Year of Impossible Goodbyes Read Free

with their teeth to save time. There was no time to look for the one pair of scissors that all fifteen of them had to share.
    I walked around the factory and peered at the girls. I could see only their profiles as they bent over their work. No one looked up. Some I knew very well and some I barely knew at all. Because there was so little time, it was hard to get to know them, unless they were very talkative. Most girls did not stay with us for very long anyway; Captain Narita made sure of that. But for some reason Haiwon and Okja must have escaped his notice, for they had been with us for quite a while.

    Kisa waved from his viewing stand and motioned that I could come up to see him. He rarely allowed me up there with him, so I was in heaven. Everything looked different from where he stood. The spools of thread looked like hats atop the girls' heads. But after a few minutes, Kisa smiled. I knew it was time to get down before Mother saw me. She thought it was too dangerous for me to be up on a small platform with no railing. Kisa whispered, "There is always tomorrow. You can talk to the girls tomorrow, and serve them tea." I went down somewhat consoled as I thought of what we might talk about.
    How nice Kisa was. I always felt a little sorry for him. Something was wrong with one of his legs, causing him to limp awkwardly. He had also lost a couple of fingers on his right hand while working at a machine. But he had a very pleasant broad forehead, which Mother said was a sign of a generous heart, and he had a handsome nose, a sign of an even temperament, Mother said. His friendly twinkling eyes were unusual for a Korean man. The light in his eyes danced as he looked at you and you just had to smile back as you listened to his deep gentle voice. We all loved him, and were happy he had not been taken away to a labor camp, as my three brothers and most of the other men in our town had been. As Fathers nephew, he tried very hard to fill my fathers place. Although Mother told him he was doing the job of four men by being here to help all of us women, Kisa wished that he could be working with my father in Manchuria in the Korean independence movement.

    I went back out to the yard to help Mother and Aunt Tiger. We spread out the long tubes that the girls had made, cut them, and sewed them on one end, turning them into tube socks. While I worked, I looked at my mother's fair oval face and her large almond-shaped eyes which glowed softly behind the fatigue and sorrow. I followed the tiny wrinkles around her eyes and neck. But her hands, which moved so quickly as she repaired the stitches the machines had missed, distracted me. Her long thin fingers were dry and chapped, and full of callused needle marks. I once heard from the girls in the factory that Mother was known as the beauty of her hometown, and I tried to picture how pretty Mother must have been.
    In silence, I continued to work, now fixing my gaze on the shadows the tree cast around us. Although I loved this pine tree, I longed for some flowers like we used to have when I was very small. We were not allowed to spend time cultivating the garden anymore. Captain Narita said flowers did not help the soldiers at the front; we must spend every waking moment trying to help them in the battle against the White Devils. Once, when we did manage to have a tiny patch of flowers, Captain Narita's police stepped through them as they grinned broadly. There was nothing we could do but watch as the dainty flowers were crushed beneath their ugly boots.

    After that, Mother put her packets of seeds away, carefully wrapped in rice paper. Sometimes I opened the packages to look at the seeds. Each time I opened the carefully wrapped packets, the paper in which they were wrapped seemed more yellow and brittle. I wondered if we would ever be able to plant those seeds.
    I can still remember years ago when Mother picked the wilted clusters of bright crimson azalea petals from our little garden. In a