One evening a young peasant of about 30 with closely-cropped hair came with the old-timers to the
house of old man Jang. In contrast to his sturdy build, which reminded me of a wrestler, the young man
was very simple and nice. Usually people his age boast of their knowledge of the world. In a crowded
room such as this, the voice of a lively thirty-year-old is normally the loudest. They look down upon the
opinions of youngsters in their teens and twenties, saying that they smell of the suckling pig. They
denounce instructions given by elders in their fifties or sixties as smelling of feudalism.
But this young man stayed huddled up behind the old men, listening to me and saying nothing.
While the old men were answering my questions about the village situation, the young man did not utter a word.
The old men asked me various questions: "How many soldiers are fighting under your command,
General Kim? Is it true that the guerrillas have machine-guns? How long do you think it will take to
defeat Japan? What is your father doing, General?" But the young man only smiled, and if my glance
happened to meet his, he flinched behind someone else or ducked his head.
I noticed that now and then he looked as if he were going to ask something, but held back, looking,
embarrassed. I wondered if he was perhaps a mute. His awkward manner was somehow infectious and I
felt myself becoming awkward as well. While asking the old men about their living conditions, I directed
a few questions to the young man as well, but he still said nothing. The old men in the room kept looking
at him disapprovingly.
"General, he is a hired farmhand," an old man said on his behalf, "a lonely bachelor. His name is Kim
Wol Yong and he comes from a southern province, but the poor fellow does not know where he was born
or who his parents are. He says he is about thirty, but he does not know his own exact age."
The young man, never having known independence, apparently lost his freedom of self-expression as
well. What inhuman treatment he must have suffered in the past to have become such a poor wretch,
unable even to answer a simple question!
I went up to him and took his hand in mine: it was as stiff as a metal hook. What a life of hard toil he
must have had to have ended up with a hand in this state! His back was bent like a bow, and his clothes
were unspeakable. He had probably hidden himself behind the old men because he was in such rags.
Nevertheless, he had come to visit the commander of the guerrilla army, and although shy of answering
questions, I thought he must have his own view of things and his own way of dealing with them, a frame
of mind which should not be totally ignored. I was thankful for it.
To my question as to when he had started working as a hired farm-hand, he simply answered, "From
childhood." He spoke like a man from Jolla Province. There were many people from Jolla Province in
West Jiandao and other parts of Northeast China. The Japanese imperialists had forced tens of thousands
of Korean peasants to emigrate to Northeast China as "group pioneers" in accordance with their notorious
policy of moving Korean peasants to Manchuria, a policy aimed at plundering Manchuria of its land en
masse.
When the visitors were gone, I asked my host why the young man was not yet married. “Since he has
worked for hire from childhood, moving from place to place, he is still a lonely bachelor, although he is
over thirty. He is a true man, but he has no life partner. Nobody wants to give him his daughter. It is a
great pity to see him living a life of hardship all alone. Even the boy over there is married and treated as a
man...."
I looked out through the window at the boy the old man was pointing at. Through a pane as small as the
page of a notebook, a pane pasted with paper strips in the center of the door, I saw a 10 or 11-year-old
boy playing shuttlecock with his feet. I was surprised to hear that the boy, who was as short as a pencil
stub, was already married. I could not help clicking my tongue in disapproval, even though it was an age
of early marriages, forced marriages and paid marriages.
To cite later instances, even in my own unit there were a few "little bridegrooms" who had been married
when they were not much older than that boy. Kim Hong Su, a guerrilla from Changbai, became a "little
bridegroom" at the age of about 10. He was a very short fellow, as his nickname indicated. I felt
indignation and sorrow at the extraordinary contrast between the 30-year-old bachelor and the 10-year-
old "little bridegroom". Their lot was similar in that both of them were the victims of the times, but I felt
more sympathetic with the bachelor who was unable to make a home at the age of 30. Though a victim of
early marriage, the "little bridegroom" did have a wife and was leading a normal, conjugal life.
Thinking of Kim Wol Yong, I could not sleep that night. A man's lifetime had been wasted in misery.
This thought would not leave my mind, and it irritated me. His existence was somehow symbolic of the
sufferings of my country, which also was treading a thorny path. His precarious life corresponded to the
sad history of a ruined Korea. That night I was gripped with the desire to find a spouse for him. If I were
unable to help a man to build his home, how could I win back my lost country? This was the thought that
ran through my mind.
house of old man Jang. In contrast to his sturdy build, which reminded me of a wrestler, the young man
was very simple and nice. Usually people his age boast of their knowledge of the world. In a crowded
room such as this, the voice of a lively thirty-year-old is normally the loudest. They look down upon the
opinions of youngsters in their teens and twenties, saying that they smell of the suckling pig. They
denounce instructions given by elders in their fifties or sixties as smelling of feudalism.
But this young man stayed huddled up behind the old men, listening to me and saying nothing.
While the old men were answering my questions about the village situation, the young man did not utter a word.
The old men asked me various questions: "How many soldiers are fighting under your command,
General Kim? Is it true that the guerrillas have machine-guns? How long do you think it will take to
defeat Japan? What is your father doing, General?" But the young man only smiled, and if my glance
happened to meet his, he flinched behind someone else or ducked his head.
I noticed that now and then he looked as if he were going to ask something, but held back, looking,
embarrassed. I wondered if he was perhaps a mute. His awkward manner was somehow infectious and I
felt myself becoming awkward as well. While asking the old men about their living conditions, I directed
a few questions to the young man as well, but he still said nothing. The old men in the room kept looking
at him disapprovingly.
"General, he is a hired farmhand," an old man said on his behalf, "a lonely bachelor. His name is Kim
Wol Yong and he comes from a southern province, but the poor fellow does not know where he was born
or who his parents are. He says he is about thirty, but he does not know his own exact age."
The young man, never having known independence, apparently lost his freedom of self-expression as
well. What inhuman treatment he must have suffered in the past to have become such a poor wretch,
unable even to answer a simple question!
I went up to him and took his hand in mine: it was as stiff as a metal hook. What a life of hard toil he
must have had to have ended up with a hand in this state! His back was bent like a bow, and his clothes
were unspeakable. He had probably hidden himself behind the old men because he was in such rags.
Nevertheless, he had come to visit the commander of the guerrilla army, and although shy of answering
questions, I thought he must have his own view of things and his own way of dealing with them, a frame
of mind which should not be totally ignored. I was thankful for it.
To my question as to when he had started working as a hired farm-hand, he simply answered, "From
childhood." He spoke like a man from Jolla Province. There were many people from Jolla Province in
West Jiandao and other parts of Northeast China. The Japanese imperialists had forced tens of thousands
of Korean peasants to emigrate to Northeast China as "group pioneers" in accordance with their notorious
policy of moving Korean peasants to Manchuria, a policy aimed at plundering Manchuria of its land en
masse.
When the visitors were gone, I asked my host why the young man was not yet married. “Since he has
worked for hire from childhood, moving from place to place, he is still a lonely bachelor, although he is
over thirty. He is a true man, but he has no life partner. Nobody wants to give him his daughter. It is a
great pity to see him living a life of hardship all alone. Even the boy over there is married and treated as a
man...."
I looked out through the window at the boy the old man was pointing at. Through a pane as small as the
page of a notebook, a pane pasted with paper strips in the center of the door, I saw a 10 or 11-year-old
boy playing shuttlecock with his feet. I was surprised to hear that the boy, who was as short as a pencil
stub, was already married. I could not help clicking my tongue in disapproval, even though it was an age
of early marriages, forced marriages and paid marriages.
To cite later instances, even in my own unit there were a few "little bridegrooms" who had been married
when they were not much older than that boy. Kim Hong Su, a guerrilla from Changbai, became a "little
bridegroom" at the age of about 10. He was a very short fellow, as his nickname indicated. I felt
indignation and sorrow at the extraordinary contrast between the 30-year-old bachelor and the 10-year-
old "little bridegroom". Their lot was similar in that both of them were the victims of the times, but I felt
more sympathetic with the bachelor who was unable to make a home at the age of 30. Though a victim of
early marriage, the "little bridegroom" did have a wife and was leading a normal, conjugal life.
Thinking of Kim Wol Yong, I could not sleep that night. A man's lifetime had been wasted in misery.
This thought would not leave my mind, and it irritated me. His existence was somehow symbolic of the
sufferings of my country, which also was treading a thorny path. His precarious life corresponded to the
sad history of a ruined Korea. That night I was gripped with the desire to find a spouse for him. If I were
unable to help a man to build his home, how could I win back my lost country? This was the thought that
ran through my mind.
