Then they were speeding past rice paddies and fields of corn stretching out on both sides of the highway. Brown hills rose from the fields. No trees or bushes, just dry grass. They passed through more towns. Brick homes with tile roofs. Tall, concrete apartment buildings painted turquoise, pink, and blue. Everything looked worn down, edges pockmarked, painted surfaces streaked with rust and age.
There were a few people on the roads now. Some walking, some riding bicycles. No one glanced at the three of them on the motorbike. With Simon’s face hidden under his cap and sweatshirt hood, his head in close to Mr. Shin’s back, they could pass for ordinary North Koreans. For the moment, they were safe. Mia wished Mr. Shin could just keep driving. Right through Sinuiju. Across the bridge into China.
They drove through two more heavily settled areas — “Yomju,” Mr. Shin called out, then “Ryongchon,” over the roar of the engine. It must be working hard, carrying such a heavy load.
A band of lemon yellow widened on the horizon. The promise of a clear day. Mia felt a tremor of anticipation. Maybe their way was clear as well. Maybe today …
Sinuiju, a highway sign proclaimed in Korean. 5 km. Five kilometers was … around three miles. Really close. And on the far side of Sinuiju, the river. The bridge. The border. Mia’s heart beat faster. They’d almost made it. How crazy amazing was that?
But she knew this could be the most dangerous section of the trip. The place they were most likely to be stopped. After everything they had survived to get this far, it could all be for nothing.
They reached the city limits. As if she’d had a premonition, at that moment she caught sight of a grouping of men in uniforms — police? — at an intersection four or five blocks ahead. They were waving at the few vehicles to slow down so they could peer in at the drivers and passengers. A checkpoint. Mia’s heart sped up. She grabbed Simon’s knee.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
But Mr. Shin turned right at the next street as if he was taking his usual route with nothing to hide. Mia let her breath out and tried to relax her body.
Gray buildings crowded together, many of them topped with political slogans. Sinuiju was sootier and more rundown than Pyongyang. Less ordered, less prosperous, less scoured clean, more like a random collection of shops and factories, jumbled together every which way.
Mia scanned the surroundings for any sign of the river, trying to place them on the map in her mind. As they slowed to drive through the city, the wind dropped. She poked her head out from the sheet and rubbed her nose to warm it. The sky was growing light overhead. The motorbike slowed, turned, purred down a city street. They made a sharp right into a long, narrow alleyway between two- and three-story industrial buildings with tin sides. The packed dirt was black with oil and soot. Mr. Shin maneuvered between parked bicycles and scooters and small trucks jutting out from open shed doors.
After several blocks, they pulled up beside a rusty tin warehouse. A row of horizontal windows faced the alley, the panes of glass smudged and dirty. Mr. Shin turned the key and the engine shuddered and died.
“Okay, okay. Sinuiju! Very good!” Mr. Shin beamed. His arms were extended as if presenting the city to them as a gift.
Mia stood up slowly, dropping the plastic and unwinding her cramped limbs. Mr. Shin pointed to a metal door into the warehouse.
“One minute,” he said, holding up a finger. He disappeared into the warehouse, leaving the door open behind him. Piles of crates and stacks of cardboard boxes filled the concrete floor. Behind him, Simon gave a low whistle.
“Cell phones. Chinese cell phones,” he said quietly. “They can be used to call internationally. I remember Dad saying that’s how defectors can talk to family left behind in North Korea. Strictly against the rules. Looks like our guy has got himself a nice little share of the black market. So he probably won’t call the local party official to come pick us up here. Question is, what do we do now?”
“Maybe we can get him to drop us off at the train station,” Mia said. “When we met yesterday, I told him that’s where we were going. It seemed like the least suspicious place. The guidebook says that foreigners can travel back and forth between Sinuiju and Dandong on the train. It also says Americans can’t take the train, but Mr. Shin might not know that. I thought the station would be good, because on the map it looked like it was pretty close to the bridge.”
“Good thinking, Squeak.” He was still calling her by that silly nickname, but she found she didn’t mind it. There was history there, and connection, reminding her of where she’d come from.
Mia smiled and pulled out her dictionary. When Mr. Shin returned, she asked, “Ki-cha-yok uh-di-eh-yo?” Where is the train station?
Mr. Shin nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes. Very good. I drive.”
In the dawn light, the town had a dingy, gritty look. It was the first time they’d been out in public since the train station in Pyongyang. Simon pulled the brim of his cap low on his forehead and tugged the sides of his hood close.
Mr. Shin took them through a maze of narrow streets and down another alley. The streets got wider and cleaner, the buildings more imposing, business offices and hotels instead of run-down factories and warehouses.
The motorbike turned onto a broad street, the morning sun bright on Mia’s right side. They were headed north. Railroad tracks on their right. Coming up, a massive building with banners. The station. Directly ahead was the huge square with the statue of Kim Il-sung that was described in the guidebook. With its open spaces and broad empty streets, this section of Sinuiju looked like Pyongyang.
Mr. Shin sped right by the train station. Mia’s heart skipped. She and Simon exchanged alarmed looks. The bike slowed, leaned left in front of the square, and turned onto another wide street. They passed the station hotel, then on the next block, a multistory building with clothing in the windows. A department store. Where was he taking them? Mia wondered if they’d need to jump off the speeding bike.
Two more turns. Mr. Shin pulled up along the curb in a narrow side street with walled houses crowded in close, several blocks from the main thoroughfare. As she climbed out of the sidecar, she tried to steady her breath.
“Guess he’s being careful too,” Simon remarked, glancing around. No one was in sight.
“You see train?” Mr. Shin asked. Mia nodded.
“We need to give him some money,” she said to Simon. “Everything he did for us, all that driving. Hang on, let me look up the word for gasoline.”
Simon reached for his backpack and held out several euros.
“Hwee-bal-yoo,” Mia read from the dictionary. Mr. Shin looked surprised, then shook his head.
“No, no. Too much-ee.” He held up his hands, shaking them from side to side.
“People always refuse at first. You’re supposed to offer three times. With two hands, not one. And bow.”
Simon followed her instructions. Again Mr. Shin refused. But on the third try, he glanced up and down the street, then took the money from Simon. Whew. It must have been the right thing to do or he wouldn’t have accepted.
They bowed their thanks again and again, Simon following Mia’s lead. Mr. Shin turned the motorbike around and started back down the street. He turned once and waved before disappearing around the corner.
They were alone, out in the open.
“We need to get out of sight,” Mia said.
“Absolutely. Mr. Shin doesn’t seem to have reported us yet, and maybe he won’t, but it would be awfully tempting. And it’s a little early for a tourist and a guide to be walking around.”
“The bridge should be just a couple of blocks north.”
“Let’s get near enough to examine it and find a place under cover.”
“Come this way, Comrade Shin.” His Chinese contact beckoned, shepherding him down the warehouse aisles between towering stacks of boxed goods. “You may be interested in this, just came in. Swiss.”
It was not yet mid-morning. After the drop-off downtown, Hyun-tae had
returned to his office, picked up his mini-truck, and driven across the bridge to Dandong.
What an intriguing week this was turning out to be. Yesterday he’d run into two foreigners in the middle of a field and brought them to his own house. Who knows what they were doing there or where they were going, but he knew not to implicate himself in something that could only bring trouble. If he turned them in, there would be questions and investigations, which he certainly did not need. Besides, they had paid him handsomely for the gas, and he and his mother had a fantastic memory to share with each other for years to come.
And now, he knew by his Chinese contact’s expression, he had something special to sell.
The top carton was already opened. Hyun-tae lifted out a tall, elegant, apricot-colored bottle with gold lettering, then another. Silky body lotion, bath foam, facial care products. He nodded and smiled. The village im-min-ban-jang — the minder who reported to the authorities everything that went on in their neighborhood — would be thrilled. She was quite vain about her skin. His record book held an extensive inventory of her appetites: DVDs of recent American blockbusters, Japanese pearls, European liquors, Chinese cell phones. He was happy to provide these gifts, as he did for the Chinese merchants with whom he traded, the border guards he interacted with daily, the party worker responsible for his section of the city, and the inspectors who visited his small warehouse in Sinuiju. When everyone was satisfied, everything ran smoothly.
The Chinese warehouse workers had already loaded his other merchandise onto the flatbed of his mini-truck, covered with a layer of identical boxes of tools and machine parts — the products his company was licensed to import from China. He took a box of cosmetics and carried it to the truck. Opening the passenger-side door, he lifted the seat cushion and carefully fit the box in the cavity, then covered the precious cargo.
He pulled out of the warehouse yard and onto the airport road, heading east toward downtown Dandong. Traffic thickened as he neared the city center: taxis, vans, buses, and private cars clogging the arteries among tall department stores, banks, and office buildings. Along the riverside boulevard, apartment complexes rose in silver towers to the sky.
Pulling the truck into the queue for the bridge, he parked, then stepped out to light a cigarette while he waited. The smoke billowed, then dissipated in the crisp, cool air. He glanced toward the cab of the truck, then gazed across the river at the low, sooty skyline of Sinuiju. As he drew in the tobacco, he smiled again, thinking not of the neighborhood busybody, but of his elderly mother, imagining her pleasure when he presented her with a tall, elegant, apricot-colored bottle of scented cream from Switzerland.
The sky brightened as they walked. Then the sun was up, a radiant white glow behind the dingy buildings to the east. To the west, a large park stretched along the riverbank, with the top of a Ferris wheel visible over the tree line. A grove of trees provided cover from which they could watch the bridge. Beyond it, the morning light sparkled on a broad brown river.
“Wow, the Yalu River!” Mia said. “That’s China, right over there! That’s Dandong!” It was amazing to see all the points she’d studied on the map come to life before them. They were really here, on the border.
Across the span of the water, skyscrapers stood bright in the early morning light. They glimmered like a mirage in a desert. Escape. Safety. The way home. Incredible to think they were so close. They just didn’t know how to get from here to there.
Simon stood, peering through the screen of trunks and leaves to study the bridge. Suddenly, he dropped to sit on the ground. He was shaking his head, scowling.
“No way can we get across there.” He pointed at the bridge. “Those posts are too high to climb. There’s a guard box just ahead. There’s plenty of traffic, but I don’t know how we could possibly sneak onto a vehicle without somebody seeing us. I’m betting the search is pretty thorough on both sides. There’s no pedestrian walkway and no way to make it over underneath.” He sighed and lay back, one arm thrown over his eyes.
Mia sat down next to him. “So we’ll have to go north to that place near the Great Wall.” Lucky she’d done her research, she thought.
“What?”
“The place I showed you a couple of days ago. When we were waiting at the bottom of the mountain. The ‘One-Step Crossing’ place. It’s shallow there. On the Chinese side, there’s part of the Great Wall.” She pulled out the guidebook and paged through to find the section. But Simon still had his arm over his eyes. He wasn’t even bothering to look at her.
“We should stay here, at least one night, see if something happens.”
He hadn’t heard what she’d said. She shut the book with a snap. “Simon, you’re not the boss here.”
That brought his arm down. He turned his head and frowned at her.
Better.
“Look, you know a lot,” she began. “But I’ve got stuff to offer too. We need to be a team. You’re taking over again, like you’re the only one in charge.”
Simon sat up.
“Look yourself.” He sounded annoyed. “I’m trying to figure out how we can get across the border. Maybe you don’t like how I’m doing it, but there are way more important things at stake. I don’t need a guilt trip.”
“Then don’t take one.”
They stared at each other, both a little startled by her response.
There was a pause. Then one side of Simon’s mouth turned up.
“Squeak, you used to be such a nice girl.”
“Not really. I just didn’t say what I was thinking.”
He closed his eyes, opened them.
“And you have some thoughts you’d like to share?” His tone was just shy of sarcastic. Mia would take it.
“I have what I think is some very valuable information about how we might get out of here.”
“And that is?”
“Just read this section.” She opened the book and held it out to him, meeting his eyes like a challenge. He took the book.
“Okay … pardner,” he said using a voice like the cowboys in the old movies they watched with Poppy. Mia squinched up her face at him. He studied the guidebook.
“Okay. This sounds like a good Plan B,” he said. She couldn’t help smiling. “But — we still have to wait for nightfall again. No way a tourist would be walking along the river going north.” She raised her eyebrows at him, expecting more. He rolled his eyes. “Do you agree?”
Mia’s smile widened. She nodded.
“So, how about this: We wait till dark, look around and see if we have any inspiration or opportunity here, then if not, we try your way. Plan B.”
She nodded again and slumped back against one of the trees, feeling the momentary satisfaction of getting Simon to listen to her slipping away. What she’d just convinced him of meant that they still had a long way to go. They were going to have to sit here for another twelve hours or so. They were hidden in the shadows of the trees, but the longer they stayed, the more likely somebody might see them. And it was so hard to sit there, seeing their destination, just out of reach.
A hawk glided on the air currents over the river. It was free to fly back and forth between the two banks, oblivious to the barriers people had made. Boats could navigate the span of water. Trucks could drive back and forth on the bridge. But she and Simon were trapped there, unable to cross.
Only two weeks ago she’d been hanging out with Jess and Alicia, with nothing to worry about except getting their homework done. They’d sat on another bridge, the one over the stream by the Citgo station, dangling their legs over the edge. Hours and hours on a lazy Sunday afternoon, just talking and watching the light reflecting on the water. Bright leaves floated along like boats. They’d been a little bored, wishing something would happen. Strange to remember how much time they’d spent discussing how cute Johnny Shales was. Whether the grin on his face as he passed Alicia at her locker on Friday had been meant for her.
Mia couldn’t recognize that person she’d been,
with such small and inconsequential concerns. Not a single thing that was a real problem. And not a clue of what she was capable of enduring, capable of doing.
She thought about what she’d said to Simon, how she just didn’t say what she was thinking. Maybe her whole life, she’d been trying to be nice, to be good, to not be a problem to Mom and Dad. Like Simon had suggested once, it probably had to do with being adopted — some idea that her birth family hadn’t wanted her, so she had to be good so this one would keep her.
But she was seeing now that her mom and dad had been kind of clueless about her Korean background, like her culture was this thing she could visit like a tourist, or put on like a costume. Mom used to drive her all that way to Korean school every Saturday, but she’d drop Mia off and then go sit in a coffee shop and work on her To Do lists. In the car afterward, she would ask what Mia learned, but Mia had no way to explain it to her. To her mom, Korea remained something foreign.
And Dad? He appreciated her Koreanness, the way he was proud of Simon being good at sports. But maybe she was so much his daughter that he didn’t want to focus on any way she was different from him. As if that would put distance between them, or he’d be losing her somehow. So Mom kept focusing on Mia’s difference in a because-she’s-supposed-to way, while Dad didn’t really want to deal with it at all.
And neither one of those was what Mia wanted. She leaned back against the tree trunk. There was so much to think about. When — if — they all were back together again, she was going to speak up. She wanted some things to change. She was going to get serious about learning to speak Korean, get tapes, really study. Maybe Simon would want to learn too. She was going to learn about K-dramas and K-pop. Maybe they could even get a Korean exchange student, like Dad’s friend Jae, who could live with their family. She could have a real Korean friend, someone to practice with, someone to teach her to make Korean food, someone with whom she could really dig into the culture. Then, after she’d learned more, she wanted to take a trip to South Korea with her whole family….
In the Shadow of the Sun Page 20