So Far from the Bamboo Grove (3 page)

And night after night the alert siren woke us. Because it was dark inside and out, the night air raids seemed more eerie. The night planes flew very low. They shook the whole earth. I could hear bamboo, bent almost double, making cracking noises. Everyone lost sleep and everyone looked very tired the next day.

One night Hideyo told Mother he had made a decision: to join
Yokaren
, the student army.

“What?” Ko shouted. Mother opened her mouth and could not close it for several seconds.

“Most of my classmates have enlisted,” said Hideyo, serious for once. “I have decided to go to help our country.”

“You cannot go, Hideyo!” Mother told him. “You must talk with Father. You just cannot make such a decision alone.”

“Mother, I have already sent in my application,” said Hideyo. “I will take the written and physical examinations!”

“How could you?” Mother moaned. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I am eighteen. Big enough to make my own decision.”

“Eighteen or nineteen, even twenty-one, doesn't make a difference. Wait until Father comes home!”

“Not that I am disrespectful to you, Mother, but you don't understand what's going on in the world,” said Hideyo. “Our country needs young soldiers.”

Mother became more angry. “This
Tojo government attacking Pearl Harbor
to start the war was bad enough. Your father disagrees with the Japanese government.” Mother's voice began to shake. “The government has been taking away everything we have—peace, love, happiness. I would rather see our country lose the war than lose my husband and son!” She burst into tears.

Hideyo left the room and Ko quickly cleared the table. I did not know how to comfort Mother, so I left her.

Mother and Hideyo argued day after day. She wired Father to come home, but he wired back that he was attending an important meeting with other government officials.

By now Mother and Hideyo were no longer speaking. Ko decided to do something. She went to Hideyo's room and I went too.

“At least you can speak to your mother, Honorable Brother,” said Ko.

“Leave me alone!” Hideyo snapped. “Stupid girls. You don't understand a thing. Go away!”

“I will not go away until I say my piece,” Ko said bluntly.

“Then say it and get out!”

Ko told Hideyo that he must not join Yokaren because if Father died, who would look after Mother
and his sisters? Who would carry on the family name?

“Mother would adopt a son,” said Hideyo coldly.

“You may think joining the student army and dying for the country would be glorious and make you a hero,” Ko went on. “And the government would send Mother a distinguished medal for your courageous death. Do you think Mother would want it? No!”

“There are only old and feeble men in the war zone now,” said Hideyo. “The healthy ones have been either killed or wounded. Also, I cannot go to school every day peacefully while my classmates are getting killed. I have thought about this for a long time.”

“Listen.” Ko's tone was even more emphatic. “Today while I was laboring at the parade ground I saw a bunch of half-recovered soldiers in their hospital gowns. They were being trained to carry food in the war zone under simulated fire and bombing. I spotted Corporal Matsumura. All of them looked dragged out. I thought, if our country is gathering up young ones and forcing still-wounded soldiers back to the battlefield, well, there is no hope of winning this war. You are wasting your life.” She shouted, “If you join the army I disown you as an honorable brother and I will not speak to you as long as I live!”

“Me too!” I said. “Ever!”

“I won't let girls tell me what to do! Now get out!” Hideyo shouted. But as he banged the door, he called, “I'll handle it!”

A few weeks later a special delivery letter came from army headquarters. It was addressed to Father, so Hideyo, who was head of the house in Father's absence, should have opened it. But he had gone to the training ground.

So Mother opened it. It was the result of Hideyo's written and physical tests, and Ko and I gathered around to see what the letter said. Mother's hand shook, her face was very pale. My heart thumped.

Then her expression changed to relief. “What does it say, Mother?” Ko asked eagerly.

For the first time in many days Mother really smiled. “Look!” She showed us the letter. “Hideyo passed the physical but failed the written test. They say he is not bright enough for Japan's Imperial Army, so they are putting him to work in an ammunition factory, six days a week, in a town twenty miles from here.”

“What do you mean, Honorable Brother is not bright?” Ko demanded. We put our heads over the examination papers enclosed. Suddenly Ko burst out laughing.

“Sure, sure! Honorable Brother is very stupid in the eyes of the examiners. Look at this! Your son deliberately put down the wrong answers. These are questions even our Little One can answer!”

The day came when Hideyo had to go to the factory. Mother packed food and clothes in his huge rucksack and told him she had included needles and thread. Hideyo put on his heavy boots and khaki leg wrappers.

“Well, see you in six days,” he said. Then in a really serious tone he told Ko, “Look after Mother and Little One.”

Ko nodded, with a big smile. I smiled too, because I wanted him to work in the factory rather than join the army and get killed.

We all walked beyond the bamboo grove to see him off, and the three of us stood there, very still, until he made the turn toward the station.

The house seemed empty that night. None of us spoke as we ate supper. Then Mother broke the silence. “Father wrote. He asked if our emergency bags were ready. He said, even though it's summer, we should take some winter clothes to the shelter with us . . . just in case we must evacuate.”

In the dim light I started my composition homework. I titled the composition “Grandparents.” As I wrote, my thoughts drifted and I wondered when I would meet mine. I looked at the paper, but I could not even read my writing in this light. I gave a deep sigh.
When will peace come so we can turn on the lights?
I heard the last train pass. It was bedtime. I was so tired I threw myself down on top of the
futon
with my clothes on, hoping there would be no air raid to wake me.

Suddenly I was startled awake by someone pounding and calling.

Half asleep, I got up. At the front entrance Mother, holding a candle, was arguing with someone. Ko joined her. Then Ko saw me. “It's Corporal Matsumura. He tells us to get out fast!”

“No! Corporal, I cannot leave now!” Mother was saying. “Hideyo won't be back until Saturday. I cannot leave without him!”

“I came as fast as I could to warn you,” the Corporal told her. “
The Russians are landing
. They will be looking especially for you and your family. They will kill you.”

“Why?”

“Because of your husband's work for Japanese interests in Manchuria.”

“How can I go without my son?”

“Leave a note telling him to meet you at Seoul, at the train station.” The Corporal spoke hurriedly. “A hospital train is evacuating Japanese patients and they leave at four
A.M.
I arranged with the stationmaster for you to get on. He is my friend.” He fumbled in his pocket. “This is a note to the stationmaster. Go now!”

Mother was speechless. Still not fully awake, I sensed something awful was happening.

Corporal Matsumura looked at me. In the candlelight his scarred face turned red and frightening. He took hold of my chin and smiled. Then he touched his lips to my forehead. “I will not forget you,” he said. And to Mother, “I have been assigned to the war zone again—I don't know where. I appreciate your friendship very much.” He bowed deeply.

Just as he was leaving I stopped him. I ran to my room and grabbed my calligraphy—“
Bu Un Cho Kyu
” (Good Luck in War). I rolled it quickly and rushed back. “Please take this.”

The Corporal unrolled it and Mother moved the candle nearer so he could read. “Thank you very much. I wish you good luck too!” And he faded into the darkness.

“Mother,” said Ko, “you and Little One leave. I'll stay behind and wait for Honorable Brother.”

“No, we shall all leave together.” Mother was definite now though her voice shook. “You leave a note for Father, Ko, and I will write one for Hideyo. Little One, put your winter coat on.”

“What? A winter coat?” I was so tired and sleepy that I was in an ugly mood.

“Obey me!” Mother's voice commanded. “And fill all our canteens with water. Do you hear me?” She had never spoken to me so harshly.

I went back to my room. Ko was writing a note to Father in the dim light. I gathered my composition papers and pencils.

“You have no time for that!” Ko screamed at me. “Hurry up and fill the canteens!”

I dragged six canteens toward the kitchen. My head was dizzy and I staggered. Ko yanked the canteens from me and rushed to the kitchen pump. I tried to walk toward the entrance to grab my emergency bag, but I seemed to be on a boat on an angry sea.

Ko grabbed my hand and pulled me to the entrance, where Mother stood, already carrying her large wrapping cloth pack on her back.

W
E TOOK THE ROAD ALONG THE RIVER
, the shortest way to the station. There were many large potholes, and when I stumbled I felt the strong tug of Mother's rope on my wrist. The rough rope rubbed and hurt me. My stomach was churning with fright.

“I don't feel good.” I was half crying.

“
Shh!
” Mother stood still. “I hear something,” she whispered.

We listened. In the distance was the sound of marching feet.

“Have the Russians landed now?” Mother asked.

“Hide in the wild irises,” Ko ordered, and we slid down the steep
riverbank over scratchy weeds and small stones.

The marching grew louder. I flattened myself on the bank. Mother slid her pack to the ground and lay beside me. Ko raised her head. “They're coming toward the river.”

I moved toward Mother and she put her arm around me and pulled me close. My heart was thumping.

I heard a man's shout. The swift-running river drowned his words, but then they came nearer. “One, two, three, four!” The vigorous voice was shouting in the Korean language. “One, two, three, four!”

They were close to us. I did not dare move an inch.

“They must be Koreans, from the
Anti-Japanese Communist Army
,” Ko whispered.

The voice was shouting again. “Stop! All run to the river field. We are about to practice killing our enemies!”

They mean us, I thought, the Japanese.

There was the thudding of feet as the troop ran down the bank. I could not stop shaking, and Mother's arms, holding me tightly, trembled.

Very close to us the troop commander was explaining how to stab “the enemies” and how to defend themselves. And how to drag bodies into the river or into trenches.

Suddenly I vomited. Quickly Ko threw herself over my head so that the troop, so close, would not hear me. Again and again I gagged, and each time Ko pressed her body on my head.

A whistle shrieked. There was silence. Then I heard a voice commanding, “Swim the river!”

Our breath held, we listened as the marching steps and the “One, two, three, four” faded into the distance. I was weak with relief.

Mother took my rucksack and the canteens. She drew me to the river and whispered to me to wash my mouth and face.

Ko put Mother's bundle on her own back. It was much too heavy, she said. Mother could carry Ko's rucksack. And once more we were on the road, Mother pulling the rope. “We must hurry,” she whispered.

I felt somewhat better now but I began to shiver. I whined. “I want Honorable Father!”

“Walk!” said Ko.

Normally I could walk to the station in forty minutes by this road, and I always met Father when he came home, but now it seemed as if I had been walking for hours. I prayed that there would be no air raid or other danger to flatten me on the ground. When at last I saw a faint light in the distance I asked Ko, “Is that the station?”

“Right,” said Ko. “Don't talk. Just walk.”

Ko is bossy, I thought. But the light ahead gave me comfort. Maybe I could rest when I got there. I forced myself to a faster walk.

When we came in sight of the station, flooded with light, the scene shocked me awake. Hospital trucks and army trucks jammed the grounds. Everywhere were soldiers and civilian medical teams car
rying wounded soldiers on stretchers onto the platform. Other wounded were walking with crutches. Some were being led by nurses. Everywhere there was hustling, running, scurrying here and there to assist patients, adults and children.

Mother tugged and we moved to the platform. She needed to find the stationmaster, but I had eyes only for the nightmarish scene, with two engines spitting steam and smoke. They looked ready to depart. Would they leave us? Would we get on? Behind the two engines stretched boxcars as far as I could see.

The medical team was carrying patients into the boxcars. People were screaming. A voice begged someone to look for someone. A pregnant woman, crying, bowed to her husband, and a pale woman in soft nightclothes, holding her baby in her arms, sobbed as a man—her husband, I assumed—peeked at the baby and talked to her. She kept nodding. As we came near to them I heard him say to her, “Take good care of your life. I shall look after everything.”

Mother could not find the stationmaster. She asked a worker where he was but he did not know. She was still pulling our ropes as she made her way among the patients. Our sacks bumped people and people bumped us. A stretcher handle hit my ribs where the police had kicked me and I cried out with pain.

We went to the stationmaster's room, but he was not there. Mother looked in the waiting room, also
jammed with patients. One man was spitting blood. Some had fainted and were lying on the floor. Children cried. An old woman screamed and pulled at her gray hair. Amidst all of this the medics checked patients' names and nodded to the stretcher bearers.
Then the patients were carried out to the boxcars
.