So Far from the Bamboo Grove by Yoko Kawashima Watkins

Author:Yoko Kawashima Watkins
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins

SIX

THE TRACKS SEPARATED, HEADING IN two directions. Hideyo stood there. Which way? He looked at the sun, which was going down, and using the sun as his guide, he took the southwest track to Seoul.

As dark was coming on, the tracks entered a narrow gorge through mountains, and Hideyo decided that he might be able to find mushrooms. He had eaten almost nothing since he had left his friends two weeks before.

He was not only hungry but terribly lonely. To ease his loneliness he had thought about Shoichi, Shinzo, and Makoto and all the doings he had shared with them since kindergarten days. He had even smiled, remembering some of their mischief.

He got off the track to hunt for mushrooms and decided to camp there, for there was no moon and he could not see to go on. Mushrooms were plentiful. He stuffed them in the pockets of his trousers and shirt and the side pockets of his rucksack. Then he built a small fire. Roasting and eating mushrooms, he thought of his mother and sisters and wondered how they were faring—if they were still alive. He thought of the bankbook he was carrying and wondered if his mother had any money.

He looked up at the twilight sky at the sound of geese, flying in V formation, heading toward somewhere warm. All talked excitedly as they flew, and Hideyo wished he were one of them. I must hurry, he told himself, I must get to Seoul.

He let the fire die. He would sleep until dawn. Going deeper into the forest, he spread his little sister’s fur coat beneath him and curled up in his blanket. The ground was damp and the wind bit sharply through his summer clothes.

Suddenly he awoke. In complete darkness he sat up and listened. There were human voices mingling with the wind and coming toward him. Speaking Korean. Hideyo pushed his blanket and rucksack into the trees and covered his head with the fur coat, hoping he looked like an animal.

“The campfire was still warm,” a voice said. “The escapee cannot have gone too far in the dark.” The footsteps came nearer and nearer, and a powerful flashlight blinded Hideyo. Korean Communist Army, he thought, patrolling the mountain. How many? Silently he pulled his jackknife from his pocket.

The searching footsteps went this way and that. Hideyo’s heartbeats went faster and louder.

“Not much use looking in the dark,” said the same voice.

“Let’s go back to the squadron and patrol early in the morning,” said another voice. “Anyhow, we’ve caught more than enough today.”

“How many?” a different voice asked.

“Sixteen. Seven Japs, the others Communist resisters.”

The flashlight was still circling and several times aimed at the tree where Hideyo was hiding. It came closer. Hideyo shrank behind the tree, still holding his jackknife in his right hand, prepared.

“I don’t see anybody. Let’s go.”

The voices and the flashlight were moving away, but the wind carried the voices clearly to where Hideyo hid. Finally they died away. Again he covered himself with his blanket.

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