Jia: A Novel of North Korea (31 page)

Gun paused. He watched me with sad eyes, then suddenly bent his head down and rubbed the floor with his
fingers. It was filthy, but he didn't care.

"When I returned to the house, she was dead. The Chinese man blankly told me she'd killed herself. I went out
of my mind. I refused to believe it; I was sure he was trying to get more money from me. I grabbed his shirt and
threatened him, but he shouted and his neighbors came.
They confirmed that they had seen Sun's dead body. I asked
the man where her body was, and he said he had buried it
somewhere in the hills because he thought I wouldn't come back, and because her body had turned black from the poison that she took. He ranted about her. He complained that
he'd wasted too much money on her and that I should pay
for the medicine she had taken every day to control her
headaches and her insanity. Without it, he said, she would
have cried out and hit her head against the wall all day.

"I was speechless. I looked at him for a long time. He
wasn't human. He warned me not even to think of getting my money back and threw a bag at me, saying it was
the only thing she'd left behind. Then he disappeared hastily with his friends. I opened the bag and found Sun's belongings well organized inside. She had packed her things
neatly in preparation for getting out of that hell. It did not
make sense that she would kill herself while waiting for me
to come for her.

"As I stood in front of the house in a trance, a KoreanChinese woman living next door cautiously approached
me. She said there had been a big fight the night I left, and
she had heard Sun cry out as he beat and harassed her. The
woman expressed her regret and said she hadn't dared to
stop him.

"I was so stupid. If I hadn't given him money, she'd still
be alive. I thanked the woman for telling me the truth.
Later that night, I returned to the Chinese man's house. I
beat the bastard to death and burned his house down."

Gun had finished his pack of cigarettes. We looked at
each other in silence, and my eyes filled with tears. I remembered my last night with Sun in Pyongyang; if only
I had tried to persuade her not to cross the border to find
Gun. If I had at least shown that I knew of her plan to leave,
she might have lived.

Gun's eyes were full of guilt and self-loathing. He seemed to be waiting for me to punish him. But how could
I say everything was his fault? How could I blame him for
killing an innocent and lovable girl? If he was the one who
had let her die, I was an accomplice.

Gun broke the silence between us, rubbing his dirty fingers
on his pants. "One thing I envy you is that you still remember Sun when she was pretty, and talked tirelessly all day,
with her bright smile. I can't remember that face anymore.
The vision of her imprinted on my brain is a bruised face,
with sunken eyes and a broken nose."

Suddenly, he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "But,
Jia, you know what? You know what I'm doing here right
now?" He looked directly into my eyes. "I'm a spy. I'm an
agent who hands people like us over to the government. As
soon as I get some information about North Koreans here,
I give it to the North Korean police. Then they arrest them
and send them back to North Korea. I'm catching people
who run away, just as I did."

He crumpled his empty cigarette box.

"Jia, do you know how I got enough money to give to
that Chinese bastard? I threatened North Korean women
living here, sometimes families. I told them I would turn
them over to North Korean agents if they wouldn't give me
money. I forced the money out of them. A few of them I
beat. I used them to save Sun."

I was incredulous. I glared at him with my eyes wide.

"You asked where I was for three months? I was in
prison. I was tortured and trained to be a secret agent, to
catch North Koreans in China." His gloomy eyes looked
into mine. "Don't worry-I'm not going to turn you in.
They found my father and mother in China while I was in prison. They told me they would protect them if I cooperated; otherwise, I wouldn't see my parents again in this
life. My father died, but they still have my mother. I don't
know where she is right now from the letters they hand me
regularly; I only know she's not dead yet."

Feeling concern for him, I asked, "Are you okay here,
with me? Isn't it dangerous?"

Gun looked at the door for a moment. "They already
suspect me and keep a close watch on me-that's why I
was so cautious in meeting with you. I've stopped giving
them information about North Koreans. When they realize I'm not useful to them anymore, they'll take me back to
prison. Who knows when? Maybe tomorrow!" He laughed
absentmindedly.

I walked out of the room. My brain needed some fresh
air. I told Gun I would bring back something for us to
drink.

The street was filled with people, as usual. There were
many women Sun's age, walking quickly, dressed in their
finest. Some girls laughed loudly with their friends, others
walked arm in arm with their boyfriends, broad smiles on
their faces. A distance of a few miles meant a world of difference between their fates and the fates of Sun and Gun.

Sun had always spoken brightly of her future, what she
would do, how she would live. How different were the
circumstances of her death. Is this world fair at all? I was
sure, when Sun finally met up with Gun in China, that she
must have been heartbroken and confused. What happened
to her was not her fault; she must have been wracked with
shame. It was shame that prevented her from leaving right
away, though her instinct was to escape with Gun as soon
as possible. I understood her desperation, the struggle tak ing place in her mind. I imagined her resolving to start life
anew with Gun, how happy she must have been packing
her things that night. I couldn't stop crying.

I had often dreamed of their happy reunion somewhere
in China. I even imagined running into them on the street,
or in a store; completely free of starvation, unafraid of being caught for our "crimes." We would meet in an icecream parlor and talk about our futures, enjoying the sweet
flavors.

It could only be a dream. Walking back to the inn with
two bottles of water, I thought about how much Gun had
changed and how he had tortured himself. I didn't know
what to do with him. Should I urge him to think of his
own safety from now on? Could I tell him about my own
luck? My sadness and despair at losing Sun would only
make him feel more guilty and desperate. I knew I couldn't
lose Gun as well. I needed to pull him out of the hell he had
descended into. Kind words from a friend would help him.
I hastened back to the inn.

Opening the door with the brightest face I could muster, I
found the room empty. Gun was already gone. He left only
a note:

Jia,

I caused everything. I realize that it's not our
fortune to guide our own lives. I was the one
who killed her. I don't exist anymore. I don't
breathe anymore. I'm not a living being anymore.

Gun

I hurried outside and ran wildly down the street searching for him. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault; he
needed to hear those words just as Sun had. We were not
just victims, but also survivors. I wanted to remind him
that we are living, here and now. This is what we must
hold on to.

But he had vanished as quickly as he came. I remained
frozen there, on the busy street, for what seemed like hours,
searching the faces of passersby.

Hyejin Kim has written for numerous publications, including
Asia Times. She has a Ph.D. in global affairs from Rutgers
University. In 2003 she received the Korean Novelist
Association's award for Best Television Drama Scenario. Jia
was inspired by her human rights work with North Korean
refugees in northern China.