:)
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II
Lately it feels like mother has been deteriorating. Slowly, excruciatingly, piece by piece of her is falling away, and thanks to a number of circumstances outside of normal people's control it seems as if she thinks she deserves it.
I have a brother. Seven years my junior, he was born with mental disabilities. He is ten years of age and has the mental capacity of a three year old. In our Beloved Country, there is no room for runts. Handicapped babies are disposed of quickly and efficiently and as soon as possible, because Our Nation does not need those mere folds of flesh that hold us back. We have no thought for the less able, for what could they ever offer to us? Our country is deserving of the best, and no less. Our country is absolute, perfect, whole. We are a Pure Race.
And I? I revel in impurity. My brother is a hero to all that know him; a symbol of life in a soulless nation, a spark of hope for those who desperately need change and our little way of saying Fuck You, Dear Leader. So far our family has been able to keep his existence from the authorities – spare a number of close friends, no-one is even aware of him – and were this ever to get out, especially the fact that we have been hiding it for so long… that could well be the last anyone hears about us.
Mother of course, being mother, blames herself. When he was only a few weeks old and still almost totally unresponsive she wanted to get rid of little Junsu herself, and might have succeeded if it wasn't for father. She detests him for that… and I admire him. She is a conformist and couldn't stand to go against the law; I'm like my father. We would rather be caught than get rid of a blameless child. We would willingly die so the ones we love might have a good life. Junsu sits babbling in his chair, in his corner, smiling at familiar faces and in place of mother's passive acceptance, we have ambition. No way are we content, not yet, but at the moment it's all we can do.
I arrive home and walk through the first door immediately. The faint stink of household neglect greets me almost nostalgically. "Is Father back?" I ask the living room. I take off my boots and jacket, and turn to my mother. She is, as always, sitting on the armchair near the room's only window. The bits of her soul falling down are almost palpable; I feel like flinching every time she moves, as if with a turn of the head she would crack and break completely. It's only a matter of time before her body follows her mind and completely deteriorates; already she seems to have shrunk every time I see her and she was always a small woman.
I didn't expect a response. Instead I turn to Junsu's chair. Here I do expect a happy jabber and a huge smile, but I am greeted by an empty chair. I look back at mother.
"Where..? Is Father with Junsu?"
Mother starts to rock backwards and forwards, ever so slightly. The thin black wisps of hair escaping her hairband frame her face, falling into her eyes. I walk over to her. She flinches at this, and only rocks faster.
"Mother…"
She looks up and meets my gaze. The rare emotion in her eyes makes me start – anger, or fear, or sorrow, or all three. I remember a time when I felt safe being around her – I must have been a toddler. Now though, she's become even more of a burden than my brother. Her pessimism is the dead weight holding us down, anchoring us to the ground when we wish for the skies. Even her voice is indistinct and creaky and sounds like it has given up. "They are together."
I wait for her to continue, impatient. After becoming still, she carries on. "They are with the authorities somewhere. Since last night. That's all I know."
My heart actually skips a beat. "They found out?" The words come out as a single quick breath, an extract of panic. "H-how?!"
"Yes."
"How?"
Mother shrugs, and continues rocking back and forth, back and forth. She mumbles words as if in prayer, eyes closed and hands weakly clasped together. The act screams 'conformist' and it disgusts me. I am filled with a sudden rage.
"He is your kid! Why are you acting so indifferent?"
Of course, no change in her. She sways forward and stays there, eventually breathing, "I hope your father is okay. He never deserved any of this."
"And Junsu DID?" I explode. I would have hit the pathetic form before me were she not my mother. "I can't – I can't understand – I'm going to find them," I spit, looking for my boots, "and bring them back." I spurt out of the room, seeing bright, burning, bubbling red, one arm back in my jacket sleeve.
"Wait…" mother's slight rambling voice sounds. "You'll get yourself into trouble Hwarang… don't be angry… you've always made me proud to have you as… as a son-"
I turn slowly, and find her finally standing up, bent back slightly. "You have two sons." I stalk out of the room, out of the front door.
"Hwarang…" I hear her drawl. I continue my furious pacing, desperate to put as much space between me and my mother as possible. Junsu, Father, Junsu --
"Father!" I had only gone a few paces, and almost didn't notice him walking slowly in the other direction. He looks up after a moment, and scrutinises my face. His eyes are still crinkled, but have the deepest sorrow upon them. His hair still as grey as it was before, but looks as though it has aged a lifetime. He is very much alone.
"Hwarang," he says finally. I shake at his voice – it sounds as if it belongs to a wavering old man. He looks away from my face, looks defeated, looks crushed. "Come home."
He continues to walk in the direction of our house. I have so many questions burning at my throat but can find neither nerve nor voice to ask them. Instead I blankly follow my father home. Mother is at the window, waiting with an expression that would usually make my gut squirm. But not now. We get through the front door. We sit down at the table we eat dinner at on the rare occasions we are all home. We are silent, for a time. On the surface it is as if this is just another dinner, and we are paying thanks to our Leader for providing us with food. Oh how I wish. My heart thump-thump-thumps and I'm afraid father will tell me to shut it up and mother will make some tea to calm him down and father will yell that he doesn't like tea for the hundredth time, are you deranged, woman? But then father speaks, in that same ghostly voice.
"We can view the body tomorrow. Us parents are also to be executed."