‘You’re from Pyongyang,’ he declared, ‘and you’re accused of murder.’
We didn’t know what to say.
‘This village is close to Yanji city centre,’ the old man continued, ‘and a lot of refugees pass through. There isn’t a day without one of them. So the authorities keep an eye on this place. In fact, the day before yesterday, they searched every house, looking for two defectors from Pyongyang who escaped over the river after committing murder.’
My ears were ringing and the rice sat heavy in my stomach. When we left Mr Shin’s house, we had taken some comfort in the knowledge that China is a large country. Yet in this village that seemed so remote, an old man we’d never met before knew exactly who we were. It felt as if there were nowhere on this earth where we could hide, and that North Korea’s framing of us for murder would follow us to the ends of the earth.
‘We’re not murderers!’ Young-min blurted out desperately, but the old man waved his words away.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve lived for seventy years. I can tell by looking at you that you’re not murderers. I also know that the North Korean bastards like to frame people for murder. Neither the Chinese authorities nor any of the locals here believe a word they say.’
We had been tense and nervous, and ready to leave at once, but this brought us some relief.
‘So don’t go everywhere together,’ the old man advised us. ‘Walk separately, and be careful.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ I found myself bowing deeply once again.
Young-min, as if he wanted to repay the debt, took the empty bowls and spoons back into the kitchen. He insisted on doing the dishes too, but the old man managed to call him back to the main room, and found some paper and a pen. He explained that there was a Korean church in Yanji that he knew quite well, and he would write us a letter of introduction to the pastor there. He said the pastor could help us get to South Korea. Young-min and I could not believe it, and could hardly contain our excitement.
The old man drew us a map showing how to get to the church from Yanji bus terminal, to be sure that we wouldn’t get lost. He marked the church with a cross, and went over it several times to make it stand out. After repeating the directions, he tested us several times to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything. ‘What building is this?’ he asked. ‘What road is that?’ He checked everything thoroughly. We answered his questions like two eager students.
As we said farewell, he said to us, ‘When you get to South Korea, settle in Seoul instead of in the provinces.’
After we’d heard these words, even our footsteps seemed lighter as we left the old man’s house. The letter of introduction and map that the old man had drawn so carefully seemed like a passport that would take us all the way to South Korea. We felt confident, and didn’t even put on our sunglasses. But we took care to follow the old man’s advice about staying apart.
Whenever we reached a road where there were people, we pretended not to know each other. It was actually exciting. Sometimes Young-min led the way and I fell back, and in the end we fought over who would get to walk in front. Once, when I was leading, I hid in an alley for a joke, and I watched Young-min turn white and search frantically for me up and down the road. A long journey that would have taken over an hour by bus passed by quickly as we playfully made our way.
The old man’s directions were so thorough that we very easily found Yanji Church in the busy city centre. Unlike other churches that stood out with prominent crosses, this church merely occupied some office space in a commercial building.
Before we knocked on the door, I glanced at the wooden sign that read ‘Yanji Church’ in black letters. Inside, I knew there would be South Koreans, and my heart swelled at the thought of falling into the embrace of my countrymen. Young-min too was verging on tears, as if we had come to the threshold of South Korea itself. I asked him to knock. Sure enough, a voice answered in Korean, and when we entered there were three middle-aged men inside. One of them, wearing glasses, flushed on seeing us. His eyes, peering behind thick lenses, seemed unusually small.
‘How did you find us?’ he asked. ‘Come in, come in.’
The interior of the church was as spacious as the Revolutionary Study Rooms of Comrades Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il that were attached to all workplaces in North Korea. In the central part of the wall, where we expected portraits of the Kims to hang, there hung a cross instead. But the atmosphere of the room was just as solemn as the Revolutionary Study Rooms. Above the cross was a wooden slogan that read ‘Let’s be saved by saying Amen’. There were perhaps twenty wooden pews, and a desk near the door.
‘We want to meet the pastor,’ I said in reply. However, I didn’t realise at the time that I had left out the honorific suffix nim that South Koreans must add when using a title such as ‘pastor’ or ‘teacher’. In North Korea, the suffix nim may only be used for a member of the ruling Kim family – or for a teacher, because one of the titles of Kim Jong-il was Teacher Dear Leader. In this way, although we had come here to seek our saviour, we had not shown even the most basic respect for Him, and the eyes of the bespectacled man narrowed further.
‘Where have you come from?’ he growled.
‘We can only tell the pastor.’
‘He’s in South Korea at the moment. You can tell me. I’m standing in for him while he’s gone.’
My heart fluttered. If the pastor could go to South Korea from here, so might we! As I took the letter of introduction out from my pocket to give to the man, my hands shook. While he read the letter, Young-min looked curiously at the cross and Bible on the table, as if they were strange alien artefacts. To see these objects here in an ordinary setting, objects that you could see in North Korea only in the UFD’s operational zones, made me feel like I had already stepped into South Korean territory. I couldn’t stop grinning.
Suddenly, the man took his glasses off and screamed at the top of his voice. ‘Get out of here at once!’
I stood there speechless.
‘Hey! Throw these guys out, they’re defectors!’
I felt as though I had just been knocked out. Before I could bring myself to consider that he might be joking, the two other men approached us and began to shove us out. Young-min didn’t bother to struggle, but instead, fell to his knees at the doorway.
‘We came here because we heard you were South Korean,’ he cried. ‘We risked our lives and crossed the border so that we could go to South Korea. We will die on the streets if you throw us out.’
‘What, you think you’re the only ones? Our pastor was arrested once because of you lot. The church will have to close down because of you. Get out! Get out, you bastards!’
I was astonished. Were these men from the country where we longed to seek refuge? When I saw the bespectacled man start to hit Young-min on the head, I felt my blood rush. He slapped Young-min in the face as he pleaded tearfully with them. I lost my temper and found myself screaming. I dragged the bespectacled man off Young-min and picked up the cross on the desk like a weapon.
‘Do you call yourselves human? We risked our lives to come here!’ I shouted.
‘Hurry up! Call the authorities! Report them!’
I had been about to give them a piece of my mind, but when I heard those two words of terror – ‘authorities’ and ‘report’ – in a single sentence, I seized Young-min’s arm and ran out of the church. It was a long way back to the entrance and we stumbled as we fled.
When we finally reached the street, the cars rushing past us sounded like sirens and I was filled with panic. Young-min led the way, but when he came to a fork in the road, he could not decide which way to turn and I crashed into him, sending both of us tumbling onto the street.
Only when we found ourselves in a remote neighbourhood in the outskirts of the city could we think of looking behind us. As I caught my breath, a vast emptiness filled my soul. Even the South Korean church had turned us away and there was nowhere else to turn. As if to demonstrate that we had tried
everything and there was nothing left, Young-min took out the map the old man had drawn so carefully and tore it to shreds. Every shred of it, as it fell to the ground, was a fragment of our shattered lives. We sat for a while in silence.
Young-min tapped my arm as I stared up at the sky, and asked, ‘Shall we spend some of that money today? Let’s get ourselves a drink.’
I remembered our final night back in Pyongyang, when we’d decided to escape after a drink, but ignored him. Then I said, ‘I’d rather look for a place to spend the night.’
I stood up and turned to go, but Young-min blocked my way.
‘Why? Why should we?’ he asked. ‘You think we can make it to South Korea after what we’ve just seen? They were going to report us! You and I, we’re neither North nor South Korean! Do you understand? We belong nowhere!’
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say. We wanted to settle in a free Korea, but it didn’t exist anywhere on earth. Although my body was physically here, it seemed as if my spirit had departed because I was too numb to perceive anything. If I had killed myself in North Korea, at least I would have been buried in the land of my family and friends. Here we could only wander like dogs until the rigour of death set in, and we would eventually disappear, unknown and unmourned, into the dust of these foreign roads. The thought of this tragic end to my existence convinced me that this was my last day on earth.
Young-min dragged me off to a drinks stall in the market. Bottles of alcohol, differently priced, were on display. He pointed to a small bottle of wine at 12 yuan, and then at a single empty glass, which would cost 5 yuan to fill. When I realised it was a powerful Chinese soju, it was obvious that we would pass out on the streets if we drank this on an empty stomach, and we’d be exposed to the authorities. What could we eat to prevent this? As I did the sums in my head, I put the glass back down.
‘Look, we only have one hundred yuan. I won’t drink. You can have one, though.’
Young-min’s eyelids trembled as he looked at me in desperation. The dark eyes that I knew so well, usually full of loyalty and friendship and the spark of musical genius, were empty. His bloodshot gaze was tainted only with disappointment and spite. What else could I do? I stood my ground, because I felt the 100-yuan note was the only thing we had to hold on to. I was also exhausted and on edge, and if we lost even one yuan out of that hundred, it would destroy me. So instead of the drink, we ended up exchanging the 100 yuan for two 50-yuan notes. I was more fearful of losing Young-min than of meeting soldiers who would seize me. If we split the money, at least one of us might make it. Young-min sighed as I handed him his 50-yuan note.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s get drunk out of our heads when we get to South Korea. But you keep the money, it’s better for one person to look after it.’
I made him keep it, but took the opportunity to tease him. ‘Don’t think it’s your money just because I’m giving it to you. It’s not to spend, it’s to let you think, “I’ve got money to buy food!” when you feel hungry.’
‘Bastard. So that’s why you’ve been so full of energy, because you’ve been holding the money!’
‘That’s right,’ I smiled. ‘And I should have said this earlier: you know when we ran in a panic out of the church? Well, we might have to do that again, so whenever there’s a fork in the road, just take the one on the right. That way, you won’t have to stop to think, and we’ll be less likely to lose each other. Look, I can’t and won’t make it without you. You’ve got Mr Shin’s number in your head, right? That’s the only number we have to share if we split.’
The first 3 yuan we spent was on a small bar of soap. Our hunger was our own concern, but if we didn’t keep up appearances, we would arouse suspicion.
We gave up on churches and decided to look for South Korean businesses, as that seemed to be the only other open door into a network of South Koreans. We looked out for anything we might recognise, such as Samsung, Hyundai or LG. Once, we went into a shop with an imitation ‘Samsong’ logo outside, and were chased out with insults in Chinese. At night, we’d sleep near a source of water such as a public fountain. We skipped breakfast, but around eleven in the morning we’d buy some bread for 2 yuan and share it again in the evening.
After four days on the streets, our money and stamina both ran out. On the fifth day, we didn’t have anything to eat, and I felt very weak. We came to a dumpling stall, and I asked Young-min for his last 10 yuan so we could buy some food.
‘What 10 yuan?’ Young-min asked.
‘You’ve 10 yuan left. Come on, let’s buy some food.’
‘I don’t have any money!’ Young-min grumbled at my insistence, and showed me his empty pockets.
Although it was a small amount of money, or perhaps because it was all we had, I had been very careful with the sums. I pulled him into an alley and added up everything to show him he was wrong. I repeated my calculations again and again, and it was clear he should still have 10 yuan left.
‘So you’re going to keep lying? What are you hiding from me? Did you eat without telling me?’ Young-min avoided my gaze, picked a weed and began to tear its stalk into long shreds. I despised the very sight of his fingers as he plucked at it. ‘Tell me!’ I demanded. ‘Look at me: if you’ve eaten, tell me straight!’
Young-min hurled the remains of the stalk to the ground and dusted the dirt off his hands. ‘Yes, I used the 10 yuan,’ he said. ‘I used it for something really important. So what are you going to do about it?’
I shot back, ‘Don’t make excuses about things being “really important”. If you’ve eaten, just confess to it like a man.’
‘All right! Yes, I did do something without telling you. I bought a blade.’
Young-min took a razor from the side pocket of his jacket. I was about to shout, ‘Why?’ but the word stuck in my throat. When we were worried enough about our next meal, why would he buy a blade? Why would Young-min buy a blade without telling me?
His eyes welled with tears as he continued, ‘We won’t ever make it to South Korea. We were stupid even to think of it. I believed meeting a South Korean would solve everything, but that’s not true. We’ve been on the street for days, and they’ll definitely catch us soon. And then what? I don’t care for my own life, but the Party will destroy my family too if they take us back and make us confess. So I bought this blade to kill myself with, so those bastards won’t get what they want.’
His words rang in my ears, and the ringing would not stop. Seeing that blade on his palm, I was overcome with an impulse to kill myself first, out of rage. At the thought of such a blade in the hand of my only source of strength, I was helpless. Having no hope was far worse than having no money.
Seeing my despair, Young-min said, ‘No, let’s not be like this. Should we try my cousin one more time? Maybe if he sees me face to face, things will be different.’
His eyes were bloodshot and he spoke rapidly, as if possessed. I was frustrated that besides his thoughts of suicide, he still clung to the hope that his cousin might help, and realised that this was what must be making him weak. ‘You heard as clearly as I did,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t consider you to be family any more.’
‘He probably panicked with the police around. If I explain in my own words that I didn’t murder anyone, he’ll get it. Even Mr Shin said that if he gets involved, we’ll have no problem making it to South Korea. Come on, let’s try one more time.’ I turned to walk away, but Young-min continued, ‘There’s nothing else! It’s the only hope left for us now.’
I decided that it would be impossible to persuade him otherwise, so I turned round again and said that we could think about it after finding a place to stay the night in the countryside. Young-min stared ahead but didn’t say no, and we headed out towards the fields.
By the time we reached the first village it was dark. My legs kept wobbling and I had to make a real effort to stop myself from collapsing on the spot and giving up. We knocked on a few doors, but didn’t have the courage to spe
ak. When yet another household slammed the door on us, Young-min slid down onto the ice, right there on the threshold.
‘It’s because there’s two of us,’ he reasoned. ‘Maybe it would be all right during the day, but no one would welcome two strange men into their home at night. They might even suspect us of being the two wanted murderers and report us.’
We sat in silence for a while. The one streetlamp in the village shone a spotlight on our solitude. The night sky seemed unusually low, and I could sense a snowstorm coming.
Young-min mustered all his strength to rise to his feet again. He said, ‘How about this: we separate and each finds somewhere to stay. That might be easier on our hosts too. And we’ll meet up under that tree over there in the morning.’
I asked, ‘What if we don’t find anyone who’ll put us up for the night?’
‘Then we keep on trying. At least the tree won’t be going anywhere.’
I looked where Young-min was pointing. About twenty metres away, a large tree stood alone, the guardian of the village. We said goodbye. Young-min stayed behind in the village to try more houses, while I headed on to the next. I felt uneasy as Young-min earnestly waved me off, but his smile allowed me to turn and walk away.
PART THREE
FREEDOM
FROM YANJI TO
SHENYANG
1
WITHOUT YOUNG-MIN, WALKING along the road was not just lonely, but terrifying. This was the first stretch of unbroken silence I’d experienced since crossing the Tumen River, and every step I took unsettled me further. Every now and then, I forced a cough to reassure myself that I was still alive. Sometimes I glanced behind me, mistaking the sound of my own footsteps for that of a stranger in pursuit. Perhaps because I had no food inside me, every time a gust of wind blew, my whole body seemed to sway with it. When I didn’t have the stamina to hold my arms up, I stopped trying to cover my ears with my hands, leaving them exposed to the wind. At first, they were sore. Then they began to lose feeling, and finally they became itchy, a sign that they were freezing. I had to put my hands back on them to warm them up, but it was so cold that as soon I took my hands out of my pockets, they hurt as if they were breaking off from my arms.
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