossed the orchard and headed back through the forest down to the riverside path. The Tumen River was right below where I stood.

I took off my clothes, perched the bundle on top of my head and waded into the water, waving my arms in a semblance of swimming just as I had when I was a child. When I couldn't feel the bottom, I doggy-paddled, and when my feet touched the river bottom again, I walked. I had made it across.

The sunrise was spreading its way down the gently sloping side of Mount Gunham, when I heard the sound of water spraying and splashing right behind me. I turned to look and there was Chilsung, shaking water off of his coat. He'd freed himself and followed me right across the river. Instead of scolding him, I untied the broken rope from his neck and tossed it away.

We walked along the foot of the mountain, heading southeast toward the distant fields so we could avoid the village. The mountains on the North Korean side of the river were bare except for green shoots – they'd been stripped clean of trees for firewood, or for planting terraced fields. I didn't know how to get to Puryong, but I'd heard that it was on the way to Chongjin, where I'd grown up. I figured I might find a freight train loaded with ore somewhere along the way. Chilsung and I walked aimlessly under the blazing sun.

*

The next part was like a long dream. Whenever we spotted a passer-by, Chilsung and I would quickly hide in the bushes by the side of the road, or behind a rock, and wait for the person to pass. Once, we saw a mother and daughter coming toward us, but we didn't bother to hide. They were so starved and exhausted that they didn't even turn to look at us, let alone say anything. At the top of a hill overlooking a village, we saw the body of a man lying face-up toward the sun. His mouth was agape and his eyes were open; a little foam had seeped out of the corner of his mouth, and his lips and cheeks were dried stiff. A short distance away from the body, I saw his spirit sitting on the branch of a pine tree. He looked like a puff of smoke emerging from a chimney on a cloudy day.

Where ya going?
he asked.

To find my parents.

No point in that
, he muttered.
They're all dead.

I didn't respond. His smoke-like ghost hovered over us, muttering:
I'm hungry. Gimme food. Gimme something to eat.
When Chilsung growled and bared his teeth, the man vanished, as if swept away on a breeze.

I decided there wasn't much benefit to travelling during the day, as we had to take long detours each time we came across a village or factory, so I led Chilsung up into the surrounding mountains. It wasn't until we made it to one of the peaks that we spotted railroad tracks winding off in the distance.
Okay
, I thought to myself,
if we follow those tracks, we'll find our way to Puryong.
As I'd made up my mind to sleep during the day and walk only at night, I immediately spread my jacket out on the underbrush and lay down. Chilsung lay pressed up against my side, his chin propped on his paws as he kept watch over me. When I awoke, shivering from the cold, the sky was filled with stars. It looked like all of the lights were on in the houses of some distant world. I nearly reached my hand out to try to pluck the biggest star that seemed to dangle right before my eyes.

I headed down the mountain in the dark toward the railroad tracks that I'd spotted during the day. I felt the crunch of gravel underfoot before I saw the tracks. Chilsung and I stepped over the metal rails and up onto the wooden ties, and followed the tracks all night. I can't remember if we stopped somewhere to sleep or if we walked straight on into the next night, but we eventually arrived near Gomusan Station. The whole area had been abandoned. We were walking down an alley past a long row of empty houses when I had the distinct sensation that there were people inside.

Who's she?

Whispers were carried to me on the wind. Dark shapes as distinct as black clothes hanging on a clothesline in the middle of a moonless night began to appear one after another. One of them brushed past me and suddenly spoke in a clear voice:

Where are you going?

I wasn't afraid. Even when it was just Grandmother and me in the dugout hut, with tigers and lynxes prowling right outside, I hadn't been afraid; nor was I afraid later, when I was on my own in the woods.

What's it to you where I'm going? Do you think I'm afraid of you?

The black shapes whispered to each other:

She says she's not afraid!

Chilsung and I walked straight ahead without paying the shapes any attention, and came to a stop in front of a house. It had a wide courtyard and a wooden veranda, just like our house back in Musan, and the gate was open. I was about to go through it when Chilsung dug in his hind legs and let out a low growl.

It's okay, boy. We'll rest here until the sun comes up and then head to the station.
When I walked into the courtyard, a breeze blew past me and whirled around the yard. I was about to step up onto the veranda when I heard a hoarse female voice right behind me.

You bad girl. How dare you walk right into someone else's house?

When I turned to look, a woman with dishevelled hair was standing in front of the kitchen door. I could tell that it was the owner of the house – and that it was not a living person. Chilsung growled again.

I'm sorry, Auntie. I was looking for my mother, but I got so tired that I thought I could just rest here a little before I kept going.

Get rid of the dog. It's scaring the kids.

He's my little brother. He won't hurt anyone. Auntie, how did you die?

Quiet giggles erupted in the corner.

She says that dog is her little brother!

Two children were standing side by side in the house. The taller one was a girl, the shorter one a boy. They looked to be about seven and four. I sat on the veranda while the woman and her two kids stood as far away from me as they could.

We can't leave
, the woman said.
We're waiting for their father to come back. He and I went all the way to Hoeryong and Chongjin to look for food, but there were no trains and we had to walk. It took us three days to get home. We found our children frozen and starved to death. I died right then of shock. My husband left and hasn't returned. Look at the yard. Those are our neighbours. They all went first. We were the last to go.