The Beloved Daughter

by Alana Terry

  The hardest part about leaving Sanhe would be saying good-bye to So-Young. More than once Mr. Kim came in to my room late at night to send So-Young off to bed. I loved hearing So-Young’s stories about the people she knew in Sanhe. Her life seemed to be so simple, so normal.

  “What do you do when you go to the market?” I asked. There were no markets in Hasambong when I was a child. I listened with interest to So-Young’s accounts of bargaining and bartering.

  “What happens when you go to your house church?” So-Young and I sat side by side on my bed, swinging our feet over the edge. It took So-Young at least an hour to answer all my questions about Christians in China. Even my father, as far as I knew, had never attended a real church service, although there were many things about my father that I was still learning.

  I sometimes worried that my incessant questions were burdensome, but So-Young assured me she was grateful for someone to talk to. “My father doesn’t like to ‘squander words,’ as he puts it.”

  “I believe that,” I whispered back.

  “It’s nice having another younger person to talk to.”

  “Kwan’s young.” I studied my friend to gauge her reaction. So-Young giggled but said nothing.

  “The house will seem so empty once you leave for Seoul,” So-Young confessed after she stopped blushing.

  “At least your father won’t yell at you for staying up late anymore.” So-Young giggled again. It was a sweet, musical sound, and for a moment I pretended that I was like So-Young: a normal girl living in a normal city, a girl whose body wasn’t scarred from years of torture and mistreatment, a girl who hadn’t spent years of her life without the sound of laughter. I wondered if I would laugh once I was safe in South Korea.

  And now, just two days before my voyage, Kwan was sitting on my bed cracking his knuckles, opening his mouth every few moments and then closing it again.

  “So-Young will miss you.” Kwan squinted his eyes behind his thick glasses.

  “I’ll miss her too.”

  Another minute of strained silence passed, then So-Young came into the safe house carrying a small basket full of eggs. “Good-evening!” she sang out, and then stopped when she saw Kwan on my bed. She stared at him in surprise. Kwan cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and left my room without taking his eyes off of the floor. So-Young watched him retreat then glanced at me. Somehow I felt I owed So-Young an explanation, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  So-Young swallowed. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m going over to Pastor Tong’s house to help him care for his mother. It might be a while.” Before I could think of an appropriate response, So-Young left the safe house once again.

  I sat on my bed with my father’s Bible on my lap, fearful that So-Young was hurt, wondering if Kwan would return, thinking about the long journey ahead of me. When half an hour passed and Kwan didn’t come back, I finally stretched out under my blankets. Nightfall was still several hours away, but it wasn’t long before I fell asleep.

  The Call

  “It is too small a thing for you to be my servant to restore the tribes of Jacob … I will also make you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring my salvation to the ends of the earth.” Isaiah 49:6

  “Don’t touch me!”

  The frantic words woke me up with a start. My door was closed, and I wasn’t allowed to peek into the common living area to see what was happening.

  “Get your hands off me!” a woman shrieked. “Don’t come any closer!”

  I heard something fall to the ground. “Where is So-Young?” Mr. Kim demanded.

  “With Pastor’s mother,” answered Kwan. I sat up in bed.

  “I don’t need your help!” shouted the woman.

  “We can give you a safe place to stay.”

  “Get away from me!” she screamed again. I recognized the terror in her voice and remembered my own panic when I escaped Camp 22 with Shin.

  “She won’t listen to us.”

  “Do you want me to bring So-Young?” Kwan asked.

  “You’ll have to. Tell her we need her here.”

  “I am going to find someone who can help you,” Kwan said. I heard intermittent cries, but the woman didn’t appear to be struggling as vigorously as at first.

  It was times like these when I hated the rules of the safe house. Who was Mr. Kim to determine when I could or couldn’t help someone in need? If a woman suffered so much at the hands of her male captors, how did Mr. Kim and Kwan expect her to trust any man at all? I was glad when Kwan left to get So-Young, and I hoped So-Young’s feminine grace would help reassure the battered woman.

  Several minutes passed in silence. I opened my father’s Bible, and I was startled by the sound of broken glass. “Stay away from me!” I heard a loud thud followed by Mr. Kim’s grunt. I couldn’t stand sitting idly anymore behind my closed doors, so I hurried into the main part of the house. Mr. Kim was lying on the floor, his head bleeding. A haggard woman in prison clothes crouched in the corner with a cracked bowl in her hand.

  “What are you doing?” Mr. Kim barked when he saw me. The woman hugged herself, shivering and grunting like a trapped animal. I turned my back to Mr. Kim and addressed her.

  “I am Song Chung-Cha.” I figured that this prisoner’s deep scars were more significant than Mr. Kim’s displeasure.

  The woman rocked back and forth. My words didn’t calm her in any way. “I came here a few weeks ago,” I explained. “I was a prisoner too.” The woman let out a tiny sigh but still didn’t say anything.

  “These people have been good to me. No one here would ever hurt you.” The woman winced. I wondered what else I could say to help her.

  “You must be hungry.” The woman nodded. Mr. Kim picked up a bowl of stew that was already on the table, but when the woman saw him approaching with it, she wrapped her arms around her chest and mumbled softly to herself.

  I understood the woman’s misery all too well. I took the bowl from Mr. Kim. “You should eat this now.” With my own hand, I brought a spoonful of broth to the woman’s cracked lips. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore. You’re safe here with us.”

  The woman reached out for the bowl with trembling hands. “You’re safe,” I whispered to her again.

  When I turned around, Kwan and So-Young were standing in the doorway. With a nod of understanding between themselves, Kwan and Mr. Kim left the common room. So-Young came to my side and helped me care for our new guest.

  That evening I gave up my own chamber and joined So-Young in her room, which was really just a corner of the common area separated by a bamboo partition. Mr. Kim was far from happy about the arrangement. “It’s the best we can do for now,” he grumbled to So-Young, “but I don’t want you staying up late. You still have to wake up early to tend the chickens.”

  “Yes, Father.” So-Young stretched out on her small mattress next to me and sighed with satisfaction. “Now you know why I love my work here,” she remarked once Mr. Kim left. For the first time, I understood the contentment and peace that radiated from So-Young. In all my life, I’m not sure I ever knew greater fulfillment. My joy was matched only by my exhaustion.

  “It was a wonderful feeling.” I thought about the woman we just helped. “But don’t you ever get tired?” It seemed like for the past three weeks I did very little but sleep and read my father’s Bible while So-Young was up before dawn. In addition to managing the safe house and weaving baskets to sell, So-Young often went into town on errands of mercy.

  “I do grow weary sometimes,” So-Young admitted, “but I know that God has called me to this work, and so I trust him to give me the strength I need each day.”

  I grew pensive at So-Young’s comment. Although I feared my question would sound foolish, I ventured, “How do you know that you are called here?”

  “At the safe house?” So-Young asked. “Where else would I go? Besides, there’s nothing in the world I would rather be doing than serving here.”

  “Honest
ly?” I turned over to look at So-Young better. “Nothing at all?”

  “Well, I hope one day to marry and have a family of my own.” So-Young stifled a giggle. “But that’s still several years away.” I relished So-Young’s youthful naiveté, yet envied her spiritual maturity.

  “Have you been thinking about Mrs. Cho’s orphanage?” So-Young asked perceptively.

  I nodded.

  “Do you feel like God might be calling you somewhere else to minister?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve read so much in my father’s Bible about God’s love for children, that true religion is to take care of orphans. It even says that God Himself is the Father of the fatherless. But I’m not sure I would be able to do that sort of work. I barely had a childhood of my own, and I’ve never cared for kids before in my life. What could I possibly do to help them?”

  “You can offer them your love,” So-Young answered with wide-eyed simplicity. “And your heart. Just think of all the hurting souls you could bless!” I imagined that So-Young would blossom and flourish wherever she went. I, on the other hand, would probably be nothing more than an extra limb at Mrs. Cho’s orphanage. Certainly there were more qualified young woman who could serve in my place.

  “What do you want to be doing?” When I stared at So-Young blankly, she rephrased her question. “If you could choose your destiny, what would it be?” The words were like a foreign language to me. Up until I arrived at the safe house, I wasn’t even free to choose my own clothing or food. I mulled over So-Young’s question in silence, but before I had the chance to answer, Mr. Kim appeared at the opening in the bamboo partition.

  “Daughter, it is past time you went to sleep. Kwan and I would like to have a word right now with our guest.”

  I glanced at So-Young. She kept her gaze on the quilted blanket. I followed Mr. Kim to the common area where Kwan was sitting on a wooden stool cracking his knuckles.

  Once I was situated across from both men, Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “Sister Chung-Cha, as a guest in our safe house, you were expected to abide by certain rules and regulations.” I picked at my nails in embarrassment. “These rules are for your own protection. This safe house is meant to be a haven, a refuge for the weary. We do not ask our guests to serve alongside us, only to let us serve them.”

  I winced. “Your actions this evening showed me two things.” I wondered how it was that Mr. Kim would risk his personal safety to serve others in the name of Christ, yet he had never once smiled in my presence. “First, it revealed to me that your years spent in the labor camps stripped you of your ability to submit to any sort of authority.” For a moment, I feared that Mr. Kim was going to forbid me from traveling to Seoul in a few days. He coughed before continuing. “Nevertheless, I am forced to admit that your actions tonight also showed me that the trials of your past enable you to minister effectively and compassionately to the refugees we serve here.”

  For the first time I dared to glance into Mr. Kim’s stern face. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kwan smiling at me broadly, and after receiving an affirmative grunt from Mr. Kim he spoke. “What Mr. Kim is saying is that there are certain defectors who come to our doors that need someone like you, someone who has gone through the same trials they have, someone who has suffered at the hands of the same guards they have.” I was humiliated at this allusion to my own abusive past. Nevertheless, my heart was racing as I understood what these two men were saying.

  “And so,” Kwan concluded, “Mr. Kim and I would like you to reconsider your journey to Mrs. Cho’s orphanage. Of course, if you feel God leading you to Seoul, you have our blessing to go. But if you sense the Lord is preparing you for a ministry here alongside us at the safe house, we would welcome you as our sister and fellow servant.”

  I tried unsuccessfully to hide my grin. “I want to stay here!”

  Mr. Kim grimaced. “Think it through. If you go to South Korea, you will be safe. You can become a citizen. The South Korean government gives people like you a stipend to live off of, at least at first. No one will ever try to deport you.” I couldn’t tell if Mr. Kim wanted to scare me away from staying in Sanhe, or if he only wanted me to be aware of the dangers involved. “If you remain here, you are taking a great risk. If you are caught by the police, they will send you back to the prison camps.”

  I don’t know where my confidence came from, but I squared my shoulders and declared, “God has led me here safely. I don’t expect that he will forsake me now.”

  So-Young, who was standing at the opening of her partition unnoticed, squealed with delight, then ran in and embraced me. “Sister!” she exclaimed. Mr. Kim turned away with a frown, but Kwan watched me intently, with a look that left me perplexed for the rest of the night and into the following days and weeks.

  Seasons

  “As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease.” Genesis 8:22

  Spring crept upon the Jilin Province. Each day, dawn awakened the lush Sanhe countryside a little earlier than the day before. The sparrows in the woods behind our home warbled, and the warm winds from the southwest melted away the last of the snow and ice.

  As I regained my strength little by little, I took over most of the domestic duties at the safe house, allowing So-Young more time to tend to the sick and impoverished in Sanhe. Mr. Kim and Kwan, in addition to their daytime employment, were working to build an extension off the safe house that would provide two extra rooms for refugees. The Tumen River was running quickly now, nearly overflowing its banks with the influx of melted snow from the mountain streams. Not many defectors dared ford the river at its peak in the springtime months. But even though we saw very few new refugees, we had plenty of work to keep up around the safe house.

  When summer arrived, the clammy winds brought a higher than expected infestation of mosquitoes throughout Sanhe. Several more Korean babies were left on our doorstep during those hot and muggy months. And although I vividly remember the first two twin girls we cared for, I don’t recall many of the nameless others who arrived in baskets outside our door.

  So-Young and I watched over the infants until Mrs. Cho’s escorts came to carry them on the long journey to South Korea. Mrs. Cho was disappointed that I didn’t come to work with her at the orphanage but assured me in a warm and encouraging letter that I would be welcome to join her in Seoul if I ever reconsidered. Mrs. Cho alluded to the risks I faced by staying in Sanhe, and I couldn’t discredit her warnings. The Chinese police were constantly trying to capture Korean nationals and send us back to our homeland.

  My safe-house family never ignored these dangers. Mr. Kim kept his cellular phone charged and never went anywhere without it. He had an anonymous contact who agreed to warn him of impending police raids. Mr. Kim made me and any other refugees at the safe house practice hiding. If the home was raided, we needed to disappear in a matter of seconds. He and Kwan built a trap door leading to a small cellar on the side of the safe house in case of a surprise visit from the Chinese police.

  When I was not busy cooking or cleaning for my safe-house family, I worked at home. So-Young taught me to weave baskets that the Kims sold to help pay for the safe house’s vast expenses. I wished I could join So-Young on her endless errands of mercy, but without proper papers it wasn’t safe for me to be seen around Sanhe. Some of the citizens there would be glad to turn me over to the Chinese police for the promised bribe price.

  During those long and busy summer months, the fields around the safe house grew more and more inviting. With my strength slowly returning after years of malnourishment and intermittent torture, I wanted nothing more than to be outside. Unfortunately, because the Sanhe police would deport me back to North Korea if they found out where I was from, Mr. Kim didn’t let me leave the safe house alone. My most coveted luxury became the short walks I took with Kwan in the evenings when he came home from work. We usually strolled in back of the safe house, never tarrying far, and I took So-Young’s iden
tification papers with me in case we were stopped. Although these outings didn’t allow me to wander all over and explore the vast forests and hillsides surrounding Sanhe, they were a much appreciated reprieve from the four walls of the safe house that made up the rest of my Sanhe existence.

  Kwan was a pleasant chaperone, and I enjoyed spending my evenings with him. Time passed too quickly on our walks together. Kwan asked me many questions about my childhood, especially about my father. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Father was as great a hero to Kwan as he once was to me. I told Kwan about Father as I remembered him before his arrest: a doting parent, a patient teacher, a passionate scholar. Kwan, in return, told me about my father’s work as a donkey, a Scripture smuggler who brought more Bibles into North Hamyong Province than anyone else Kwan knew of. Remembering Kwan’s warning on our first morning together, I never mentioned Moses again, but I asked myself if this great hero was the link that connected my father to my safe-house family. I wondered if one day I might meet him.

  “How did you ever get my father’s Bible?” I asked Kwan one evening as we strolled along the forested area behind the safe house.

  Kwan pulled aside a leafy branch and held it out for me as I passed. “On his last journey here, your father told us that he might not be able to return to Sanhe for a while.” I focused on Kwan’s voice, trying to remember each word exactly as he uttered it. Like so many other times when Kwan spoke about my father, I imagined I was learning about him for the very first time.

  “Hyun-Ki told us that the inspections unit was coming to Hasambong. Your father knew that his Bible wouldn’t be safe in your home, so he asked us to keep it for him until he returned to Sanhe again.”