The Accusation: Forbidden Stories From Inside North Korea

by Bandi

  The tender morning sun was beginning to show its face through the fog that hung like a curtain above the eastern woods. Yunmo was able to polish off his article without difficulty, almost as soon as he came down from the cultivation site. But at the municipal Party meeting for joint criticism—any reporter’s article naturally had to be examined by several rounds of censors, even up to the level of the provincial Party—the article was roundly rejected.

  “Are individuals who deviate from the Party’s leadership thereby absolved from their responsibility to work for the good of our society? If anything, those responsibilities are doubled. How on earth can someone who calls himself a reporter be so lacking in Party character?” The chief secretary’s meaning was all too clear. Now that the cultivation site had begun to produce results, the municipal Party committee would take the lion’s share of the credit. In its view, Ko Inshik had merely done the bidding of his superiors, and this was penance, not something that qualified him for praise.

  Yunmo thought about simply abandoning the article, but the pitiful memory of Inshik’s wire-threaded button continued to prey on his mind. Eventually, he decided that he had no other choice than to knuckle down, amend the article so that the praise was meted out as the Party demanded it be, and submit it to the newspaper, all the while heaping curses on the field of journalism which he had been unfortunate enough to enter….

  4

  It was a late autumn day, a year after the article on Ko Inshik had come out in the District Daily. That day, when the trees that had been so abundant in summer had been reduced to gaunt skeletons, Yunmo paid a second visit to the cultivation site. Naturally, the real object of his visit was again Ko Inshik. A few days earlier, Yunmo had been passing in front of the food store in the center of town when he had overheard an exchange between two respectable women that made him stop in his tracks. Though they had simply been complaining that the times were tight indeed, with the supply of rice already being reduced every month, and with not even any bean paste to be had, Yunmo had been unable to let it just wash over him. As a journalist, he always felt a sense of commitment not only to the piece he had written, but to the individual, event, or process he had researched to write it. The bean paste problem had initially seemed to be completely solved, thanks to Inshik’s cultivation site’s producing two to three years’ worth of raw ingredients. Now it seemed that that stockpile must have been depleted. But surely fresh supplies from the cultivation site could not have dried up completely?

  Yunmo was already aware where the overarching cause lay: The situation across the country as a whole was worsening day by day, resulting in a sharp decrease in those supplies which the town received from the state; to make matters worse, storm damage—now a frequent yearly occurrence—had severely affected the output from the cultivation site. Yunmo had known this for a while, of course, but hearing his fellow townspeople dare to voice their complaints, albeit only in mutters, convinced him that he could no longer sit idly by, that he needed to go back to the cultivation site.

  More than anything else, he was curious to learn how Inshik had been getting on in the meantime. How was he taking care of his children without the help of a wife? How was he taking care of himself? This year, yet again, the monsoon rains had washed the topsoil away from a considerable area of the cultivation site; how great must Inshik’s dilemma be now that he was unable to provide the factory with necessary supplies, causing its production to halt completely?

  Yunmo’s steps quickened as he got closer to the reclaimed land. Shrikes, the “birds of autumn,” searched the thickets at the side of the road for red rowan berries. When he still had a fair way to go, the top fields of the cultivation site were visible between the trees, while the view behind Yunmo showed the town spread out below like a desert waste. Deep ditches ran here and there alongside the path that led uphill—Yunmo couldn’t remember them having been there before. Leaping over such a ditch, thinking that a spring shower must have rendered the fields of the reclaimed land unsuitable, he heard it: footsteps rustling on fallen leaves in the white birch forest adjacent to the path. The next moment, a man burst out from a thicket of wild grapevines. Then another, and another …

  Each member of the group carried a heavy-looking backpack, bulging full.

  “Why, aren’t you the reporter?” cried a young man wearing an alpine cap. “Group leader, look, the reporter is here!”

  “What?” came a voice from somewhere in the trees. On closer inspection, Yunmo could see that these were men who worked on the cultivation site. He greeted those he recognized from two years previously, reserving an especially warm greeting for Ko Inshik.

  “Group leader, why don’t we take this as an opportunity to have a bit of a rest?” The young man in navy leggings had a warm, friendly voice.

  Swiping at the sweat on his forehead with his fist, Inshik surveyed the group. “Yes, why not?” At that, they all flopped down on the ground, still with their backpacks on. After helping Inshik take off his heavy backpack, Yunmo sat down next to him, a clump of frosted wild chrysanthemums between them. A stuffy smell rose from Inshik’s sweat-soaked back and the backpack he’d removed.

  Able to get a close look at him only then, Yunmo was inwardly shocked at how different Inshik looked. So different, in fact, that if it hadn’t been for his distinctive thick spectacles he might genuinely have been unable to recognize him, even at this close proximity. The hair at his temples was wholly gray, and his face had been burned almost black by the sun. His hair had been black only two years ago—Yunmo found it staggering that it had turned so white.

  Unbeknownst to himself, Yunmo’s gaze sought out the button on Inshik’s overalls. Though these were not, of course, the same pair he’d been wearing two years ago, there was one white button which stood out, the others all being black. How shabby Inshik now was, like some elderly bumpkin! For a while, the lump in Yunmo’s throat was so strong he was unable to produce a single word. Eventually, though, someone addressed him.

  “Hey! Are those mushrooms?” It was the young man in the alpine cap, sitting four or five paces away. “The things wrapped up in your handkerchief by your side, Mr. Reporter?”

  “Oh, these? That’s right, they’re mushrooms. The frost has shriveled them a bit, but they’re still good.”

  “‘Good’? What are you talking about? Throw them away, at once!”

  “Oh? So they aren’t edible, you mean?”

  “Edible or not … Come on, tell him what we’ve been through. Ah, our group leader is so close-lipped, sometimes it’s like talking to a wall.”

  “Why do you want to tell him that awful tale?” Inshik removed his glasses and began to rub them on the front of his overalls.

  “Was there some kind of accident, Comrade Chief Technician?”

  “Yes, a very serious one. I heard that you were away on business at the time.”

  “Mr. Reporter!” the young man in blue leggings burst out impatiently, seeming agitated by the sluggishness of Inshik’s speech. “One of our maids lost her life because of those mushrooms, and the rest of us could all have gone the same way!”

  Yunmo was shocked.

  “One of your maids? The plump one?”

  “The very same. The one who hurled a snake right onto your feet!”

  “Is it true, Comrade Chief Technician?”

  “It’s true.” Inshik’s voice was almost a moan. “The new maid who came to work with her didn’t know the difference between mushrooms, and mixed red mushrooms into a mountain vegetable stir-fry. Ah!”

  “And the other woman died? So these red mushrooms are that toxic? In that case, isn’t it a stroke of luck that the rest of you didn’t meet the same fate?” Yunmo looked around Inshik’s group one by one.

  “Yes, it was lucky. We were very ill, but we got better. There would have been a mass death otherwise.”

  “But if you’ve only just recovered from such a severe illness, why are you going around like this? With such heavy loads, that
is.”

  “The Party has given the order to collect acorns.”

  “Acorns?”

  “Enough to replace the harvest that’s missing this year.” Yunmo nodded silently, but then opened his mouth to ask, “How many kilos do you collect like this, each day?”

  “We split up into six groups, and each member of a group collects twenty kilos. It’s hard, but those are our orders.”

  At this response, Yunmo scanned the group afresh. Presumably from their wandering the rough mountainside, the white stuffing of their overalls was showing through in places. Their hands were covered in scrapes and scratches, and some had similar wounds on their faces.

  Perhaps in response to Yunmo’s look of sympathy, Inshik opened his mouth in self-accusation.

  “It’s all my fault. When the father is at fault, the children suffer too, no?”

  “Group leader, that’s your only fault right there,” the man in the alpine hat protested, “always saying that everything is your fault! Mr. Reporter, our group leader now has to replace the soil of the reclaimed land that was washed away by the rains. The town authorities demand a harvest but won’t lift a finger to help. Group leader! Do you think the rain showers are your fault, too? Well? I really don’t understand why it’s up to us to go hunting acorns like this.”

  “Dae-seok! Haven’t we been through this already? Never mind where the order came from, we have to collect the acorns in order to make bean paste, as though we were doing it for our own pot.”

  “That’s all well and good, but what about the behavior of the Party jidowon who came up here the other day? He treated you like a mere schoolboy, and in front of us all….”

  “Dae-seok!”

  “Mr. Reporter! Listen to what I have to say, and don’t think ill of me. Seeing how devoted our group leader is, we’re all ready to gather acorns and improve the soil, for his sake. But those higher up have no idea how we all work ourselves to the bone here….” A heavy sigh escaped from Yunmo, and the young man instantly clamped his mouth shut. He glanced in turn at Yunmo and Inshik, studying their countenances. Their tightly closed mouths, their rapidly blinking eyes … It was clear that his words, overly critical of the Party as they were, had made them both uncomfortable. His face stiffened. But then his attitude instantly underwent a complete change.

  “But everything will turn out well in the end, group leader! And for that, I’ll give you a song.”

  The young soybean plants

  Wait only for the gentle rain

  And my Chun-hyang with her cherry lips

  Waits only for her young master.

  Hurray! Hurray!

  There was a burst of rowdy laughter. But the young man continued, keeping a straight face, “But really, group leader, who is our Chun-hyang?” From somewhere in the grass he produced a paper tobacco pouch. “She’s eagerly awaiting the return of her young master, due back any day now. Me. Just like in the song.”

  “Dae-seok!” Inshik interrupted him. “Why don’t you ask the reporter for a favor?”

  “What favor?” Yunmo asked.

  “A wild boar’s gallbladder. His wife gave birth recently.”

  “Ah, really?” Yunmo turned to the young man. “I’ll take it to her if it’s a boy. Otherwise …”

  “Ha, so is that a yes or a no?”

  This second round of laughter flushed a mountain bird out from somewhere in the trees.

  “Very well. In that case, please do give it to me.” Yunmo held his hand out to the young man. “Now, Comrades, I’m prepared to help in whatever way I can in changing the soil of the reclaimed land. But that’s something for later. For now, I’ll be sure to deliver this package as quickly as possible. That’s another way for me to help you.”

  “Oh, thank you … really, thank you,” the young man said as he handed the package to Yunmo. “In fact, it was the group leader who asked an old hunter to get hold of this for my wife. Please pass that on to her as well.”

  “Ah! I understand. But I’ll have to be able to find your house.”

  “That’s simple enough. Down in that town where you live, have you seen something resembling a red mushroom?”

  “A red mushroom? Yes, I have!”

  “Mine is the house just to the rear of that building, the one that looks like a red mushroom—in other words, the municipal Party building.”

  “That’s enough, Dae-seok!” Inshik stared at the younger man with a look of embarrassment.

  “Have I said something wrong?”

  “You know perfectly well….”

  “Ah! You mean my likening the municipal Party building to a red mushroom?”

  “That’s right. Why on earth would you compare that building to a horrible red mushroom?”

  “Haha, think about it, Comrade Chief Technician,” Yunmo put in, “the redbrick house does look a bit like a red mushroom, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I suppose that now you mention it …”

  From somewhere in the forest, a jay’s uneasy cry was heard. A gust of late-autumn wind blew in gently, swaying the chrysanthemums between Yunmo and Inshik, which were still lending their beauty to the scene even after a heavy frost. As though the wind were giving those flowers the hint that a harsh winter was on its way, coming from beyond the distant mountains …

  5

  “Go on, you have a drink first.”

  “No, you first.”

  Song pushed the lid of the thermos back to Yunmo. On the newspaper spread out between them were a dish of bean paste and two slices of fresh cucumber. Song’s agitation had subsided a little, and Yunmo began to urge him to waste what had already been poured; he might already have tilted the bottle to his lips too many times as it was.

  “Yunmo, tell me something instead of just sighing like a pair of bellows. Is there nothing we can do?”

  Yunmo made no answer. Song groaned. Only then, as though under compulsion, did Yunmo open his mouth.

  “Song! What was it you said to me a little while ago?”

  “When do you mean? I can’t recall.”

  “You said that if it’s a redbrick family you’re going up against, better just to fold even if you hold the upper hand.”

  “Oh, you mean when you came about that business with your son? But why are you bringing that up now?”

  “Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not as though I bear some grudge because you weren’t able to help me out back then. You remember what it was about, though? Our Song-chol scored a hundred points in the college promotion exam, a truly magnificent score, you know. The municipal Party’s organizing secretary’s son got seventy-two points, but in spite of that, he was the one chosen to enter Kim Il-sung University—chosen over our son. It’s taken me until now to realize that what you said back then was completely correct, a hundred times over; that even if you’d tried to help me out it would only have been in vain. So it makes me think of what you told me then…. Does it seem that the security services arrested your uncle on their own initiative?”

  “Of course not. The decision must have come from the redbrick house.”

  “And still, knowing that, you want to do something about it?”

  “What choice to do I have?”

  Yunmo fell silent. Seeing that the other man had nothing to add, Song pulled back the thermos lid which he’d just pushed away, raised it to his mouth, and drained it to the dregs.

  “Yunmo! There is something I want to tell you. There was another reason I couldn’t help you out back then, and not just because it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “Are you drunk already?”

  “No, listen. I’m talking about an accusation, a denunciation. For your ears only.”

  “A denunciation!”

  “Listen…. I was well aware why you chose me to visit that day. Not so much to make use of my influence, exactly, but because you hoped I’d put in a good word with someone higher up. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you? The chief secretary’s wife. It’s an open
secret that I’m a favorite of hers, the woman known throughout the province as ‘Chief Secretary No. 2.’ For whatever reason, this woman took an interest in me, even down to finding a position for my wife, just because I was a favorite of hers. This was perfectly clear, even to outsiders. Outsiders like you, who thought that if they got me on their side, the chief secretary could be set against the organizing secretary. Am I right?”

  “Well, and what of it?”

  “What you didn’t know was that at the time, I’d already fallen from her good graces. You have no idea, I’m telling you. It’s a dirty business….”

  “Indeed! So things had gone wrong for you?”

  “I was heading home after work one day when I got a phone call from ‘Chief Secretary No. 2’ begging for a house call. I went. I rang the bell, she came out in person to open the gate for me, then walked back in and lay down on the bed. A splendid double bed. I’d made plenty of house calls on the chief secretary himself, but still I hung back. Granted, she was ten years my senior, but even so, the thought of the two of us alone in her bedroom troubled me. Then she starts up complaining about how dreary her life is, with her husband’s having been summoned yet again to the Party’s provincial committee to respond to complaints regarding the bean paste supply, and her son away at a military encampment, making me understand that we were alone in the house. I saw through the reason for this seemingly inane chatter—she wanted to let me know that the two of us were the only ones in the house. She was clearly suggesting something.”

  “Hang on—the chief secretary had been summoned to the provincial committee because of the bean paste issue?”

  “That was actually the second time, though of course you wouldn’t have known.”

  “Twice, to the provincial committee! So it was as big an issue as that….”

  “This is why you need to listen to my story first. Whatever the woman was getting at, I needed to do my duty as a doctor, so I began to open up my house call bag. She offered me a cigarette, saying I could probably do with one, what with her making me come over in such a rush. She picked up a pack of high-quality cigarettes from her bedside, as though they had been placed there deliberately in advance, and held it out to me.