BEFORE
Philip K. Rhyu
The Liberation Symphony
At the temple deep in the mountains, far away from the outside world where the battle was raging, Myung Hee was gaining strength physically as well as emotionally. She had no stomach to beg for more food like some mendicant. She rose early in the morning and ran to one of the monks who was sweeping the courtyard of the temple. She offered her help, “Please let me do some chores for the temple. You’ve been so good to me. I’d like to pay back your kindness.” The chief monk finally gave in to her imploring and she swept and mopped and when it was raining she helped in the kitchen. Impressed by her hard work and diligence, the chief monk suggested that she stay longer and continue to help out, but that only increased her resolve to be reunited with her family. In fact, all day long she went about her chores thinking of nothing but her family—the grief-stricken faces of Father and Mother, totally in the dark as to their daughter’s whereabouts for so long now, was an image lodged in her mind. She was suddenly gripped with a strong desire to be at home.Bidding farewell to the monks, she took off in the late afternoon, taking the trail that straddled the spine of Mt. South near the summit. In less than an hour she came to the ridge, where she had a commanding view of the city. She spotted the knoll surrounded by a thicket of trees that was the cluster of the official residences in the city. She decided to rest for half an hour in the shade of a tree. She saw a huge plume of smoke and flame rising high in the air in the shape of an inverted pyramid over a distant hill south of the northern tributary, followed a few seconds later by a low rumble. As the men who had survived the massacre said, it looked like the Reds had overrun the South Korean army. She had no way of knowing who was in control of the city. She decided to descend the mountain to find out for herself. //John Guffey
OPENING PARAGRAPH
Lightning flashed. Quickly followed by the loud roar of thunder in a darkened morning sky. Quincy McGarth and his wife, Susan, came out of the church into the strong wing, with their two-year-old son, Johnny.
DRAMATIC SCENES
They drew nearer to the bridge. Quincy looked for any signs of weakness in the thick wooden beams sunk deep into the clay soil banks, which suspended the planked roadway. The violent storm had risen a good five feet above its usual placid watermark. Flash flood. An uprooted tree slammed into the bridge and was quickly sucked under by the watery force.
The memory burned into Johnny’s mind. A searing flash of lightning struck the buggy’s front wheel and shattered the bridge in a furious burst of wood splinters.
“Eeeehhh!” Susan screamed stridently. She held hard to her son, as they all watched the bridge collapse.
Johnny threw up his hands to shield himself and buried his face in his mother’s lap. She continued to scream, holding hard to him.
“Oh, God, no!” Quincy said softly as the bridge collapsed beneath them.
Johnny hit the water in a wallop, clinging desperately to the hand woven pillow, and was swept away by the force of the water. Quincy swam against the frothy waves to try to save his son.
With eyes glazed over in fear, the horse tore loose from the buggy. Its iron hooves slashed at the water. It swam to shore and galloped into the rain....
Then he found Jake’s frozen body, covered with the hide of the elk and sitting by some heavy rock cover. He walked up close to Jake, observing his eyes but thinking Jake dead. He had frozen to death. The man’s face was hard and worn like fried bacon and his hair was cold black, the length of his shoulders. Logan gazed off toward Santo then remembered Raymond’s words about a man’s eyes. Jake had slowly reached for the knife in the scabbard attached to Logan’s belt, but Logan turned in that instant to face Jake. Some force had placed the gun in his hand. Perhaps God’s angle and he pulled the trigger.
The echo, echooo ech ooo, from the recoil effect of the gun, was heard from way up high, all the animals, the birds and those down below had heard it too. Dismal faces, like those on a totem pole, wondered also.
And Jennifer screamed, “Loooogan.” The echo was heard way up high. Logan had heard it too.
Blood and brain matter spilled on the damp snow. Jake fell backward, but leaned forward and rolled down against a rock. Logan observed the fallen warrior lying dead in the cold tundra. Jake was silent now. Perhaps he had gotten tired of running, or perhaps he didn’t know it was his time to die. The Zenith of these lands had passed out of existence.
Jennifer was the first to notice Logan leading Santo down the mountain with Jake’s body strapped across the saddle.
“Logan!” she hollered cheerfully.
Logan placed his arm over her shoulder, gently caressing her left arm.
“Let’s go home, Jennifer,” he said softly.
Later, from Adobe Walls, Cyrus, Joshua and Dollie rode out for Denver. Cyrus was entering the meat packing business. And Logan had recommended Joshua for a Deputy Sheriff Job with Sheriff Coples in Denver. And Logan, Jennifer, and Raymond rode west.
They rode into the western sunset, brilliant shafts of crimson and gold were coming through the clouds. Behind them the sky was turning gray. Across the wide open plains where no wheel track showed. Toward the towering march of the rockies that joined the Colorado to New Mexico. Across the dry, parched Staked Plains of Adobe soil. Toward New Mexico, away from the walls. //
