Jia: A Novel of North Korea (28 page)

"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."

He looked at me and inclined his head, then went back
to confer with the others. I could understand a bit of what
they said-they were debating whether I was really North
Korean. They picked up the phone to call someone.

Several minutes later, a female police officer breezed
into the cell. She stood me up and investigated my whole
body, finding only some Chinese cash-no ID, not even a
scrap of paper. I spoke to them in English again and gestured, "Please. I want to make one call. One call."

After discussing it among themselves, they handed me a
phone, and through the bars of the cell I stuck out my index finger to dial Jin's number. I'll never forget the endless
minute I stood and listened to the number ringing. Jin was
never home in the middle of the day, but it was the only
telephone number I had. Given another chance, I would
call Hyunmi.

After several rings, the sound suddenly cut off.

"Wei?"

Through the thin line of the telephone, Jin's low voice shot into my ear. I couldn't respond at first, I didn't know
how to explain where I was.

"Hello. Is it Jia?" After a silence, he repeated the question. ` Jia, is it you?"

"Jin, please help me."

"Jesus Christ, Jia! Where are you?" he shouted.

I explained what I could, that I was in the hands of the
police, at a station near the Korean-Chinese center.

"Okay. I'll be there soon. Don't say anything, okay? I'll
be right there."

I hung up, they took the phone back, and the man who
spoke Korean made a phone call. In Korean, I heard him
say, "Right, you guys come here and check her out." Catching my eyes as they filled with confusion, he spoke to the
others in Chinese. Parts of what he said I could understand:
"I called them. They'll come.. .and figure out whether she's
theirs or not." He went back to his desk and opened the
magazine he had been reading.

I was stunned. He must have called the embassy or
some agents from North Korea. I stared at the door; if they
got there earlier than Jin, there was no hope. I tried to stay
calm and not watch the door, but I couldn't control my
shaking hands.

I shut my eyes tight, regretting my decision to conic to
the Korean-Chinese district by myself. Why didn't I tell
Jin first?