The Last Tiger

PART I
정 (JEONG)

The colonial rule of Japanese on Korean people was ruthless and devastating. We were harassed by any means by the Japanese policy of aggression. Our pastors and leaders were jailed without any reason, their secret police present all our services and if one slipped tongue talked about any talk against Japanese policy he disappeared from our society.

One note, I should mention here is that our love fare was top secret and is not opened to anyone even our parent!! We pretended no love relation at all the time at church or anywhere when we are together in public. We enjoyed secret meeting in the park or old palace yard but fearing someone may see us . . .

—Grandpa Changkiu “Keith” Riew (May 25, 1928–April 9, 2020)

I was struck with the stark reality . . . I was spoiled by growing up in wealth and plenty . . . plenty and plethora of food, as much as we ever wanted.

I knew that [Changkiu]’s family was always short on funds . . . Though not major, I wanted to help in any way I could. I knew that the route of the streetcar [Changkiu] took was visible from my house higher up on a hill . . . so I would leave the light on in the window for him to look up and take some comfort. In the winter, we would close the shutters over that window to keep the cold out, but I would leave them open late into the night until the time that he would already have passed by.

—Grandma Hyunsoo “Kim” Riew

(b. September 18, 1929)

- 1 -
Seung

The sky over the mountains today is too clear, too blue, for the Slaying Ceremony. It almost isn’t fair.

The crisp fall air burns in my lungs as I step out of the house, blinking, my eyes slowly adjusting to the light. I massage my brow with one hand, trying to ease the stress lines there. I don’t want to go down to the town square today. Of course I don’t. But it’s not like I have a choice.

“Wait for me, Seung! Wait!”

My kid brother, Hoyoung, crouches by the door, struggling to fit his feet into his shoes—they’re way too tight for him; he needed new ones long ago. Over his shoulder, he carries a huge empty burlap sack that falls across his back like a cape.

“What is this?” I chuckle, lifting the long bag with two fingers. “We don’t need all this, Hoyoung. We’re just buying some rice.”

“What if we get a lot of rice?” Hoyoung says hopefully. “I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I say warily.

Not with the war and current food prices.

Whatever we manage to pick up today, we’ll likely have to stretch it to last the month.

Still, Hoyoung seems happy to be carrying the comically large bag, so I let him keep it. I slide the front door closed behind us, shutting it on the faint smell of tonight’s dinner, which Mom is preparing inside: a watery broth made from boiling turnips. You could call it World War Stew—this is all we’ve eaten for months.

“Isn’t Mom coming?” Hoyoung turns back to look inside.

“She’s waiting for Dad to come back from the mines. They’ll come later.” I pull him by the shoulder. “Hey, Hoyoung. Look at me, okay? I need to tell you something. This is important.”

My little brother turns to me with these huge, innocent eyes that practically knock my heart out. His too-long bangs fall over his face. A lump forms in my throat as I brush them away.

This kid is too young to attend the Slaying. That’s a fact.

But if I don’t take him with me today, we’ll never hear the end of it from the police.

“No matter what happens tonight, don’t let go of my hand,” I tell him. “Don’t wander off, don’t let go of me, no matter what happens. And when I tell you, make sure to close your eyes. I’m gonna protect you, okay?”

Hoyoung swallows hard, nodding fiercely. “Okay, buddy. Let’s go.”

We turn away from the house, stepping onto the stone path that leads down to the village center. Already, the sun is growing bloody orange as it descends toward the horizon. In a few hours it will dip out of sight behind the thick mountains surrounding the town of Kidoh, dropping a thin, purple twilight over the valley.

Out here, the air is clear and bright, scented with pine and mountain ash. I shake my head, trying to dispel the foreboding that has been itching at me all morning.

“Let’s goooooo!” Hoyoung cries, running headlong down the path, his feet clapping over the stones. Obviously, he still doesn’t really understand what’s about to happen. I grimace and hurry after him.

We definitely don’t want to arrive late. I lead us along the shortcut off the main path, down the side trail that cuts beside the river. Fat, lazy mosquitos drift in the air here; by the river’s edge, tall, brilliant green reeds stick their heads up out of the shallows. The long ribbon of the river itself gleams in the fading sunlight.

As we walk along, we pass a group of academy grads practicing ki by the riverside, their bare chests glistening with sweat. They’ve lined up a series of enormous boulders, each taller than a man’s waist, and are taking turns heaving the giant rocks into the air, tossing them along to one another. The guy at the end of the line catches a boulder with a grunt and sets it down on the ground. He slams his fist onto the rock. The boulder cracks in two and splits at his feet.

“Whoa.” Hoyoung’s head turns on a pivot, his jaw falling open.

Rich kids, I grumble to myself.

Thanks to years of expensive after-school tutoring—a luxury our family couldn’t possibly afford—those guys passed the Exam when they were about my age and were admitted to Adachi Training Academy at the heart of the empire. There, they were trained in the art of ki. Those ki powers have made them strong enough to crush boulders with their bare hands.

Not to mention that, as graduates of Adachi, they’ll have guaranteed access for life to whatever career path they could possibly desire.

Hoyoung and I—well, we’ll never have that kind of life.

While those guys are out making their dreams, I spend my weeks sweeping floors for the Chois, the richest yangban family in the colonies.

I avert my gaze and quicken my steps, struggling unsuccessfully to smother the jealousy in my chest.

“This way.” I nod to Hoyoung, now straggling behind me, still staring at the guys with their boulder-crushing exercise. Then we turn the corner, leaving them behind and entering the village proper.

Soon we’re deep in the marketplace. Long rows of tables here, laid out with food and wares, line the road. Behind them, old ajummas and ajusshis with missing teeth call out to the bustling crowd of customers.

“Fresh bean-curd paste! Southern-style kimchi! Finest in the Tiger Colonies!”

“Miso and matcha powder! Imported straight from the Dragon Empire! Supplies are limited; get yours now!”

“Ooh,” Hoyoung says, licking his lips. I pull him by the sleeve.

“Not now, Hoyoung. Those are luxuries. We need to save our money for rice, okay?”

“Rice,” says Hoyoung absentmindedly.

And I recognize the hunger in my brother’s eyes, suddenly aware of that same pang in my own stomach.

I lead my little brother down to the stand where rice merchants are ladling the precious grains into the bags of anxious customers. We stop next to an open table, preparing for the worst. Prices have been sky- rocketing for basic foods this year. Ever since Governor-General Isao issued his edict on the wartime rationing of grains, people across the Tiger Colonies have been going hungry.

“Long live the Dragon Emperor.” Tenno Heika Banzai. I nod to the merchant as I give the obligatory greeting—switching into Dragon tongue, as is required by law.

“Long live the emperor,” the merchant responds automatically. Over his shoulder, a Dragon policeman watches the street impassively, his face a blank mask.

Ever since the Tiger Kingdom was defeated and annexed by the Dragon Empire—more than forty years ago—the Dragon language has been mandatory for use in public settings. Under Governor-General Isao’s “cultural assimilation” policy, the use of our native Tiger tongue has been forbidden altogether. It’s a difficult rule to enforce in private settings, but I wouldn’t dare use Tiger language here in the marketplace, under the watchful eye of the Dragon police.

I hand over the coins. The merchant nods, counting them, and motions gruffly for Hoyoung to hold open his burlap sack. The merchant lifts a spoonful of the coarse, grainy rice—the good stuff, refined white rice, is well out of our budget—and pours in a small handful.

And stops.

“No way.” My jaw drops. “That’s barely a couple of days’ worth—” “Sorry, kid.” The merchant shrugs indifferently. “The drought this year is even worse than last year’s, if you can believe it . . . There are dust storms in the fields. Add to that the wartime ration, and you’re lucky I have anything at all for you today.”

Beside me, customers are arguing bitterly with the other merchants. I stare down into the enormous burlap sack, at the measly handful of rice grains spread out there at the bottom. We just handed that merchant a month’s worth of Dad’s salary.

“Seung,” says Hoyoung, tugging on my arm. “Not now, Hoyoung,” I mutter emptily. “Seung,” Hoyoung says louder.

And then I look up, and I see—

Merchants and customers alike, lowering their heads, sweeping their coins into pouches and tucking them away, out of sight—

I hear the pounding of boots marching in unison—

And the whistles of the policemen.

Finally, I see them: the Dragon Army.

A dozen or more soldiers marching in rows down the main street, their faces shadowed beneath dark helmets.

Between the two rows of men, a military truck is pulling something behind it on a flat wooden bed. I can’t make out what it is, exactly; it looks like some kind of large box with a dark green cloth draped over it.

The policemen lining the street whistle several times and begin to move forward, pushing roughly, guiding the customers toward one end of the street. A commotion rises up as the crowd gradually begins to turn, a ripple of fear and uncertainty filling the air.

I grab Hoyoung’s hand tight, the sack of rice clenched hard in my other fist, as the crowd begins to push us along.

“What’s going on?” I ask a man next to us. He grimaces and shakes his head.

“I think it’s starting soon.” “The Slaying Ceremony?”

“I’d guess so. Look—they’re corralling us toward the town square.” The Dragon police step forward, white-gloved hands held out, pushing us in one direction down the street. We don’t have any choice now but to follow along. Hoyoung holds tight to my arm as I tie up the burlap sack and stuff it deep into my pocket, as far as it will go.

There’s a large audience gathered already by the time we file in. The town “square” is just a faded plot of dirt in the center of Kidoh, but whenever a crowd assembles here, it takes on an official air of importance. An anxious buzz of conversation fills the space.

I strain on tiptoes to see over the heads of the people in front of me.

Hoyoung huddles against me.

“Stay close to me, no matter what happens,” I whisper to him. “And remember to close your eyes when I tell you to, okay?”

Something in the urgency of my voice and the mood of the crowd impresses itself on Hoyoung now. The kid nods soberly and falls quiet, his hand tugging automatically at my sleeve.

The Dragon Army marches into the square, forming a circle around the truck with the mysterious covered box. The truck slows, and the soldiers separate the wooden platform from the truck, then wheel the box into the center of the square. A low growl emanates from inside the box.

One of the soldiers tears the green tarp away. The crowd gasps.

It wasn’t a box—it’s a huge cage. In the middle sits an enormous, bristling animal.

A tiger.

A majestic coat of deep-orange-and-black fur ripples in waves over the tiger’s body. Its haunches and shoulders are taut and muscular; it looks powerful enough to rip a man easily to shreds. Each of its legs is chained to the floor of the cage. The tiger shakes itself uncomfortably, attempting to turn its head, but it’s held fast by a heavy steel collar.

I lean forward, mesmerized.

For decades, the Dragon Empire has been hunting tigers all over the colonies. Because they were once the national symbol of the Tiger Kingdom, the Dragon Empire has been doing everything in its power to wipe the wild tigers off the face of the earth. The symbolism isn’t lost on us. Every time they catch one in the wild, they hold a Slaying Ceremony and force the locals to watch.

Over time, as tigers grew more and more rare, the Slayings gradually became few and far between. The last time I can remember seeing a Slaying here in Kidoh, I wasn’t too much older than Hoyoung is now.

No one likes to watch a Slaying Ceremony. No Tiger person can stand to watch them. But we don’t have any choice. That’s the whole point.

The soldiers move a few levers on the cage, and the walls disconnect and fall to the ground. One of them steps forward, a long, ceremonial katana held by a scabbard at his waist. The others fall into formation behind him. “A message from the governor-general!” the soldier with the katana declares, unfurling a scroll. “‘You are subjects of the benevolent Dragon Empire—may you serve your emperor with united hearts. Give thanks to the great Dragon Emperor for bringing peace and civilization to these Tiger Colonies!’”

Behind him, the other Dragon soldiers stand at attention. Watching them in their dazzling uniforms, I can’t help but feel yet another twisted pang of jealousy.

Each one of those Dragon soldiers has ki powers.

Ki is the reason every one of them has the strength of ten normal men. It’s ki powers that make it utterly impossible for us to fight back.

It’s ki powers that remind us we will never be their equals, not in a thousand years.

It may be a pipe dream, but if I were to admit it to myself, the only thing I’ve ever really wanted in life is to pass the Exam and go to Adachi Training Academy. Even though I don’t have a chance, because my family will never be able to afford the tutors.

But everything about my life would change if I, too, had ki—just like those soldiers.

The policemen whistle shrilly, and the last murmurs of the crowd fall silent.

“Look at this monster!” the soldier with the katana continues. “In the old, backward times before the empire, these beasts killed and ate people. But today, we have brought them to their knees. Give thanks, for the Tiger Colonies are now safe.”

Across the square, I see men and women bristling in the crowd. The anger and hostility in their faces is unmistakable.

I can’t help but shiver. The hairs rise on my neck.

Behind the officer, the tiger’s lips pull back from its teeth, revealing a series of fangs the length of a man’s hand. Its tail sweeps back and forth anxiously on the wooden platform. The creature’s eyes gleam with a strange intensity; they seem to glow almost from within. The air around it seems deathly still, as if the earth were holding its breath.

It’s beautiful, I think, strangely.

The soldier unsheathes his sword and points it straight at the tiger.

He raises his blade, his face twisted in an expression of hate— Then turns and charges straight toward the platform.

“Close your eyes, Hoyoung,” I whisper suddenly. “Now.” Beside me, my brother squeezes my hand tight.

The soldier slashes once at the chain tying the tiger’s head to the post, breaking the links. The tiger’s collar opens and falls at his feet. His second slash comes down right at the base of the tiger’s neck.

And I close my eyes, too—I can’t bear to watch. I hear a dull thud, then a series of gasps from the crowd.

When I finally open my eyes, the tiger’s body is slumped on the wooden platform. Its head has rolled forward, onto the dirt. The soldier holds his bloody katana high above his head, teeth bared in victory.

I feel dizzy.

I’m about to turn away when someone in front of me gasps, pointing.

And then I have to look twice—because I don’t quite believe my own eyes.

Right there in front of us, the tiger’s head is rolling around in the dirt— all on its own, possessed, like an egg in boiling water. Its eyes are crazed and bloodshot, its jaws snapping angrily at the air. A hushed silence falls heavily over the crowd.

No one dares move a muscle. Everyone is spellbound in disbelief. The possessed head of the tiger looks obscene, demonic; it’s furiously, blindly trying to bite anything and everything around it. The Dragon soldiers raise their swords, spreading out.

For the strangest moment, time seems to slow. From somewhere far away, I’m dimly aware of Hoyoung holding my arm tight.

And then one of the soldiers stumbles—someone in the crowd, it’s impossible to see who, has put out a leg to trip him—and he falls to the ground. His sword slips from his grasp and bounces, seeming to take forever to fall.

Immediately the severed head of the tiger turns, hurls forward, and locks its jaws around the fallen soldier’s ankle. It growls menacingly and shakes itself, digging its teeth deep into his leg.

The soldier howls in pain and writhes on the ground. Behind him, the next officer quickly scrambles to pick up the fallen sword.

Chaos erupts. Suddenly, everywhere around us, the crowd is frantic with fear; villagers scream in terror and scatter like a swarm of fish, desperately trying to flee to safety as the policemen who were guarding the exits move into the square, whistles blaring—

But I’m rooted to the spot. I couldn’t move even if I tried.

The tiger’s head snarls and shakes and clenches its jaws. The soldier on the ground screams in pain while the others attempt uselessly to free him.

Then someone in the crowd shoves past me, and I lose my grip on Hoyoung’s hand.

“Hoyoung!”

The crowd tramples past us. I whip around, snapped back into the moment, looking for my little brother, but he’s been swallowed up by the crowd.

“Hoyoung! Hoyoung!” I shout, turning left and right madly.

I move through the swarming villagers, looking everywhere for my brother—

Bam! Something hits me and I’m down, on the ground.

What was that? I wonder, in a daze.

As I’m getting up, I see someone else lying in front of me. The other person has a hood over their shoulders, obscuring their face. As they sit up, the hood slips back, revealing a girl’s face.

This girl, I recognize instantly. I would know her anywhere.

“. . . Eunji?” I gasp.

The two of us sit, staring at each other, for an impossibly long interval.

Then Eunji turns bright red and sweeps her hood back over her head.

She gets up and flees.

Leaving me staring off into space after her.

A small hand latches onto my arm and yanks, hard.

“Come on, Seung!”

Thank the spirits. It’s Hoyoung.

I leap to my feet, trying to glance behind us to see what has become of the tiger and the officer, but I can’t see a thing through the swarming crowd. Dazed, I finally tear my gaze away. Then I sweep Hoyoung onto my back—and run to safety.