“Speed up, or the next thing you know, you’ll have a hole blown up in your head,” the soldier threatened.

            Rocks scraping at my bare feet, I scrambled up the almost non-existent track. All the while, I thought about how I could so naturally understand the Japanese words that he said. The realization clawed at my heart.

            “I don’t know why I had to bring him along. Doesn’t seem much use anyway. Might as well kill him instead,” I heard him grumble.

            Well, he might’ve not known, but I knew the reason why I was being brought along. The fact that I used to climb up the little mountain next to our village every morning, easily made me the best person to know the way up the maze-like forest of the mountain. They needed me as a guide to climb up the mountain to kill the tigers.

            What I didn’t understand though, was why the Japanese wanted to kill the tigers. I mean, sure the appeal of their luxurious furs hanging up on their bedrooms and placed on their floors was easy enough to comprehend. What I didn’t understand was their absolute fervor and dedication to dry out their seed^[1]. Although I didn’t know exactly why they were killing the tigers, I did know for sure that that was the onlything that was keeping me alive. I knew that when all the tigers were gone from the mountain, and I no longer had a use as a guide, I would be dead too. I would be killed brutally and mercilessly like all those dead tigers. Perhaps I would also be skinned and used as a rug. Who knew? But it didn’t truly matter what would become of me once I was dead – I would simply be joining the mountain of bodies of the hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, of the dead Koreans, all killed, like I would be, by the Japanese.

            Suddenly, a sharp nudge awoke me from my thoughts. It was a feeling I knew all too well. It was the metallic cold of the muzzle pressed heavily against my back. A shiver ran up my body.

            “I said, if you don’t speed up, I’ll drill a hole into your head,” I felt the soldier’s glacial breath graze the back of my neck.

            “Su – sumimasen-” I stammered in Japanese.

            “I don’t give a shit if you die or not. You’ve been doing nothing but irritate me the past hour. I see no reason as to why I should keep you alive,” he hissed.

“Sama, I, I–”

            “Will I get punished by killing you? Maybe. But seeing you and the rest of you puny Josenjin^[2] writhe on the ground with a bullet in your head is definitely worth it,” the soldier sneered.

            Desperately, I opened my mouth to plead, shaking, “O – Onegaishimasu. I won’t-”

            “You,” the gun pressed forcefully on my back, “Shut up. I don’t want to hear any more gibberish from you Koreans. I’ll just kill you here and get it over with. You’ve been getting on my nerves for way too long anyways.”

            Slowly, the point of the gun scraped up my spine and settled heavily on the back of my head. I felt a desperate fear rising up inside me. I knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was going to kill me. The Japanese never lied about these things.

            They weren’t lying when they said they’d take my sister away. They weren’t lying when they said they’d kill my grandfather. They weren’t lying when they told me they’d set fire to my house. Now, this soldier wasn’t lying either. I would die. As rough breaths escaped my throat, I heard the sound, loud and clear; the sharp click of a bullet snapping into place.

            “No hard feelings. You Koreans all know full well that you exist to serve the Japanese, and now, it’s just that you serve no purpose to me anymore. Living as a Korean must be so hard; being a bottom feeder in such a dreadful country. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is; you’re going to die now.”

            Hearing those words, I felt tears rising. They weren’t tears for my death, but were tears of hatred. It was hatred for the Japanese, rage for what they had done to us, for how they stole our land, broke our spirits, and killed us as if they were merely getting rid of bothersome pests.

            I opened my mouth, trying to utter something, anything, but my voice wouldn’t work. My head pulsed, and only hot breath escaped my mouth. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t want to plead for my life, not to this bastard. I didn’t want to grovel to the man who helped burn Korea down to ashes. But then again, I did want to live. My thoughts clashed with each other, fighting for dominance. Do I beg? Do I attack? Do I spit at his feet? Still, no words came out.

            Stuck in paralysis, I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow to be struck. My heart pumped. My breath came quicker. I sat shivering uncontrollably. I very nearly wet myself. I waited in this horror. Seconds felt like hours. I waited again. I wanted to scream, “Get it over with, already!” but, of course, my body was beyond my control now. Why was nothing happening? When I finally took in the eerie stillness, hopeful that I had already died a painless death and that it was all over, I slowly opened my eyes.

            In front of me was the Japanese soldier, standing, mouth hanging open, his hand nearly losing his grip on the gun. In his trembling eyes, I saw fear, but also greed. At first, I hoped that he had become too scared to really kill me. But, I soon noticed that his gaze went past my head, fixed on something behind me.

            Slowly, I turned around, frightened to see what had possessed the soldier with a look of such terrifying thirst. Then, I saw it. And when I locked eyes with it, I knew. I knew why he looked at it that way. I understood.

            Its majestic orange and black fur glistened, and its sharp claws at the ends of its vast paw radiated a special energy. Standing in front of me was a giant mountain tiger, way bigger than any other tiger I had ever seen, or heard of before.

            The tears I had been holding back could no longer be contained. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I was awestruck. I was frightened.

            His ghostly blue eyes unblinking, he let out a low growl.

            But gazing up at the god-like creature, I soon realized the irony. He was scared. These tiny humans in front of him were barely a third of his size, but he had heard the stories. The stories of our tiny but deadly claws, how they were both cold and hot at the same time, and made a roar so loud all the birds took to the sky when it was unleashed.

            His tail twitched menacingly from side to side. We seemed harmless enough, but could the stories be true? As we sized each other up, I looked into his deep, pondering eyes – then I realized. I knew. I recognized him. I had heard of him before from my grandfather’s stories. He was “San-gun.”

***

            “My child, do you remember what I’ve told you about the tigers?”

            “Yes Pa. You said they eat people!”

            “Well, yes,” he chucked, “But they are also a strong symbol of our people, you see.”

            “A symbol of… us?”

            “Yes, my child. And today, I’m going to tell you about a special tiger.”

            “Special?”

            He nodded, smiling, “If you see him, you’ll know that he’s no ordinary tiger. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. Some say he has a mesmerizing appearance and has claws that are stronger than metal. Others say that his fur has a golden shade to it. But what every story shares in common about this tiger is that he protects us. He gives us courage and wisdom and gives us the power we need. He’s our protector.”

            “But his name! What’s his name?”

            “His name is San-gun, the King and Lord of the mountains.”

***

            “San-gun,” a whisper slipped from my mouth. Then, the trance was broken. The Japanese fumbled with his gun.

            “Holy shit, I can’t believe I actually found it. I found the tiger,” he whispered to himself as he clicked the gun into position, aiming straight between his eyes.

            San-gun’s eyes now darted from mine to the Japanese, to what had to be the magical claw he had been hearing about. Should he make a run for it? Should he pounce?

            Before he could make a decision, the soldier’s gun clicked. The tiger and I flinched.

            “Shit, what’s wrong with this thing now?” The Japanese soldier fumbled with the metal contraption.

            That’s when I saw it. In the tiger’s sentient eyes, the black of the iris began to take on the form of… people. Hundreds – then thousands – then millions of tiny people clawed at the tiger’s eyes, wanting to break free, to go back to their families. The million lost Korean souls. This was where they had gone.

            Another click. “Shit! Come on!”

            Then I began to hear them. It started as a small whimper. Barely audible to even be sure whether I had actually heard it, or had just imagined it. But quickly the whimper turned into a cry, then a wailing, then the howling of the pan-so-ri^[3] of a million lost souls. Their tortured cries were deafening.

            Click. “F***! F***, f***, f***, f***!” At this point the Japanese soldier had begun firing at random. He was bashing the gun on the ground, as if attempting to beat it into submission as he probably had with countless Koreans in the past. He was practiced at it. When that didn’t work, he threw the gun away with a disturbing look of determination. He ripped his shirt open, grabbed the dagger from his boot and cried, “Tenno heika banzai!^[4]” as he pushed aside my head from his path and strided across to the tiger.

            The tiger’s eyes widened. The imminent death seemed to have touched his soul before it had touched him physically, as now I saw that the churn of spirits in his eyes had melted into a red blur just beneath the blue of the tiger’s iris. Then, slowly, the red turned more visible and stronger, until it morphed into a simple, clear pattern; a blue and red swirl, resembling the Tae-geuk^[5], the symbol of our people. The symbol of us. The blood of the Koreans boiled within San-gun as they cursed their defeat by the Japanese.

            I acted instinctively. I grabbed hold of the soldier’s pants, causing him to trip. I climbed on top of him, my body no longer in paralysis, attempting to grab the dagger from his hand in a furious struggle. But I was weak. No matter how determined I was, the Japanese had been starving me, and I was a pathetic sight of skin and bones. He threw me off easily.

            “Run!” I screamed at San-gun, who stood still. “Run, you stupid beast!” I screamed again, but it was no use. He had made up his mind to fight. He crouched, eyes wide, tail twitching, muscles tense, waiting for the precise moment to leap, but the Japanese soldier gave no hint of weakness.

            The wailing of the spirits grew louder as they awaited their doom.

            I couldn’t take that chance. I jumped at the soldier again. But this time he was ready for me. He threw me on the ground swiftly and stomped at my face for good measure. He was smart enough to not turn his back on the tiger or make himself small by crouching down to stab me, but I knew he would be back for me later. Blood streamed down my face. I couldn’t breathe. I had to cough to clear my airway to barely have an intake of air. Now, from the corner of my now-blurry eye, I saw him almost at the tiger.

            I knew I had one good jump in me left. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed his boot. Caught by surprise, he stumbled, grunting in fury. Then, his face a mask of murder and blood, he raised his arm. His body tensed as he prepared to deliver the final blow.

            “Baka na Josenjin!^[6]”

            This was the opening that San-gun had needed. Teeth bared, a low, cold growl settling inside his throat, he jumped, and masterfully bit into the soldier’s ribs, breaking into his organs. With that, the eyes of San-gun kindled with a sudden, roaring fire. The tortured cries of the spirits that had been clawing at my ears suddenly turned into a deafening roar that rang through my whole body. Sang-gun roared triumphantly, and in his voice echoed the war cry of a million dead Korean soldiers. Their cries reverberated throughout the entire forest.

            Then, in one swift movement, one so fast my eyes couldn’t follow, his maw opened, revealing knife-sharp teeth, then closed down on the soldier’s head with impossible speed. When the soldier’s head disappeared completely into the dark cave of San-gun’s mouth, the spirits’ roar stopped short. Silence followed. There was peace at last.

            But then, my pained gasp broke the quiet of the moment. With my face a mess of blood, and my head and lungs crushed, I could barely stay awake, much less alive. And I knew that was true, because I felt myself losing my consciousness. My sight was dimming, and my ears were ringing. I was slipping away. I would soon join the others.

            But I wasn’t scared, nor did I regret my choices. The soldier was dead, and San-gun was alive. I knew that the death of one Japanese didn’t mean freedom for our land or our people, but it still somehow made me relieved.

            And most of all, I knew that San-gun would always be here. He would be here with Korea, with our people. He would look over them. He would protect them. I knew that.

            As I closed my eyes, preparing myself for what would come, I felt a sudden warmth surrounding me. It was San-gun. When he reached me, and got so close that I could feel his warm breath on my face, I stretched out my arms shakily. Placing my hand on his head, I smiled. San-gun turned and lay on the ground, moving so that his body curled up behind mine, he let out a long, reassuring growl.

            As I slipped in and out of consciousness, I heard my grandfather’s voice sing me the Arirang^[7] as he used to when I was a child.

            “Arirang, Arirang, Arariyo…”

            His steady palm beating gently at my chest to the rhythm, I forgot about the pains of my body. I got up, and saw the Arirang ridge beyond me. I made my way toward the ridge as my grandfather’s voice grew louder.

            “Arirang gogero neomeoganda.^[8]”

            When I reached the top of the ridge, I saw a million souls, hands joined, their voices rising in harmonious song as they welcomed me with open arms. The vibrations of their voices were in the breeze, in the trees, and hummed within the grass itself. As the land beneath my feet embraced me like an old friend, I felt the powerful surge of their song coursing through my body, invigorating and uniting my spirit with the land.

            “Welcome home,” the mountain whispered, and with a final breath, I joined the chorus of the Arirang alongside my brothers and sisters who had made it across the ridge.

---

^[1]A Korean idiom meaning “to annihilate, to make extinct.”

^[2] A derogatory term targeting Koreans commonly used by the Japanese, especially in the past when Korea was under the control of Imperial Japan

^[3] A Korean traditional style of singing that is emotionally intense and is characterized by the vocal style which resembles crying.

^[4] A Japanese saying meaning “Long live his Imperial Majesty”, a common battlecry used by Japanese soldiers.

^[5] The center of the Korean flag, that looks like a red and blue yin and yang and represents the “supreme ultimate” and the harmony between positive and negative cosmic forces.

^[6] Japanese words meaning “stupid Korean.”

^[7] A Korean traditional song that speaks about leaving and reunion, and sorrow and joy. The “Arirang Pass” that is mentioned in the song is a pass that one has to cross to reunite with their lover. This pass symbolizes the hardships in life that one has to overcome.

^[8] “Crossing over Arirang Pass.”

– Suevean (Evelyn) Chin