At home the events of the day were the subject of excited discussion. It was true that soldiers had turned up in every street and lane to search houses. Sunok had seen three soldiers forcing their way into the Bread House at the top of the main street. Nobody knew what they were looking for, because it was impossible to understand their speech, and no one was allowed to go near them. The general feeling was that something terrible awaited our town. 

 

My parents conferred late into the night. My mother proposed that at least some of the children Ojini especially, who was already grown up, and I, as the youngest should be taken to safety. My father would not consent, though he did not understand the significance of the searches any better. There was no reason, he said, to fear war, and the soldiers would do no harm to innocent citizens. We should offer no resistance and give up whatever they wanted. The soldiers were certain to have been sent by our King himself for some good reason. 

 

My mother found it hard to regain her composure after such a day of excitement, but she gave way with a heavy heart, and in the end only directed that I was not to leave the house for the next few days and should sleep in my old east room on the inner courtyard. I obeyed her willingly, although I was no longer afraid now that my father had entirely dispelled my fears. 

 

The next afternoon four soldiers armed with rifles actually did come to our house. They walked through all the courtyards, pried into every room and shed, and then left again as my father had foretold, without molesting us or taking anything. After that we all calmed down and I was allowed to go to school again. Only Ojini, who had fled from courtyard to courtyard at the very sight of the soldiers, was upset and scared for weeks to come. 

 

Such house searches were repeated often, almost every day or even twice a day. Occasionally the soldiers appeared early in the morning; sometimes they turned up unexpectedly in the inner courtyard during the evening and caused the women to run away in terror. 

 

At the same time a sinister rumor was about: it was said that some of our countrymen young peasants, hunters, and others opposed to the new times and suspect-ing the Japanese of evil intentions had gathered in the nearby mountains to fight the invaders. This would explain the recurrent searches in our town for hidden arms. 

 

At first my father took all of this for mere gossip. Yet there seemed to be truth in the story, for we saw more and more heavily armed Japanese troops pass through Somun (West Gate) and Pukmun. They marched out singing and singing they returned to the town. 

 

Later they brought prisoners. It was a terrible sight, terrible to watch our own peasants being dragged through the streets, beaten bloody and in heavy manacles, their features swollen and appallingly mutilated. Never had I seen a human being in chains nor one so flayed. I staggered home sick with fear and horror and a cold sweat ran down my face. 

 

My mother again proposed that I should be taken away from school in order to go to a more peaceful part of the country. I was a young child, she argued, and ought to be spared such impressions. Father discussed the matter at length but in the end did not consent. He only sent Pang the laborer and our bailiff to the peasants on our farms; they were to warn our people not to get involved in any trouble with the Japanese. As for me, he said I should simply not look at the marching soldiers. Only an uneducated child could be so inquisitive as to stare into their faces. 

 

The fighting became still more violent. Throughout winter and spring prisoners were brought into the town. Even women were among them. 

 

Not until summer, with the onset of the rains, did things begin to settle down at last. The house searches ceased altogether. Steadily the monsoon rains fell from morning till night. 

 

One evening Kisop came to see me. He looked pale and wan. "Have you heard?" he asked me. "No; what do you mean?" 

 

He kept me waiting for a while. "I think we have been tricked after all," he said at last; "our country has been annexed." 

"By Japan?" 

"Of course by Japan." 

"Where did you see that?" 

"If you have time you can go to Nammun later and read the proclamation. But be careful. A soldier is there. You must not make any fuss or tear down the poster." 

 

After our evening meal I went to Nammun accompanied by Kuori. There it was, a large printed manifesto illuminated by two big lamps. All around was still as the grave. Not a soul was to be seen near the gate or in the main street. Only two lights flickered in the darkness, and a soldier with a rifle stood beside the proclamation. I approached cautiously and saw impressed on it a large royal seal. 

 

Yes, it was a letter from the King, the first and last I ever saw in my life. It touched my heart, for it was a parting letter—the parting letter of a whole race of kings who had given us their protection for half a millennium. When I had read it all, Kuori came up to me and pulled me out of the archway. 

 

"What does it say?" she asked me. She was unable to read. 

"Our King had gone away!" 

"Forever?" "Yes, forever." 

"Why has he gone away?" 

"I don't know." 

 

At home I repeated to my father the text of the proclamation word for word. 

 

He listened attentively, but made no comment. 

"Is there still worse to come?" I asked him. 

He only looked at me in silence. 

Everyone in the house was silent, the men in the outer courtyard, my mother, my sisters—all were silent. 

 

Late into the night my parents and Sunok sat over a jar of wine and spoke of the kings of the last dynasty. In the end my father came to the conclusion that the whole Royal Family had become too weak to protect us. Now we should have to wait patiently for a new King to come and rule over us. To me he said that I should go to my school unafraid and take no notice of worldly matters. 

​

Before autumn was over they began to pull down the town walls, the town gates, and the official palaces, and to widen the narrow streets. Shops were dismantled, houses and courtyards broken up. Newly exposed heating shafts peered through the rubble-heaps, and with difficulty I made my way to and from school across what were once our streets. Day and night the work went feverishly on. From all directions came the heavy crash of the battering ram, the sharp bang of the hammer, and shrill whining of the saw; thick dust filled the air. Men shouted, gave orders, gesticulated, and quarreled. I was glad when our gate closed behind me. 

 

But even our outer courtyard had been affected by this unrest. Incessantly people came and went. Expelled peas-ants, dismissed officials, refugees, and emigrants adrift across the country came to ask for shelter. Sunok offered them hospitality only for a few hours and then sent them on their way again. He had to explain the whole day long that our house was not as wealthy as it looked and that they should try their luck elsewhere. This went on throughout the long, cold winter. More and more beggars and refugees arrived to fill all the guestrooms; Sunok sat in front of the house cross and full of bitter words: "Oh, these miserable times, this miserable world!" 

 

Only the courtyard with the well remained quiet; indeed it was more quiet than ever. The whole day long my father, with the help of an interpreter, was involved in discussions with the occupation authorities over the countless new regulations or the new taxes, and this so exhausted him that quite early in the evening he had to lie down and could not stand very much conversation. When I told him about my school he only listened for a short while and then asked me to lie down myself and to blow out the lamp because he was in need of rest. Quite often he interrupted me saying: "Enough of that now; go for a walk and come back to me later." 

 

I felt I was becoming tiresome to him and held my tongue. 

 

I did not care to go for a walk. The dismantled town walls, the unroofed tower gates filled my mind at night with unspeakable sadness and great terror. I preferred to stay at home. When I was with my father, I still felt somehow protected. I was his flesh and blood, he would surely be able to look after me.