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There were voices inside the hut. Compassion must prevail, he thought. He’d saved Sun-Hee’s life. That had to count.

Lee fumbled with the wooden bolt, reaching blindly for it as he held Sun-Hee in his arms.

The door swung open and he was met with a rush of warm air. The dim glow of a fire flickered within the cabin. Lee staggered in, unsure what to say. An old man sat at one end of a rough hewn wooden table next to a young man facing the door. A gas lantern rested on the table, casting long shadows around the hut. A series of bunks had been built onto one wall, maximizing the space in the one room hut. Ragged curtains hung to one side, sectioning off part of the cabin.

At first, Lee didn’t realize that the young man sitting next to Sun-Hee’s grandfather was dressed in a uniform, but his eyes picked out the old bolt action rifle leaning against the wall by the rear door, barely a couple of feet from the soldier.

Silence descended on the hut.

The drab olive green lapels, red shoulder boards made from coarse wool, and polished brass buttons looked out of place inside the rundown cottage.

Lee froze.

He locked eyes with the young soldier, not sure what would happen next. He stood there with Sun-Hee in his arms. Water dripped onto the floor. The old man pushed away from the table and the legs of his chair scraped on the rough wooden floor.

“Sunny,” the aging man said softly, using a term of endearment for his granddaughter, or perhaps it was that Lee mistook his accent and this was how he pronounced Sun-Hee.

The grandfather hobbled to the door, his frame bent from arthritis. Although he was balding, with thin wisps of grey hair clinging to the side of his head, his eyebrows were dark and bushy. The leathery skin on his arms and hands looked cracked and worn. He reached out for Sun-Hee, saying, “My poor Sunny. What happened to you?”

Lee stepped forward, turning toward the bunks. He tried to crouch, but fell awkwardly to one knee as he placed her on the lumpy cotton mattress. There were no sheets, no pillows. The mattress stank of piss and sweat, but it was dry. Sun-Hee moaned. As gently as he could, Lee pulled his arms away, laying her on her side so her broken leg lay on top of her good leg. His crude splint had held, but the swelling and bruising on her lower leg looked severe.

Her eyes flickered.

The old man rested his hand gently on her forehead.

“Oh, my dear Sunny.”

Lee held onto the side of the bunk as he got to his shaky feet. Spasms rippled through his lower back muscles, causing him to grimace.

The soldier hadn’t moved. He had to be the brother. Lee could see the young man’s hands trembling but he kept them in sight on the table. There must have been some significance in keeping his hands in sight, Lee considered, as it seemed to take all his will power to maintain that posture. Lee didn’t understand why. Perhaps the soldier had a sidearm and would have grabbed it given the chance. Perhaps all he had was a knife and he mistook the flare gun strapped to Lee’s thigh as a pistol and didn’t want to force a mismatched confrontation.

The young man clenched his fists. His lips quivered as though he wanted to say something but was holding himself back to keep from saying the wrong thing.

Lee tried to understand how this looked from the perspective of a young North Korean soldier hellbent on destroying the southern devils. He had to know Lee meant Sun-Hee no harm, but his mind must have been running through a myriad of possibilities as to how she had been injured and whether Lee was involved.

Lee had to say something, to explain what had happened.

“The wagon fell into a gully and her leg was broken. I found her like that.”

The old man lifted the lantern from the table, and the shadows seemed to come alive. He ignored the soldier sitting there and brought the lantern over to get a better look at Sun-Hee’s leg. She was mumbling something, but Lee couldn’t make out the words.

“I,” Lee continued, stuttering. “I had to help.”

The young soldier turned his head slowly to one side, eyeing the rifle out of the corner of his eye. Lee wondered who would get there first. The soldier was closer, but Lee could have got to him before he brought the weapon to bear.

Lee didn’t dare make any sudden moves, not wanting to provoke a violent response. He held his hands out in a gesture for the young soldier to stay calm. In the cold, Lee could see sweat beading on the soldier’s forehead. He understood the conflict in the young man’s mind. The contradiction he saw before him must have shaken his foundation. Everything he’d been told about the southern devils would have been called into question when Lee staggered through that door holding his sister. Now his sister was safe and the devil stood before him, what would he do?

“Don’t,” Sun-Hee whispered, and her whisper carried through the empty wooden hut. Lee had no doubt Sun-Hee meant well, but he doubted her brother could turn his back on his country.