creature with dark hair, a furrowed brow, dark soft eyes arched with fear, a slender nose, the center of the mouth bow-shaped and then dropping to thin pale lips, a soft rounded chin, high-boned cheeks, and a long thin neck. His lips were parched and cracked. There were reddish sores on his face.
The old man looked away from the boy, shivering with uncomprehending anger at the spirits that had sent him to them. Why did they return his life to him? Is he strong with magic?
“Are you able to speak?”
Hesitantly the boy nodded. He means to hurt me.
“What is your name?”
“Kim Sin Gyu.”
“Where are you from?”
The boy named a place north of the old man’s village, a slight breathlessness in his high thin voice.
“What is your father?”
“My father?” A lengthy pause as the boy looked away and then looked back. “A scholar. A poet.”
“Where are your people?”
This time the boy did not respond.
“What happened to your people?”
Still the boy said nothing.
“You have no one?”
“I had a dog.”
The old man looked startled.
“A dog with three colors. Badooki was his name, because of his spots. Three Four I called him sometimes, a bad name, to tease him. Three colors, four legs.” The boy paused a moment, his eyes swollen with memory. “Badooki ran away when the noise began and and I was afraid to run after him because I thought they would see me and he ran across the pond into the forest and and and …”
The boy stopped. His breath came tremulously from the exertion of speaking.
There was a pause.
The old man looked intently at the boy. “Tell me again your name.”
“Kim Sin Gyu.”
“How old are you?”
“I am eleven years old.”
“What do you want us to do with you?”
The boy was quiet. He saw clearly the malice in the old man’s dark eyes and was frightened and bewildered.
“You do not belong to us,” the old man said.
The boy began to cry.
The old man looked away.
From the direction of the hills in the east came a flurry of rifle fire. The old man saw the woman hurrying toward them. Her face greenish, drained of life. Others had begun scurrying from the beach. The old man and woman took up the shafts of the cart.
The sea, driven by winds, foamed upon the shore. The old man and woman, together with others,walked with their backs to the sea toward a region of ice-covered mountains.
In the early afternoon they reached a small valley. The noise of the war came only faintly there.
With what remained of his waning strength the old man gathered wood and lit a fire. The woman prepared a soup of melted snow and winter grass and the remains of a frozen jackdaw she had found earlier on the beach. Wild dogs circled in the darkness just beyond the light of the fire. The boy sat up and ate, holding the bowl tightly in his shaking hands. His eyes kept darting about and he would not look directly at the old man. The woman watched him eating and spoke silently to the tree of her childhood and to the spirits of her father and grandfather.
The next morning they continued south along cart paths, away from the fading sounds of the war.
During the early hours of the day they came to a narrow valley and the boy was able to walk awhile, leaning on the side of the cart. The woman, overjoyed, refrained from speaking lest she cause him undue fatigue. The old man was glad they did not have to drag the cart with the boy in it along the stony floor of the valley. Tall steep walls of boulder-strewn granite rose on both sides of the valley, darkening it with spectral shadows. The wind blew a wall of stiff cold air through the valley and soon the boy could no longer walk and the woman helped him into the cart and covered him with the quilts and sleeping bag.
“Hungry,” he pleaded.
“Soon.”
“Hungry,” he said again.
She turned away and took up the second shaft and walked alongside the old man.
“How far?” she asked.
“We will stay with the others.”
“There are some
The old man looked away from the boy, shivering with uncomprehending anger at the spirits that had sent him to them. Why did they return his life to him? Is he strong with magic?
“Are you able to speak?”
Hesitantly the boy nodded. He means to hurt me.
“What is your name?”
“Kim Sin Gyu.”
“Where are you from?”
The boy named a place north of the old man’s village, a slight breathlessness in his high thin voice.
“What is your father?”
“My father?” A lengthy pause as the boy looked away and then looked back. “A scholar. A poet.”
“Where are your people?”
This time the boy did not respond.
“What happened to your people?”
Still the boy said nothing.
“You have no one?”
“I had a dog.”
The old man looked startled.
“A dog with three colors. Badooki was his name, because of his spots. Three Four I called him sometimes, a bad name, to tease him. Three colors, four legs.” The boy paused a moment, his eyes swollen with memory. “Badooki ran away when the noise began and and I was afraid to run after him because I thought they would see me and he ran across the pond into the forest and and and …”
The boy stopped. His breath came tremulously from the exertion of speaking.
There was a pause.
The old man looked intently at the boy. “Tell me again your name.”
“Kim Sin Gyu.”
“How old are you?”
“I am eleven years old.”
“What do you want us to do with you?”
The boy was quiet. He saw clearly the malice in the old man’s dark eyes and was frightened and bewildered.
“You do not belong to us,” the old man said.
The boy began to cry.
The old man looked away.
From the direction of the hills in the east came a flurry of rifle fire. The old man saw the woman hurrying toward them. Her face greenish, drained of life. Others had begun scurrying from the beach. The old man and woman took up the shafts of the cart.
The sea, driven by winds, foamed upon the shore. The old man and woman, together with others,walked with their backs to the sea toward a region of ice-covered mountains.
In the early afternoon they reached a small valley. The noise of the war came only faintly there.
With what remained of his waning strength the old man gathered wood and lit a fire. The woman prepared a soup of melted snow and winter grass and the remains of a frozen jackdaw she had found earlier on the beach. Wild dogs circled in the darkness just beyond the light of the fire. The boy sat up and ate, holding the bowl tightly in his shaking hands. His eyes kept darting about and he would not look directly at the old man. The woman watched him eating and spoke silently to the tree of her childhood and to the spirits of her father and grandfather.
The next morning they continued south along cart paths, away from the fading sounds of the war.
During the early hours of the day they came to a narrow valley and the boy was able to walk awhile, leaning on the side of the cart. The woman, overjoyed, refrained from speaking lest she cause him undue fatigue. The old man was glad they did not have to drag the cart with the boy in it along the stony floor of the valley. Tall steep walls of boulder-strewn granite rose on both sides of the valley, darkening it with spectral shadows. The wind blew a wall of stiff cold air through the valley and soon the boy could no longer walk and the woman helped him into the cart and covered him with the quilts and sleeping bag.
“Hungry,” he pleaded.
“Soon.”
“Hungry,” he said again.
She turned away and took up the second shaft and walked alongside the old man.
“How far?” she asked.
“We will stay with the others.”
“There are some
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