Ji-min smiled. There is good in the world.
Think Big
Minister Pak walked the orchard on his estate, the Colonel at his side. The trees cast long shadows over the freshly raked ground and the occasional newly fallen apple. A gardener trimmed a hedge along the orchard’s edge, his gaze fixated on the abandoned fruit that wasn’t his to take.
The Colonel’s hand trembled as he raised a cigarette to his lips. A match's yellow glow revealed a deeply wrinkled forehead. The light faded, replaced by the faint orange of the burning tip. “Dear Leader’s lost his mind.” The first word dripped with contempt.
“If he ever had it,” Minister Pak said.
“How does he think this will end? Is he really going to fire a missile at Hawaii?” His cigarette tip flared.
Minister Pak shook his head. “I don’t know. His mood’s volatile, more so than usual. This morning, he sent an outside team to conduct the ministry audit.”
“He doesn’t trust you,” the Colonel said.
“He trusts no one. Not anymore.”
“What did you do about his inspectors?”
“I welcomed their help. I don’t want to give him any cause to consider me disloyal.” Minister Pak yanked a red-and-green Fuji from a tree and bit in. His face soured, and he tossed the apple aside. “Not just yet, anyhow.”
“They’ll find things. Even if they don’t, they’ll invent something out of fear.”
“The ministry’s a vast organization. I can keep them occupied for a while. I worry more about military intervention. Dear Leader set preparations in motion to target Hawaii. Even if he doesn’t order the attack, the Americans might decide a launch is imminent. That might spark a full-scale conflict.”
The Colonel nodded. “Three American aircraft carriers could reach us within a week. The US Marines doubled their contingent in Seoul thanks to the recent saber rattling. Even the Chinese are amassing troops on the border.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke.
Minister Pak snickered. “At least the Chinese wouldn’t attack. Probably. They most likely want to prevent our people from seeking refuge across the border if tensions escalate to war.”
“This is madness. We must stop it.”
“Yes, we must,” Minister Pak said in a whisper.
In a hushed voice, the Colonel said, “What should we do? Assassinate Dear Leader?”
The men walked the length of the grounds, dry leaves and twigs crunching under their steps. They reached stone stairs leading up a knoll atop which stood a traditional garden pavilion. A plate of chocolate-coated dried persimmons awaited them.
Minister Pak sat in a rattan chair, absently nibbling refreshments and staring at the stars twinkling on the horizon. “If we kill Dear Leader, the generals are most likely to fill the vacuum. None of them look favorably upon us. You need to think big. Dear Leader’s folly creates an opportunity if we’re bold enough to seize it.”
The Colonel lit a new cigarette from the embers of his old one.
“I can’t have you promoted to general,” Minister Pak said, “but I can pull strings to place you in charge of a nuclear missile battery.”
“To what end?” the Colonel asked.
A wry smile formed on Minister Pak’s lips. “We’ll get to that. First, I'll work a back channel to an ally. We need a temporary deal with the Americans that Dear Leader will accept. It’s time to burn the ship.”
Salvation
The winds picked up that afternoon, pushing dark, billowing clouds from the north across a clear blue sky. The debris serving as their shelter blew about. Bae rushed to pile on heavier pieces.
The wind made Ji-min’s head hurt and her limbs ache. She tried to help Bae fortify their home, but her strength failed her. She collapsed back into their rat-infested nest. At least we have a source of food, Ji-min thought as one of the vermin scurried over a pile of broken brick.
With a final whoosh, the wind stopped.
“Thank goodness,” Ji-min said, her voice frail.
Bae looked to the south. “Strange, there’s a line of white clouds. They’re moving fast.”
Ji-min peeked out, eyebrows arched.
“I’ve never seen that before,” Bae said. “Winter clouds and summer clouds, on the same day. Perhaps it will average out,” he said with a grin. “All the same, I’ll do what I can to strengthen our little home.” He foraged for anything heavy, careful not to take something the city people might miss lest they be accused of theft. He kept a wary eye on the two lines of clouds as they came together. As darkness set in, the lines met, and the gates of hell seemed to open. Wind walloped them, tossing aside layer upon layer of rotting cardboard, molding rugs, and bits of wood. Thick, oppressive snowflakes smacked into them, clinging to their bodies, weighing them down. They couldn’t see beyond their arms.
“Bae!” Ji-min called.
He cradled her frail body. “I’m here. We’re together.”
“We need to move. I know a place.” Dangerous stuff. “Let’s go!”
She led him, stumbling, through the street, toward the factory. They turned early and had to backtrack, their faces already numb. A green-gray blur proved to be the transformer box. She forced frozen fingers into the small crack and pulled. They slipped out, refusing to grasp the freezing metal. “Help me!”
Bae pushed his fingers in next to hers, but they also found no purchase.
She searched the alley, blinded by the blizzard, desperate for anything useful. Something hard collided with her shin and she fell face-first into the deep snow. Ji-min forced herself up, wiping sticky wetness from her face. An ominous image hovered above her. Dear Leader’s face, grayed by the flurry, grinned down at her, the enigmatic motto in golden shrift above his head. How can you be happy when your people starve and freeze? Her hand rested on something. A stick tipped in Alizarin red. The paint stick. She carried it to the transformer panel, wedged it in the tiny opening. She threw her weight against it. Metal groaned. Bae’s hand appeared. She pushed, he pulled. Snap! The panel flew open.
“Don’t touch anything at all, Bae. Not a thing.”
Bae nodded.
They slid under barrel-sized metal cylinders wrapped with thick copper wire. If not for their emaciated state, they would not have fit in. The storm raged outside, banging the panel open and closed. Ji-min wormed her hand to the opening and grabbed the metal sheet when it swung shut. A firm tug wedged it in place. She let her arm go limp and left it where it lay, not daring to move a hair. At least the air is warm. So very warm. Like summer. Like…
Ji-min strolled through beautiful fields, twirling, a broad smile on her face. She plucked a mauve-colored flower, inhaled its delightful scent. The potato mounds were overgrown with dark-green leaves on sturdy, mantis-green stems. The earth smelled rich, nourishing.
A familiar voice called out. “Mom,” it said with an urgency foreign to the idyllic spring.
Eomma knelt in the field, pulling roots from the ground, placing each in a hand-woven basket. She wore the new shirt Appa had given her. She’s so happy, my mother.
The voice again. “Mom, mom, where are you? Where did you go?”
A smell wafted through the air. Was Appa barbecuing? Fresh meat was scarce, but Appa was resourceful. Acrid smoke filled her eyes, burned her throat. She coughed, choked. Awoke. A terrifying realization struck her. Unseen needles danced over her skin. Bae. “Bae. Bae! No, no, no.”
Ji-min punched at the panel. It punched back, the weight of snow holding it in place. Her body quaked. No! Not Bae. She found the stick and wedged it into the crack. Ji-min pushed hard, letting in a brilliant streak of white light. In his sleep, he must have reached out and touched the wires. Smoke swirled from his blackened hand. Out. Get out get out get out. She contorted her body such that her head pressed to his waist and her feet touched the door. She slammed against it until the snow gave way to her fury. The bright day flooded in.
Ji-min squirmed out, into a world covered with a pink-white blanket. She ran, una
ware where her feet carried her. Buildings passed in a gray blur. If people were near, she didn’t notice. She moved and moved, away from the horror, until her legs wouldn’t carry her another step. She knelt and sobbed until she couldn’t, then fell over, unconscious.
#
Ji-min awoke with the moon high overhead, casting a ghostly light over the town. She was near starvation, and her skin was hot despite the winter air. With enormous effort, she dragged herself onto her feet, but the first steps sent her reeling into the ground. She pushed herself up again and forced herself forward. Where am I? How did I get here? She drifted aimlessly through the streets, vaguely aware she had to find food and shelter, but too weary to care. As the eastern sky turned deep purple and the dimmest stars faded, she stumbled upon a familiar street. The factory. Bae died there. I can’t return to that place. She meandered through town as the sky shifted to dark blue and a thin, red line formed on the horizon. Bae would want me to live. Is it selfish to give up? She glanced around, found her orientation, and started back toward the factory.
The eastern horizon was a brilliant, heavenly gold when she reached her destination. She waited in front of the building, forcing herself not to contemplate what lay in the alley beyond. The workers were late. Maybe they’re late because of the storm. Maybe they’ll stay home.
Mid-morning, one man showed up. “No more painting,” he said. “The rest of the crew’s been taken to the next town, where they have raw materials to make things. Well, you can paint if you want. I’m sure Dear Leader would appreciate it. But I can’t spare my food.” He let himself into the building and shut the door.
Where should I find food now? And shelter? Her mind wandered to the alley, to the transformer. I can’t go back in that death chamber. She shuddered. I can’t. Ji-min’s world turned gray. She wasn’t aware of the people gradually emerging to shovel snow or slog their way through the storm’s aftermath to whatever destination they had to reach. She placed one foot in front of the other, mindlessly wandering the city, a ghastly apparition willfully ignored by all. Will my ghost walk the streets after my body fails?
Ji-min stumbled through the icy streets for hours. Her body felt on fire. Voices echoed through her consciousness, unsettled townspeople whispering about her condition, turning away when she wandered close. They’re ashamed. Not of me, of themselves, that they can’t help. They are not evil. They are broken. She stopped and stared at the sky. Ethereal wisps of clouds meandered among the stars. Why is everyone either evil or broken? Is there no good in the world? Her knees buckled, and she fell onto the street, unable to move. No matter. What’s the point? There is no lasting good. What’s the value in living?
A light storm dropped dry, fluffy snow on the city. It gradually accumulated on Ji-min, covering her body. The wind blew perfectly, so the snow piled on the back of her head and swirled away from her face. Day turned to night, turned to day.
Voices whispered.
“Poor soul,” said a woman.
“The police should collect her,” a man said.
A third voice, another man, added, “They don't have gas for the truck and won’t get more for at least a week.”
“Should we bring her somewhere until then?” the woman asked.
“No,” the first man said. “Look at her. Typhoid. You don’t want to catch that.”
“She’ll keep until then, I suppose,” the woman said. “Poor soul.”
Vivid, horrific images danced in Ji-min’s fevered brain. There was no longer day and night, light and dark. Only gray. Gray fading to black.
#
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.
A gurgling, fluttering noise sounded in Ji-min’s ear.
She floated. Is this it? Am I dead? Is Bae here? Eomma? Appa?
Her body came to rest on something soft. She experienced a prick in her arm. A warm, comfortable feeling enveloped her.
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.
She opened an eye. An angel hovered over her. Yes, I’m dead. It’s not so bad.
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.
Jolt.
Wait. No. It’s her! The woman who took me to bury Eomma. Unje. How is she here? Is she an angel?
Ji-min’s eye closed again, and she drifted into a restful, dreamless sleep.
“We’re here,” Unje said, nudging Ji-min’s shoulder.
“Hmm? Here?” Ji-min tried to sit up.
Unje placed a hand on her chest. “You’re so weak.” She lifted Ji-min like one lifts a small child and carried her into a simple home. It was warm inside. The scent of spices permeated the air. The gracious woman laid Ji-min in a bed softer than any she could imagine and pulled a thick, cozy blanked up to her neck. She filled a spoon with water, and something soothing Ji-min didn’t recognize. “Slowly, child.”
The liquid spread over Ji-min’s throat, refreshing her and quenching the scorching pain.
“I’ll return in a few minutes,” Unje said, retreating to another room. The aroma of a delicious, meaty broth spread through the house. She returned with a steaming bowl. “Time for you to regain your strength. Not too much at once.”
Ji-min slurped half the bowl. Her eyelids grew heavy, not as they had been from sickness and starvation, but from a realization that she was warm and fed, and she could rest until she was strong. That she was safe. She slept for what seemed like half a lifetime. Dreams of family danced through her head and dreams of Bae. Not nightmares of his death, but of how he sheltered her. Of how he was a force for good in the world. She dreamed of a divine light, and of the benevolent woman hovering over her. She dreamed of Eomma and of Appa. When she woke, warm sunlight streamed on her through a tall window, bathing the room in golden light.
“Ah, you’re with us again,” Unje said, entering with a teapot. She set two cups on a bedside table and filled them with aromatic Jasmine. A pink-orange halo seemed to follow her.
Ji-min blinked. What’s that light following Unje? Did the disease hurt my eyes? Am I still dreaming? Am I going crazy? “Thank you,” Ji-min said, “for saving me. But how did you find me?”
Unje sipped her tea. “I’ve been watching,” she said. The halo shifted, becoming a swirl of daisy-yellow.
Ji-min sat up. “Watching?” She rubbed her eyes, trying to make the glow disappear.
“Tell me,” Unje said. “How do you feel about the world we live in?” Silver-gray. The air surrounding the woman’s head was now silver-gray.
Ji-min blinked her eyes and furrowed her brow.
“You know what I mean.” Unje’s gaze penetrated Ji-min’s veneer and peered into her soul.
Yes. I do. But how? Her words convey more meaning than they should. “You want to know if I view the world as fundamentally good, or fundamentally evil.”
Unje nodded.
“The world is broken,” Ji-min said.
“Go on.”
“Most people want to help others, but are so terrified for their own lives, they dare not.” Her eyes narrowed. “A few are evil.”
“What if I told you it’s not that way everywhere?”
“You mean… America?”
“Not just America. Most other places in the world. What if I told you Dear Leader lies?”
The thought should have appalled Ji-min. It did not. She nodded, recognizing a truth that had gnawed at her for months. “He’s the source of evil, isn’t he? Him, and those that work for him. The army, the police?”
“Over a million soldiers serve in the army. Most of them just want food and a warm home. A few, those at the top, live lavishly while the masses starve. They use their power to keep their power. They deceive, coerce. If someone is too persistent a thorn that person is removed.”
“Appa,” Ji-min said.
“Yes, your father stood for what was right, and they took him.” Unje’s eyes radiated sorrow. Charcoal-gray swirls surrounded her.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ji-min said.
Unje raised an eyebrow.
&n
bsp; “How did you find me? How were you watching me, and why?”
“Watching is what I do,” Unje answered. “And helping where I can. I wish I could do more. Save more. I wish I was in time to save Bae.”
“Are you… are you an angel?” Ji-min asked.
“Do you believe in angels?”
“My mother often told me stories of the devas. She believed. I want to believe.”
Unje smiled. “You haven’t touched your tea.”
Ji-min sipped the fragrant brew.
“You can stay here as long as you wish,” Unje said. “Once you regain your strength, we’ll discuss your path.” Emerald-green spheres drifted around her head.
“I see things,” Ji-min said. “Colors, shapes.”
“Of that, too, we will speak after you recover.”
Ji-min’s eyelids were heavy. So many questions. So tired. She drifted into a peaceful sleep.
#
The following morning, Ji-min awoke refreshed. She was still appallingly gaunt, but a modicum of strength had returned. Next to her bed lay a full-color magazine. A South Korean magazine. Forbidden propaganda. Not propaganda. The truth. She thumbed through it, astonished at the luxury displayed on every page.
Unje entered with a tray of steaming rice, pungent kimchi, and savory porridge. “You’re looking well.”
“I feel well,” Ji-min said. “Better than I felt in ages.”
Unje sat at the bedside and rested a hand on Ji-min’s arm. “Are you ready to talk about your future?” Colors and shapes still swirled around the woman.
“I see…” Ji-min said. “A rainbow dancing around you every time you speak.” She grasped Unje’s hand. “Am I crazy?”
Unje shook her head. “That’s now part of who you are. You were born attuned to others. That sense is severely sharpened now.” She spoke more words, this time in a foreign language.
She said, “You understand people, regardless of the language they speak.” How do I know that? How can this be?
The woman smiled. “You have a gift I hope you will use well.”
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