Excerpt
One in the morning. I opened my eyes at the sound of something treading on snow. The sound was coming from right near the bunker.
Crunch. Crunch.
The sound was slow and deliberate, as if someone was pressing a large rubber ball into the snow. I held my breath and gently turned on the rear-view camera. A bleak light radiated from the small monitor; it stung my eyes. The screen came into view as my pupils contracted, and the camera displayed a soft silhouette. It was a tiger. Bloody Mary’s son was back. I saw other silhouettes behind him—two smaller female tigers. Their bodies were firm and fully grown. The beautiful tigers Bloody Mary had raised were now all grown up.
The three siblings walked toward the bunker. The male led and the two females followed. I was on edge. My heart raced as they came closer. Had they picked up on my scent? I stared into the dark screen.
But the male’s gaze was fixed on the sea, not the bunker. It was the ship! The tiger was watching it float offshore, waiting out the storm. I let out a sigh of relief. The three siblings stared, transfixed by the light coming from the vessel as they quietly walked toward the beach. When the male stopped, so did the females. They were now mere meters away from the bunker. Standing calmly, they kept their eyes on the water, their intense gazes absorbed by the silence of the night sea.
Hrrrdt… Hhhhh…
One female made a whinnying sound, like a wild horse, and rubbed her face against the male’s neck. As if on cue, they all began to snort and rub their faces against each other’s necks. This behavior is a sign of affection among tiger family members.
The male took a few steps toward me. Plop! I felt a great weight pressing down on the roof of the bunker. He was lying on the flat, snowy patch right above me. The pine roof bounced from the shock. My heart jumped as well. The females also lay down on the snow and resumed gazing out at the sea.
The light from the ship docked far away flickered on the undulating waves. Mixed into the rhythmic beating of the waves was the sound of the tiger breathing, right above my head. It sounded like the winter wind whipping the branches, and I could hardly breathe myself.
Whooonnn…
One female yawned like a housecat, and the other female followed. The male also yawned and rolled over. The roof bounced again. Completely unaware that there was a human under the ground below him, he enjoyed the night, rolling this way and that. The roof moved a little each time. It was only thirty centimeters thick, including the layer of dirt over the pine panels. Trying to be as quiet as the dead only made me breathe harder. Tiger and man breathed together, the tiger aboveground and the man below, with only thirty centimeters between them. We sat on a snowy seaside hill underneath the moonlight listening to the waves of the East Sea. A beast of the wild and a man from the secular world, sharing a moment—it seemed wrong. I felt apologetic toward Bloody Mary’s son for deceiving him.
About ten minutes passed. Once their surroundings fell still, the mice came out to play again. They scurried about in search of food. I was nervous.
Please stop moving, I pleaded inside my head. But the mice didn’t care, and they ran about, squeaking.
Please, mice…
That moment, a mouse knocked a container off the shelf. Bloody Mary’s son jumped to his feet. A chill shot down my back. He started to walk. The roof moved again. The mice instantly fell silent.
Crunch. Crunch.
I heard paws on snow. He was circling the bunker, sniffing the ground. He was just around the corner from the entrance, but he wouldn’t be able to get in through the narrow opening. I used this fact to comfort myself and pressed my hand against the wooden panel blocking the entrance behind the camouflage blankets. I used my free hand to grab the rope attached to the gun loaded with blanks.
Crunch. Crunch.
He came closer, one step after the other, and stopped. He was standing at the entrance. Sound. Light. Breathing. Everything was still. But my heart beat faster and faster.
I heard him exhaling sharply through his nose. My hairs stood on end, and my fingers involuntarily clenched the rope.
Tap. Tap.
He knocked on the door with his snout. The touch of the tiger’s snout on the other side of the panel permeated through and coiled up the backs of my hands like a serpent. It took all the willpower I could muster to stop myself from firing the blank. If I fired the blank, everything we had worked for would have been for nothing. Once the tiger figured out that humans hid under layers of dirt that smelled like this, the stakeout here and all the bunkers we had built inland and along the shore would go to waste. If they found an area that smelled or looked even remotely like this bunker, they would cross it off their list and find a different migration route. Besides, there was no guarantee that firing the blank would save me. Most tigers run away when a blank is fired, but each tiger is different. Some attack, consumed with aggression.
I let go of the rope, afraid I would pull it by accident. Still suspicious, the tiger continued to sniff at the entrance. The mice began to stir again. I was dying inside. Under such dire circumstances, the lives of the mice I’d done a decent job of pretending to respect seemed very expendable.
Hrrrdt hrrrdt… hhhhh…
A female came over to the male and rubbed her neck against his. The male stopped sniffing the entrance and rubbed back, snorting. The male let his guard down. He walked off, and the others followed. My hand cramped. My chest tightened. Strength drained from every part of my body as I let out a long sigh. Not enough experience. I didn’t have enough experience, and neither did the tigers. Bloody Mary’s children weren’t veterans yet. Things would have been different if Bloody Mary had been there.
Graawr! Graawr!
The male roared as he walked down the snowy field bathed with moonlight.
Grh-waa! Grh-waa!
The reply came from the top of the mountain across the way. Bloody Mary! I quickly hit the record button and listened closely.
Graawr! Graawr!
Grh-waa! Grh-waa!
Perhaps I was biased because I was aware of their relationship, but Bloody Mary’s cries struck me as more insistent, like a worried mother telling her children to come home, whereas her children’s cries sounded more passive and petulant, like children dragging their feet and grumbling about being called in for supper. The roars they exchanged carried far out to the East Sea over the sound of the majestic waves. The cries of the cute eagle owl couple that had filled the basin with life until evening could no longer be heard, and the sounds of paws crunching on snow and the tigers’ roaring and whining slowly grew distant. It was the night of Bloody Mary’s family. One son, two daughters. I named them: Wolbaek for the youngest, Seolbaek for her older sister, and Cheonjibaek for the firstborn son. “White Moon.” “White Snow.” “White Sky.”
Names as beautiful as this night.
