Jia: A Novel of North Korea (25 page)

While I suffered from whatever was in my hair, our
warden teased me as though I was an animal in the zoo,
and chatted gaily with his girlfriend on his cellular phone.
He didn't leave my side for several hours. Occasionally, he
threw some magazines onto my knee, saying, "You can kill
time with those."

The magazines were colorful, showcasing many pretty
women, but I couldn't concentrate. I looked out through
the front door of the salon; so many people in the busy
street. As darkness fell, the neon signs became brighter.
Among them, one written in red letters caught my attention: Pyongyang Restaurant. It was a glowing three-story
building, all glass. Women dressed in hanbok and men in
bow ties seemed to flicker inside. All I could think of was
how I could escape from this torture.

Several hours later, my hair had turned reddish-brown.

I didn't see the owner of the karaoke bar for days; it seemed
she had completely forgotten about me. The women slept
all day. At dawn, the smell of alcohol overpowered their
cheap perfume; some women came back singing softly,
while others came in frowning and swore themselves to
sleep. Occasionally they would be riled up, and their loud laughter kept me up through the wee hours, until the men
in the hall forced them to be quiet. When they woke up in
the late afternoon, the women had returned to their reticent selves and quietly began preparations for another day
at the karaoke bar.

When I first encountered the nightly routine, I was
frightened by the drunken women. In the mornings they
had hollow eyes and complained of headaches; at night
their eyes were wild and out of focus. That will be you soon,
someone seemed to whisper in my ear.

One evening, after most of the women had left for the
evening, Mija and I cleaned up. We had opened the window completely to let some fresh air in when the owner
came in and looked around the room.

Finding us, she commanded the eyebrowless woman,
"Hey, help them make up."

"Will they start working tonight?" the woman asked,
checking her curls in the mirror.

"Right. Hurry. It's time for the guests," the owner
snapped.

"You should have said so before. I'm busy right now.
And I'm not here to take care of novices."

"Stop whining. Since when are you busy? Nobody is
interested in you, as usual."

The eyebrowless woman glared into her mirror for a moment, trying to find a word to spit back. Instead, she spun
around to me. "Come here," she said without emotion.

Seeing the eyebrowless woman grab a cosmetic case, the
boss departed. "Hurry," she said on her way out. "Make her
hair smoother, too. The first impression is the most important-for her and for me."

The woman sneered, "That cross-eyed bitch is giving up on me. She's getting worse." She took a strong-smelling lotion out of the case and rubbed it on my face. "This
means you'll start a new life tonight." She watched my eyes
for a moment and took out another bottle of lotion. "Just
smile at the guests and serve them nicely. It's okay-after
the first time, you'll think it's nothing."

"I'll think what's nothing? Are we singing and dancing for them? Or just serving food? Do we have to drink a
lot?" Considering what I had seen, the job couldn't be that
pleasant.

She didn't stop applying the lotion to my face. "You'll
figure it out."

"I don't understand this place and the people here. I
didn't risk my life for this," I complained.

Instantly, she lifted my face and powdered it from my
forehead to my chin. Shutting my eyes to protect them from
the powder, I heard her husky voice say, "Grow up and
open your eyes. I'm satisfied with this life now. If you stop
thinking about life, everything becomes simpler. When
you open your eyes, a day starts. When you close your eyes,
your day is over. What you eat and what you can buy will
be the most important things to you sooner or later."

Having applied makeup to my face, the eyebrowless woman
had me put on a shiny blue dress embroidered with silver,
with holes that left my arms, my neck, chest, and thighs
exposed. It felt like nothing more than a tiny towel, and
my face grew hot. Once I was dressed, the owner took me
to the first floor.

The lights in the hall were all on, and the building was
alive. The owner stopped in front of a red door. "The better
you serve the customers, the sooner you can get out of here and see your kid," she said, with menace in her voice.

She opened the door, and I saw a wall dominated by
a giant TV screen surrounded by several smaller screens.
Ruddy faces turned toward me. The room was filled with
cigarette smoke. The smell of alcohol was in the air, and the
music and the spinning lights were mesmerizing.

The owner pushed me into the room. "She's new."

I lowered my head instinctively, and a stout man rose
to his feet and approached us. He rubbed the owner's back.
"That's why I like you. How did you know we brought a
really important guest tonight?" He leered at the owner,
then at me.

"I read you better than your wife, right?" the owner
said with a laugh. Patting the stout man's stomach, she said,
"It's her first time here. She may not serve you so well, but
look after her. Okay?" She wrapped her arm around my
shoulder, overflowing with smiles as she spoke into my ear,
but never taking her eyes off the others. "Do your best to
serve these guests. They are my top customers." Her eyes
glittered, but her mouth didn't smile.

All eyes seemed to be on me. I didn't raise my head or
move a finger after the owner left. The gleaming lights
were moving overhead as the stout man addressed his table,
switching to Chinese from Korean. His voice was high and
thin compared to his body.

Speaking into my ear, he said in Korean, "You'll have a
good time here. We'll take such good care of you."

He sat me down on a sofa. The short dress made me
uncomfortable, and I tried to cover my bare thighs, folding
my arms in my lap. I counted seven pairs of legs under the
table. Men and women's legs next to each other.

I wondered how Mija was doing. Earlier that evening, a man had led her to the other side of the hall. The owner
was displeased with Mija's very thin curly hairstyle, and had
grabbed her hair and pulled it back behind her ears. Mija
screamed in pain, but the owner just howled with laughter.
"Do you think this is the nineteen seventies? How much
will it cost to get the countryside out of you?"

The stout man handed me a cup of wine. "My Chinese
friends want to know when you crossed the river."

I recoiled with fright to hear my secret mentioned so
casually. Does everyone know? The fact that I had risked my
life was mere entertainment to them. I didn't take the cup,
keeping my eyes fixed on the ground.

The man wrapped his heavy arm around my shoulder
and thrust the cup in front of my face. "I'm asking you
when you came here."

A woman across from me answered in haste, "She just
arrived. Like sajangnim said, this is her first night."

He said something in Chinese, pressing my forearm with
his chubby hand. "You're brand new. Wasn't it cold crossing the river? Weren't you scared? The river must still be
cold. This big guy will warm your body up-come here."
He put his other hand on my thigh and tried to pull me
toward him.

I pushed him back with all my plight and jumped out off
the sofa, shrieking, "Don't even think about touching one
strand of my hair. I'm not joking. Do you understand?"

He landed on the woman sitting next to him. She cried
out in pain.

"What the hell is this wench trying to do?" He stood up
and tried to hit me.

The woman interjected, pulling him down. "Calm
down. She's new, she's not yet been tamed by a man. Isn't she fresh, compared to us? You can train her graduallyit'll be fun. Come on! Sit down. Think about your Chinese
guests. Didn't you say they would be good rich patrons?
Consider your reputation. Come on!"

He stared fiercely at me for a moment and nodded his
head to the other men several times, saying something in
Chinese.

As he spoke, the woman walked over to me and put her
face in mine. The smell of liquor engulfed me as she hissed,
"Don't make trouble. Everything that you did will be reported. Be careful! You'd better listen to me, or I can't get
my money either. Got it, moron?"

She turned back and smiled at the guests. Addressing
them in Chinese, she said, "Let's play a game. You'll love
it. You push the buttons on this remote control with your
eyes closed, and you have to sing whichever song comes up.
Let's go clockwise around the table, and no matter what
song you get, you have to finish it. If one person can't sing
his song, another person can volunteer, and then that volunteer can ask the person who couldn't sing to do whatever
the volunteer orders. Drinking a glass of wine or a bottle
of a beer, licking the sole of his foot, taking off a piece of
clothing-anything. How about that?"

People clapped their hands in delight. The stout man
roared with laughter. "This old fox knows every song here.
And she likes to take guys' clothes off" He clapped his knees.
"Okay. Let's do it! It's your turn to be naked, for once."

She smirked playfully, "Let's see! I'll go first."

As the other woman told me the rules of the game, I
was stupefied. There was no way I could know any of the
songs.

Seeing my reaction, the stout man smiled insidiously and patted my knee. "There are North Korean songs, too.
Don't worry. I'll sing for you if you don't know. I'll be your
protector." He winked.

The woman who had suggested the game pushed several
numbers, and words came up on the screen, accompanied
by loud music. She grabbed a microphone with a broad
grin, saying, "Oh, that's a hard one." She didn't make any
mistakes in the rhythm or the lyrics, and the stout man
danced and sang along with her. All the women passed the
test. When a man couldn't sing, the woman in charge sang
for him and ordered him to drink a big cup of wine. She
asked a young man to take off his tie. "Let's start with the
tie-we've got lots of time."

I was the last to sing. Before I could push the buttons,
she handed me the microphone and whispered, "Keep your
eyes slightly open and push one-thirty-five."

I was surprised; I didn't expect her to help me. Frantically, my fingers found the number 135, and the song that
came out was the most popular one in North Korea at the
time.

The stout man said loudly, "What a lucky night for you."

It was the song the other dancers and I had sung at the
hotel for foreign customers on their last night in Pyongyang, and I was happy to sing it again. This time, I was
singing for my survival, and a bolt of fire shot up my throat.
I watched the woman who helped me. She was smoking a
cigarette, listening without expression.

When I finished, she took the microphone and sniffed,
"Huh. What did you do over there? Your voice sounds well
trained."

The stout man stood up and clapped, holding a cigarette in his mouth. "Okay. This time we'll go counterclockwise," he said, snatching the microphone back and handing
it to me again.

The woman patted his stomach and said, "I'm the moderator of this game. I will take care of it. You, relax."

He snarled at her, "I'm the one paying the money. I will
decide whatever I want to do."

She looked at him and shrugged. "As you wish..." Sitting down, she nodded to me to go ahead.

I stared at the man for a moment.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Push the buttons
with your eyes closed, come on! Other people are waiting."
He chortled, lighting a cigarette.

I pressed the buttons on the remote control randomly,
trying to get a similar number. I thought the closest number would be another North Korean song. What popped up
on the screen was in Chinese.

I turned to the others. "I can't sing this one. I don't
know Chinese, it's not fair." I looked to the self-appointed
moderator for support.

"A game is a game," she said. "Other people were punished, too. You should follow the rule." She leaned over
the sofa.

"Come on. It's already started," the stout plan said,
pushing the microphone close to my mouth.

I stood there in silence, holding the microphone.

The woman in charge looked around the room. "Who
wants to sing for her?"

No sooner had she asked than the stout man stripped me
of the microphone and said, "This is my favorite song."

He sang it, throwing his bulk around. Other men and
women joined him, and I watched them vacantly.

When the song was finished, he stroked his chin in mock
thought. "What will I ask of you?" He walked around me
several times, then stopped, as a slow grin spread across his
face. "Take off your underpants."

Several men who understood Korean whistled and giggled.

I thought I had misheard it. Someone said, "What did
that fat man say?"

"She has to start with an outer garment," the woman in
charge said.

The stout man shook his head. "No, she wears a onepiece dress. I'm trying to be considerate, right?" He looked
around at the others for their support. The Chinese men
asked the others what he had said. Understanding, they
smiled.

"Didn't you hear me? We're all waiting. Do it right
now!" With his arms folded, he sat down on the sofa.

Shame rose from my stomach.

"Let's see what kind of underwear you people wear,"
he jeered.

"No. It's not going to happen," I said, glaring at him,
flushing with anger.

He looked daggers at me. "You have enjoyed other people's punishment. You aren't exceptional. I am politely asking
you to pay the penalty. `When in Rome, do as the Romans
do.' When you are in this room, do as the people in this
room do." His glittering eyes frightened me. "Right now!"