only things left were the floors and the ceiling.
“So the next day, we went to the open-air market to buy new clothes and furniture. It didn’t take very long until we noticed something funny about all the items on sale. I recognized a comforter I used to sleep under, yellow on top, with patchwork-like squares of different colors. I saw the armoire that used to sit in my brother’s room. The silver dagger that used to hang by the mirror in my mother’s room. They were selling our things! My books, from the fourth to eighth grade, the silverware we used at dinner.
“I looked at my father and he just smiled back at me and said, ‘Now we find out how much our things are truly worth.’ He gave my brothers and me money to go buy back our things. My mother wanted us to call the police and have all the merchants arrested, but my father shook his head and said, ‘These people need to earn a living, too.’ I’ll never forget that. I remember going from merchant to merchant, buying back my old clothes and ornaments, and each time I was amazed that I could do that, that I could welcome back my possessions. I felt so grateful to be alive, and to be safe, and to have all my things back.”
Soo-Ja smiled at the memory. She then wondered for a moment why she trusted this stranger so much. Maybe because he looked concrete, self-sufficient; he wanted nothing from her. Two, he simply let her speak, and never interrupted her.
“So that’s why you want to become a diplomat. You think diplomacy alone can prevent nations from going to war?” asked Yul.
The bus reached a rough patch, driving over potholes and rocks. As Soo-Ja lurched forward slightly, Yul caught her arm and steadied her. His grip felt electric, his fingers denting her flesh. He took her hand and guided it to the handrail in front of them. Soo-Ja swallowed, embarrassed, but as she sat back again, she let her body fit snugly next to his, shoulder to shoulder.
“You think I’m naive?” asked Soo-Ja, easing back into the conversation.
“Maybe.”
“Fine, so I’m naive. But I’d like to make a small difference. A small difference may not change anything, but it could also be just enough. I mean, you must have believed that as well, when you chose to become—well, what you are.”
Yul did not reply. Instead, he looked at her thoughtfully. Soo-Ja felt a bit foolish for opening up so much to him. How had he pulled it out of her? With him, she felt the ease of being around a friend who’d neither judge nor criticize.
He was older than she was; certainly he must have fought in the war? He must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time; how had he survived, when men older and meaner had perished? Soo-Ja liked this, liked that he made her wonder about him; made her want to make up stories about him, and pick at his serene smile as if it were a lock in the wall. She had not felt this with Min—Min won her over with flattery, wearing her down with his insistence. Yul, on the other hand, made her want to flatter him.
“I think we’re here,” said Yul, as the bus began to slow down. His face became very serious, and Soo-Ja was reminded of the reason for their bus trip. The missing twelve-year-old boy. “Wait till I’m halfway through the bus, then start making your way out. If you see me run, do not run after me. Instead, duck and take cover.” Yul rose, and Soo-Ja felt her body tense up. Seeing him stand, Soo-Ja noticed that Yul had the muscular build of a soldier, and an ex-soldier’s careful movements. Yul must have fought for sure, either volunteering or drafted against his will. The bus came to a full stop, and Yul began to make his way out. It felt like forever, waiting. As Yul reached the midpoint, the passage seemed clear, and he turned his head slightly and glanced over at Soo-Ja, signaling for her to follow him. She rose and began heading out. She noticed that the bus seemed a little quiet to her ears, almost too much, as if the other passengers could sense something was off. Soo-Ja watched as Yul continued to make his way out in front of her. But when he was almost by the door, a passenger in a row ahead