Therese Park

"Children, I have bad news," our teacher said in a congested voice, dabbing a corner of her eye with her white handkerchief. "Yesterday morning, the North Korean communists invaded the South, and they're advancing to Seoul at this very moment. The Department of Defense announced today that all schools in Pusan must vacate their buildings immediately, because the South Korean military needs space to accommodate their injured personnel. Those of you who take trains home may leave now, but don't come to school tomorrow. We'll notify you when school resumes. The rest of you please stay and help the teachers and parents vacate the building. We don't have much time. Clear the walls immediately and empty your drawers."
We ripped off our artwork--drawings, poems, posters-- from the walls, feeling sad. We then cleared out desks and moved desks and chairs out of the room and lined them up in the hallway. The teachers ran in all directions, moving boxes and giving orders at the same time. Some grownups we had never seen before shuttled back and forth in the hallway, carrying furniture or large boxes.
Early the next morning, the work continued. While some of my classmates labeled boxes, swept the floor with bristle brooms, and wiped the windows with newspapers, a few of us sat on the floor, waxing the floorboards with broken candlesticks.
A loud siren erupted outside. The drumming footsteps in the corridor followed. Afraid, we looked at Teacher Kim. She moved to the window, and everyone followed her, like chicks following a hen.
A long parade of dust-covered army trucks and ambulances was crawling into our playground, sirens wailing, and within minutes, the whole place was filled with men and army vehicles. Soldiers with armbands and men and women in white gowns emerged from the ambulances and began unloading men on stretchers and wheelchairs. Voices shouted, "Doctor, this man needs help!" "Nurse, over here! He needs a transfusion!" "Water! Water..." Whistles blew. Booted feet ran. Bells buzzed.
Some men on stretchers seemed to be crying, covering their faces with their arms; some raised their feeble hands into the air in an effort to signal something to someone; and some lay lifelessly, too weak to even cry or call for help.
It was like watching a movie. Or is this a dream? I wasn't sure.
"Children," Teacher Kim said. "This is the face of war. The men you are looking at could be your father or brother or uncle. What happened to them can happen to anyone, even to you. This is what the communists did to us."
A soldier walked in. "Miss," he said to our teacher in a raspy voice, "we need some kids to give water to the soldiers."
"Follow me, children!"
Behind the building shaded by a spreading gingko tree, a sixth-grade teacher with graying hair was pumping water from the well, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Around his feet, many wooden buckets brimming with clear water stood in line. Teacher Kim handed each of us a bucket and a gourd dipper. "Follow the soldier. Do as he tells you to!"
The soldier led us to a corner of the playground where a large group of soldiers sat under the old oak--some smoking, some resting their heads on their raised knees, and others staring faraway.
"These men are very thirsty," the soldier informed. "Give each of them a dipperful, and if you run out of water, go back to the well and get more."
He assigned me to a row of men sitting on the ground, and I nervously handed water to the first soldier. He emptied the dipper instantly and said, "More, please!" As I poured more water into the dipper, some men in the back yelled to hurry up, but I couldn't move to the next one, because Mother had told me again and again that I should never be impolite to older people. I waited patiently until he had three dipperfuls before moving to the next soldier. How much they each drank, and how exhausted they looked! The water ran out after five or six soldiers, and I raced back to the well for another bucketful.
On the way back, I heard some men singing. I couldn't see them, but I heard them over a loud speaker.

March, Korean boys, blowing bugles!
Lift your heads and fear no one.
Glory is your aim, descendants of Tangun.
Fight courageously, Korean boys

March, Korean boys, singing our anthem!
Jump over rivers and climb hills.
Unity is our aim, sons of warriors.
Fight courageously, Korean Boys!