Ji-min

by Eric Johannsen

  Soldiers swarmed from the back of the trucks like a disturbed ant colony. The men were haggard. Has the famine affected even the army? They ringed the mill, weapons pointed outward like a bristling boar. The guard nearest her leaned against an old tree, one that stood far longer than the adjacent forest. He checked his rifle, aiming at a random part of the forest. “Pow, pow!” he said with a wicked grin, then lowered the gun.

  The Colonel strode toward the mill’s main building, where workers met him. Words were exchanged, too distant for Ji-min to understand. The military man gestured emphatically toward the small piles of cut wood, toward smaller piles of timber, and at the workers. The men shrunk back and bowed.

  Ji-min slipped back into the shadows of the trees. That man is evil. A branch snapped behind her. She whirled about. One of the older boys approached. “Shh!” she whispered. The boy stopped and knelt. She crawled to him. “The army’s here. We need to stay out of sight.”

  “I can’t,” the boy said. “I have to eat.”

  “And I need to get food for Bae.” Ji-min glanced at the mill. “Let’s circle to the south. The junk pile will give us cover.”

  The two picked their way through the trees then past the place where the town piled rubbish that was beyond repair and wouldn’t burn for heat. In town, they separated for a better chance at finding food. Ji-min met an old woman who needed help moving a pile of coal from the street to her kitchen. The woman shared a cup of rice. In the late afternoon, she met a widower whose children had moved to the capital. He asked for help cleaning mud off his floor but seemed more interested in having company than in the work being done. After an hour of conversation, he rewarded her with a few potatoes. Potatoes. Home. She stayed with the forsaken man until the shadows grew long. He offered more food, too much of his meager supply, but Ji-min refused. Saddened by his isolation and moved by his generosity, she asked about his family and history. The replies were lost on her because she was distracted. One thought refused to leave her mind. Why is that officer here?

  #

  It was almost dark when Ji-min picked her way through the scrap yard, a wary eye on the soldiers guarding the mill. Half a dozen men surrounded the perimeter while others huddled in tents. The men on duty pulled their coats tight and settled in. Some marched a patrol, some were too weak to move.

  One tent was taller and twice the size of the others. A yellow light emanated from its entrance. It had a covered area to hold away inclement weather, and a carpet laid down like a welcome mat. Smoke drifted out its opening, delicious, mouth-watering, stomach-wrenching smoke carrying the scent of barbecued meat. Ji-min had sampled the delicacy only once in her life, at a festival in her youngest years, when the nation was more prosperous. Before the Americans declared hostilities against Dear Leader, choking off the country’s food. The Colonel emerged from the elaborate shelter. He brought his hands together close to his face. A flash of orange illuminated his features then a puff of cigarette smoke enveloped his head. A gust of icy wind blew through the encampment. Charcoal-black, billowing clouds loomed on the horizon. A winter storm. He glanced at the advancing front, flicked away his half-finished cigarette, and returned inside.

  Ji-min brought Bae the day’s food. “The army's at the mill,” she said, “led by the officer who took Appa from me. I’m going back to see what they’re doing.”

  “No,” Bae said, grasping her forearm.

  “I must. That man is a threat. I need to understand why he’s here.”

  Bae released her. “Be careful.”

  Ji-min returned to watch the mill. She found a fallen tree close enough to observe the soldiers and laid branches across it to form a windbreak, in the manner their shelter was built. The ominous clouds crept closer and her bones ached from the weather. Stark white light from the full moon cast harsh shadows through the trees, then was blotted out by the storm’s first, inky clouds. The wind picked up, driving against Ji-min’s hasty lean-to, swirling around the men guarding the officer’s tent. The trees moaned then howled as the storm gathered force. It has never been this cold. Should I return to Bae? Could I find the path in this weather? She wedged herself as far as she could into her shelter. If I get lost, I’ll freeze to death. She pulled a few grains of rice from her pocket and chewed on them.

  Somewhere nearby, there was a loud crack and a soft thud.

  Ji-min was too hungry to pay the sound much heed. Huddled in the fetal position, she shivered for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. One thought weaved through her consciousness. I should have returned to camp. The night’s so frigid, I'll freeze before sunrise. Her chest warmed in supernatural defiance of the raging snowstorm. That feeling. Numbing warmth. Perhaps I’m dying now. Half-awake, she wrapped her hands around the heat and curled her body tight. Ji-min slept again, this time blessed with peaceful dreams.

  A beam of silvery light settled on her face, arousing her from slumber. The winds had subsided, and the clouds were platinum wisps across a starry sky. The heavens are beautiful. Cold, deadly. But beautiful. She pulled herself up. Fresh snow covered the mill, reflecting the brilliant moonlight. The soldiers were dark blots against the clearing, save one. The man nearest her was covered in snow, a thick, icy, freshly snapped branch across his body. Did the branch cause the sound?

  She crept to the edge of the forest. The soldier manning the perimeter nearest her hadn’t moved. She looked past him, to the Colonel’s tent. It glowed dim orange and melted water dripped from its roof. That officer took Appa. Without Appa, Eomma died. That man is evil. The ground between her and the nearby guard was strewn with small boulders, some as tall as her waist. She inched into the clearing, crawling on hands and knees, working her way from boulder to boulder as the moon traced across the sky. None of the soldiers reacted. She reached the branch-covered man. His eyes were wide open and glazed over. A gash on his forehead glinted white, and a reddish-brown patch of ice ran from the wound to his chin. No steam came from his nose or mouth, and his chest was still. His bony hands grasped a rifle. A rifle. Power. Revenge. Ji-min pried the weapon from the man’s frozen fingers. What had Appa said? Stare down the length of it at your target, pull the trigger. Is it so easy to kill?

  The ground from the tree to the tents was flat and bathed in silvery moonlight. If I get closer, the other guards will see me. Can I kill the officer before they kill me? She inspected the rifle, careful to avoid the trigger. Can I use this thing when I get the chance? She observed the nearest guards. They watched outward from the camp, hardly moving. Her stomach cramped, and her legs were heavy, like thick lumps of ice. Can I run to the tent or will I fall on my face halfway there?

  A dot of orange danced near the officer’s tent. It moved higher and glowed brighter. The Colonel emerged from the shadow cast by the tent's awning. His body, glimmering with an ethereal light, was plainly visible.

  Ji-min raised the rifle.

  The Colonel, the man who stole Appa, stood at the end of the barrel. Is that a bad way to leave the world? Finding revenge on the man who took Appa from me?

  She tensed her aching finger. The metal trigger was glacial, leeching the last of the warmth from her fingertip. He’s evil. How many other lives has he ruined? How many will he yet destroy?

  The man took a puff from his cigarette, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose.

  Something scratched at Ji-min’s chest. The rifle’s barrel sagged as she reached for the spot with her left hand. She grasped the talisman Unje had given her. Does a spirit watch over me now? Benevolent spirit, am I evil if I end his life? Is it right? She let go the talisman raised the rifle again. Her hands shook. Hot, salty water streamed down her cheeks. Am I evil? She lowered the weapon again, the barrel this time smacking into the snowy ground. She sobbed for what felt like hours, her chest heaving, her throat struggling to contain any sound. As an azure glow over the eastern hills heralded the new day, Ji-min laid the rifle back in the arms of the fallen soldier and slunk home. I am not evil.

  #

>   Ji-min awoke with a start to the buzzing of chainsaws. “What’s happening?” she said with a groggy, parched voice. Her head ached. She felt warm, despite the icy draft permeating their home. Not the peaceful warmth from the previous night but a muggy, uncomfortable, flushed feeling.

  Bae sat up in bed. “The sound isn’t coming from the mill. It’s too close.”

  “Could they be-” Ji-min said.

  Voices sounded, close to camp. The voices of confident men. Indifferent men.

  Police? Soldiers?

  “Over here!” a man said.

  Bae grasped Ji-min’s arm, his eyes wide. He yanked the twine securing their escape wall. The knot tightened. He took a breath and pulled again, grasping the other free strand. The pine wall fell flat. Bae shoved Ji-min into the cramped secret passage. “Go,” he whispered.

  Sharp twigs scraped her back and her belly dragged over the cold earth. She could feel Bae on her heels. There was a yelp and a thud, muffled by the escape tunnel yet far too close. Screams. They’re in the camp! Her pulse measured her soaring dread, her body shuddering with each heartbeat. Terrified, exhausted, she reached the end. Thick branches camouflaged the exit.

  “Don’t make me chase after you,” a gruff man said.

  Does he mean me? She grasped a branch and inched it aside. Please don’t see us.

  They scrambled into the early morning light. “Where should we run?” Ji-min whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at the camp even as her hands and knees carried her away. A dozen meters behind her, men demolished the crude shelters. Some orphans were captured. Most escaped. The men weren’t focused on the children. Their goal was to tear the camp apart.

  “We have an older hideout, deeper in the woods,” Bae said.

  The two crawled through bare shrubs and behind rotting logs, working their way further from the destruction. After putting a hundred meters behind them, they crouched and dashed into a shallow ravine. Half an hour later, they came to a small clearing. The old camp. A few children were there and more trickled in while Ji-min caught her breath.

  “What happened?” a girl with short-cropped hair asked. “Why are they doing this?”

  “They’re cutting the trees,” Ji-min said. “Our trees. Someone gave instructions to remove us.”

  “They can’t,” the girl said. “They’re too young. The men at the mill said it would be at least ten years before they’re ready.”

  In the distance, wood creaked, reluctantly and then faster. A thud reverberated through the forest.

  “Ji-min’s right,” Bae said.

  A diesel engine roared to life. It wasn’t the sound of military trucks. Something else.

  “I’ll go back and check,” Ji-min said.

  “I’m going with you.” Bae strode back up the ravine toward the mill.

  Ji-min opened her mouth to protest, but then followed, struggling to keep pace with his long strides. Two more booms rattled the forest before they reached its edge. A huge, yellow vehicle loomed above the trees. The pair stooped and moved as close as they dared. Men cut trees with loud saws that billowed plumes of dingy smoke, and a beast of a machine scooped up the fallen trunks, carrying them to the mill.

  “Can you hear what they’re saying?” Ji-min asked.

  “No,” Bae whispered.

  “I’m getting closer.”

  “Ji-min!”

  She ignored his words, dragging her belly over the hard ground, working her way under bushes and around rocks. Ji-min was close but couldn’t make out the words. Then, the diesel engine shut off.

  “…because Dear Leader determined we need more wood now,” the chief miller said.

  More words were spoken, but only those registered with her. Dear Leader is taking the woods, our home, for the effort against the Americans. The greater good is more important than my good. Than the good of my friends.

  She and Bae inched away from the millers, then ran full speed, returning to the old camp as fast as they could. When they arrived, their chests heaved, and their legs protested.

  “What’s going on?” someone asked.

  Ji-min locked mournful eyes on him. “We have to leave.”

  #

  The stand of trees Ji-min called home was obliterated in a matter of days. Saws droned from earliest light until sunset, and more men arrived from another town to help fell the pines and strip their branches. The orphans broke into small groups, each desperate to find refuge in town. Ji-min and Bae found themselves near the orphanage with the fading, red tile roof, sleeping under a pile of rubbish, sharing their ramshackle home with rats. Ji-min’s back ached every morning, and she found it difficult to rise from sleep. Life was perilous on a mild winter day. The next storm could kill them.

  A few blocks away was a boxy, brick-and-metal building. It was single story but much taller than a house. A sizable door stood open, revealing rows of machines painted blue-and-white, with silvery tubes connecting them. Workers sat around a rickety table playing a dice game. “Hello,” Ji-min called from the street. “My name is Ji-min. Is there work I can do here?”

  The men stared with apathetic eyes. One turned to her and said, “We don’t even have work, young miss.”

  “But this building, all the machines.”

  The man sauntered to the door, eying her with suspicion. “Yes,” he said, “but they didn’t send us materials for weeks. Without materials, we can’t produce. If we don’t make things, we don’t get paid. Understand?”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  The man let out a heavy sigh and squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened, his expression was serene. “If you want to work here,” he said, “the mural of Dear Leader covering the back wall is beginning to fade. We received some new paint to touch it up, but the weather’s been too cold for such work. If you can help, I can share my lunch. Don’t tell my wife and don’t expect it to be much. You do know how to paint?”

  “Yes,” Ji-min lied. How hard can it be?

  He took her out back with supplies and watched her fumble with the cans and brush.

  “Perhaps you need a refresher.” He opened a can labeled Alizarin Red, stirred the paint with an old stick, and dabbed the brush into the bright paint. With gentle strokes, he filled a faded corner of the wall-sized painting, careful to apply color in the right places. He handed Ji-min another brush. The two spent the morning restoring the picture of Dear Leader to its original glory. There was a caption in bold letters across the top of the mural, “No one can stop our way!” She wondered exactly what “way” the slogan referenced. The man held a pleasant conversation with her, navigating around personal topics. It was noon when they finished the bottom portion. He handed Ji-min rice cakes wrapped in old paper.

  That's more than half a lunch. With a grateful bow, she accepted the food.

  “Enough for one day,” he said. “The fumes are getting to me. Tomorrow, we’ll do the middle. That part’s too tall for you, so I’ll bring a ladder.” He regarded her. “Let’s hope it’s not too windy, so you don’t blow away.”

  “Thank you so much for your kindness.” Ji-min bowed.

  “Be on time,” he said with a grin, then cleaned up the supplies. Ji-min offered to help, but he waved her off. “Eat, or you really will blow away tomorrow.”

  Exhausted, Ji-min leaned up against a forest-green, metal box standing behind the factory. It was twice her height and long as a truck. The box is warm. She turned to it, placed a hand on it then a cheek.

  “You best stay away from the transformer,” he said. “It carries electricity into the factory. Dangerous stuff.”

  Ji-min bowed acknowledgment.

  #

  Ji-min was at the factory by sunrise. The day was clear and cold, so she leaned against the green box, absorbing its faint heat, and admiring the bright oranges and reds of the dawn sky, despite the gnawing hunger. At least her body was warm. The wind picked up, slicing at her hands and face. She took refuge on the other side of the box, away from the frosty gusts.
When she rested against the thing, it rattled. Strange. She examined the wall. There was a hinge, and a bulky metal lock, but the loop the lock passed through was excessively rusted. She pushed her fingers into an exposed edge and pulled. The panel shuddered but refused to open. The man’s words echoed through her mind. Dangerous stuff.

  The factory workers trickled in once the sun stood a hand’s width above the horizon. The benevolent man found her waiting. He brought out paint and ladders, and they set to work. The middle of the banner required patience as Dear Leader’s face was painted in a variety of hues and tones. The man showed her how to mix paint to match the color. She had a talent for finding the right shade.

  The sun climbed toward its zenith, with work on the mural progressed smoothly. Ji-min was touching up Dear Leader’s hairline when the world began to spin. She grasped the side of the ladder, but it tipped toward the ground.

  “Careful!” the man shouted, springing from his own ladder to steady hers. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t… I don’t know.” Ji-min was flushed.

  He held the back of his hand halfway to her forehead, hesitated, then touched her temple. “Probably the fumes,” he said, his eyes awash with concern. “They get to me, too. Enough work for today.” He reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, thrusting forth his lunch and dinner. “Eat. Come back tomorrow and we’ll finish the middle. Get as much sleep as you can.”

  Ji-min tried to bow, sending the world into a spiral.

  The man steadied her shoulder.

  “Do… Do you have someone to care for you?”

  Ji-min nodded. “Bae. I have Bae.”

  “Why don’t you send Bae around tomorrow while you rest?”

  “We both do what we can to find food.”

  The man nodded, painful understanding evident in his wrinkled brow. “Stay warm,” he said. “I’ll see if I can scrape a little more food together for tomorrow.”