My Songbird's Dream

4. The Singer's Return

Liuzhou to occupied Seoul
November 1944

Steam still rose faintly off sun-kissed brown coils as Etta worked a wide comb gently through the stubborn tangles of her hair. One foot in front of the other, while she tried to return her thoughts to the present.

Yura busied herself stirring the bubbling pot of rice and cabbage stew, the rich aroma of tomatoes and spices filling the cozy kitchen. She brushed back a stray wisp of black hair with the back of her hand and ladled the stew into wooden bowls, with a concerned furrow to her brow.

Etta descended the creaky stairs, running a hand through her still-damp hair and letting out a weary sigh. She managed a small smile as she walked over to her son, ruffling his mop of unruly curls.

"Thank you again for the bath and fresh clothes, Yura. That hot water did wonders for these aching bones," Etta said, rolling her shoulders with another heavy sigh.

Daniel didn't look up, his tongue poking out as he focused intently on coloring the fanciful blue and orange stripes of a tiger in his drawing. He added playful polka dots with his worn-down pencils, oblivious to his mother's affectionate touch.

"You look cleaner, that's true. But I still see the weight of worry in those eyes of yours," Yura stated, gaze softening in sympathy. She lightly touched Etta's shoulder and guided her to the table, dish clinking as she set a bowl of piping-hot stew in front of her.

"Eat up now, it'll help," Yura urged, squeezing Etta's shoulder again before returning to wipe up a spot of spilled liquid from the counter. She waited patiently for the weary woman to take a spoonful, hoping to provide a small measure of nourishment and comfort amidst the unrelenting chaos.

Etta managed a small, tired smile as she swallowed a spoonful of the hearty stew. "It is delicious, Yura. Your cooking always fills me up so."

She stirred the contents of her bowl slowly, watching a carrot slice swim circles. Her hands sat still, before she sat back. Her effort to eat seemed to drain what little energy she had left.

Yura clicked her tongue, brow furrowing. She pointed a finger at her own sharp eyes, then redirected it squarely at Etta.

"Not delicious enough, seems like!" She tutted, hands going to rest on her hips. "Clearly you're still lost wandering some gloomy forest in that mind of yours."

Etta grimaced apologetically at the scolding. She set her spoon down and traced circles on the scratchy table cloth with her nail.

"I'm worried, is all," she confessed quietly. "What with patrols spreading like floodwater, and everything happening up north..." Etta lifted her gaze, distress evident in her pinched features.

"Surely they'll trace us here eventually. And then you'll be implicated in harboring fugitives!" Her voice quickened with building anxiety. "What was I thinking, seeking your aid and bringing more hardship upon you?"

Yura folded her arms across her chest, one free hand feeding herself a cracker. The embroidered silk of her cheongsam house dress proceeded to rustle. "You think those officers will come here looking for you?"

Etta scoffed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "It's a possibility. They hate us almost as much as they hate the Japanese. It's not like we left in the most ideal way. They were persistence at the station was stubborn." Through the window behind Yura, the last light of the November evening filtered in hazy gold.

Yura dismissed the worry with a wave quick as sparrows.

"Haven't we known worse days before all this? It's not you; it's the country you come from." She chuckled. "US shoes marched East trying to claim themselves bold heroes and made victims of their citizens."