Eyes on the Arms

Eyes on the Arms

There she is again. A silhouette against bright lights dancing on the rippling water. There’s no moon out, but I wave anyway.

Perfectly timed, a white plastic bag floats toward me. My stomach grumbles with approval. Plunging through the shallow water, I chase the bag less than a meter down the river before fishing it out.

My heart pounds like Omma’s axe hacking at wood. I can’t miss the bag.

My stomach won’t allow it.

The bag is full of treats wrapped in paper. The smell of roasted nuts fills the air. It smells warm, like special crispy rice. With the extras snug in my pocket, I give a final wave to my river friend.

Soft corn stalks brush my legs as I run toward home. The darkness keeps me safe, like a thick, warm cloak. There are no shadows, but I know the way.

Omma and Uh-ni are already asleep on the mat. I hide my prize in a secret spot before slipping onto the mat beside them.

If Omma knows I was at the river, she’ll beat me again. I can practically hear it whip through the air before the stick cracks against my back.

She’ll hiss at me.

‘Nun-i pal-e dallyeotda.’ Eyes are on the arms.

Uh-ni will silently gaze at me with pity. She doesn’t go near the river.

It isn’t safe.

“We’ll all disappear. Is that what you want?”

Omma often reminds me of the Byun family. They disappeared and left everything behind. Even their bowls of half-eaten cornmeal.

Omma doesn’t know that I finished Soo-min’s food. She was my best friend. She would’ve wanted me to eat it.

In the morning, I steal away with two of the tasty treats. The dirt floor in the outhouse is cold. The stench of feces makes me gag.

Choco-jwi is waiting for me. I offer her a large crumb. She stands on her hind legs and sniffs the air. Her whiskers flutter. Then the mouse patters closer and reaches for the food.

We both bite off more than we can chew.

She’s hungry, too.

I lick my fingers.

She twitches her nose. Then her ears - wide, pink.

Listening.

Military music blares through the thin walls. I scurry outside. The beat pounds with my heart, each thump more urgent than the last.

A faceless voice tells us to work hard to the glory of our great leader.

He’s not great.

Kim Il-sung is fat and stupid. Appa said so every time the beer took over his mind.

He isn’t here anymore. We don’t talk about him. He crossed the river, abandoned his family.

The voice becomes louder as it drones on. The bank of the river is hidden by green, corn stalks. Thick, gray smoke rises from the buildings on the other side.

My feet take me to the river’s edge where I dare to dip my toe in the cool water. I whip my head around. There are no eyes on my arms.

I pretend I’m an owl spreading my wings. I glide across the river and land on the other side to greet my river friend.

She’s plump with pink cheeks and an armful of deliciousness; rice, eggs, chicken, plums, and juicy peaches like we used to pick in the valley.

She takes me to her big, fancy house. There’s more rice than I can eat and a soft mat all to myself.

There are no weeds to pull. No more blisters. No more pangs of hunger. No more peeling skin from the hot sun.

“So-Yon!” a voice cuts into my daydream.

Uh-ni’s searching for me. The stalks crunch as she approaches the river. She always knows, but she never tells.

“Breakfast!”

The daydream vaporizes to mountain mist. I lick my sticky fingers one more time.

Breakfast is a small bowl of cornmeal with a little broth.

My hands are raw when I grip my chop sticks. The steamy broth stings my blisters. It’s a small price to pay to stop the grumbling in my stomach. I finish my porridge.

I find a few crumbs in my pocket for Choco-jwi. She’s in the corner twitching her ear expectantly.

Omma’s hanbok hangs a little looser now. She moves slowly as she sets the breakfast dishes in the washtub where yesterday’s dishes still float in the dingy, gray water.

She shoos us off to morning labor.

My river friend calls to me, but I must wait until night sets in.

In the daylight, I lazily follow Uh-ni to the corn fields. I smack the stalks with a stick. We head toward the mountains shrouded in gray mist. The sun fights to break through. I hope it loses.

Teacher’s already scowling. She yells at me to hurry.

My shirt is already damp with sweat. It clings to my body. There’s a thick, sour smell rising in the heat. Some of the older girls are getting bigger and they smell bad.

Teacher’s eye is purple and swollen. She must go to the river too.

With cracked buckets in hand, we head to a row of corn to pull weeds. My back already aches. The ground is hard and cracked.

No rain.

I yank a weed and tumble backwards. Pain shoots up my spine. I howl like a hungry baby.

“Shut up,” Min-Ji says.

She towers over me with her skinny fists pressed at her sides. There are bits of green in her teeth. She’s been nibbling on the stalks again.

“You’re going to get us in trouble.”

Everyone watches me from the corner of their eye, but they remain silent.

Uh-ni rushes over. “What happened?”

She pulls me to my feet with a grunt then wipes my face on her faded, pink shirt.

“A rock.” Tears continue to flow. Uh-ni pushes my face into her chest. She smells like Omma.

The stalks shake around us.

Teacher appears.

She’s red faced and glares at me.

“You’ll stay until every one is full.” Teacher jabs her finger at the buckets.

Min-Ji nudges one of the buckets with her foot and the weeds tumble out.

My fists tighten, but I keep my face blank.

“You disgraced our great leader. You only cry for yourself.”

Teacher pauses.

“Shame on you. Shame on your family. Sung-me, you stay with your sister and work.”

My chest feels crushed. I swallow my tears.

Teacher says that I’m a spark that won’t die, just like my Appa.

Uh-ni and I work side by side yanking weeds. I fill some of the buckets with dirt before scattering weeds on top. Uh-ni’s surprised, but seems relieved as she wipes sweat off her face.

She smiles.

We head toward the classroom.

Students’ voices float over the grass as they praise our great leader in song.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

I tug Uh-ni’s wrist.

“We don’t have to go today,” I whisper. “Teacher doesn’t know how long it takes to fill the buckets.”

Uh-ni studies her blistered hands.

Uh-ni shakes her head. “Our great leader will know and he will find a way to punish us far more than pulling a few buckets of weeds.”

“He’s not God. Appa said so.” The words slip.

Uh-ni’s sunburned face pales. She grips my arm like a grinding stone.

“Ow,” I whine.

“You’re going to get us all killed if you don’t stop this.” Uh-ni’s voice is softer than the wind, but it bites like a river snake. “Do as you’re told.”

Uh-ni shoves me toward the door.

I lurch forward, but take baby steps inside.

How fast I can run? How far is it across the river? Is my river friend there now, waiting for me?

My legs are heavier than the buckets. I take my place in the makeshift choir.

We learn a song with the hope of one day performing for our great leader. I’d rather eat ten thousand maggots than sing for him. I move my lips, but make no sound.

“You’re not even singing,” Min-Ji snarls. “I’m gonna tell.”

My voice cracks as I force sound from my throat.

You’ll have nothing to say about me during criticism today, Min-Ji.

Teacher claps her hands.

“Again,” she says, looking at us with one good eye. “Where’s the feeling? We must express our devotion and love. Sing from your heart, not just your mind.”

She taps the side of her head.

I swallow a ball of acid that creeps into my throat.

We practice forever before Teacher finally starts Criticism.

My face heats up when the invisible spotlight exposes me.

Uh-ni says we have nothing to envy, that people are starving to death in the rest of the world, but I don’t believe her. She doesn’t go to the river. She pretends not to notice the bodies covered in flies when we walk to and from the fields.

Teacher goes first. She bows her head and slowly puts her finger on her swollen eye.

I wince.

We each follow in suit, bowing our heads and tattling on ourselves. I say that I feel bad for not pulling enough weeds.

Min-Ji scoffs.

My body tightens. I imagine myself as small as Choco-jwi and scurry into the fields to hide beneath the brush.

“I saw you put dirt in the buckets.”

My knees knock together before I collapse. How did she know?

“Stand up!” Teacher shouts. My shirt tears when she yanks me to my feet.

Omma is going to be furious with me. She can’t afford thread anymore now that Appa is gone.

My lip trembles.

“I’ll do better for our great leader,” I stammer. “I’ll work harder in the fields tomorrow. Twice as hard. I’ll pick a hundred buckets full.”

Teacher comes close to my face. Beyond the purple are yellow streaks under her eye. Her breath smells like mouse turds.

I wrinkle my nose then quickly fake a sneeze.

Bowing deeply, I say, “Please, Teacher, I’ll pick two hundred buckets full.”

“Your family will hear about this.”

“No!”

A few others gasp.

Uh-ni pinches my arm.

Hard.

“I’ll bring you eggs tomorrow,” I say.

Teacher narrows her eye as she pulls her face away.

“You have chickens?”

I nod quickly. “Five. They lay eggs.”

“Tomorrow.”

I sigh inside, knowing very well we don’t have chickens.

Uh-ni pecks at me the entire walk home.

She’s right.

I’m in big, big trouble.

I slump against the wall. One of Appa’s sticks falls to the ground with a clank.

Why did I say we had eggs?

My body flops on the mat all night. Uh-ni pokes me and tells me to sleep on the floor.

I hate sleeping on the floor. Splinters poke through my clothes.

In the morning, my body aches and my stomach is full of weevils wriggling around. I pick at the tiny spots dotting my arms and legs from the rough floorboards.

All I can think about are the eggs I don’t have.

Suddenly, I remember the tiny jar of kimchi hidden near the outhouse.

A while ago, Omma took me with her to the distribution.

The closer we got, the more people squished together, stretching their necks to see the front of the long, long line. Men and women in drab green uniforms monitored our every move.

Whistles shrilled.

Voices barked at us to keep moving.

I clung to Omma.

Finally, we’re at the front of the line.

Three sacks of rice were stacked behind a guard.

But there was something better than rice.

A single jar of kimchi hidden in a shadow cast by a sleepy looking guard.

My eyes drifted heavenward. I asked God for protection.

Omma didn’t notice. She hated it when Appa talked to God. She said that he was asking for trouble.

The guard tilted to the side, his eyes rolled back just before he collapsed into a skeletal heap.

No one moved.

I snatched the jar and hurried back to Omma’s side.

We didn’t get rice that day.

I considered sharing the kimchi with my family, but why should I?

When I offered some to Choco-jwi, she turned up her nose. More for me.

* * *

“I have something for Teacher,” I say as Uh-ni and I walk to morning labor.

“An egg?” Uh-ni asked hopefully.

“Better.”

I slip the jar from under my shirt and hold it up.

“Where did you get that?” Uh-ni seizes the half-eaten jar from me.

She sticks her nose inside. A smile wider than ever spreads across her face. She sticks her fingers in and helps herself.

“Uh-ni! What are you doing?”

“I just want a taste.”

“That’s for Teacher.” I try to grab it back, but Uh-ni sucks it down as fast as a puddle drying up in the sun.

She’s more selfish lately. Ever since she turned fourteen she wants to be chosen for the Pleasure Squad. It’s something I’m too young for. But I know you have to leave your family.

“Uh-ni! You ate it all! I hate you!”

I burst ahead of her into the field, but not too far.

She catches up breathlessly, “I’m sorry.”

I turn up my nose and march into the field.

Most of the kids are already there.

So is Teacher.

“So-Yon.” Teacher’s voice is almost nice.

I swallow hard and step toward her then bow deeply.

“Where is it?” She holds out her hand.

“Where’s what?” I ask innocently.

“My egg.” Her words are shaped like green smoke.

I try not to breathe.

Everyone is watching me.

“The chickens died,” I say. “All of them. No more eggs.”

“Died? Or there weren’t any?”

I shift from one foot to the other and bow again.

“Omma was really mad,” I say. “She wanted to give you all the eggs.”

Her now yellowish-brown eye narrows at me. She stares for a long time.

I stare back.

Can she hear my heart trying to jump out?

“What will you bring me tomorrow?”

My eyes dart back and forth.

“I’ll have something, I promise.”

“And if you don’t?” she growls.

I lower my eyes. “You can tell my Omma.”

Teacher nods then claps her hands.

The sharp noise shakes me.

We’re ordered to work.

Later, I’m still mad at Uh-ni. I leave her behind and make my way to the bank of the river. The sun is dipping behind the mountains. Lights across the river pop on one by one.

I place one foot into the water.

The current isn’t too strong. I’ve been up to my knees before. Maybe I’ll go all the way across and never come back.

I take a giant step, then another and another. The flow catches my foot causing me to stumble.

Her shadow appears.

My river friend!

Omma’s voice echoes in my mind, “Nun-i pal-e dallyeotda - eyes are on the arms.”

The guards have guns and big, mean dogs. They hunt to kill.

The only silhouette I see is hers. This time she’s closer and seems to be pushing the bag toward me with a long, crooked stick.

After a few giant steps in, the water comes up to my waist.

Something brushes against my ankle. A group of tiny silvery fish dart around, tickling my legs.

A dog barks and gunshots blast through the humid air.

The bag is close now.

It’s bigger and heavier this time making me sink into the thick mud.

Another shot whizzes by. For a moment, I consider plunging ahead.

There’s something better on the other side.

I step closer to the light.

Then I think of the worry in Omma’s eyes.

Of Uh-ni’s hot breath on my neck when we sleep.

Of Appa, who crossed this river and never returned.

With a heave, I pull the bag onto the bank.

Frogs and crickets seem to congratulate me.

In the morning, I’ll apologize to Choco-jwi. She won’t get any food.

I know who will.

Teacher’s always listening.

Before returning home, I face the light one more time.

Inside the bag are four speckled brown eggs.

Curious, I continue to pad through the brush, the plastic swishing in time with the croaking toads and chirping crickets.

Something yanks me to the ground. A mouthful of mud makes me gag.

“Don’t make a sound,” a voice says.

“Teacher?”

“Shut up. Do you want to get us killed?”

Heavy steps plod through the water. Toward the lights or away, I can’t tell.

I twist free and crawl toward the reeds. They rustle softly as I part them like curtains.

The silhouette is larger and moves with long, certain strides. It swings a long, crooked stick, the same way it used to at home.

My heart stops.

“Appa,” I whisper.