by Bandi
Jeong-ho’s words slid in like a thorn. Clearly, the unspoken thought behind them—and Min-hyuk’s is a traitor—was also what lay behind the emptiness in Min-hyuk’s eyes.
So, Min-hyuk has already begun to bow to the weight of his family circumstances? This early? The moment this thought struck me, I pulled him into a tight embrace. If only I could melt the frost that was chilling his young heart!
Min-hyuk began to cry again, and this time I cried with him.
15th May
Today I bumped into the head of the factory’s technology innovation department. Ever since my first day working there, making technical drawings under his supervision, he’d treated me like his own daughter. But this man who, on any other day, would have greeted me with a friendly word and a smile before passing on casually down the street, stopped in his tracks and addressed me with a sharp “Well now!”
I stopped too, both confused and alarmed by his tone.
“You remember the publisher, the one specializing in science and technology, that I sent around to your apartment a while ago?”
“Yes, he came to talk with Min-hyuk’s uncle….”
“Right, that’s what I’m talking about. How did the residents’ officer come to hear of it? From you?”
“Why would I have told them? It was just a visit….”
“Well, the factory officer is certainly aware—he even cross-examined me about it. Said he ought to be informed if an outsider was coming to visit the factory, and certainly before the residents’ officer, otherwise he’d be put in an embarrassing position.”
“Honestly, it had nothing to do with me. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d said something.”
“No, I didn’t think you would have. Hmm! He heard about it from somewhere, that’s for sure. Pestering me with his silly demands! But I wanted to ask you just in case.”
Shaking his head, he continued on his way. But my feet weren’t so ready to carry me away—I was beginning to get an inkling of what might have happened. Two days ago, my husband had just finished his lunch and gone out when the publisher knocked on our door, so I’d had to direct him to the factory instead. I didn’t accompany him, just told him the way, so the only person who could possibly have seen us was the woman from No. 4, who’d come out to dispose of her coal cinders while we were standing in the corridor. Later that day, though, there’d been another knock on my door.
“Ah … Min-hyuk’s aunt!” It was the head of the residents’ association, who lived downstairs. “You know, you really ought to hurry up and have a child of your own, so I know what to call you!”
She usually enjoyed having the rest of us stand on ceremony, so this casual familiarity threw me at first. As she chatted away about nothing in particular, a broad smile on her face the whole time, I’d just begun to relax when she slipped it in.
“By the way, your family wasn’t one of those assigned dirt collection duties this month, was it?”
“Yes, we were.”
“Goodness! I never …” She failed to muffle a snicker as she jotted something down in her notebook. “But how is it that Min-hyuk’s uncle gets such upstanding visitors? Like the one today, for instance. In the dark glasses.”
“I don’t know what you mean…. He was only someone from a publishing house, who wanted to know about the new technologies being developed at the factory.” I answered unthinkingly, too busy wondering how she could possibly have seen us. Thinking back now, she must have heard the gossip from the woman at No. 4, come to me to verify it, then reported it to the residents’ police. All of which could mean only one thing: Our apartment was under daily observation.
How, how could this be? Even if the father had committed such a heinous crime that it really did warrant his death, what kind of crime could belong to his sons, who had been mere children at the time? And even if someone had decided that it was right and proper for the sons to bear the blame, how could it possibly be right for Min-hyuk to have his life darkened by the shadow of his grandfather, a man he’d never even set eyes on? No, it was too much. Too much, truly, for innocent people whose lives consisted of doing as they were told. If Min-hyuk’s uncle found out we were under surveillance, the shame and anger would cripple him. How could he bear to show his face after that? He’d feel as exposed as if his socks were inside out!
What could I do? One thing was certain: My husband would have to be kept in the dark. But what if that wasn’t possible? The prospect of him finding out was already making me nervous.
23rd May
Less than a month after our meeting at the school, Moon Yeong-hee brought the file I’d asked for. And now I almost wished she hadn’t, that I’d never set eyes on the terrible thing. Whatever possessed me, to make me ask for it?
Lee Il-cheol
Family: Class 149
Evaluation: hostile element
Father: Lee Myeong-su
As a prosperous farmer under the Japanese colonizers, harbored resentment toward the Party’s agricultural collectivization policy, and deliberately sabotaged the project to grow rice in greenhouses, in village xx, district xx, Wonsan. Punished as an anti-Party, anti-revolutionary element.
Mother: Jeong In-suk
Died at her new place of residence, from resentment toward her husband’s punishment.
I stood there with the document clutched in my trembling hand as those bloodthirsty phrases swam in front of my eyes, tangled together into an ugly whirl—“Class 149”; “hostile element”; “anti-Party”; “antirevolutionary.” Moon Yeong-hee waited patiently for a while, then gently took the document from me.
“You know, if anyone ever found out that my husband and I smuggled this file out for you, the verdict would be just the same—Class 149. It means the Party considers you a traitor. Our whole family would be deported according to Government Resolution 149, and persecuted for generations.”
Class 149! I cringed to hear it spoken out loud. Those words were enough to strike terror into any listener. Even the seal used to stamp the document seemed not some innocuous wax stick but an iron brand, heated in flames and seared indelibly onto the rumps of livestock. It had been used to brand slaves too, in the old days; now Min-hyuk’s father and uncle, even young Min-hyuk itself, bore its mark. Not merely on the skin, but biting deep into the flesh.
I’d hoped Moon Yeong-hee might be able to make things easier for Min-hyuk. No such hope was left now. My mind was crowded with threatening clouds, packed so close that not even a pinprick of sunshine could break through. But there was something else—the tear-streaked mess of Min-hyuk’s face when he’d come to ask my help that day, and later, leaning against the tree, the empty look in his eyes that belied his young age. I could see his face as though he were there in front of me, only this time the bridge of his nose had been seared with that hideous brand. His father and uncle might have a hard lot in life, but that was nothing compared with this. A blameless child with his whole life already mapped out, forced to follow in his parents’ footsteps, step by stumbling step, along that same route of blood and tears.
Involuntarily, the hand that had clutched the document was drawn to my stomach. After all this time of waiting, a new life was finally growing inside me. What a stroke of luck it seemed, now, that I’d been too shy to tell my husband yet. In this country, a mother has only one wish when she brings children into the world: that their passage through life will be blessed. But if she knew for a fact that what lay in wait was an endless path of thorns? She’d need the cruelty of a hardened criminal to condemn a child to that.
Soon, tomorrow at the latest, I’ll have to go to the gynecologist.
28th October
Time truly does fly by. The blaze of autumn leaves has vanished from the streets, replaced by a wind rasping through bare branches. The air’s vicious chill turns my fretful mind to Min-hyuk. Did he wrap up warmly when he went to school this morning? Every day he looks more and more pitiful, though I don’t know why. As though he were some motherless wretch. If
he comes back from school with his little face red from cold again, I’ll stop whatever I’m doing and rush to embrace him. When I can hold him in my arms, I fancy that the heat of my body can somehow ease his pain, and the pain of that whole unhappy family. Nothing else warms my own heart as much.
If only the local secretary could help my husband to join the Party! And after that, perhaps even Min-hyuk’s father … Then that stamp of loyalty and honorability would erase the cattle brand. Min-hyuk would never again suffer the scorn of those who feel themselves superior, and our family would no longer be seen through the tinted lens of prejudice, scrutinized as potential criminals. If only we could be free of all that.
Now and then when I am alone in the house, I lose myself in these idle fancies, and at some point I began to reveal them to the local Party secretary. While others have shunned or spied on us, he has been making a point of dropping by to see how I am. His advice is fair and open-minded, encouraging me to support my husband in whatever way I can. I am eternally grateful to him.
13th November
As I felt around at the back of the quilt cupboard, my heart lurched. The contraceptives I hid in the corner had vanished. A mouse? No, that wasn’t possible. Min-hyuk, then? No, he wasn’t the type to get up to such tricks. There was only one possible culprit—my husband. All I can do now is hope that he hasn’t realized what they are…. But if he didn’t suspect anything, surely he would have just asked me what they were? He’s been too patient and too tactful to say anything, but I know he’s been waiting for a pregnancy. What will he do now? What excuse can I make that might convince him?
At all costs, I mustn’t cause him any more pain. He’s been hurt enough already.
But I just can’t think how to help it. This is terrible, terrible!
21st November
It seems all my secrets are being found out. Today, my husband finally discovered the meal I’d been making for myself—and he thought it was dog food! Dog food or pig swill, I should be grateful that it looked too unappetizing for him to suspect the truth. He’s generally quite perceptive, but I suppose men are men, after all. I’ve been doing this for months—hovering around the breakfast table, finding something to keep myself occupied until he’s practically finished eating, then sitting down for a few spoonfuls before seeing him off to work. The food that was meant for me gets saved for my husband’s lunch, but I have to boil up some scraps for myself to stave off the hunger pangs. I’d had to repeat this performance toward the end of each month, when I haven’t managed to make the rations last, and he hasn’t noticed a thing. Dog food! He headed back out with the tape measure, and as soon as the door closed behind him I could no longer contain my laughter. But the warm tears that trickled from my eyes weren’t quite tears of amusement. Nor were they tears of self-pity, of course, that I had to live off such meager fare. I was simply upset by my own powerlessness; that this small act was all I could do for my husband.
19th December
It came completely out of nowhere, completely! True, I’d had my doubts for a little while now, but I never would have guessed his real intentions. It wasn’t long after my husband had gone out after lunch that I heard the front door open. By now, I’d grown used to the local secretary letting himself in like that, as though this was his own home—perhaps it was the frequency of his visits that made it seem fairly natural. But today I was taken aback to see him walk straight into the bedroom, before I’d even had time to come out and greet him. He reeked of alcohol. “Myung-ok!” he exclaimed, another startling thing—he almost always addressed me as “Min-hyuk’s aunt.” He slurred, “Have faith in me, and be patient,” and sank clumsily to his knees. “Don’t think that my efforts have been lacking. But for someone like your husband, joining the Party is no simple matter. Understand?”
Still on his knees, he shuffled toward me as he spoke, his breathing growing gradually heavier. The closer he came, the farther I shrank away from him, but now I found myself with my back to the wall. He should have noticed my discomfort and stayed where he was, but he kept on inching toward me, until his face was in front of my knees. “But don’t worry,” he said. “Everything is in my hands. In my hands.”
He waved his right hand as if to demonstrate, then reached up and seized my wrist. My vision grew dark. What if Min-hyuk hadn’t shown up just then, calling for me from the corridor? It doesn’t bear thinking about. I dashed out to the front door and fumbled it open, with the secretary right behind me. He pressed himself up behind the open door, then slipped out when Min-hyuk wasn’t looking.
I bit my lip, struggling to keep my composure, but was unable to hold back the tears. “Why are you crying, Auntie?” Min-hyuk asked, clearly shaken to see me in such a state. I stammered something about having hurt myself. An excuse, but the pain I felt was genuine. To think that the faint glimmer of hope I’d been clinging to was in fact the dark shadow of wickedness!
Exhausted from crying, throat tight and temples pounding, I thought these feelings would never abate. There was nowhere I could go for help, no one who would right this wrong. The mere prospect of my husband finding out was enough to make me dizzy with fear. I felt mortified by that ugly scene, horrified at how I’d been deceived, and despairing over what might happen now. There was nothing else for it but to swallow it all inside myself, even if I choked on the bile. And just get through the days. Somehow …
Sangki!
Having dared to doubt such a wife, could I really call myself a human being? What kind of person, what kind of husband, would see only a mess of “dog food” and overlook the great love that lay behind it? Why hadn’t I been struck down already, wretch that I was? What was the king of hell waiting for …?
Not only had my wife suffered in silence, being snubbed and slighted for Min-hyuk’s sake and subsisting on dog food for mine, but her sympathy for me had been so great that she’d even repressed that maternal instinct which craves a child of its own to love!
Sangki!
I closed the diary, faced with a reality I could not believe, could not bear to believe, yet finally, could not but believe. I sat hand in hand with my wife, we clasped each other tight, and I sobbed like a child. And then I made up my mind. We would escape from this land of deceit and falsehood, where even loyalty and diligence are not enough for life to flourish, choked as it is by tyranny and humiliation.
Outside the window, the cloak of darkness has already fallen. The clock on the wall shows that the hour is almost upon us. A few minutes from now, we will board a train that will carry us away from this town, all the way to the coast. There, a dugout canoe will be waiting, which I hid for just such an eventuality. My brother’s family will join us, and the canoe will bear the fate of five lives.
There is, of course, great peril in this. We might easily be shot by the coast guard or a patrol boat, to be swallowed up like leaves in the wind and waves. And still, knowing this, we choose to bet our lives on this chance. Because we feel that to slide into oblivion would genuinely be better than continuing to live as we have been, persecuted and tormented. If fate intervenes, perhaps the hand of a rescuer might draw us to some new shore. Otherwise, we can only hope that our canoe on the vast blue will mark this land as a barren desert, a place where life withers and dies!
Il-cheol, who cannot say when he might see you again.
12th December, 1989
City of Specters
The day before the National Day celebrations, Pyongyang was decked out in all its finery. The past three months of tireless preparation had paid off in spectacular fashion.
When the subway train pulled into Pungnyeon station, Han Gyeong-hee only just managed to jump on, shoulder her way through to the back of the carriage, and grab the last available space. Underground, it was every bit as thronged with people as the streets on the surface. At each station, a tide of people surged into the carriage: soldiers, university students, middle-school pupils, young farmers hefting models for the ceremony, ordinary citizens bearing armf
uls of flowers, Boy Scout leaders gripping cudgels. Their appearance, and particularly the things they were carrying, showed that they were on their way to the rehearsal for tomorrow’s mass games, in which a million people would take part.
As more and more people piled on, Gyeong-hee was forced to wriggle her sturdy frame from side to side to keep herself from being mercilessly squeezed. Still, she kept her eyes on her son the whole time. The two-year-old boy was practically glued to her, sandwiched between her ample chest and her office bag. He seemed to cling ever closer to his mother, his wide eyes darting nervously around. The air in the carriage, a stifling fug of heat and noise that had worsened once the train pulled out of the station, seemed to cool off just a little, and Gyeonghee could breathe a little more freely. As she did, she was able to hear again the voice of the nursery governess, ringing out clear above the babble of conversation and the train’s clattering motion. In the nursery at the end of the working day, seeing each child safely into the arms of a parent, the governess had singled Gyeong-hee out for one of her lengthy spiels.
“Ah, Comrade Manager! I wonder, have you been scaring your son with stories of the Eobi, the fearsome creature who stuffs disobedient children into his sack and tosses them down a well? I ask because he was just having a nap earlier—your son, of course, not the Eobi, haha—when all of a sudden he jerked awake, covered in sweat and screaming as if he would burst. ‘Eobi, Eobi!’ Extraordinary to think someone like you could have produced such a delicate constitution.”
“You’re right—he must get it from his father’s side. If he was anything like me it’d take more than a fairy tale to frighten him!”
Gyeong-hee forced a laugh. Though something of a celebrity when compared with the other mothers—manager of a marine products shop at the age of thirty-six, with a forceful personality that matched her strapping frame—she couldn’t help being unsettled by the mention of Eobi. Of course, the governess had likely been speaking in innocence, mildly annoyed at having to deal with such a sensitive child and wondering how to prevent similar outbursts in the future. But Gyeong-hee wasn’t the type to take such comments at face value. Has the governess picked up on something? she wondered. Why else would she ask about the Eobi, of all things? How much does she know? It was a futile train of thought, and she knew it. She berated herself for such spineless fretting.