Jia: A Novel of North Korea

by Hyejin Kim

  I pushed people aside in my dash to catch him, but he was gone. I spun around, crying out for help, but no one even looked at me; I was the only stranger in that place.

  I returned to the car and found the boy soldier groaning.

  "Can you fix it today?" I asked him.

  "I'm trying." His face and shirt were soaked with sweat, even on the chilly day. I crouched down next to him as he worked.

  My thoughts raced. Did I have to go back? No! I couldn't. Where should I go? I had left Pyongyang and lost half of my money within a few hours. What worse luck was waiting for me? I was as miserable as the boy soldier.

  Several hours later, the group of soldiers came back sluggishly, picking their teeth with toothpicks. When they saw that the boy soldier still hadn't figured out how to repair the car, they kicked him several times. "You good-for-nothing!" they yelled, throwing two loaves of bread to him. He picked them up from the ground nimbly and devoured them without even dusting them off.

  One of the soldiers took the tools from the boy soldier's hands, and 30 minutes later the engine of the car made a tumultuous sound. Only half the passengers had returned, and the soldiers didn't wait for the rest. The snub-nosed woman didn't return, so, for five won, I shared another woman's plastic bag.

  Friendship with Kkotjebi

  n arrival at Kowon Station early the next morning, I saw many kinds of people, and more kkot ebi than you'd find in the Pyongyang station and street market. They wandered around, begging for food from the crowds of people waiting for the train. Cigarette smoke and offensive smells greeted me everywhere. People with large bags grouped together-it made it easier to keep an eye on their belongings.

  The railroad police patrolled the station wearing darkgreen uniforms and expressionless faces, picking through people's bags with their fingers or with their thick, shiny truncheons. They looked about my age or a little older. Shifty-eyed men hung about like smoke in the air, stealing glances at people's bags. Young girls with worn-out clothes but thick makeup were everywhere, shouting, "Flower! Buy a flower!" But none held flowers. They only approached well-dressed, young and middle-aged men. Everything was unfamiliar, and everyone looked suspicious to me.

  I wandered through the station but couldn't find a place to sit down. I suddenly felt someone was watching me carefully, following my movements, and I turned my head to find a small boy, dressed in tatters. Like other kkot ebi, his face was covered with dust. Under his hat, his eyes were twinkling, and as soon as they met mine, he walked directly to me, with a slight limp. That was my first encounter with Sangwon.

  When he was close enough, he smiled and asked, "Do you have some food to share with me?"

  I looked down at him skeptically, and he didn't take his eyes off me. Of course, I didn't have food to share. Everyone knew no one had food to share; the only way hungry people could survive was to steal, so this boy was either really bold or not so smart.

  Setting out on my journey, I had made a firm resolution that I wouldn't share food; my own survival came first. I had just one loaf of bread and an ear of corn, and I needed to save what little money I had left. But Sangwon's blunt eyes, so steady on mine, made me hesitate. Or perhaps it was his limping leg that changed my mind.

  I said, "I just have one piece of bread and one ear of corn."

  I would have felt better if he had pretended to cry or grab my leg, but he just pouted with his lower lip, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Okay. If you think that isn't enough for two people, that's fine. Have a good trip."

  He was funny. His way of watching me and withdrawing without a fuss compounded my guilt.

  As he turned around to walk away, I called after him. "Wait... Maybe.. .we can make do with these for breakfast."

  Sangwon turned back and smiled. "And then I might help you if it's your first time traveling," he said, winking. "I know where we can have a peaceful meal."

  Like a gentleman escorting me, Sangwon gestured in the direction we should walk, strutting triumphantly, as though he had won something. His wiry body moved nimbly through the crowd.

  He took me outside the station to an out-of-the-way corner that was chilly but still the perfect place for two people to sit side by side. Not too stinky either. He took his jacket off and shook it briefly. Laying it on the ground, he grinned, motioning for me to sit down. I felt the ground would be cleaner than his jacket, but I didn't rebuff the offer. Sangwon sat down next to me on the bare ground.

  He smacked his lips as I took the food out of my bag, so I broke the bread in two and gave him the bigger half.

  "I haven't seen bread for a long time. I eat watery gruel every day. That place only makes begging on the street look good." He stuffed himself with bread.

  "Which place?" I asked.

  "The nine-twenty-seven. I just got out of the ninetwenty-seven. Have you heard of it?" His big, round eyes turned to me; his cheeks bulged.

  I had heard of the 927. The government tried to move beggars and people unable to make a living on their own to a specific place in each province, forcing them into abandoned buildings, usually former hotels. Because this system was instituted on September 27, 1997, it was called the 927. Supposedly it kept people from dying of hunger.

  "Why didn't you stay there? At least you'd be fed regularly."

  Sangwon's eyes bugged. "Are you kidding? Have you ever slept sitting up for several nights? That place doesn't protect people, it creates more problems. People die in there from diseases and hunger-we don't need that kind of protection." He ripped a piece of hard bread off with his teeth and ate it; he reminded me of a lion gnawing the meat off a bone.

  "Why would you sleep sitting up?"

  Sangwon stopped chewing and opened his mouth halfway. "You don't know anything. You're an alien, no wonder you stuck out."

  He finished his bite and swallowed. "They put too many people in one small room. We all ate better on the outside."

  When he spoke, he had to look up at me, and because his big hat covered his eyes, he took it off. His head was clean except for several scabs forming over his sores. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes; there was not one strand of hair on his face. He looked as if he had escaped from a Buddhist temple, not the 927.

  "How long were you in there?" I asked, interrupting his eating again.

  "Who knows? I gave up counting after seventeen days. Sitting in a corner, counting the days, made me more desperate. Anyway, I need to leave here as soon as possible. I don't want to end up back there."

  "How did you run away?" I asked.

  This time, he didn't raise his head to speak. "Through the window. I was stuck on the sixth floor. Some of the kids made a rope with our clothes and we ran away together. When the girl right after me was climbing down, the rope snapped. She fell and was dead on the spot. It could have been me."

  I was shocked that such a small boy could talk about death with such a poker face.

  Sangwon raised his head and his eyes fixed on my piece of bread. I hadn't started eating yet, so I handed it to him.

  He shook his head. "I'm not going to eat my fill. I don't want to make my stomach expand." He patted his gut and smiled. "This guy is so sneaky. I give him enough food, but he always wants more. He's never completely satisfied, so I have to control him, or he'll control me. That's your share. I really appreciate what you gave me, but that's enough for today." He looked at me candidly, his eyes twinkling. Who could resist this face?

  Sangwon pushed my hand back and urged me to eat the bread. I noticed that there were two stumps on his left hand where his fourth and fifth fingers should have been.

  He saw me staring at his hand and raised both hands to show me. "I was lucky. That time, I was using my left hand and not my right."

  He had tried to steal some food from a market stall while the owner wasn't paying attention, but just as Sangwon's hand approached the food, the owner caught sight of him and grabbed his knife. He just wanted to scare him, but Sangwon's two fingers were lopped off in an instant
. The owner was as surprised as Sangwon, and they wept loudly together. Sangwon got the food from the owner, but his fingers were lost.

  Sangwon told this as if it was someone else's story. He must have been used to it-he spoke so well. He looked about six or seven years old, but I guessed he was 11 or 12.

  "Where are you going?" he asked.

  I put a piece of bread in my mouth and chewed for a while. Could I trust this boy? Could I tell him I was running away? "I'm trying to get out of here," I said, almost to myself.

  He watched me and kept his mouth shut for a while. At length, he said, "I got this disease when I was in the mountains."

  Sangwon lifted one foot and removed his sock. All the toes were black from frostbite. He picked up a stone from the street, and before I could stop him, pounded the top of his foot with it. When I took the stone away from him, he smiled and said, "It's okay. I don't feel anything. They're completely dead. They aren't part of my body anymore." He put his sock back on.

  "You should go see a doctor," I said, still staring at his foot.

  "Oh, well. It's been long time. I got it when I crossed the river. Not a big deal."

  Sangwon had guessed my plan. Most people came here hoping to cross the border; their large bags gave them away. Wandering around with a small backpack certainly made me look like a novice.

  "I ran into pickpockets in a street market," I explained. "I didn't expect it. An old woman let me know my backpack was torn; I even didn't realize I had been robbed."

  "Don't trust anybody here-even old women or soldiers. Oh, soldiers are the worst! They can do whatever they want. Don't even think about sitting next to them. Actually, you shouldn't have trusted me either."

  He smiled as he said this, and I smiled back at him. How could I not trust this boy?

  "This time of year is okay. In winter, it's easy to cross over because the river is frozen, but border control is much stricter. Summer is tougher-the water isn't as cold as in winter, but the river is high and the current is really fast, so border control isn't as strict. Young guys try in the summer. Spring is the best time, because the water is low and not too cold. Now is still a little bit early. The ice must have melted, but the water will still be chilly. You should be prepared."

  Sangwon put his hat back on. The hat was big and was peppered with cigarette burn-holes, but it looked really warm. I helped him find the front of the hat, and he pressed it down hard and said, "If you'll trust me one more time, we can go together."

  I raised my eyebrows.

  "We should get out of here as soon as possible," he continued. "I was heading to the border too."

  I nodded, and he reached out his hand, smiling, and motioned me to do the same. He slapped my palm twice. "Okay. So we're comrades from now on. Did you buy a ticket?"

  "Not yet. I don't know if I have enough money."

  "How much do you have?"

  I showed my money to Sangwon, my comrade. He counted it and said, "It looks okay, if the station didn't raise the fares." He stared pointedly at the badge on my chest. "But there is one way to make money." He handed my money back to me and asked, "Do you have a travel permit?"

  "Here." I showed it to him, but he barely looked at it.

  "Okay. Then it's much easier. What's your destination?"

  "I haven't decided yet. I can go as far as Onsong with this card."

  "Then let's go to Hoeryong. That's closer to the place where I usually stay in China."

  We rose and walked behind the station. I saw a line of eight or nine people sitting down with their backs against the wall. Some leaned their heads on the person next to them, their eyes closed tight, while others gazed blankly in front of them, never blinking. Their skin was black, but it was different from the foreigners with black skin I'd seen at the hotel. Black spots covered their faces.

  "Sangwon, don't you think those people look weird?" I poked his forearm.

  Sangwon pulled me to his side. "You'd better not look. They're dead."

  "No!" I shouted, in spite of myself, gripping his hand tightly.

  "They all died of starvation, waiting there."

  I looked again. The dead sat naturally and seemed to watch people as they passed. I shuddered with fear.

  Inside the station, Sangwon elbowed his way through the crowd and pulled me along. We came to a man wearing a neat blue coat, standing with a small bag at his feet. The man lit a cigarette.

  Sangwon walked up to him and pulled at his coat lightly. "Hello, sir. Did you find good things to buy over there?"

  He looked down at Sangwon with annoyance and snapped, "Go away. I don't have any food."

  "No, sir. That's not my business with you today. I have a badge to sell-how about a hundred and fifty won?"

  The man sneered, "Where? Show it first. If you're lying, I'm going to break both your legs."

  "See, I'm not lying." Sangwon pointed at my chest. The man's eyes moved to the badge and then up to my face, then to Sangwon and back to me.

  "Are you willing to sell it?" he asked.

  Sangwon glanced at me quickly and whispered, "You won't need that over there." Then he grinned and replied, "She will, for a hundred and fifty won. It's a nice one, with two leaders' faces on one badge. You can sell it at a good price to foreign travelers if they know it's really from North Korea."

  The badge showed the faces of both Kim 11 Sung and Kim Jong 11. Working at the hotel, I had had to wear it at all times. I couldn't believe I was selling it now. My chest without the badge-I hadn't even considered that possible.

  The man examined the badge for a moment. "This one has too many scratches. One hundred won."

  Sangwon immediately grabbed my hand and said, "Let's go, we can do much better. A badge with the two leaders is worth more."

  The man seized Sangwon's shoulder and grimaced. "This kkot ebi-you know this place too well. Okay, a hundred and thirty won. Don't even think about more."

  "Okay," Sangwon said, unpinning the badge from my chest. "Here. Give me the money."

  The man pointed at me with his chin. "Is she your sister?"

  "No, she is my mom," Sangwon replied instantly.

  The man sneered, looking at me, "Are you kidding? Doesn't she sell flowers here?"

  Sangwon growled back, "I said she's my mom. Of course she doesn't sell flowers." He grabbed my hand firmly and started to walk away.

  The man shouted after us, "Let me know if you need help. I like your deaf-mute sister."

  "That dirty-mouthed-" Sangwon swore without looking back at him.

  "Why did he buy the badge?" I asked.

  "He can sell it to foreign travelers in China as a souvenir. It's one of the most popular items there, actually. In China, you'll see Chinese selling North Korean items to foreign travelers everywhere. Here the badge is sacred, but there it's like a toy."

  I felt empty, as if I had lost a part of my body.

  As though reading my mind, Sangwon said, "It's not as important as our lives. It's just a souvenir now-what we weed is money and food. You would have to throw it away as soon as you crossed the border, anyway. Keeping it would be dangerous." He pressed the money into my hand.

  "By the way, why did he ask me whether I sell flowers?" I asked. "I have seen so many women shouting that they're selling flowers, but with no flowers to sell."

  "What he asked was whether you'd sell your body to him."

  My face turned red with anger. I turned and saw the man still standing there, leering.

  "People find ways to survive," Sangwon said, pulling me away toward the ticket booth.

  People were shouting over each other for tickets, pushing and pulling like waves beating on the seashore. It was far too crowded.

  "Wait here for a moment," Sangwon said. "I'll buy a ticket, just give me the money." I looked at him for a second. He was just a kkot ebi, looking for food and stealing from others, but for some reason, I was sure he would come back.

  He took my money and was sucked into the crowd. A few minut
es passed. Did I even give him my travel permit? I checked my pocket, growing anxious. I stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowd-it was impossible to see him.

  I was about to move away to look for him when I felt a tap on my back. I wheeled around to find Sangwon's beaming face. "I got it!" he cried, holding up the ticket.

  I was ashamed to have doubted him. Looking him up and down, I asked, "Are you okay? Didn't you get hurt?"

  "Sometimes a kid has an advantage," he said, handing me the ticket and the rest of the money. "I even gave them less than the fare. They didn't notice-they're just trying to get rid of as many people as possible."

  While we walked to the platform, Sangwon warned me, "Even though you have a ticket, some crazy people will try to take your seat, so never leave it. Go to the restroom before getting on the train."

  The train didn't come for four days, and in all that time we never left the platform. People complained that the trains never ran on schedule; the railway employees said fuel had run out. No one knew when the train might arrive. "Pretty soon," the train employees said, but they didn't know. Some people left to sleep in nearby inns. Women, young and old, walked around shouting, "Clean, warm house while you wait." I wouldn't go; I was afraid of missing the train. I bought food with the rest of my money, and we tried to eat as little as possible. Sangwon had a fever from the infection in his feet and was limping harder.

  When the train finally arrived, it was as if war broke out. The distant whistle sounded and people jumped up and grabbed their bags, screaming and shouting; suddenly the whole place was alive with noise. The railroad police made us stand in one line, and a policeman made an announcement about civic morality. People who didn't follow the rules would be punished severely. Nobody listened.