by James Church
“I leave such things to you, Inspector. Now, when do I get that report?”
“After someone tells me what to do with our visitor.”
“He stays with you. That’s why you were sent to get him.”
“Did you know that no one from the special section was around to meet us at the airport? They weren’t even lurking in the shadows. The dogs have been called off. Even the immigration people didn’t blink twice when he came through. Don’t tell me they hadn’t been alerted.”
“Apparently not.”
“So you are going to try to convince me that this is all normal?”
“No. I don’t know what normal is anymore. Do you?”
Discussions about normality were out of bounds as far as I was concerned. I didn’t care about normality right now. My priority was to get rid of this foreigner. I needed to hand him off to some other section and then get out of the way before they knew what hit them. For that, I needed some facts, not the least of which was who had approved the reentry visa. I didn’t care if Pak wouldn’t always tell me what was going on, as long as he knew. But in this case, he didn’t know. The news about the two Israeli delegations had surprised him. If Pak was surprised, it meant we didn’t know where we were going, how far away from the edge of the cliff we might be.
“By the way, our visitor has a long list of places he wants to go,” I said. “He gave it to me while we were waiting for the bags. Some of his requests are way over on the east coast. And I don’t mean places for sightseeing. He doesn’t care about Kangwon and snowy peaks. He’s interested in North Hamgyong. He asked if I knew anything about Hwadae county.” As soon as I heard myself say that, I knew where the edge of the cliff was.
“Really?” Pak also sensed a cliff. “How interesting. Is there anything else we can get for him? Caviar, perhaps? A harem? Do you think he knows he has to pay double for a car this time of year, and that he can’t drive himself anymore? A driver will cost more than the car. Assuming I can even get him a car. Assuming, of course, I can get him a driver from somewhere for a car that probably doesn’t exist. Believe me, he’s absolutely not getting our last and only duty driver, not if I can help it. And you can be sure he’s not going anywhere near Hwadae county.”
For some reason, I decided to ask a completely pointless question. “Something going on up there?” Of course something was going on, why else would anyone want to go to North Hamgyong, especially in January?
“Nothing either of us needs to know about.”
“But he does?” Another pointless question, but one that, I had no doubt, would eventually need an answer.
“I’m not going to start guessing about his agenda,” Pak said, “and neither should you. Don’t let me hear that you’ve started checking around, either. Stay away from the subject. Our visitor isn’t getting out of the city, not unless he can pay off a lot of people. I don’t care who he has behind him.” He stopped. That was all he wanted to say about what or who we couldn’t see. “At the moment, the man is not a police matter. We are assigned to wipe his nose if he sneezes, that’s all. Anyway, the roads are piled with snow and no one is around to clear them these days, which for a change is a blessing. If he asks again, tell him about the bad road conditions.”
“None of that will worry him. He can pay off whoever he needs for permission and still have enough left to pay his own road crew. He has plenty of money, a wad of dollars. I saw it, and I don’t think he declared it all when he came through customs.”
“How much has he offered you?’
“Nothing. I think he’s waiting for me to ask.”
“So ask.”
“Maybe later, not yet. I still have some dignity left.”
“That’s good. Dignity is good. See how much rice your dignity will get you.”
I kicked myself for standing around and talking. The conversation had just lurched onto the subject I most wanted to avoid. Pak frowned. “You know, this morning I ran across an old friend in the Ministry, someone who has been stuck in the mountains in Yanggang for the past year. He looks like a skeleton.”
“That bad?” I could sense huge cloudbanks of depression looming over us.
“It’s worse than bad.”
“Construction unit?”
“Not anymore. The unit was so depleted they had to disband it. Everyone was out looking for food. He told me that the countryside …” Pak shook his head again. “It’s bad. Very bad.”
I sat down. We were in the thick of it; there was no sense trying to avoid the subject anymore. “Are you alright? I mean, the family?” Pak had a young son. His wife was sick, and his mother was getting weaker by the day.
Pak stared out his window. The view was enough to depress anybody, especially in the middle of winter. “Two meals a day, very healthy. Isn’t that what they say on the radio? If two is healthy, what do we call one meal a day? Or does hot water count as nourishment now?”
“I hear that the radio doesn’t operate in the provinces most of the time. Not enough fuel for the generators. Not enough technicians left to fix the transmitters that still have fuel.”
“Careful what you repeat, Inspector,” Pak said quietly. Then even more quietly, “Most of the time, neither do the trains. Almost nothing moves out there these days.”
“And?” The situation in the countryside was not a secret; the local security offices had stopped trying to prevent the stories from circulating. One Ministry officer who was in town to plead for backup support told me it was like trying to blot out the sun with a rat’s turd. When I told him to come up with a better image, he grinned quickly. “It’s a joke, Inspector. We’ve eaten all the rats. There aren’t any rat turds left.”
“And?” I repeated the question.
“And, and we do what we do,” Pak said. His voice was back to normal. “That’s all there is to it. A couple of the other districts in Pyongyang are running short on people; some of the shifts have been lengthened.” I’d heard officers were disappearing for days at a time without notice, looking for food, sick from the cold, but there was no use mentioning it. Pak cleared his throat and looked away. “You going or staying?” He didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want to make me answer. Just posing the question was an admission of where things stood.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He nodded slowly. I didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. In the silence, there was no doubt we were both thinking the same thing. I knew better than to mention it, but I kept wondering. Suddenly, I realized Pak was looking at me in horror, because I had just said it out loud.
“Is he going to make it?” The words hung in the cold air. In summer they might have vanished quickly, but in the cold they lingered, fed on each other, grew like a wave that swells until it swallows the sky.
Or maybe I didn’t really say the words; maybe it was just that my lips moved. “Is he going to make it?” Even if it’s just your lips moving over that question, it booms around the room. Loud enough to rattle the windows, and paint itself on the walls so that anyone who comes in a week later will see it.
He. Him.
With a slight lifting of the eyebrows, say “him”—no one had any doubt that you meant the new leader, still mourning his father as the rest of us drifted. We all knew that we were drifting, and we knew where. A nation of shriveled leaves floating on a doomed river toward the falls. A winter of endless sorrow.
The horror on Pak’s face dissolved again into weariness. I knew his body was soaked in fatigue, functioning on momentum, getting up each morning with regret that morning had come at all, not knowing why each new day arrived, unbidden. Each night he fell asleep while he posted the signs on the four corners of the darkness, “Tomorrow is canceled, please, no more. No more.” But dawn ignored the pleas, dawn brought nothing, no hope, no light, nothing but a selfish insistence that it would inflict itself, empty-handed, the burden of new hours grinding down even the strongest until they imagined death itself had abandoned them, taking frien
ds and family but leaving them.
I lived alone, but loneliness was no burden, not like people sometimes imagined. It was a matter of indifference to me if a new day came. Dawn brought nothing, but I didn’t care. If the new light of day had ever meant anything, I had forgotten what it was.
“How is your mother?” I asked Pak. Once, that was a simple question, a question from normal times, when the answer was normal, in a normal conversation. It wasn’t simple now, but if I didn’t ask it, it would mean there was nothing left for us to hold from before. It used to be a simple question because the answer was simple. No more.
Now, Pak might tell me to mind my business. If he was as weary as he looked at this moment, he might simply walk out the door, down the stairs, and never come back. I waited, and the waiting spoke to how far from normal we had drifted. He sat and didn’t answer, not with words, not with a gesture, not with his posture. That void told me what he didn’t have the will to say. No, he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave, though there were people we both knew who had done that, leaving family, leaving everything, walking into the cold and disappearing. A query would come down from the Ministry once a month—“Where is so-and-so? Anyone with information about so-and-so should report immediately to the chief of personnel,” which was almost funny because the chief of personnel had disappeared. Someone had been assigned his job but not given the title lest that person disappear, too, and the job have to be filled again.
“She rarely eats.” If he was going to stay, he had to speak. He knew it. He had to talk to other people and read his files and draw one breath after another. “She says her food should go for the boy. We’ve argued until I can’t say the words anymore.”
“I have more than I can use.”
“No, Inspector, you don’t. I need you healthy.”
“Just let me know.” He nodded. That meant the subject was closed, and it was time to move things back to business. If you had to breathe, you might as well get back to business. “That background report may be delayed a little more,” I said. “Some of the people I have to interview in order to finish it aren’t around.”
There it was again. I didn’t say where they had gone. I didn’t have to. Pak knew what I meant. I could see in his eyes what he was thinking. He was imagining what he would never do, being one of the gone. Leaving everything, avoiding tomorrow.
6
After a session like that with Pak, I wasn’t going to my office and stare at the walls. A long walk would do me good. If it got cold enough as the sun went down, it would drive everything from my mind. I could get back to the office after dark, finish a little paperwork, and then go home.
“Don’t take my car,” Pak said. “I need it later to get to some meetings. Take the duty vehicle. It’s back from repair, guaranteed to start. Just in case, don’t go too far.”
The Potong River wasn’t too far, and I liked walking there. By then, there wasn’t much left of the afternoon. It turned to dusk, but dusk didn’t hang around; nothing wanted to linger at this time of year. That was why I didn’t see her coming.
“Hello, Inspector.”
“Hello, yourself.” There wasn’t much else to say. She was the last person I expected to run across. Then it occurred to me, maybe it was fate. Why not? I was due for some fate. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Is that so?”
“I’ve been wondering, what if I want a transfer?”
“Something wrong between you and Pak? You finally exhausted his patience? The man has a reservoir of patience deeper than the ocean, but you have drained it.”
“No, Pak is fine, still putting up with me. I’m just thinking ahead. A whole career in Pyongyang, it might not look so good when it comes time for my promotion.”
“If either of us lives that long. Face it, you’re not ever going to be promoted, O. Besides, when did you start craving advancement? ‘Don’t make the offer,’ you said the last time the subject came up. ‘I won’t take it. I’m fine where I am.’”
She was a woman I’d met in the army; “an old friend” is how I described her to people when they asked. A few years ago, she had been made a deputy in the Ministry’s personnel section. It was her chief who had disappeared. The whole section had been put on report for not predicting that the boss was going to defect. No one knew for sure if he had defected, but he was gone, and it was pretty clear he wasn’t on vacation in Cuba.
With the day finished, the temperature was looking for a place to spend the night. It would be good if we could go to her office to talk. As head of the section, she’d likely have some heat. If anyone had heat, she would. No one wanted the acting chief of personnel in a bad mood, whether she was on report or not. Little presents came her way, small bags of rice, pieces of fruit. She also had a lot of people slithering under her door in hopes of getting a good assignment. I wasn’t one of them. Once, we had been very close, but things had changed. I had forgotten why.
“Well, then,” I said, “let’s just pretend. If I was going to get promoted, wouldn’t I need to serve outside of Pyongyang?”
“What is this about? I don’t have time for games, O, not these days. They’re crawling up our backsides, trying to figure out where he went.”
“I assume that’s the one place he isn’t.” I smiled in the dark; she looked at me with ice in her eyes. Even in the blackness, I could see that. That look, it started to jar loose in my memory what had gone wrong. “Let’s just say I wanted the toughest, most undesirable post you could find. Let’s say I got headquarters really mad at me, and they decided it was time to exile Inspector O to teach him a lesson. Where would they send me?”
“You don’t want to go to North Hamgyong, and I’m not sending you. It’s suicide these days. You never struck me as suicidal. Obtuse and heartless maybe, but not suicidal. This isn’t about postings. What is it?”
“I need your help.”
“You need my help, you bastard?” She laughed, the way an axe laughs at a piece of kindling. “After all this time, you knock on my door and say you need my help? How, specifically?”
“Hwadae county.” Might as well get straight to the point. Romancing her up to the question clearly wasn’t going to work.
“Are you crazy?” She considered. “No, you’re not crazy, you scheming bastard. I’ll tell you what I should do. I should put you in the coldest, deadliest, sickest, hungriest place I can find. I should make you a mine guard, a camp guard.” She took a deep breath. “I might still do that, don’t push your luck. But I won’t send you to Hwadae.”
“I don’t want to be assigned there. I need to know what’s going on.”
“Of course you do. Every crummy sector cop in the capital needs to know what is happening in an isolated, out-of-bounds county on the east coast.” She snorted, which was never her best noise. “Don’t ask me. It’s military, and they keep us out. That’s all I know, and if I knew anything else, you’re the last person in the world I would tell.” She was lying, very openly, which was the only way she could tell me what I wanted to know. Amazing! As angry as she seemed to be after all of these years, she was willing to help. Maybe she still liked me. Not bad, having a chief in the personnel section, even an acting chief, with the hots for you. It was more than I had a right to ask; but it was exactly what I needed.
“There’s a visitor who wants to go there,” I said and put my step in cadence with hers. “Body rhyming,” we used to call it when we went for walks. That popped into my memory from somewhere. I shut the door in a hurry. “Should I take him?”
“You couldn’t get him past the first barrier. He’d need special orders. So would you, incidentally. A Ministry ID doesn’t go as far as it used to.”
“He’s an Israeli.”
I could tell that stunned her. She took a half step out of rhythm and then stopped abruptly. “Well, well, well. He’ll have some interesting company if he gets in there.” No reason she should know about a visitor under our protection, but still, it surprised me t
hat she didn’t. I would have thought the news had gone up and down the corridors by now.
“Interesting company?” I thought my voice had just the right lilt of disinterest. “Like who?”
“Maybe Pakistanis. Maybe Iranians. Maybe Bolivians.”
“Bolivians?” It was hard to sound uninterested.
“Why not? If I were from Bolivia, I’d want missiles to protect me against Venezuela.”
“Venezuela isn’t near Bolivia.”
“My mistake.” She walked away, down the path to a waiting car. Her engine probably got maintained pretty regularly.
7
I didn’t go back to the office as I’d planned. I needed to walk a little more in the dark, maybe head to the Koryo and let my thoughts fall into some sort of order. I made a mental list. The Man with Three Fingers, the general’s dead daughter, a Swiss-Hungarian-Jew with a wad of dollars, and now, to top it all off, two Israeli delegations falling over each other. None of them had anything to do with Bolivia, but I’d bet they were all linked. Timing had everything to do with it. Pak hated it when I fell back on timing to explain a hunch. I never much liked it, either. The only thing I liked less than timing as an explanation was coincidence, cosmic or not. Even if I could accept coincidence now and then, there was no way that could cover two Israeli delegations. I thought about this for a while—whether timing meant something or whether it meant nothing—and then I realized I was completely alone. No one else was on the path; there was barely anyone around. It wasn’t that late; there should be at least a few people still outside, hurrying home. The city had become eerie, much too quiet. There was no pulse left, no spark. The stores were empty, the streets were deserted. The whole way over to the Koryo, I kept wondering where the hole was that had swallowed the population. By the time I got to the hotel, I was practically frozen.