Jia: A Novel of North Korea (16 page)

Then things changed: they began interrogating him and
torturing him at the same time. The square-faced man
showed up again.

"How have you been? You look much fatter than before. I didn't know you were so satisfied with this place."

He sat down on a worn-out wooden chair so wide that
he needed only the right half, and set his cigarette down on
the left. "So, where are your parents?"

Gun's stomach spouted a lump of acid. "They're dead.
Please, believe me: that's why I came back here-I was lonely and missed my relatives. I won't run away anymore, and
I really regret doing it the first time. Please, please forgive
me." Gun thought the square-faced man was his last hope.

The square-faced man was not moved by Gun's confession. He simply lit another cigarette and asked his subordinates, "Where is the kettle?"

A big, round kettle was brought in. The man asked
again, "Are you sure your parents are dead?"

"How could old people survive such a fast current?"
Gun cried. "We were stupid, we tried to cross the river,
but it was the worst decision of my life. I regret it to the
bone."

The square-faced man stroked his stubbly chin. The back
of his hand was flecked with tiny scars and scabs. Grinning
lightly, he trilled, "Start."

Two men made Gun lie down and forced his mouth
open. Holding his lower jaw down, they poured water into
his mouth from the yellowish metal kettle, and though
he tried not to swallow it, the pressure of the water made it rush fiercely down his throat. When his stomach was
full, they stamped on his torso until water came out of his
mouth and anus-every orifice in his body-and he vomited white liquid. Gun felt his eyes would shoot out; his
legs kicked in every direction, and his wrists wriggled in
the grip of the men holding him down. They repeated this
procedure several times.

The square-faced man finally came and crouched down
next to Gun, watching him from above, so that his face appeared to be upside down. "So, did I see ghosts in China?
I had dinner with your parents four days ago. Your mother
cooked bean paste stew for me. Bean paste stew, with green
onions and tofu. Isn't that her best dish? I don't understand
why you left such nice parents so readily-they looked so sad
not to be able to see you, but I said you were fine with me.
They were so happy and relieved to hear those words!"

Gun realized why they had stopped asking about his parents. He grabbed the square-faced man's arm. He couldn't
help stuttering, "Please-spare their lives. They are too old
to handle this. They just followed me. I planned everything
by myself."

The man grinned. "I can treat them as my real parents,"
he sneered. "I'm sure they'll take to me, but what can you
do for me? Taking care of old people, as you know, isn't
easy, especially in the case of your limping father..."

Gun kept his grip on the man's arm, white liquid still
running from his mouth. They looked at each other for a
while, and Gun felt he would never forget that steel block
of a face. Then the man stood up, took his cigarette from
the chair, and said, "Send him back to his cell."

As he was dragged from the room, Gun felt capable of
murder for the first time in his life.

For a week after that, Gun was left alone. As soon as his
body recovered, however, the beatings resumed, lasting for
ten more days. Whenever he asked about his parents, the
blows came even harder, and Gun begged over and over to
be taken to the square-faced man. He shuddered with fear
at the thought of his parents coming to harm, but no solution presented itself. Gun was sure they wanted something
from him, or he would have been executed immediately.

Gun's body was no longer his own. Even his voice sounded foreign when they demanded he sing the revolutionary hymns he learned in kindergarten and recite the Great
Leader's instructions. After several weeks, he was on the
brink of total collapse. And then the harassment stopped.

The policemen took him and the four other men into
the shower room and they were given their first shower in
months. Then, a regular meal-meat soup and rice. Gun
couldn't swallow the food at first and was wary of being
poisoned, but they threatened him and the others until
they cleaned their plates. Their stomachs didn't trust the
food-all five rushed to the toilets after finishing. Within
a few days, they were able to digest solid food, and the
torturers even brought roasted chicken and sausages. The
smell was irresistible, though every time Gun was offered
a meal, he felt it could be his last. This treatment lasted for
two weeks.

Once their bodies had grown stronger, the prisoners
were called to a large, clean office they hadn't seen before.
They were treated differently, almost like humans.

The square-faced man wore a dark-green army uniform
and sat behind a desk, resting his feet on the gray desktop.
"Come in, my comrades, make yourselves comfortable," he bellowed, dusting off his round army hat, which looked
much older than his tidy uniform. He blew on the hat
roughly and pulled it onto his head; it emphasized the
squareness of his face. He locked his fingers together, rested
his forearms on the edge of his desk, and stretched his neck
out toward them.

They tried to figure out how they had progressed from
being national traitors to being comrades.

"There is good news. You should appreciate the kindness
of the government. You were supposed to pay the penalty for
the crime you committed, but the government has decided
to forgive you-only you five. You're chosen people; you
might have been prisoners forever, finishing your lives in
that filthy jail, but the government has shown mercy. We'll
let you slip, under certain conditions, which means we will
give you a mission to strengthen the government."

Gun was at a loss, and the others seemed unconvinced.

"You'll be special agents, assigned to catch national traitors in China. From now on, you will be heroes for North
Korea-not traitors anymore, but heroes-for your country and your families."

With a satisfied smile, he slowly looked from one man's
face to the next.

he winter of 1997 was unusually long, and Pyongyang
met the New Year without celebration. It seemed no
one was interested in welcoming 1998.

Even the Magnolia kobus blossoms on Okryu street seemed
reluctant to show their faces. On a clear January morning,
Seunggyu and I were walking north from the Taedong
Bridge and ended up at the Taedong Resort, where we
stopped to look at the biggest bridge in Pyongyang, Okryu
Bridge. From there I could clearly see the Great Leader's calligraphy, "Ok-Ryu-Gyo," on the bridge's parapet.

Every morning, Okryu Bridge filled with people rushing from their houses to downtown Pyongyang. The bridge
was the gift of the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, to the people
in 1960, to ease their commute. Before that time, they had
to use the crowded Taedong Bridge or take a boat. Thanks to the Great Leader, the largest bridge in the city was built.

Strangely, from our vantage point, I couldn't see anyone
on the bridge.

I kept looking, though, as I was trying to avoid Seunggyu's eyes. I didn't want him to see my swollen eyelids;
Aunt Ann had left the hotel the previous day, and I had
spent the night crying.

Several of the cooks and I had thrown a small farewell
party for her, and Cook Kim had even sneaked two plates of
rice cakes. I brought a pack of the Korean traditional snack
that I had stashed in my room, and Cook Kim set out too
many cups of water, so the table wouldn't feel so empty.

"That's the best way to taste the real taste of rice cakeswith a draft of water in your mouth," he said, convincing no
one. "First, drink some water: it moistens the inside of your
mouth. Then chew one bite of the rice cake, then, drink
more water. You can feel the cake melting in your mouth."

Each of us took one cup with a smile, but there were still
at least five cups left.

"You had better take two cups; today's rice cakes are
pretty sticky," he said, laughing, handing out another cup
to each of us. On any other day, Aunt Ann would have
teased Cook Kim, but she was in no mood that day. The
hotel managers had recommended that Aunt Ann stop
working because of her age.

"You know I don't have any problems using my body. I
always have worked harder than those useless guards, and
I don't get tired. I have never slacked off," Aunt Ann said,
with a sulky face. She was still in her uniform.

She was always brisk, and I never heard her complain
about being overworked. Of all the workers, she should
have left the hotel last, not first.

"Have you decided where to go?" I asked her.

Aunt Ann turned to me. "The hotel manager said I can
have my old house back in my hometown, Wonsan. He
already contacted the town governor so I wouldn't have a
problem, but I can't live there again." She fidgeted with the
cup, setting it on the table in front of her. It was cruel for
Aunt Ann to live by herself in the old house where she had
lived with her family.

We were silent. Cook Kim handed her a soft, round cake
smothered in black sesame seeds. "Take the house back anyway," he said. "Take everything the superiors promised you"

Aunt Ann was chewing her rice cake slowly; sesame
seeds lined her upper lip. "I'm thinking about living with
my second sister. She has just one son, and her house isn't so
far from mine. I'll take the house, but I won't sleep there.
I'll stay with my sister."

"What if the local officials discover you are staying
somewhere else?" I asked, frowning at her with worry.
"Moving around without permission of the government
could cause trouble."

"Who cares?" Aunt Ann erupted. "There are empty
houses everywhere, and it's impossible to check on the
whereabouts of every person. Anyway, they're not going to
care about an old woman like me."

I sang a song for her; she loved Arirang the best. Every
night, when I stayed with her, I studied the Arirang songs
of each province.