by Alana Terry
Our wedding was attended by my safe-house family and Pastor Tong from Mr. Kim’s house church. Mr. Kim stood in as a surrogate father of the bride, and I couldn’t keep from wondering if he also would have preferred a different wife for Kwan on that day.
Kwan and I moved into one of the additions along the side of the safe house. In many respects, life went on as it did before our wedding, but I was surprised and disappointed that my marriage didn’t bring the breathtaking bliss I imagined it would. I missed sharing a room with So-Young. My new husband was not much of a companion by the end of the day when he was weary from his long hours of labor and preferred to spend our time alone in wordless recreation, not in deep conversation. So-Young was often ministering in Sanhe from sun-up until sundown. Now that So-Young and I didn’t spend our evenings together talking, I was plagued with overwhelming loneliness.
Even so, I knew that if So-Young and I had time for conversation, she wouldn’t be able to understand my melancholy let down after my wedding ceremony. How could anyone who never experienced horrific abuse comprehend the fear and loathing I felt at my husband’s touch? Neither could So-Young, who overflowed with selflessness and grace, understand the feelings of self-hatred that haunted me when I fought with Kwan. I spent over a year at the safe house spreading love and hope to any defector or abandoned baby who came to our door, yet when I was with my own husband I was overly critical, even rude and sarcastic.
Kwan was not the type of man who yelled at me in the heat of anger. When we argued, he had enough self-possession to keep his voice under control, but his words sometimes left gaping wounds in my spirit, wounds that So-Young would never be able to comprehend or heal. How I longed for someone more mature, someone like the Old Woman who was filled with wisdom and grace to help me during that tumultuous first year of my marriage. But Mr. Kim’s rules kept me from venturing outside or forming relationships with others in Sanhe. Mr. Kim even forbade me from telling the defectors I met that I was from North Korea, just as they were.
Over the course of that first disheartening year, I lost my strength and my appetite altogether. I slept in so that more than once Mr. Kim accused me of being a drain on the safe house’s scarce resources. It seemed an insurmountable task to pull myself out of bed to clean the chicken coop, make the morning meal, wash the dishes, then weave more baskets for the Kims to sell at the Sanhe market. I dreaded the days when defectors or other needy persons came to our door, instead longing only for sleep and solitude. The one person I knew to blame for my loneliness and gloom was Kwan, the man I should have turned to for comfort and support.
I tell you these things, beloved daughter, not to slander your father, but to give you an idea of what my life was like when I was a young bride. There were tears of bitterness and words of anger. There was hurt, and loneliness, and disappointment. But in many ways, the fault was my own. You see, I was never told before marrying that Kwan couldn’t bring me complete satisfaction. Kwan was meant to be my companion and my supporter but never my idol. This is the lesson I failed to understand so many years ago, and the lesson I hope you will learn before you too become a bride. How I wish I could see you on that day …
One of the biggest stresses on our marriage was my paralyzing fear of being discovered and sent back to North Korea. Although I was married to a Chinese citizen, in the eyes of both the Chinese and Korean governments, my marriage to Kwan meant nothing. To China, I remained an illegal immigrant, an unwanted societal parasite. The Chinese police despised me so much that they would pay eight hundred yuan to anybody who turned me in. To my homeland, I was a political and ideological traitor, deserving the highest forms of punishment fathomable if I was caught.
“If you’re so scared, then why do you insist on remaining here in Sanhe?” This was a common argument between Kwan and me now, even a year after our wedding. The subject was bound to come up several times a week as I often complained that if I were free to move about the village then I wouldn’t be so depressed.
“I already told you, I feel like God has called us here.” Perhaps if my husband spent more time in prayer and less time scowling and fretting at night he might have discerned that I was right.
“If God has called you to stay here, then why do you brood all the time and whine about how hard it is?” Kwan kept his voice level, but his exasperation was unmistakable.
“I’m not God!” I clenched my fists. “I can’t give an answer for him. Just because my life in Sanhe is hard or dangerous doesn’t mean God doesn’t want me here.”
“If you are truly where God wants you to be, then you could at least try to be joyful,” Kwan retorted. “What do you think it’s like living with a wife who can barely pull herself out of bed and get her hair brushed in the morning before she needs to lie down and take a nap again?”
“This isn’t about what you’d like!” I didn’t care that Mr. Kim and So-Young were home and could probably hear me. Over the past year, I grew more and more certain that Mr. Kim regretted that Kwan married me instead of his daughter. I felt even more like an outcast in my safe-house family than I did before Kwan ever spoke to me about courtship or betrothal.
Kwan cracked his knuckles, making me grit my teeth. “Do whatever you want. It’s not my responsibility to solve all your problems for you. I can’t make you happy. That much is clear enough by now.”
“Why do you always treat me like there’s something wrong with me?” I tried to keep my voice at a reasonable volume. “I know you despise me, but why do you have to make it so obvious?”
“I don’t despise you.” Kwan rolled his eyes.
“Of course you do. You regret marrying a woman who grew up in a labor camp. You’d probably be happier if I were sent back to North Korea so you could forget all about me.” I couldn’t stop my words of hostility and accusation. “And if that’s the case why don’t you just turn me in to the police yourself? You’ll get some money to spend and be rid of me at the same time.”
Kwan stood up. His lower jaw twitched, and he stared at me with icy calmness. “I’m going on a walk.” And because Kwan possessed Chinese citizenship ever since he immigrated to Jilin Province, and because he was therefore free to leave and enter the safe house whenever he wished, he went out without another word.
Shortly after Kwan left, So-Young knocked on the door to our room. I was sitting where Kwan left me, scowling at the dirt on our rug.
“Sister Chung-Cha?” So-Young whispered and opened the door. I didn’t bother looking up at her.
“Come in,” I muttered. The last thing I needed was So-Young’s gentle and selfless nature to remind me that I was far from the refined, righteous daughter I was supposed to be.
“I wanted to let you know that my father will be gone for the evening.” So-Young lowered her delicate frame onto my bed.
“More work on Pastor Tong’s addition?”
So-Young shook her head. “An important meeting. House church leaders from all over eastern Jilin Province are gathering.”
“What for?” Given the precarious situation between house churches and the government, such a meeting would be highly dangerous.
“The police have raided more churches than normal in the past months,” So-Young told me. “Several pastors have been arrested. The ones that are left are meeting to discuss how to minister to the churches without leaders.”
“I haven’t heard anything about a meeting.” I crossed my arms and stared at the tattered blanket on my bed, realizing how naïve I was one year ago when I imagined that by marrying Kwan I would become privy to the confidential inner workings of Mr. Kim’s safe house. In fact, now that I was living in a separate room, cut off from the main living area, I knew even less about what was going on under the safe house roof than I did before my marriage. Mr. Kim never became the adoptive father-in-law I imagined he might. Sometimes Mr. Kim went weeks at a time without speaking to me at all. I missed the evenings So-Young and I spent together talking when we were both unmarried, sharing a single
room together.
“Have there been any raids here in Sanhe?” I picked at a string from my blouse.
“Not in Sanhe, but in Longjing several pastors and evangelists have been arrested. The same thing has happened in Helong.”
“Will Pastor Tong be safe?” I thought of the balding leader of Mr. Kim’s home church. He and his pudgy adult son were the only citizens of Sanhe I would be able to recognize by sight.
“Pastor Tong’s faced prison before. He’s not afraid of another arrest.”
“Who would lead the church in his place?”
“His son.” So-Young folded her hands in her lap. “Or my father.” I was grateful for So-Young and her friendship, but I also realized that it was Mr. Kim, her own father, whose stern dealings left me feeling more abased than a common household servant, and Kwan, the man she had grown up loving, who had just stomped out of my room after yet another argument.
I was about to ask So-Young about her day in the marketplace when she held up her finger.
“Did you hear something?” The noise returned. “It sounds like a baby.” So-Young leapt to her feet and rushed to the front door. I was grateful that So-Young was home. I had no energy to care for anybody after such a trying evening.
“This child is burning with fever.” So-Young picked up the infant and nearly threw him over her shoulder. She began to rub his back vigorously, but it did nothing to stop his coughing.
“Who would leave a child here in such a condition?” So-Young stood in the open doorway. “He doesn’t need a nanny,” she exclaimed. “He needs a nurse.”
While I stood lamely by, So-Young grabbed a blanket. She wrapped it around the child as she rushed the croupy infant out the door toward the nurse’s home.
I waited up, wondering if Kwan’s mood would change. It didn’t. When he returned, we exchanged chilled greetings, then Kwan sat by the fire. I retreated to our room, planning to pray for So-Young and the sick baby. Instead I spent most of the time complaining to God about my insensitive husband.
About an hour after the last rays of sun disappeared below the horizon, I was getting ready to go to bed without Kwan. Someone knocked vigorously on the safe-house door. I was in no mood to stay awake and minister to the needy, especially after my fight with Kwan, so I stayed in my bed and merely listened while Kwan opened the door.
“Please,” a man said, “we need help. May we come in?” At his words, the hairs on my neck bristled.
“We’ve just crossed the Tumen River,” a woman added. A forced tremor covered over the sickening sweetness of her voice. I got out of bed and peeked through my door at the strange couple who stood in the doorway.
“Please, come in.” Ordinarily, I would have resented my husband for speaking kindly to strangers after dealing so wretchedly with me only a few hours earlier, but tonight I was consumed by darker and more menacing anxieties.
Kwan continued conversing with the strangers. I glanced around the room. What could I do to warn him? After thinking a moment, I picked up a glass pitcher that lay by the side of my bed. I held it high above my head and then smashed it on the floor. I let out a loud and deliberate shriek as the pieces crashed around my feet. A few seconds later Kwan rushed into the room.
“What happened?” He looked for a moment at the broken glass, glanced over at me, and then raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t let them in,” I whispered.
Kwan narrowed his dark eyes. “What are you doing, Wife?” I might have been afraid of his anger if I weren’t so scared of the strangers outside my door.
“Just listen,” I begged. “Those people are lying to you.”
“Do you know them?”
I shook my head but remained silent. Shouting wouldn’t prove my point.
“Is there a problem?” asked the man outside. “Perhaps my wife and I could be of assistance?”
“No!” I called out before Kwan could answer. “I cut my leg on some glass. Please, if you would wait outside for another moment, I’m not dressed decently. Please stay there.”
“You’re acting like a spoiled child,” Kwan scolded. “Mr. Kim’s policy at this home is to help anyone who is in need. Or maybe you have never bothered to read those verses in your father’s precious Bible.”
“If you knew who they were,” I whispered back, ignoring Kwan’s look of disgust, “you would send them away before they destroy us all.”
“We’ve had a long journey,” the woman called. “We were told you might help us.”
“Don’t come in!” I shouted. “I’m injured. If you want to help, you can go to the nurse’s house. She lives near the school, along the road to Longjing.”
“Longjing?” the woman snorted. “I saw no such road.”
“Let’s go,” her partner ordered.
I shivered as the front door slammed shut. Kwan pinched me on the arm.
“I hope that you have an explanation for your behavior.” Kwan dug his fingers into my flesh.
“They’re guards!” I was frustrated that what was so obvious to me was not just as clear to my husband. “It’s a trap, don’t you see?”
“They just looked like a poor couple to me, the kind of couple that Mr. Kim established this safe house to help.”
“Poor?” I shrieked, trying to keep my voice from hysteria. I wasn’t as angry as I was terrified for my own safety. “Did you look at the woman? She nearly had a double chin!”
“Well, I …”
“And the man!” I added. “Have you ever seen a refugee dressed like that?”
“But he …”
“And since when are North Korean defectors familiar with any road that leads to Longjing?”
Kwan opened his mouth and forgot to shut it again. He rubbed his chin. “We’d better call Mr. Kim.”
We didn’t need to. As Kwan made his way to the phone, Mr. Kim barged into the safe house. “Is Chung-Cha safe?” Mr. Kim stomped to our bedroom and let out his breath when he saw me. He frowned at the broken water vase, but didn’t ask any questions. “I just got word that an undercover raid is on its way.”
“They were already here,” Kwan muttered.
“What?” I never saw Mr. Kim so agitated before.
“They pretended they were defectors. Their disguise fooled me, but not my wife.” Kwan’s words might have made me feel proud were it not for the bitter sullenness in which he spoke them.
Whether Kwan was worried for my safety or brooding because I was correct about the strangers, I didn’t have the chance to find out. At that moment Mr. Kim demanded, “Where is my daughter?”
Flight
“Flee like a bird to your mountain. For look, the wicked bend their bows; they set their arrows against the strings to shoot from the shadows at the upright in heart.” Psalm 11:1-2
I couldn’t stop worrying about So-Young as I hurried beside my husband. Even though it was the middle of summer, I was shivering. “Are you cold?” Kwan asked me, holding my elbow as we rushed toward the mountain range between our hometown and Yanji.
Kwan carried a day’s worth of provisions in a small bag. We started out two hours ago and just now approached the foot of the mountains. From behind a sheet of thin clouds, the crescent moon offered little light to our path. I leaned against a tree to steady my shaking limbs.
“We’ll need to hurry to get to the cabin before daybreak,” Kwan urged. “Can you wait until we start our ascent before we stop again to rest?”
I was out of breath. My legs threatened to collapse beneath me. If only Kwan understood. But I couldn’t stop to explain things. We had to keep moving. I needed supernatural endurance, but God wasn’t cooperating with my prayers.
Shortly after the visit from the two strangers, Mr. Kim decided Kwan and I had to flee. We were heading to the cabin of a former house-church leader who was hiding there from the Chinese police. Mr. Kim was the only person who had any contact with this religious exile, and he took several minutes to explain to Kwan the way to the cabin. Then Mr. Kim pac
ked a small bag with some boiled eggs and cabbage rolls before pushing us out the back door.
Mr. Kim planned to stay at the safe house until his daughter returned, and then he and So-Young would follow us up the mountain. To stay safe, we had to assume my behavior in the bedroom would have alerted the undercover guards. I didn’t know how much time Mr. Kim and So-Young had left. I was in the most danger since I would be sent back to North Korea if caught, but Kwan and Mr. Kim could also be arrested for helping refugees. I at least hoped So-Young would stay safe due to her age, but there was no guarantee for her protection either. Mr. Kim looked fragile and ragged when he prepared us for our journey. I was sure he was as worried about his daughter as I was.
Kwan and I walked as fast as we could all night long. About half an hour after the sun began to rise behind ominous storm clouds, we spotted a small structure in a clearing. “This must be it.” Mr. Kim hadn’t heard from his hermit friend in over a year and warned us that the cabin might be deserted.
Kwan knocked on a loose plank before entering. There was no door to speak of, only half a canvas hanging from a single nail. Kwan walked in first. The cabin was large enough to hold only a cot and a tree stump, probably intended for a chair. I was too exhausted from our mountain trek and too worried about our friends back in Sanhe to wonder about our supposed host.
“You can have the cot,” Kwan offered. “I’ll lie on the ground.” It had been more than twenty-four hours since I last slept, but I knew I would be unable to rest until my mind slowed down.
“Do you think they’ve started on their journey yet?” I still couldn’t find relief from my anxiety over So-Young’s safety.
“They’re probably only an hour or two behind us,” Kwan assured me. He sat down on the floor. “With as many times as you needed to stop and rest, I’m surprised they weren’t already here waiting for us when we arrived!” I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings, but our recent fight and the threat of danger left my spirits too bruised for joking.