by Alana Terry
“It’s your milk.” Mrs. Cho repositioned her glasses on the knobby bridge of her nose. “Your supply has dried up.”
I stroked Ae-Cha’s cheek, murky from tear stains. She gazed up at me, her eyes swollen from crying and darkened by sleeplessness. Ae-Cha had been awake since midnight, kicking her legs and wailing while she pounded my breasts with tiny clenched fists.
“Already?” I exclaimed. “Why so soon?” I noticed that Ae-Cha’s arms and legs remained bone-thin, but since her father was so skinny I didn’t worry. When I couldn’t console Ae-Cha after two hours of incessant screaming and dozens of failed attempts to nurse, I wrapped her in her blanket and took her across the hall to Mrs. Cho’s bedroom.
“You’ve been too nervous.” Mrs. Cho smacked her lips in Ae-Cha’s face to distract my daughter from her hunger pains. I thought back to my childhood in Hasambong, when the empty ache of starvation robbed me of sleep on so many countless nights.
“How could I stop worrying?” What was I to do? Kwan disappeared nearly two months ago. I hadn’t received any word from him, or the pastor’s son, or anyone else in Sanhe since I first learned he was missing. I didn’t know if my husband was dead or alive, healthy or broken. I clung to our daughter with zealous affection, but had no energy left to nourish her physical body.
I forced myself to believe that my love alone could shield Ae-Cha from whatever future lay ahead of us. Realizing that she might never meet her father, I vowed to love my daughter with the devotion and fervor of two parents. I slept with Ae-Cha by my side and carried her nearly every moment of the day, refusing to let even Mrs. Cho hold her. Feeling Ae-Cha’s velvety skin against mine, her tiny fingers caressing my face as she explored her world, I was certain that I could live through one more day without giving in to panic or despair.
There was nothing I could do for Kwan from where I was, and so I wrapped Ae-Cha up within the four walls of my maternal adoration, vowing to do everything in my power to keep my daughter healthy and safe. I never let the other children play around her, terrified that they would pass on some horrific disease, or trip and crush her skull, or say something unkind that would scar her subconscious forever.
Whenever I nursed Ae-Cha, I felt my love and energy flow into her being. Mrs. Cho told me that a healthy baby only eats every four or five hours, but during the day Ae-Cha didn’t let even an hour go by before turning her head to me with an irresistible expression. I loved the way Ae-Cha gazed at me while she nursed. With Ae-Cha at my breast, it seemed easier to believe that God truly did hear my prayers for Kwan and would bring him home to us.
Unfortunately, that peaceful bond I shared with Ae-Cha wasn’t destined to last. With a sympathetic nod, Mrs. Cho handed me a bottle of formula that she prepared for my daughter. I held it up to Ae-Cha’s eager lips. She began sucking loudly, occasionally letting out contented coos while warm, synthetic milk oozed out of the corners of her mouth.
I looked away. My husband was either locked in a Chinese jail cell, or his body was decaying in some make-shift grave. And all I wanted to do was cry because I could no longer nurse our child.
Nightmare
“Anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” Matthew 10:37
I never expected to find myself back in Sanhe again. Desperate to find my husband, I traveled back to Jilin Province with Ae-Cha slung up on my back in search for news about Kwan.
I went to Pastor Tong’s home, wondering if his son was still free in Sanhe or if he was imprisoned like his father. I only saw their home once before when Kwan and I tarried too far on one of our evening walks. Standing on the front porch under the cover of nightfall, I lifted my hand. I felt the heavy weight of Ae-Cha’s sleeping form on my back and was comforted by her tranquil breathing. Mustering some remnant courage, I tapped once on the door. It opened before I could knock a second time.
“Hurry!” hissed a man. The inside of the house was so dark that I could hardly see the figure in front of me.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Don’t you recognize me?” Once the door was closed, the man struck a match. The small flame flickered across a familiar face.
“Moses?”
He put his finger to his lips and scowled. “Shh.” He touched the match to the wick of a candle. “No one is supposed to know who I am.”
Ae-Cha woke up in my backpack and began to fuss.
“If you’ll allow me.” Moses lifted Ae-Cha out of my sling. With surprising gentleness, he cradled her in his arm.
“She looks so much like her father.” Moses wiggled his finger in front of Ae-Cha’s face and made cooing sounds.
“Where is Kwan?” I asked, keeping a close watch on my daughter, who smiled at her new friend.
Ignoring my question, Moses turned his back to me and carried Ae-Cha into the other room. “I’ll go fix her a bottle.”
“I want to see my husband,” I called after him.
“Very soon.” Moses’ cheerful voice seemed far too loud for a man who was hiding. A moment later he returned without Ae-Cha.
“Where is my daughter?” My entire body tensed in fear. “What did you do with her?”
Moses narrowed his eyes, his carefree manner replaced with the brusque callousness that came so easily to him as a prison guard. “Did you tell them?”
“Tell who?”
“The world. Or did you forget as soon as you were out of harm’s reach?”
“Where is my daughter?” I repeated as Ae-Cha whimpered in the other room.
“A child only gets in the way.” Moses blocked the path to my baby.
“She needs me.” I struggled to get by.
“You can’t go to her.” Moses grabbed my shoulders and wouldn’t let me go. “There is too much work for you to do here. The underground church needs you.”
“I didn’t come to save the church,” I insisted. “I only came to find out about my husband.”
“Kwan is dead.” Moses’ voice was lifeless and flat. “And we will all die as well if you don’t stop playing house and help us.”
From the other room Ae-Cha’s cries grew louder. I tried again to go toward her. “You must know that you can’t take a child with you to serve our people.” Moses squeezed my shoulder so hard it forced me to the ground. I cried out in surprise as much as in pain. “Why did you bring her here?” I gasped when I saw the revolver in Moses’ hand. Ae-Cha was now wailing, her high-pitched shrieks making even Moses wince. He shook his head. “You should have never brought her here.”
“Please.” I wondered what bribe I could possibly offer. “Ae-Cha needs me.”
“She needs you?” Moses raised a thick black eyebrow. “Or do you need her?”
I tried to push the National Security agent aside, but he caught my shirt and spun me around. “Let me go!” Moses held my wrists in front of me while I tried to claw at his chest and screamed Ae-Cha’s name. Candlelight flickered across the room, making our struggling shadows dance across the wall.
“I can’t have the two of you going on like this.” Moses clucked his tongue. “It is a pity, really. She might have grown up to make a good agent for the underground church one day.”
“Let me go!” I pleaded as Moses handcuffed my wrists to a table leg. “I’ll do anything.”
Moses looked at me sadly and shook his head.
“I know, righteous daughter.” Moses loaded his gun and pointed it toward the direction of my daughter’s terrified screams. “That’s why you should have never had a child.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Moses pulled the trigger.
The back of my nightgown was soaked with sweat. It clung to my clammy skin. I heard Ae-Cha crying next to me, but I couldn’t move, as if I were still restrained by the handcuffs from my nightmare.
A moment later Mrs. Cho rushed into my room wearing her nightclothes and carrying a bottle. She flung on the light and then swooped up my daughter. Ae-Cha smacked loudly at her formula. I wiped the sweat-drenched hair out of my eyes.
“I’m still in Seoul?”
Mrs. Cho frowned while she studied me. “A dream?”
I nodded my head, staring at the wet spot on my pillow where I had been lying.
“An omen, perhaps?” Mrs. Cho pressed. “Something about your husband?”
I shook my head and reached out to take my daughter, whose eyelids already started to droop as the warm milk filled her stomach.
“No.” I stroked Ae-Cha’s flawless face and kissed her forehead. “It was just a dream.” I forced conviction into my voice where there was none. “A silly nightmare, and nothing more.”
Messenger
“By oppression and judgment he was taken away. And who can speak of his descendants?” Isaiah 53:8
Mrs. Cho stood at the entrance to my room. For a moment she watched with a half-smile as Ae-Cha batted at a blue baby rattle in my hand. Ae-Cha was growing plump now that she was taking a bottle, and her strong legs kicked happily as she sat in my lap. After a short silence, Mrs. Cho cleared her throat. “There is a visitor for you. From Sanhe.”
I stood up and swept my hair behind my ears. I cradled Ae-Cha in front of me, not quite certain if I was protecting her or if she was shielding me. Mrs. Cho herded all the other children toward the upstairs playroom. I took a deep breath, surprisingly composed. Even if the messenger brought bad news about Kwan, at least the dreadful uncertainty and waiting would be over.
As Mrs. Cho receded to the back stairway with the last of the children, I stared at the messenger who came to bring me word from Sanhe. The gray-haired man was even more bent than when I last saw him. He stared at the carpet in front of my feet.
“Mr. Kim?” Alone with my betrayer, with Mrs. Cho and the other children upstairs and out of hearing range, I wished for somewhere to hide. Even though I never yet let her out of my sight, I regretted not sending my daughter to the playroom with the others, as if Mr. Kim’s very presence had the power to harm her.
Mr. Kim refused to sit down or enter into the living room but stood at the threshold boring holes into the floor with his eyes. He shuffled his feet once, cleared his throat, and remained silent.
“Why did you come here?” I asked, more out of surprise than rudeness. Mr. Kim clasped, opened, and re-clasped his hands in front of him.
“Do you have news of Kwan?” I finally demanded, unable to endure the silence.
“Dead.” Mr. Kim’s voice was barely audible. “Last month in the Longjing jail.” He sniffed and coughed, and I realized that his words only confirmed what my heart already knew with certainty.
I waited for Mr. Kim to offer some word of sympathy or remorse as I ran my hand repeatedly over my daughter’s ears, as if I might forever shield her from this news. “There is more.” Mr. Kim shifted his weight.
“What else could there be?” Ae-Cha was heavy in my arms. Overwhelmed with weariness. I longed to take Ae-Cha to bed with me and sleep for days.
Mr. Kim squinted his eyes, as if the light in the room was painful to him. “Moses was arrested.”
The words hung in the air between us. Reminding myself to continue inhaling and exhaling, I willed away the image of Kwan’s broken body finally giving in to the maltreatment of the Longjing jail.
“Arrested?” I repeated. “By whom?” I couldn’t fathom the implications of Moses’ capture and wished even more that Mr. Kim would leave me and my daughter alone.
“National Security Agency.” My exhausted mind was spinning. If Moses was caught by the Chinese, perhaps he could continue to hide his identity as a Korean official. Since Pyongyang had him instead, I didn’t want to imagine the horrors that would befall him.
“Why are you telling me?” I remembered how strictly Mr. Kim guarded safe-house secrets in Sanhe.
“I saw Moses in January.” Ae-Cha made gurgling noises and tugged at the hair that hung down in my eye. “He knew he was under suspicion. He told me that if I heard of his arrest, I was to find you.” For the first time, Mr. Kim looked up, not at my face, but at the smiling baby I held in my arms.
“You know his identity.” Mr. Kim whispered, as if Mrs. Cho or even the orphans upstairs might one day be interrogated by the National Security Agency and forced to confess what they overheard in the drawing room. “And so you’re the only one who could save Moses now.”
“What can I do?” I regretted that Moses ever told me who he was. Didn’t I already know enough of torture and raids and prison cells?
“There is a high-ranking Party official, a secret Christian worker. He’s the only man with the power to save Moses.” I was glad at least to hear there was some hope for my father’s friend. “But he cannot help a man who remains nameless.”
“You want me to tell you Moses’ identity?” After what took place in the mountains of Jilin Province, I could never trust Mr. Kim with such information.
Mr. Kim shook his head. “I would not accept that burden for all the yuan in Asia.” Mr. Kim stared back down at the floor. Did he realize how his allusion to bribery sounded in my ears?
“Then I still don’t understand. How can I help Moses from here in Seoul?”
Mr. Kim stared unsmiling at Ae-Cha. “You can do nothing from Seoul,” he declared.
Surrogate
“Kings will be your foster fathers, and their queens your nursing mothers.” Isaiah 49:23
“And so you must return to Sanhe?” Mrs. Cho crossed her arms against her chest and gazed at me over her spectacles.
“This man has saved hundreds of believers.” I recited the argument I rehearsed so often over the past two days.
Mrs. Cho stared at Ae-Cha who had fallen asleep just a moment earlier in my arms, a pacifier dangling precariously from her open mouth.
“If you were returning to Jilin Province to find your husband, I would perhaps understand.” Mrs. Cho had been separated from her husband decades earlier during the Peninsula War. She gazed at a photograph of a young man on the bookshelf behind us. “But for a man you hardly know? To put yourself in such danger …”
I couldn’t explain to Mrs. Cho why I had to go back to help Moses, the hero of my childhood fantasies, the friend of my father, the son of one of my dearest companions.
“I have no choice,” I concluded. “Fate’s already made this decision for me.”
“Not fate perhaps,” Mrs. Cho reminded me and looked out the window at the setting sun. Faint wisps of pink and pale orange outlined the early spring clouds. I didn’t tell my benefactress that I was not only planning to return to Sanhe but would have to cross the border into North Korea one last time. Mrs. Cho pursed her thin lips.
“You know I can’t take Ae-Cha with me.”
As soon as I spoke the words, Mrs. Cho’s sighed loudly. She studied my face. “A difficult decision.” Suddenly self-conscious, I wondered if Mrs. Cho heard my cries these past two nights. “But perhaps a wise one,” the elderly woman reassured me. I tried to think of something other than the perfect, angelic form cradled against my chest, her cheek wet from drool, her lips open in a contented half-smile.
Without saying anything, Mrs. Cho took my daughter from my arms. Ae-Cha grunted, scrunched up her face into an angry pout, and then fell back into a blissful, sleepy stupor as Mrs. Cho nuzzled my baby’s cheek with her nose.
“I will watch your Ae-Cha until your return.” Mrs. Cho kissed my daughter on the forehead.
I looked away, longing to run to my bed so that dreamless sleep might save me from this tortuous parting. Even though I already memorized what I was going to say next, I had to force out each syllable.
“If I don’t return,” I bit my quivering lip until I was able to continue, “I would like you to raise Ae-Cha.”
At first Mrs. Cho raised her hand as if to swat away my inauspicious remark. But instead, she caressed Ae-Cha’s thick hair and declared, “You have my word.”
Unable to continue watching my daughter as she dozed so contentedly in another woman’s arms, I retreated to my room while Mrs. Cho sang Ae-Cha a lilting
lullaby.
I had never heard the melody before.
Parting
“Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer … Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life.” Revelation 2:10
Once my travel papers to Jilin Province arrived, I spent more time alone in my room, leaving Mrs. Cho to watch after Ae-Cha. I told myself that it would be better for Ae-Cha if she got used to Mrs. Cho’s care, but in reality it was harder for me to spend time with my daughter at all when I knew I had to leave her so soon. The night before my departure, Mrs. Cho carried Ae-Cha into my room.
“You haven’t finished yet?” Mrs. Cho glanced at the journal on the desk in front of me
“I’m almost done.” I closed the book and stared at Mrs. Cho. She was old enough to be Ae-Cha’s great-grandmother but held Ae-Cha with the same care as if she herself had borne her. I wondered how many mothers my daughter would lose in her lifetime.
“I only regret she won’t remember me,” I muttered.
Mrs. Cho pursed her lips. “You shouldn’t speak like that.” Her voice cracked in spite of her admonition.
I looked at the book in front of me. “There is so much history. So much sorrow. I wish she didn’t have to learn it this way.” Mrs. Cho nodded, although she knew very little of my past as the daughter of a Christian traitor. “There are so many things that I hoped to tell her face to face. Not like this.”
Mrs. Cho placed Ae-Cha into my arms and sat on my bed. She nodded toward the leather-bound journal. “I will keep your story safe while you are gone. Ae-Cha will want to know as much about her mother as she can.” I wondered if my benefactress had the same premonitions as I did about the journey ahead of me. After an uncomfortable silence, Mrs. Cho asked, “You are still sure that you must go?”