Beasts of a Little Land(88)

“I know . . .” JungHo smiled. “I would just spot the most beautiful girl, and then realize a second later that she’s the same one as before.” He took her cheek tenderly in his palm and she tried her best to enjoy it.

“You know, my favorite color is blue,” he said with a distant look in his eyes, as though trying to recall a long-lost memory.

“I always loved looking at the sky, ever since I was little. So blue things just catch my eye—whether it’s a tie, or a woman’s dress. The way I kept noticing you, loving you, it’s because you’re my blue.” He looked at her shyly, as if relieved and proud that he’d shared this thought with her.

Jade was touched, but also troubled by the unmentionable fact that he was not her blue. There was only one man who was her blue, and he no longer loved her and wanted nothing to do with her. She wished with all her heart that JungHo would stop talking.

“You’re the only reason for everything I’ve done in my life,” he said, turning over onto his right side to face her. “Jade, listen carefully. I’m going to tell my mentor that I can’t go on the mission. Before, I had no reason not to go . . . But now, I want to stay here and have a life with you.” He interlaced his hand with hers and squeezed.

Jade’s heart started racing and her cheeks tingled with a current of overwhelm. “But you’ve already promised him. How can you go back on your word?” she asked, pulling imperceptibly away from him.

JungHo widened his eyes, and said in an eager voice meant to reassure her: “Comrade Lee is the most compassionate, humane person I know. He’s never stopped anyone from leaving, for any reason. He has never acted as if he owns me.”

She breathed slowly, struggling to contain the cruelty of her own words. But when she relaxed her grip, they rushed out of her mouth like hounds. “But the mission is bigger than any one of us.”

She had no time to reflect on her words before they escaped, so they felt like mere meaningless sounds at first. But she realized their full horror as JungHo’s loving face turned to stone. It wasn’t just that he was very still and cold—what she’d found endearing about him, recognizably and uniquely JungHo ever since they were little, was extinguished at once with her utterance.

“After everything I’ve done for you,” he said with difficulty. Jade saw before her eyes their life together: JungHo shouting at her to jump from the tree so he could catch her; flying out of her house to find a midwife for Luna; holding hands with her the night the war began; standing at the gates with sacks of food when all hope seemed to be lost, so much so that sometimes it felt like all she needed to do to summon him was look at the door. He was also seeing these memories in his mind, she realized—and the more he saw, the more he despaired.

“And I would have done even more—given up everything—to keep you safe.” His darkly burning eyes made her struggle not to flinch.

“That’s not what I meant to say. Of course I want you to stay,” she said, so weakly that even she had trouble believing herself.

He said nothing; he seemed to have finally realized that he had spent his life loving someone so unworthy. He rose and dressed in silence, his face contorted with hatred. Then just before reaching her door, he turned back.

What happened next made her see who he really was for the first time—someone she’d only guessed at from his mysterious occupation. JungHo lunged toward her. Too terrified to cry out, she cradled her head in her arms and cowered, but his body flew by her. He fell onto the cot, attacking it like a madman. When the cot seemed dead enough, he grabbed the nearest object—a hand mirror—and hurled it at the wall, where it exploded into pieces. Ignoring the glistening shards of glass spraying over them, he buried his head in the comforter and screamed—just a sharp monosyllable, an inhuman howl. Thus spent, he lay prostrate, panting, his back rising and falling with his breath.

Jade felt herself sobbing, because his body looked so familiar and yet so alien to her. It was as if something invisible that had constellated them together since childhood had been severed, and she could no longer reach him even while sitting just an arm’s length apart. She wanted to find a way to calm him, to make him understand how much he did mean to her. But before she could say anything, he pressed himself up to kneeling and with his head still bowed, exhaled deeply. There was no trace of violent rage left in him, just starry flecks of mirror clinging to his clothes and hair. A few more minutes passed in silence. When he finally lifted his head, she saw that his expression was cold and determined. Only his eyes were unusually bright and full like melted snow.

He stood up and put on his hat in the manner of someone leaving the funeral of a distant connection—dryly somber with an air of finality.

“I said to you once that no one would care if I died. Remember how you said you would?” Without waiting for her to reply, he dipped his hat and walked out of her house for the very last time.

*

IN JULY, MAJOR GENERAL YAMADA came home on leave from the campaign in China. His wife, Mineko, greeted him coldly. Though she’d begun their marriage in innocence and good faith, she’d become disappointed, then tired, then enraged by his complete lack of presence. She was barely moved to see him considerably aged. There were now deep grooves on his once-elegant forehead. He’d lost two fingers on his right hand, which he kept encased in a glove even in the sweltering heat. She might have felt pity for a stranger wounded in battle, but not for her husband, who had dedicated his entire life to war and conquest.