Motherly Love

I wanted to repay them.

It had been several years. I found a suitable job and got married. 

I remembered my great-grandmother and my own mother who had enabled this life for me.

However, my great-grandmother passed too soon.

I felt great sorrow in my inability to make it back sooner.

For her well-being as well as my own, I tried my best to help my mother while she still clung to the world. 

My mother and father lived back in our countryside home.

Walking up the hill, the sky seemed to take on the azure hue that I had eaten homemade jerky and picked ripe chestnuts under. 

The soil shifted from a rich mahogany to a familiar dusty yellow. The fir trees seemed to have stood unchanged, dark red with green highlights.

However, I could immediately tell that my parents had changed.

The years had certainly not been kind to them.

I found my mother struggling to walk to the bathroom. 

My father tried to help but he was weak as well, and my mother adamantly refused him nonetheless. 

He retreated and sat frowning. 

I forced my assistance, walking her to the bathrooms and even gave her a proper bath.

Her eyes were defiant the entire time. 

My father looked on in embarrassment and forced a bitter smile. 

A sharp pain in my heart overwhelmed me as I realized my parents’ chapters were coming to a close. 

In retrospect, I should have been there to support them earlier.

In retrospect, I wish I had found a senior home for her in the city.

She would have been much more comfortable. 

In retrospect, I wished I had done a lot more for her.

She had always put our family before herself.

She had so many talents— sewing, singing, dancing— but she never had the chance to fully display them.

She was also very smart, but her father forced her to quit her studies. 

Her teacher visited to tell her father that he himself would pay her expenses if she kept coming to school, but the father refused.

He asked “what good does educating a girl do?”

He would often beat her if she went out to play. 

She did everything in her power to ensure I had a better life. 

She pulled me from the brink of death twice and never expected anything in return.

The day she passed, the tears flowed endlessly.

Ill

A long time ago…

During the U.S. military regime in Korea, measles was running rampant. 

My neighborhood friends died off one by one.

I often cried from the pain, and the neighborhood mothers cried with me, reminded of the young they couldn’t save. 

It seemed as though I was recovering, but then it suddenly worsened. 

My mother, determined to save me, carried me on her back and knelt in front of the village chairman, my great grandfather.

She cried and cried and cried, pleading for some money to buy medicine.

The chairman was also very poor at the time, but his wife had pity on us.

She slid off her Rolex, a most precious item, pressing it into my mother’s palm and wishing us well.

With the Rolex in hand, my mother was able to find a doctor.

The doctor said penicillin would make me better.

I was too thin, my skin stuck to my bones, and he couldn’t find a suitable place to inject. 

He decided to inject it in my groin area. 

But the needle broke off, and even through surgery, it was not found, leaving only a scar. 

Miraculously, I was able to heal.

Around this time was when the Northerners attacked. 

We fled to Busan. 

I escaped from kidnappers, avoided rabid dogs, and fell into cold streams. 

When we finally returned to Seoul, I discovered a tuberculosis boil on my hand. 

It quickly took over my body.

Blood often flowed from my mouth. 

I was hospitalized, I survived, but it didn’t end.

I struggled through my middle and high school years.

I spent my days in and out of hospitals and schools.

Once my peers graduated, the law conscripted them. 

You were looked down upon if you ran from conscription. 

I wanted to be respected. 

Barred from the national military due to my illness, I joined a regional force.

I was discharged two times because of tuberculosis.

But I kept going. I served my time. 

My great-grandmother, who had saved me with her Rolex, delivered great news. 

She had found a doctor in Seoul who could treat my tuberculosis. 

I visited that doctor for over a year, taking a dizzyingly bitter medicine. 

My mother couldn’t bear to see me suffer.

Every time we visited the doctor, she would miraculously buy precious meat and cook it for me. 

The rich flavor helped combat the sharp bitterness.  

Over time, I recovered. 

My tuberculosis faded. I shouldn’t have smoked after that. 

My great-grandmother and mother had saved me a second time. 

Afterward, I left my family’s wing to find my own place in the world, but I never forgot their actions. 

Continued on Motherly Love

Near Death

Everywhere Hak looked he saw remnants of his childhood: the smooth yellow dirt of the yard that was often laid with tables of crimson jerky, slowly dehydrating in the sun; the leafy green trees on the left of the house budded with young chestnuts— every fall they would be ripe and be amassed into a giant, pointy pile— he had tripped into it when he was five, and spent a tearful afternoon of pulling prickles. 

It was more than his childhood; however, the ancestral house also bore the upbringings of many of his predecessors. Its long standing history coupled with its location in the South made him feel quite secure here. He had heard the Northerners had invaded the South, but they hadn’t quite reached the capital yet, and even if they did, they would surely get wiped by the Southern forces. However, there was still a lingering uneasiness in the back of his mind, as his dad had decided to escort his great grandfather all the way to Busan. 

As the western side of the house began to bask in afternoon glow, Hak heard a faint rustling of leaves in the distance. He chalked it up to nothing more than a rabbit. But the rabbit’s gait soon became the thunderous footsteps of an enraged bull, kicking up yellow dust. Hak’s heart started to race. The flick of the rabbit’s tail became the glint of a tiger’s eye, stalking its prey. The glistening grew closer, sharper—until Hak found himself staring down the unblinking eye of a rifle barrel. 

“Where is he?!” a rough voice shouted in a northern dialect. The voices began to blend and slur in Hak’s head.

“He has fled to Busan, I swear!” His mom was speaking. His heartbeat pulsed and pounded all throughout his body.

“Tell me the truth. I know he’s hiding here! Get him to us, or you all die.” Not daring to turn his head, he could see barrels pointing to his mom in his periphery. 

“I’m going to go search the place.” Hak felt worn ropes tighten around his body. 

The land began to take on a red hue. The soldiers appeared. 

“Untie them. What a waste of time. He better be in Busan.” And with that, they marched off.  

______________________________________________________________________________

2 months later…

The U.N. forces managed to thwart their victory by a whisker. Now the soldier and the rest of his company were on the defensive, running back up North. As they passed through Gwangju, they came across a house with a bountiful chestnut tree, countless golden brown shells among the glowing orange leaves. The soldier, along with some subordinates, were instructed to take a small detour there that night. They were to kill everyone inside. 

The soldier, along with his subordinates, approached as darkness set over the village. The soldier lit a cigarette. By the soft red glow, he spotted some townspeople warily watching. He surveyed their locations, and then looked to the target house in the distance. They could make it there in time. He sat on the nearest porch and held down his cigarette. 

“We’re not here for you,” he spoke in a low voice, but made sure the townspeople could hear him. “Try not to be startled if you hear gunshots from that house over there.” As he stood up, the corner of his eye caught a townswoman slipping away, darting towards the house. The soldier continued to walk forward, maintaining a leisurely pace. 

Hak was outside, smoking, when his mom hurried out with frantic eyes.

“The townspeople saw the Northern men coming to kill us. They’re close. We have to hurry, let's go.” She spoke in a hushed but intense voice. Hak wasted no time. He grabbed what he could, and his family quickly rushed into the foliage, running as far into the forest and away from the house as possible. A couple minutes had passed when they heard gunshots behind them.

The soldier had finally arrived at the house, only to find nobody inside. 

“Looks like they got away.”

The plan had worked.

“Just shoot a couple bullets in case our superior’s around. Don’t want him thinking we failed.”

The soldier watched as his subordinates shot a couple bullets. He then ordered them to march back down, satisfied.