HIDE IN DARK ROOM

We were led into a damp. dark room, filled with

suffocating stench and stagnant air. There I saw

Father smiling in the room. He was glad to see

me and thanked Mom for bringing me along. I

had some difficulty recognizing Father in prison

garb and noticed that every part of his body

visible - face, neck, hands and feet - was swollen

and bruised. But Father was more concerned

about his family than his broken body. Father

said: "Yes, you have grown quite a bit since I saw

you last. Pay attention to your elders and study

hard, you hear?" Father talked calmly as if the

prison guard watching us did not exist. Hearing

his voice made me to break into loud sobs and I

cried loudly - "Father, please come back home

with us". Father was happy to hear my voice and nodded his head smiling. Father told Mother to take

good care of brush and comb salesmen who might drop in. He was referring to the Association members

and nationalists who may need help.

(Photo: Pyongyang Prison)

.

Father's unyielding spirit even in prison etched indelible marks in me. Another unforgettable thing about

that visit was running into Lee Kwang Rin, who was a member of the Association. She attended

Pyongyang Girls Vocational School of Mechanical Engineering. Fortunately, the Japanese police had

nothing on her. Lee and another Association member came to see Father on that day. In those days of

strong feudal habits, young unmarried women visiting a prison was a taboo. If a young woman of marital

age got caught frequenting a prison, she might as well kiss away any idea of finding a suitable husband.

No man from a decent family would marry such a woman. Nevertheless, Lee, a modern progressive

woman, extremely rare in those days, came to see Father in prison and the guards gawked at her and

followed her every move. Lee's shining face cheerfully consoled Father and Mother.

Visiting Father in prison was one of the most significant events in my life. I understood why Mother

chose to take me to the prison. Scars and wounds on Father's body pained me physically and I swore to

get even with the Japanese devils, that were not human beings at all, but Satan. Father's wounds taught

me about the Japanese imperialists far more than any number of political scientists or historians could

have possibly taught me. Until that time, I had not witnessed police brutality, except those instances of

the police on headcount and health investigation; once, a Japanese policeman got angry at us for some

reason and cut up a door and smashed it onto a cooking pot, breaking its lid. This was nothing compared

to torturing and maiming innocent people. I have never forgotten Father's broken body in prison. That

image was always with me even during moments of heated combats.

Father completed his term in 1918 and came home. Grandpa and Uncle went to the prison to bring Father

home in an ox-cart. Our neighbors gathered in Songsan-ri to welcome him back. Father could barely

walk because of the tortures he had received in prison. He managed to walk out the prison limping

PAGE 25 THE BOOK WITH THE CENTURY