Jia: A Novel of North Korea

by Hyejin Kim

  She caressed her belly. "I saved my baby, but I lost my husband."

  Gun looked at her belly. He wanted to ask her whether she had seen Sun in her village. Sun could easily be in a similar situation, but he couldn't bear to imagine it. He bit his lower lip hard. No! Asking such questions would only bring bad fortune.

  Gun was plagued by nightmares. In one he saw Sun, her naked body in chains, suspended from a big brick wall. She struggled to cut the chains, but if she cut one, another came out of the brick and bound her more tightly. She was crying out and bleeding, but as she wriggled, the chains pulled her into the wall. She called for Gun over and over; it felt so real. He could feel his breath quicken, watching her desperately, unable to reach her as she was gradually sucked into the brick. In the end, her whole body was engulfed; the brick wall turned so peaceful and shiny, with no scars on its brown face.

  Sometimes, the dreams were happier. Sun would smile, wearing her bright, pretty hatibok, as she walked arni in arm with a man in Chinese clothes. They looked so intimate and were always walking away. Whenever he had those dreams, Gun woke up in a cold sweat. He didn't like either one.

  On the eighth day of Gun's incarceration, he was given two meals of corn, along with salty water and cabbage, and sent to another prison cell. There, he found four men seated, one in each corner. They all seemed to be around his age, but they looked like half-wits. They were eerily quiet; he could hardly hear them breathe. Gun wandered around the room for a while and finally sat in the center of the room. No one spoke. Since they all had the same stories of torture to tell, there was no point in sharing them.

  It was a new setting, but the investigators asked the same questions, and Gun gave the same answers. They beat him for yet another week. He had to kneel down on the ground, and his hands were tied behind his back so that he couldn't move. That was the daily routine. Beginning early in the morning, they kicked his face and his body, and sent him back to the cell at night. They gave him a spoon without a handle, so he wouldn't commit suicide or make a weapon. He was never allowed to wash, and soon enough he was giving off the same smell as the prisoners he first met. He wondered about the pregnant girl, but there was no way to find out what happened to her.

  Then things changed: they began interrogating him and torturing him at the same time. The square-faced man showed up again.

  "How have you been? You look much fatter than before. I didn't know you were so satisfied with this place."

  He sat down on a worn-out wooden chair so wide that he needed only the right half, and set his cigarette down on the left. "So, where are your parents?"

  Gun's stomach spouted a lump of acid. "They're dead. Please, believe me: that's why I came back here-I was lonely and missed my relatives. I won't run away anymore, and I really regret doing it the first time. Please, please forgive me." Gun thought the square-faced man was his last hope.

  The square-faced man was not moved by Gun's confession. He simply lit another cigarette and asked his subordinates, "Where is the kettle?"

  A big, round kettle was brought in. The man asked again, "Are you sure your parents are dead?"

  "How could old people survive such a fast current?" Gun cried. "We were stupid, we tried to cross the river, but it was the worst decision of my life. I regret it to the bone."

  The square-faced man stroked his stubbly chin. The back of his hand was flecked with tiny scars and scabs. Grinning lightly, he trilled, "Start."

  Two men made Gun lie down and forced his mouth open. Holding his lower jaw down, they poured water into his mouth from the yellowish metal kettle, and though he tried not to swallow it, the pressure of the water made it rush fiercely down his throat. When his stomach was full, they stamped on his torso until water came out of his mouth and anus-every orifice in his body-and he vomited white liquid. Gun felt his eyes would shoot out; his legs kicked in every direction, and his wrists wriggled in the grip of the men holding him down. They repeated this procedure several times.

  The square-faced man finally came and crouched down next to Gun, watching him from above, so that his face appeared to be upside down. "So, did I see ghosts in China? I had dinner with your parents four days ago. Your mother cooked bean paste stew for me. Bean paste stew, with green onions and tofu. Isn't that her best dish? I don't understand why you left such nice parents so readily-they looked so sad not to be able to see you, but I said you were fine with me. They were so happy and relieved to hear those words!"

  Gun realized why they had stopped asking about his parents. He grabbed the square-faced man's arm. He couldn't help stuttering, "Please-spare their lives. They are too old to handle this. They just followed me. I planned everything by myself."

  The man grinned. "I can treat them as my real parents," he sneered. "I'm sure they'll take to me, but what can you do for me? Taking care of old people, as you know, isn't easy, especially in the case of your limping father..."

  Gun kept his grip on the man's arm, white liquid still running from his mouth. They looked at each other for a while, and Gun felt he would never forget that steel block of a face. Then the man stood up, took his cigarette from the chair, and said, "Send him back to his cell."

  As he was dragged from the room, Gun felt capable of murder for the first time in his life.

  For a week after that, Gun was left alone. As soon as his body recovered, however, the beatings resumed, lasting for ten more days. Whenever he asked about his parents, the blows came even harder, and Gun begged over and over to be taken to the square-faced man. He shuddered with fear at the thought of his parents coming to harm, but no solution presented itself. Gun was sure they wanted something from him, or he would have been executed immediately.

  Gun's body was no longer his own. Even his voice sounded foreign when they demanded he sing the revolutionary hymns he learned in kindergarten and recite the Great Leader's instructions. After several weeks, he was on the brink of total collapse. And then the harassment stopped.

  The policemen took him and the four other men into the shower room and they were given their first shower in months. Then, a regular meal-meat soup and rice. Gun couldn't swallow the food at first and was wary of being poisoned, but they threatened him and the others until they cleaned their plates. Their stomachs didn't trust the food-all five rushed to the toilets after finishing. Within a few days, they were able to digest solid food, and the torturers even brought roasted chicken and sausages. The smell was irresistible, though every time Gun was offered a meal, he felt it could be his last. This treatment lasted for two weeks.

  Once their bodies had grown stronger, the prisoners were called to a large, clean office they hadn't seen before. They were treated differently, almost like humans.

  The square-faced man wore a dark-green army uniform and sat behind a desk, resting his feet on the gray desktop. "Come in, my comrades, make yourselves comfortable," he bellowed, dusting off his round army hat, which looked much older than his tidy uniform. He blew on the hat roughly and pulled it onto his head; it emphasized the squareness of his face. He locked his fingers together, rested his forearms on the edge of his desk, and stretched his neck out toward them.

  They tried to figure out how they had progressed from being national traitors to being comrades.

  "There is good news. You should appreciate the kindness of the government. You were supposed to pay the penalty for the crime you committed, but the government has decided to forgive you-only you five. You're chosen people; you might have been prisoners forever, finishing your lives in that filthy jail, but the government has shown mercy. We'll let you slip, under certain conditions, which means we will give you a mission to strengthen the government."

  Gun was at a loss, and the others seemed unconvinced.

  "You'll be special agents, assigned to catch national traitors in China. From now on, you will be heroes for North Korea-not traitors anymore, but heroes-for your country and your families."

  With a satisfied smile, he slowly looked from one man
's face to the next.

  Part 3

  False Identity

  he winter of 1997 was unusually long, and Pyongyang met the New Year without celebration. It seemed no one was interested in welcoming 1998.

  Even the Magnolia kobus blossoms on Okryu street seemed reluctant to show their faces. On a clear January morning, Seunggyu and I were walking north from the Taedong Bridge and ended up at the Taedong Resort, where we stopped to look at the biggest bridge in Pyongyang, Okryu Bridge. From there I could clearly see the Great Leader's calligraphy, "Ok-Ryu-Gyo," on the bridge's parapet.

  Every morning, Okryu Bridge filled with people rushing from their houses to downtown Pyongyang. The bridge was the gift of the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, to the people in 1960, to ease their commute. Before that time, they had to use the crowded Taedong Bridge or take a boat. Thanks to the Great Leader, the largest bridge in the city was built.

  Strangely, from our vantage point, I couldn't see anyone on the bridge.

  I kept looking, though, as I was trying to avoid Seunggyu's eyes. I didn't want him to see my swollen eyelids; Aunt Ann had left the hotel the previous day, and I had spent the night crying.

  Several of the cooks and I had thrown a small farewell party for her, and Cook Kim had even sneaked two plates of rice cakes. I brought a pack of the Korean traditional snack that I had stashed in my room, and Cook Kim set out too many cups of water, so the table wouldn't feel so empty.

  "That's the best way to taste the real taste of rice cakeswith a draft of water in your mouth," he said, convincing no one. "First, drink some water: it moistens the inside of your mouth. Then chew one bite of the rice cake, then, drink more water. You can feel the cake melting in your mouth."

  Each of us took one cup with a smile, but there were still at least five cups left.

  "You had better take two cups; today's rice cakes are pretty sticky," he said, laughing, handing out another cup to each of us. On any other day, Aunt Ann would have teased Cook Kim, but she was in no mood that day. The hotel managers had recommended that Aunt Ann stop working because of her age.

  "You know I don't have any problems using my body. I always have worked harder than those useless guards, and I don't get tired. I have never slacked off," Aunt Ann said, with a sulky face. She was still in her uniform.

  She was always brisk, and I never heard her complain about being overworked. Of all the workers, she should have left the hotel last, not first.

  "Have you decided where to go?" I asked her.

  Aunt Ann turned to me. "The hotel manager said I can have my old house back in my hometown, Wonsan. He already contacted the town governor so I wouldn't have a problem, but I can't live there again." She fidgeted with the cup, setting it on the table in front of her. It was cruel for Aunt Ann to live by herself in the old house where she had lived with her family.

  We were silent. Cook Kim handed her a soft, round cake smothered in black sesame seeds. "Take the house back anyway," he said. "Take everything the superiors promised you"

  Aunt Ann was chewing her rice cake slowly; sesame seeds lined her upper lip. "I'm thinking about living with my second sister. She has just one son, and her house isn't so far from mine. I'll take the house, but I won't sleep there. I'll stay with my sister."

  "What if the local officials discover you are staying somewhere else?" I asked, frowning at her with worry. "Moving around without permission of the government could cause trouble."

  "Who cares?" Aunt Ann erupted. "There are empty houses everywhere, and it's impossible to check on the whereabouts of every person. Anyway, they're not going to care about an old woman like me."

  I sang a song for her; she loved Arirang the best. Every night, when I stayed with her, I studied the Arirang songs of each province.

  I stayed with Aunt Ann for one last night. Ever since Gun's abrupt appearance and disappearance, I went home every night-I was afraid of missing Gun and Sun should they return and need my help.

  I looked around the room at the hotel where Aunt Ann and I had lived as roommates for four years. It was too small for two people, but Aunt Ann was never angry with me and my messes. Even after twelve years, all of Aunt Ann's belongings fit in two small bags.

  On that night, as with so many before it, we lay down and chatted until we fell asleep.

  "I always wanted to have a daughter, so when I saw you for the first time, you don't know how happy it made me that we would live together," she said. "I felt, in place of my husband and son whom heaven took from me, I had been sent such a pretty daughter." Aunt Ann passed her hand over my hair. She sometimes cried while she slept, and I would pat her chest as though I was soothing a baby back to sleep. I wondered if she would do the same for me.

  Thinking of her impending absence, my heart ached. I asked myself whether I had more luck in my life than other people. I had always been surrounded by good people, but sometimes I felt it wasn't luck, but rather a curse that I had to suffer. Whenever I made a friend, I had to prepare for the day when we would separate. I would never get used to it.

  I wanted to be alone, but Seunggyu had insisted on dragging me down to Okryu Bridge. He couldn't understand why a janitor leaving was such a big deal to me. I had decided not to tell him about Sun and Gun; I didn't want to hear him curse my friends. Being outdoors didn't improve my mood, either. I didn't want to see the gaunt trees and the sleeping streets.

  "So many people are leaving or disappearing," I said with a sigh, feeling empty-even of sadness.

  "Don't talk like that, Jia," Seunggyu erupted. "Only losers run away; national traitors don't belong here anyway."

  He took a round metal box out of the pocket of his gray pants. It was covered with yellow flowers and curved letters, and filled with fragrant sour and sweet candies.

  "They're lemon flavored," Seunggyu said mildly, as though speaking to a child.

  I didn't lift my eyes. "But Seunggyu, have you ever thought about why they are leaving, knowing that if they're caught, they'll be brutally punished?"

  "Who cares what people think, Jia, it's a waste of time." Seunggyu threw a piece of candy into his mouth and blinked hard, several times. "Whoa! This was my favorite candy when I was a kid, but maybe not anymore..."

  He could be incredibly stone-hearted, but I knew Seunggyu wasn't a cold person. He just didn't know how to express himself. I thought I could help him understand people who worked hard but could not be recognized because of their class.

  "Why do you despise people who are different from you?" I asked. "No matter what class they belong to, they are also loyal to the Great Leader and to our country, but they're hungry. They have no control over their background; the only difference between you and them is that they were born into the wrong class, and that wasn't their choice."

  He put a candy between my lips, to stop my mouth. Seeing my frown, he grinned and said, ` Jia, they have bad blood and a reactionary tendency, you just don't see it. Our country is having a hard time right now, but we have to unite-that's the best and fastest way to recapture the way it was. Look at us! We're trying to overcome the hardship, we're loyal to the party and trust our leader. But these traitors screw everything up, thinking only about themselves. So selfish. They take public goods and run away at night like rats. They can't stand a little hunger."

  Seunggyu put a candy in his mouth and pushed another toward mine, but I turned my head to avoid it.

  "The second one is much better, Jia. If you give up because the first one was sour, you'll never get the real taste. Just endure the hard time for a short while. Don't avoid it. Runaways only look out for themselves. They don't want to put up with a little hardship for even one moment. What else could I call them but losers?"

  Patting my shoulder, Seunggyu handed me the box. "Come on, Jia. I know you're upset about Aunt Ann, but you can't dwell on it. Let's think about ourselves and our future! I know today isn't the best day to look ahead, but the winter will be over soon, and I don't think spring will be long this year. Summer
will come sooner or later. We need time to get through the trifling tasks of arranging a wedding."

  He said his parents wanted to meet me and any of my living relatives. "My father is sure he must have known your parents or grandparents. He feels sorry he can't meet them. He has a broad set of acquaintances, you know." At this, Seunggyu gave me a big, confident smile.

  That day, it became clear that it was time to tell Seunggyu my story. I couldn't hide anymore; I didn't want to. Seunggyu and I had been together for more than three years; I knew he had strong feelings for me, and I returned them. He loathed people with backgrounds like mine, but my background was part of me. No secret can stay buried forever. I hoped that hearing my story would overcome his prejudice against "those people."

  The sooner I talked, the better.

  The hotel grew busier. We had to divide up Aunt Ann's duties. There were no new recruits; when one person disappeared, we all picked up the slack. A week after Aunt Ann left, I called Seunggyu.

  It was still too cold to be outside for long, but I felt it was the safest place to tell the story I had never told anyone. We sat side by side on a bench in Taedong Resort, as we had the week before, and I rested my right hand on his left. His hands were my favorite part of him-big enough to cover mine, which were chronically cold. I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be, and once I began, telling the most important person in my life about my past felt like the most natural thing in the world. It felt good to share myself and be close to Seunggyu. Why hadn't I done it sooner?