High above Seoul’s Yonsei campus, the moon was white — the color of mourning. Mi-ja Tae felt her heart race from the fear of parting, the moon fleeing a cloven sky, one moment its light turning the ginkgo leaves silver, the next swallowing them in darkness. As it was the evening before the annual Independence Day celebrations, fireworks could be seen now and then bursting above the old ‘88 Olympic Stadium south across the river. And tonight, the television news had told them, there was an added reason for celebration. In Europe the Americans and Russians had announced further arms and troop reductions. The prospects for peace, commentators proclaimed, had never been better.
Turning away from her lover, though still in his embrace, Mi-ja told him, “We cannot meet again.”
He was stunned. “What are you saying? Why—”
“If my father knew what you are doing,” she said, “you know he would forbid me seeing you.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“It’s his job to know these things. Sooner or later he will find out.”
“How?” asked Jung-hyun. “He’s at Panmunjom. We’re here.”
“Each time he comes home on leave, it is more difficult.”
“What is more difficult?”
“To deceive him,” said Mi-ja sadly. “I love him very much. If he knew—”
“That’s unreasonable!” said Jung-hyun.
“Not to him,” answered Mi-ja. “He fears the North. For him, you would be a traitor.”
“Then you’re not coming on the march?” It was more accusation than question.
“I didn’t say that. But can’t you see how he—”
“But you,” Jung-hyun pressed, pushing her away, looking down at her beauty, the nape of her neck revealed in fleeting moonlight. “You see, don’t you, that North and South should be united? That we should be together?”
“He wants that, too,” she said.
“Ah—” Jung-hyun said, turning from her, “he is a chin-mipa—pro- American.”
“He doesn’t hate the Americans,” she said, looking up at him. “If that’s what you mean. He says if it wasn’t for them, we would all be slaves.”
“And you believe that?” Jung-hyun said dismissively.
“I’m—” She shook her head and came closer to him, her arms around his waist. He could smell her perfume, feel her softly weeping against him. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what to think. Father says the North is looking to make war before the South becomes too strong. He says that is why it’s so dangerous now.”
“Rubbish!” snapped Jung-hyun. “The North will never attack us. They only want peace.” He pushed her roughly away now, his hands in fists of frustration. “You think I’d be in the movement for reunification if I thought the North wanted war?”
“No,” she said.
“Well,” he said, “there you are.”
The moon was lost in cloud. Slowly he drew her back to him. He could feel her heart beating. Stroking the sensuous curve of her neck, he pulled her still closer. She could feel his arousal. “I love you,” he said softly. “You must not worry so. Your father is wrong. There’ll be no war.”