Jia: A Novel of North Korea

by Hyejin Kim

  I found a message fastened to the door:

  Dear Miss X,

  Just now I realized I don't even know your name. I hope you will tell me later. I had to leave-I will probably be back late tonight. You can have a rest. There is food in the kitchen and some books that I bought for you to study Chinese. They are all written in Korean. Have a look at them.

  I'll talk to you later. Have a good rest. Oh, by the way, I don't recommend that you go outside. We can walk around together when I return.

  I hope you have a restful day.

  Sincerely,

  Jin O

  P.S. My name is Jin Xuezhen, in Chinese, which is Kim Hakjin in Korean.

  He had the most common Korean surname-his father must be Korean, so perhaps he wasn't lying.

  I shut the door and looked around the room more closely. Like the rest of the house, it smelled of new furniture, and everything was white, ivory, or transparent. I found some Chinese textbooks and tapes on the desk. I might as well study this strange language, I thought. When I opened the ivory closet next to the desk, I discovered clothing hanging inside. I checked the clothes piece by piece, until I got to a pair of blue jeans. I had always wanted to try on jeans, but it was impossible at home; the government didn't allow them because they are symbols of the West and not suited to "feminine modesty." One of my coworkers always sighed with envy when we had the chance to watch Western television programs for language classes. She'd say, "I want to try on those tight blue pants, too. Don't you think they look nice?"

  Thinking of her, I smiled to myself. I took the jeans and a white shirt off their hangers. Closing the closet, I went to a corner of the room and hid behind a chair; I was scared out of habit. The jeans weren't as tight as I had seen on TV, but they fit, and I felt comfortable in then.

  I went downstairs, scouring the house for people. On my tour of the house the night before, my nerves had kept me from paying attention. It was hard to believe all that space was for just one person. I wondered what kind of job could maintain such a fancy house. In the living room, he had covered two entire walls with many kinds of small cars on ledges. A huge TV stood against the third wall-it was about as big as the one in the reception hall of the hotel where I had worked in Pyongyang.

  There were several photographs along the hall to his room. I inspected them carefully, as though looking at a person's entire history. Jin's thick eyebrows were hereditary. One picture showed him with his parents. I couldn't tell that his father was Korean and his mother Chinese; I just saw then as people, like me. It became clear why he had such dark skin; most of the pictures were taken at the beach. In several of them he was with foreigners, a big smile on his face.

  I realized I didn't have that kind of record of my life. I had no pictures with my grandparents or my sister, and their figures were vanishing from memory. All my pictures were taken during dance performances, when I was in thick makeup and wore a feigned smile. I had burned them all before coming to China.

  There was a photo of a woman with a wide smile, her arms wrapped around Jin's neck from behind; they looked happy. She might be his girlfriend or wife, I thought, and if he had wanted to seduce me, he would have taken that picture down.

  I went back to the sun-filled living room. The sunshine tempted me sorely, and I decided to leave the house. If the door was locked, it would mean he wanted to shut me up in the house, and I would have to run away. Nervously, I gripped the doorknob. It twisted open smoothly.

  Right, I thought. Maybe he really doesn't care. It's possible. A rich person might help a desperate woman out of fleeting sympathy, like buying a dog on the street. I felt so sad; I was becoming distrustful of everyone.

  I stepped outside and looked up at the sky, letting my face bask in the sun. From the outside, the house looked like a simple two-story brick edifice. I walked around for a while. To the left was a wide green field dotted with ponds. The houses could be counted on two hands. I walked toward the ponds. A few people appeared in the distance, and I scrambled back to the house, seized with fear.

  Inside, I felt much safer; I was still afraid of the outside. I took a shower, scrubbing hard to get rid of the dirt my life had collected. I wished all my pain would disappear down the drain, but I couldn't get rid of Sangwon. He might still be looking for me. He didn't mention the exact name of the place where we had stayed in the cave, but I vaguely remembered it being in the Baekdu Mountains. I thought about Kangmin and his friend, Bangmu. What did they tell Sangwon? He's smart; he must have seen through their lies.

  I thought about Gun and Sun, too. They might be close by, perhaps they passed through that same cave, took the same steps. I understood now why Gun was so worried about Sun being in China alone. Who knows, maybe Gun had already found her and they were together: that was what I hoped for most.

  After showering, I fell into the most comfortable sleep I had had since arriving in China.

  When I woke, it was dark again, and completely quiet. I went downstairs, but there was no sign ofJin. Feeling hungry, I searched the refrigerator, settling on some rice and vegetables.

  As I was preparing my dinner, I heard Jin clear his throat behind me. I whirled around, holding a sharp knife.

  He smiled and said, "Go ahead and eat. Actually, I haven't eaten either. If you don't mind, could you make enough for me?" Sitting down, he said, "How was your day? Did you rest enough?"

  I continued chopping. "Yes, I slept all day."

  "That's great. You must have gotten over your fatigue. Do you want me to cook?" He rolled up his sleeves.

  "No, I'm almost done." I hurriedly put the food into some small dishes and served them. Jin smacked his lips.

  We sat together and ate. "How are the clothes?" Jin asked, eating with gusto. "Do they fit?"

  I was too flustered to answer his questions, and I didn't raise my head. I depended on him now.

  I noticed that Jin held his rice bowl in his hand, moving it to his mouth to eat. My grandfather always instructed me not to hold my rice bowl in my hand. He would say, "Only ssangtiom"-the lowest class in dynastic times-"eat like that. Don't even think about picking up your rice bowl. The spoon is for rice. Chopsticks are for dishes. Don't lower your head. Raise your head while you are eating."

  Jin didn't use his spoon at all; he preferred chopsticks for tossing lumps of steamed rice into his mouth. He seemed like a starving child, eating everything up before someone could take his meal away, and I smiled at the sight. Seeing me, he stopped suddenly and asked with his mouth full, "What? Is something wrong?"

  I quickly looked down at the table. "No." I put a load of vegetables in my mouth to show him I didn't want to talk anymore.

  "I'm glad you've started smiling." He put the empty rice bowl down on the table. "Starting tomorrow, a girl will come to see you every day. She's Korean-Chinese, and will teach you Chinese. She's the only one who knows you're here, so you'll be safe with her. Whenever you have questions or problems, ask her, because I won't be here much."

  I stopped eating and said, "Thank you for doing all of this."

  He lowered his chopsticks. "Are you not going to ask again why I am helping you?" His skin was as dark as Gun's, but smoother, as if covered with wax.

  "It's sometimes hard to explain why people do what they do," Jin went on. "I can't tell you in one or two sentences why I helped you. When I first saw you, I just felt that you shouldn't be treated like that. I felt as if I had committed a sin. Actually, before moving here I'd heard stories from a South Korean friend about North Korean defectors and how badly they were treated. I hadn't paid that much attention to those stories at all. But when I saw you, I was shocked; I didn't actually believe this was happening here. I'm not a philanthropist, only a businessman, focused on making money. Just consider yourself lucky. I don't know what the next steps will be. I don't know where you'll want to go, but I will try to help you as much as possible."

  What could I say to that? He wasn't like the other Chinese-not like the stout man
in the bar or the karaoke owner.

  "Do all Chinese people speak English, like you?" I asked, surprising myself.

  He looked at me, amused. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?" he laughed. "No. Actually, I grew up in England, and I just returned to China. That's why this house looks so new. The people in the karaoke bar wanted to do business with me-they were trying to impress me." Jin studied my facial expression. "But it was the worst place I have ever been in."

  I carried our dishes to the sink. "I'm sorry I was so aggressive yesterday," I said.

  "No. If I were in your situation, I would behave worse. Don't worry about that-I've already forgotten."

  He wiped the table with a small white towel. "By the way, is there anything else you need?"

  Returning the dishes to the cupboard, I said, "No. I'm really fine now."

  "If you have something that you are reluctant to ask me, you can discuss it with the girl who will come tomorrow. Don't hesitate."

  I sat down in front of him. "Would you do something for me, later, when you have time?"

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "I want to go outside." I wanted to see everything-see where I was, with my own eyes.

  "Okay. The day after tomorrow, I'll be off, and we'll go outside. Or did you mean right now?" He rose to his feet and picked up his jacket from the chair.

  "Right now?" I asked, gazing up at him from my seat.

  "Yes. Why not? Let's go-maybe just for a short time."

  His car moved smoothly through the countryside, with the windows half-open. The fresh night air clouded as the numbers of neon lights increased.

  As we entered the city, Jin said, "There are several busy districts here, they're the young people's favorites."

  We passed a big statue of Mao Zedong, the Great Leader of China, holding up his right hand. His pose was identical to that of Kim 11 Sung at Mansudae in downtown Pyongyang. Lights surrounded him, illuminating his face. All about the statue were packs of people and the sounds of music.

  "That's the largest and most famous square here," Jin said. "All kinds of people gather here at night. The young girls and boys dance to new music, and old people enjoy themselves with traditional dances. Let's come here next time-it's really interesting. You can understand the changes inside China watching all the generations together. You know, China was like your country; it had the same ideology, but that all changed so quickly after Mao Zedong passed away. So many changes... I thought North Korea would take a similar path after your Mao passed away."

  I glanced at the square. Groups of people sat right below the statue, their radios on the ground next to them. How did they dare sit there, so close? They seemed so relaxed, joyful. I could see their teeth when they smiled.

  Jin drove us to a district glittering with lights. Smiling people were everywhere, and laughter filled the air. At first, I dared not watch people's faces through the window of the car.

  "It's okay," Jin said. "Nobody will recognize you; you're just like everyone else on this street."

  He took me to an ice-cream shop whose high ceiling was filled with colorful balloons. The people working inside wore bright uniforms and hats, and the customers chatted noisily, laughing and holding their treats. There were even old people.

  "I like to eat ice cream after a meal," Jin said. "At times, I really miss the sweet things I had in England. Ice cream is easy to find anywhere here-Chinese people love it. Even in freezing weather, you'll see people holding ice cream with their thick gloves. You want to try it?"

  He led me to the counter. There were so many square boxes underneath the glass. "Are they all different flavors of ice cream?" I asked in disbelief.

  "Yes! Choose two of them."

  In the end, I deliberated for too long and Jin chose for me. Leaving the shop with our ice creams, I felt the wind brush against my face. Feeling ice cream softly melting in my mouth, I looked up at the sky. There were no stars, not even one.

  "Can we walk a little bit?" I asked him, looking at the hazy sky.

  "Yes, sure. Let's go to this way."

  I strolled happily along, sometimes bumping into other people gently as I went. I looked at them in panic, but they didn't care. Nobody cared about me, nobody watched me. I walked and walked, trying to remember everything I saw.

  During our second lesson together, I asked my Chinese teacher, Hyunmi, how to get to the Korean-Chinese area from Jin's house. She told me it was easy to run into kko jebi on the streets near the Korean-Chinese center.

  "They block people walking on the street and reach out for gifts," Hyunmi said. "They also congregate around the Korean and Korean-Chinese churches nearby. I always see the same kids after worship on Sunday. Some of my friends are really close to then and always give them money. They call to us, `Sisters, brothers, we are all Koreans.' These words always stop me in my tracks. I hear they sleep together in a private video-viewing room at night. They look so pathetic. None of them has a child's face anymore."

  I made up my mind to go see them, hoping to find Sangwon. I would ask the children whether they had seen a small boy with a limp. I just couldn't be happy living on my own like that; I was deeply worried about him. And I knew he was searching just as hard for me.

  One day, some two weeks after arriving at Jin's house, I woke up early and waited for Jin to leave the house. He ate a simple breakfast-two fried eggs and fruit with tea-and departed quickly for his company. I wondered how he'd have energy for the morning with no rice on his plate. He was never comfortable when I woke up early to cook for him, so I would wait in my room until he'd left.

  As soon as I heard his car, I called Hyunmi and said I needed to postpone our Chinese study session to the next day because I wasn't feeling well. Stuffing some paper money and coins in my pocket, I left the house.

  The bus slowed as it approached the bus stop but didn't stop completely. A dark-skinned woman stuck her head out of the window next to the door. Opening the door, she pulled me forcefully by my shirt and lifted me into the bus. I looked at her with surprise, but she didn't meet my eyes; she just stuck out her open palm. Holding on to the back of a seat, swaying all about, I managed to put a one-yuan coin in her hand; it appeared unnaturally bright against her skin.

  The instant I saw Korean words mixed with Chinese on the signs of the stores, I jumped off the bus, which barely slowed down. From the street, I watched it stir up dust as it bounced away into the distance.

  I looked around the bus stop so I would know how to get back. There was a giant poster with the yin-yang symbol, advertising Korean Airlines. Across from it was a gray building adorned by a cardboard Korean woman in a hatibok, bowing politely. Finding a wide intersection, I crossed and proceeded straight ahead.

  The weather was hot; the wind, thick with dust, felt like cobwebs clogging my throat. I regretted wearing the jeans, as they stuck to my legs. Women rode bicycles in short skirts and men pulled their shirts up to their chests, showing their bare stomachs. I felt embarrassed by them and averted my eyes. Old men waved fans, sitting in the shadows beneath the buildings. I decided to buy the first fan I saw.

  As I walked, I looked everywhere for kko jebi. I saw people sitting down along the crowded streets, mats and paper spread in front of them. The fortune-tellers' signs bore the yin-yang symbol with a person's face in the center. Fortune-tellers sat on each block at about ten-meter intervals. I saw a customer with a serious face, sitting in front of an old man and listening ardently to his predictions.

  I couldn't find a single kko jebi on the street. It was growing hotter and more humid, and my body was tiring out. Did I get off at the wrong bus stop? No, I checked several times. A lot of people on the street spoke Korean, but I hadn't found a church yet. I resolved to go further.

  As I was waiting for the light to change, someone gripped my arm tightly from behind. I was startled but turned nimbly to find a man smiling at me. It was one of the men from the karaoke bar.

  "Hey, what are you doing here?" he said with a
grin. I pretended not to know him and tried to wrest free of his hand. His grip tightened. "Hey, can't you even say hi to me? Come on! Don't pretend you don't know me. I've been thinking about you. How have you been?"

  He didn't let go of my arm, but whistled admiringly. "Oh, you don't look like a beggar anymore. Is the guy who bought you good to you? Look at you! Money is the fastest way to change people, isn't it?"

  I stared at him with annoyance. "Let me go." People were stepping around us to cross the road.

  I tried to wriggle free, but he locked his arm in mine and said, "Let's go someplace for a cup of coffee. I wanted to be friends, we just didn't have time. But now look! Don't you think this is fate? Let's go, we'll have some fun after coffee." He winked.

  I pushed him away and stomped on his foot. He screamed and swore, "Fuck, this bitch-" I tried to leap away, but the signal had changed to red, and I had no choice but to jump into traffic.

  Chasing after me, he shouted, in Korean, "She's a North Korean runaway! She took my money! Catch her! " Then he shouted something in Chinese. All at once, people's eyes fixed on me, and within seconds, men in uniforms were rushing after me.

  I tried to run but bumped into people at every turn. One of the policemen caught me by my hair. He pulled me up to him, and another policeman grabbed my waist. Bystanders formed a circle around us. When I looked back, the man from the karaoke bar was standing in the distance, watching me. Catching my eye, he waved, smiled, and walked away.

  I was dragged away by three men, two holding my hands and one pushing my head down hard. I felt pain in my shoulders, but I couldn't scream. I was taken to a small police station and thrown into an empty prison cell. They called over a young, pink-faced man with pimples who was sitting at a table reading a magazine. He looked at me and asked, in Korean, "Are you North Korean?"

  I was silent. He held out his hand. "If you are not, prove it. Give me your ID."

  I replied in English, "I want to make a phone call."

  "I asked you to give me your ID," he said, in Korean.

  I stood up before him and said, "I want to make one call. Someone will come. Until then, I won't do anything." I felt it was best not to speak. I had to contact Jin. I crouched down in the corner of the cell and repeated to myself, "I'm not going back there. I'm not going back there."