hankyoreh

Nov. 24. (Photo by Park Jong-shik)

By Lee Seung-jun　

At 5 a.m. Wednesday, black smoke covered the entire island of Yeonpyeong. On the mountain in the middle of the island, fires still raged in places. Clearly stuck in the asphalt of a road in the north of the island was a soot-covered, unexploded round. The nearby container office of a construction site was half-destroyed, while most of the stores of the central market area of Yeonpyeong-ri were simply shells with their windows blown out.

The pre-dawn village was quiet. The residents had all taken escaped to shelters, while in the ruined homes, only dogs who had lost their owners barked into the emptiness. Even in the burned out homes with broken windows, embers glowed in the darkness. In the empty homes were signs of the urgency of the time when the shells fell. Two uneaten bowls of jajangmyeon noodles and a bowl of jjambbong noddle soup were blown over. In a courtyard, cabbages and other kimchi-making ingredients were scattered about, the women having fled in the middle of making kimchi.

At that time, some 30 villages in a 15-pyeong shelter were fending off the cold with Styrofoam spread out on the ground and military blankets. Nobody could sleep comfortably. Na Yeong-ok, 46, who left the shelter in the morning to collect some household items, turned on her flashlight with a stiff expression, and said how frightened and insecure she felt.

Na said, “When the West Sea naval battles take place, I did not feel the effects since they took place at sea, but I had no idea an artillery strike could be so scary.”

When light broke, with worried expressions the residents gathered at the town office. With frightened expressions they once again confirmed that their homes and village had been reduced to ruin in a single day. Mothers were anxious, with children in one hand and luggage in the other. At the office, these people, who had been turned into refugees, asked when the boat to the mainland was leaving. Moving as couples, they struggled to be the first one on the boat. Somebody cried, “Let the elderly and women on the boat first.”

When the boat overfilled its capacity, about 10 adults got off with hesitant expressions. In the end, at 8 a.m., about 346 villagers - mostly the elderly and women - got on two Coast Guard vessels and left the island. Even while worrying that the firing might begin again and that they should leave now, those remaining behind waived at those departing.

Yu Hyeon-suk, 53, who looked at her home, whose windows had all been blown out, recalled the situation.

“I was coming back from Nonghyup Bank after salting my cabbage for kimchi and black smoke was rising from near our home. I was quite shocked because my mother was home alone. At first, people thought it was a training exercise and said it was a misfired shell, but then my windows began shaking and I knew, my God, it was a real situation.”

There is a hole in the fence surrounding the Yu’s house where you can see where the shell passed through. She said she still has blue crabs in her refrigerator, and if electricity does not return today, it could be a big problem. She said people on the mainland worry about her and keep calling, but she did not leave in the morning because of the crabs, her source of livelihood.

Through Wednesday, some residents had left the island since the attack. Most of those remaining on the island, not including soldiers, government employees and reconstruction workers, are those who chose to remain alone to deal with destroyed homes or crabs or fish in the refrigerator. They gathered in small groups and worried about their gloomy livelihoods.

There were those even worse off. One elderly man in his 60s, who had nothing to eat since the evening before, was sitting in front of his home eating ramyeon. He said, “People with means could leave, but those without have to stay on the island.” He went on to say, “Even if I go to Incheon, I have nowhere to stay, so I have no choice but to stay put.”

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