Silver Stallion (5 page)

35

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

Of course Mansik knew. Chandol was planning to come back to town with the other boys for some sort of adventure. “But I won't have time to find all the boys and pass the word,” Mansik said. “Maybe I won't even have time to come to the bridge at all.”

“Why not?”

“I have to go to Charcoal village on Old Hwang's errand today.”

“It won't take more than two hours for you to make the trip to Charcoal, if you really walk fast,” said Chandol. “I will tell Toad to pass the word to other boys.”

Bong watched the four boys strip themselves by the sand dune near where the village stream joined the river. They could not use the boat because the boatman would tell their parents. Squatting on the white clean sand, he looked at the river and the boys in turn, and then down at the clothes strewn before him, crestfallen. He had been ordered by Chandol to stay behind and watch them. If Bong had been as good a swimmer as the others, Chandol might have allowed him to join the expedition; they did not really need anybody to look after clothes that they could easily hide in a bush or bury in the sand.

Bong threw a pebble into the river. He was sad because he was going to miss the big adventure. To go to watch a real battle fought by grownups was something far greater than going to a hill to pick acorns and chestnuts or to a waterfall to swim. It was an adventure even greater than the expedition to search for the General's Cave, or the Autumn War the Kumsan boys fought every year against the Castle village boys. Bong wanted to watch the grownups' war.

Peeling his pants from his fat legs with a grunt, Kijun glanced over at the unhappy little boy. “Keep a good watch over the clothes,” he said. “You know we'll punish you if you lose any of them.”

Bong nodded dejectedly. The boys would not only watch the war and the real soldiers, but they would steal clocks and shoes and toys and marbles and everything from the empty houses and shops in town, too. Chandol said the whole town was open for anybody to loot. And Bong was the only boy at Kumsan who would miss all that fun.

“Let's go,” Chandol said to the naked boys and started to wade into the river.

Bong watched them splash into the water, chattering and giggling. Chandol was in the lead, as always. Bong liked Chandol very much. Sometimes Chandol gave him a punch or two, but Bong did not mind that very much. Chandol's punches were punishment for some wrong Bong had done, while Toad would punch him when nobody was around for no reason at all. And Chandol knew more about the town and grownups and animals than anybody else did. Even if they were lost in the woods and Toad and the other boys were frightened to tears, Bong was never afraid as long as Chandol was with them, because he was sure that his captain would somehow find the way to the village before dark.

Chandol swam out, kicking like a frog. Mansik followed next, his head bobbing up and down. Kangho and Kijun swam side by side behind them.

With a quiet sigh Bong lay down on the sand and looked up at the mild sky.

The four boys, stark naked, trudged across the sandy shore, somewhat tired after the swim. Then they followed a desolate path through the tall reeds along the riverbank. Two parallel ruts made by cartwheels stretched out along both sides of the dirt road crossing the islet; this trail was frequented by cows and by carts carrying West County vegetables and grain to the Central Market in town. Yellow dust puffed up at their feet as the boys plodded on along the track littered with dry cow dung. Rustling softly, the reeds waved as the hot breeze hit them.

“Do you think it'll really be all right for us to go to town naked like this?” Kijun asked Chandol again.

“I told you not to worry about it, didn't I!” Chandol snapped impatiently. “Nobody will see us because all the people are hiding in their homes. There's nobody on the streets but the fighting soldiers. We will find a safe place near the market to hide and watch the war.”

They trudged on toward the Soyang ferry. The sun blazed in the silent sky.

“Mansik,” said Kangho, walking with his toes curled inward because the scorched dust was too hot for his bare soles, “I've got a sort of queer feeling.”

“About what?”

“That we may not see any fighting in town. It's so quiet. I don't hear any shooting.”

“Maybe they are using guns that don't make much noise.”

“And we haven't seen any airplanes this afternoon,” Kangho persisted.

“Hush!” said Mansik, suddenly halting.

Kangho also stopped. “What is it?” he asked. “You look scared.”

Chandol looked back at the two boys and asked, “What's the matter with you two?”

“I don't know what it is,” Kangho said, “but something is wrong with Mansik.”

“Hush, boys, and listen,” Mansik said in a choking voice, waving his hand.

“Listen to what?” Chandol asked, frowning.

“Just listen. Can't you hear that sound?”

“What sound?” said Kijun, flustered.

“That sound.”

The boys listened attentively, standing in the hot sun on the deserted trail, transfixed. Their tanned shoulders reflected the sunshine. It was dead silent except for the distant peaceful murmur of the flowing water.

“I can't hear anything but the river,” said Kijun.

“I can hear it!” said Kangho, shock and fear in his voice. “I can hear it. It's a very peculiar sound. Like a great big monster growling somewhere.”

“What do you think it is?” Mansik asked Kangho.

“Now I can hear it too!” said Chandol. “I think something is rolling around. Or it's dry thunder rumbling underground.” Or the silver stallion galloping through the cavern, he thought.

“I'm afraid,” said Kijun, recoiling from the other boys as though the mysterious sound came from them. He was more afraid because he could not hear what everybody else did.

“To me it sounds like a big grindstone rotating at a rice mill,” Mansik said.

“I know what it is,” Kangho said, his expression still tense but more confident. “It's a tank.”

“What's a tank?” asked Mansik.

“A steel wagon with lots of wheels and a cannon,” said Chandol. He always knew something about everything.

“What should we do, Chandol?” asked Kangho.

“It's coming closer!” Kijun said.

“Let's hide,” Mansik suggested.

“Hide!” Chandol said. “Quick!”

The naked boys dashed into the reeds. They did not dare to come out for several minutes even when they could not hear the crunching sound any longer.

Their shins were scratched by the grass as they plodded on toward the Soyang River. The boys could hear the occasional crack of rifle shots amid the rustling sound of the weeds. The sounds of rifles and machine guns and tanks grew more and more frequent and louder by the time the boys reached an abandoned dugout on the thistle-covered wasteland where a Hyonam farmer used to grow strawberries. They turned left around the dugout and headed for the ferry upstream.

Finally they saw the tanks. Majestically decorated with twigs and broad leaves, six steel giants and countless trucks rolled along the road between the railway station and the river toward the Soyang Bridge. It was obvious that no tanks had yet crossed the river to Cucumber Island, but the sound was so loud now that the boys felt they were only a few yards away.

“So, there they are,” said Chandol, pausing among the sticky thistles. “Tanks and soldiers and everything.”

“But we can't see much from here,” said Mansik, shadowing his eyes with his hand. “It's too far.”

The boys hurried through the weeds, concealing themselves behind clumps and sand dunes from the soldiers on the trucks. As the sounds of war grew louder, they grew more excited. Then they heard people shout at one another nearby.

“Did you hear that, Chandol?” said Kangho, halting again. “Don't you think we'd better hide again?”

At Chandol's signal, they threw themselves into the reeds. They listened cautiously for a while. Chandol motioned them to follow him. They crawled through the reeds closer to the ferry. They stopped again. Holding their breath, the boys silently pushed aside the reeds and peeked out.

A hundred soldiers in green uniforms and green helmets carrying knapsacks on their backs swarmed down the sloping path from the bank to the ferry.

“These are not Red soldiers,” Kijun whispered. “Their clothes are not yellow.”

“They're either the National Army or the World Army then,” said Kangho.

The soldiers gathered around a very tall man, who stepped out to the water's edge and pointed at Cucumber Island, giving an order to his men. As they sat or lay down to rest, the tall man climbed back up the path and disappeared into an alley near the National Grange storehouse. Several minutes later, twenty more soldiers appeared in the alley, carrying three round rubber boats on their shoulders.

“Look at that, Mansik,” Kangho said. “They brought
boats
with them.”

“What should we do, Chandol?” Kangho said. “I mean, if they come over here.”

“We've come here to watch the soldiers, and that's what we are going to do. Stay where you are and watch what the soldiers do.”

The soldiers fell into lines and started to cross the river in the green rubber boats.

“They must be the World Army,” Chandol murmured.

“How can you tell?” Kangho said.

“They don't look like Koreans. Too tall and too big. And some of them have a strange dark color on their faces.”

“You mean they are the foreign soldiers who came to liberate us from the People's Army?” Mansik said.

“Yes.”

“Are we liberated?” Kijun said.

“That's right.”

Kijun said, “While we've been sitting here, naked? That's funny.”

Chandol explained, “We just watch the war. It's grownups who decide whether we are liberated or not.”

“That's confusing,” Kijun said. “It's so different from our Autumn War.”

“It's really a very simple matter, Toad,” said Chandol. “Whether we're liberated or not is decided by which side wins the war. If the World Army wins, we're liberated from the People's Army. If the People's Army wins, we are liberated from the World Army.”

As soon as they landed on the islet, the soldiers fanned out and took their positions. While this first batch of soldiers was guarding the ferry, one of them roped the three boats together and went back to fetch more soldiers.

Kangho whispered, “They're too close. We have to be very careful.”

“Quiet,” Chandol said. “They may hear your voice.”

“We can't stay here,” Kijun said. “They have guns. They may shoot us, if they catch us hiding here.”

“But they're our liberators.”

“Then how come the Reds did so many terrible things to the Southerners?” Kangho asked. “They were liberators too, weren't they?”

“That's what war is all about—killing a lot of people,” Chandol said wisely. “The team that does more killing than the other wins the war and takes the country, you see.”

“Does that mean the World Army will become our masters if they win this war?” Mansik asked.

“They say General Megado is a very good person. I'm sure he'll return our country to the National Army,” said Chandol, somewhat dubiously.

Kijun said, “The general may be a very good person, but these foreign soldiers look too weird to be nice.”

Indeed, the World Army soldiers were grotesque.

“They sure look like monsters,” Mansik chimed in, resting his chin on the dirt. “I never expected the liberators to be giants with such long ugly faces.”

“They are as tall as telegraph poles,” Kangho said. “It must be quite uncomfortable in bed if you're so tall.”

“And some of them have black skins. What do you think has happened to them?”

“Too much sun, maybe,” Mansik said.

“Hush!” Chandol said. “The last batch of them has finished crossing. Looks like they'll move again.”

The
bengko
soldiers stood up, slinging their rifles and knapsacks over their shoulders, and assembled around their commander. The captain discussed something with his second-in-command and pointed towards West County. They shouted some terse orders and the soldiers lined up and began to move towards the cart trail.

“They're coming this way,” said Kijun, frightened all over again. “What should we do?”

“Why don't we go out and give three cheers to welcome the liberators?” Kangho suggested.

“But we're naked,” Chandol objected.

As the soldiers came closer, the boys could see them better. Their faces were dirty with dust and sweat. Mud crusts were peeling from their boots and helmets. They had almost no eyelids and their green or blue catlike eyes glinted dangerously in hollow eye sockets under the heavy mushroom helmets.