the fire, while the younger children chased each other around the flames. In the next months, Chol~su spent many late nights developing a modern curriculum for his students. During the days, he in~ structed them in mathematics, Korean language, world history, class struggle, and the plight of the workers. But he found the greatest comfort in the daily calligraphy class. Lost in the gentle strokes of black ink against rice paper, Chol-su did not think of his wife or fa~ ther. In the simple perfection of the task, Chol~su did not consider what had been lost. Within half a year, rumors began to trickle from the mainland that people were disappearing. Communist dissidents and revolutionaries-the very men who had opposed the Japanese during the occupation-were being rounded up by the new national police and interrogated. Those who returned had been tortured and disgraced. Those who did nOt were publicly executed. Chol~su knew it would only be a matter of time before he too was brought in for questioning. When the day arrived, he was at home practicing calligraphy by a small kerosene lantern. He heard sandals smacking on the dirt path to his house and stepped into the courtyard to find Pyong~chol running towards him, his hair drenched with sweat. As Pyong-chol caught his breath he rested his palms on his thighs. "What is it?" Chol~su asked. "My brother overheard two policemen at the jiso. They're com~ ing for you." "When?" "Tonight. You have to run. Take fcxxl, whatever you can carry." Chol-su rushed inside and gathered his traveling bag, some fruit, a small knife, and a thin coat before meeting Pyong-chol outside. In the courtyard he bowed to the schoolmaster. "I know what a risk it was for you to come here," he said. "It's my duty. Come to my house tomorrow night. We'll feed you." Chol-su hurried into the forest. He walked for hours on darkened paths he had known since childhcxxl. Next to a rock, curled under his jacket, he finally slept. He spent the next day moving cautiously, starting a slow circuit of the island. He rested in a persimmon or~ chard, the fruit still hard and green. As promised, that night he descended from the forest, walked the narrow pathways separating rice terraces, and arrived at Pyong-chol's house. Pyong~chol's wife fed him and told him that the police had ransacked his home the night before. Before Chol~su left that night, the schoolmaster said, "Tomor~ row, go to Soon-chul's house. They will feed you there." Summer 2004
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