Jia

There were taxis everywhere. I remembered a director of the hotel back in Pyongyang proudly explaining to foreign guests that the city had over 100 taxis; I gave up counting after I reached 40. Pyongyang taxis were overpriced and definitely not popular with the natives, but the streets in China were filled with red taxis, and most had customers inside. Perhaps the taxis were not as expensive here.

The traffic was a stew of cars, bicycles, and pedestrians, all forging ahead without consideration for each other. I even saw two donkeys pulling a cart filled with straw and big black baskets. Watching through the window of the stranger’s car, it seemed to me impossible that so many different kinds of transportation could flow in such a narrow space, without any control by traffic police.

Just a few minutes away from the karaoke bar, storefront signs changed entirely to Chinese. It was the first time I felt I was in China. And I was sitting next to a strange Chinese man.

He drove in silence. I wanted to ask where he was taking me, but I was sure he spoke only Chinese. I remembered that he had been the calmest man in the room. A flurry of thoughts troubled my brain. He was there with the stout man; he must be his friend. It’s true he helped me escape, but he might take me to an even worse place. Why did he buy me? He might have bought me for the stout man. He’ll take me to him and I’ll be killed. Or he might be a policeman. He pretended to be a customer in order to look for North Koreans. His real purpose was to catch us. But the stout man made a fuss, so this man had to return to finish his mission. I had better run from this stranger.

He sensed my restlessness and said something in Chinese. I was silent and gave him a sideways glance. A moment later, he asked me, very slowly, in English, “Do you speak English?” I nodded my head once, though I knew only a few words. He looked at me for a second, turned his eyes back to the steering wheel, and said, “Don’t worry. I’m not heading to the police or taking you to the fat man.”

I sat upright in the seat. “Why?” I fixed my eyes on the side of his face, gripping the door handle. If I didn’t like his answer I would jump out of the car. Dying would be better than being dragged who knows where. I clenched my teeth.

We drove for about an hour without speaking much. I asked him several times more what his real purpose was in buying me, to which he replied, “You just looked pathetic.”

“I was in debt to the owner of the karaoke bar,” I said. “Your sympathy saved me from repaying that, I guess.” I didn’t know what else to say. Instead of feeling grateful, fear of being in a car with a strange man rose up inside me. “What will you do with me?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that. I was just busy negotiating the price with your boss,” he answered, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

He spoke lightly, “First of all, I don’t raise dogs, I’m too busy to take care of dogs. Anyway, you were more expensive than the other women, according to the owner of that karaoke bar. But how would you pay me back? Did you bring money from your country?”

I couldn’t reply. Of course he knew I didn’t have any money. I felt I was pushed against the wall. Did he buy me out of sympathy? He must have something to hide. I was busy trying to read his mind, and he seemed preoccupied with trying to read mine.

“I don’t know much about North Korea,” he continued, “but I know people there don’t have contact with foreigners and foreign things. I have a hunch that you, however, may not be typical, that you had some sort of high position. Am I right?” he cast me a searching glance.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter…. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” We rode in silence for a moment. At length, he said, “When I saw you in that awful place, I just felt you really wanted out. And this was what I could do.”

We rapidly left the city behind; buildings became fewer and fewer, replaced by tree-covered mountains. The western sky lit up with the crimson glow of the setting sun and I felt for the first time that China was beautiful. After passing several big houses, he stopped the car in front of a fancy one, and got out of the car to smoke. Watching the sunset, he stretched his body. He was much taller than other men I had met.

I didn’t move from my seat. We were all alone; I felt it wouldn’t be so hard to escape. Should I run away? Could I run away? If I did, where would I go next? I looked around the car. Behind the back seat, the head of a small bulldog doll bobbed back and forth.

When I turned back, the man was looking at me with a half smile. “Are you going to stay there all night?” He leaned in through the driver’s side window. “This is my house.”

He walked around the car and opened the door for me. I got out, and he locked it, saying, “Let’s go.” I didn’t budge an inch. “No one will hurt you. It’ll be okay.” He held my arm lightly and led me into the house. At that moment, my gut told me he was someone who wouldn’t lie to me. I followed him inside.

“It will be a little bit cold, sorry; I haven’t used this house for a while. I’m doing my best to make it cozy, though.” He looked for the light and turned it on, and I caught the smell of new furniture. “Like you, I’ve just arrived. I don’t know this place very well, either, but I like the surroundings. There are not a lot of neighbors—I haven’t talked to any yet, but a couple seemed nice.”

In the living room, he drew aside ivory curtains to reveal almost an entire wall made of glass. I could see a few houses and a thickly wooded hill. “Isn’t it pretty?” my host said. “It’s hard to find a house with this kind of view in China.” With a satisfied smile, he took in the scene for a moment, then stroked a cream-colored sofa, which looked soft. “Let me introduce you to the house. Come on.” After several steps, he wheeled around and said, “Oh, we’d better eat something first. Right? I haven’t eaten since noon.”

He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the sofa, motioning me to follow him. Opposite the big window was a kitchen with stainless-steel cupboards and appliances. He opened a huge, fully stocked refrigerator and took out several plastic bags containing meat and vegetables.

“You don’t have to cook today, because it’s your first day here. But you should cook for yourself starting tomorrow. I don’t have time to cook for you every day.”

I had one foot inside the kitchen and one out, and I stayed that way while he cooked. He didn’t ask me to sit down or help him. He was engrossed in his task; he was really good at it, too. He took a large, square knife from a drawer, and made a racket chopping the vegetables into tiny pieces at lightning speed. He prepared a vegetable and chicken dish with rice, too much for two people to eat.

“I know Koreans don’t like oily food, so I bought some spicy sauce for you. But I don’t know how much you want to use. I’ll put it here, separately, so you can use as much as you like.”

My head snapped toward him, and he shrugged slightly. “My father was Korean. I don’t talk about it unless people ask. I’m kind of ashamed that I can’t speak any Korean. My father was too lazy to teach me, or too busy. If I had grown up here, I would have learned it from other Korean-Chinese people.”

He sat down at the kitchen table. Holding chopsticks in one hand, he looked up at me, still standing. “What are you doing? You’re not going to eat? Come on, have a seat.”

He ate without another word. I had eaten almost nothing at the karaoke bar, and hunger was storming up in my stomach. The food was a bit oily, but the flavor only sparked my appetite further. We ate in silence. Longing for that kind of regular meal was changing the destinies of so many people in North Korea.

I stepped away from him, and he put the dishes in the sink, throwing some leftovers in the trash can next to it. I thought about the kkotjebi, begging for food all day. That trash would be dinner for several kkotjebi. He scrubbed the plates and utensils and returned them to the cupboard. Inside the cupboard were too many bowls and plates for one person.

“I haven’t tried North Korean food before. Oh, but I like bibimbab and naengmyeon, or whatever you call that cold noodle dish. If you know how to make them, would you, sometime? ”

I didn’t answer. So long as I didn’t know what he really wanted from me, I knew I couldn’t feel secure. My head was spinning. I should be ready to bolt, just in case. That’s the lesson I’ve learned in my life. Why did he buy me? Does he want me to be his sex slave, like the other men? Is that why he brought me here, to this isolated place? My fear returned with a rush.

He continued washing the pans in silence for a moment, then said quietly, “You’d better learn Chinese. I know it’s hard to learn a foreign language as an adult. But if you can’t speak Chinese, you’ll live in fear of being arrested. You speak English, but it’s not perfect either. If you meet Chinese people, you can tell them in English that you are from South Korea. But if you run into South Koreans, they’ll know. Living here without speaking Chinese isn’t difficult—you can go to the Korean-Chinese districts if you need something. But you are in China now. Learning Chinese will be better for you.”

I replied, as if he had not spoken, “You don’t have to pretend you are a nice guy. I know every man wants one thing. I’ll kill myself if you try to force yourself on me, but I’ll kill you first, I’m warning you.”

He dropped the pan in the sink with a clatter. Swinging around, he glared at me, his face twitching. “You know what? I am not starving for sex. If I really wanted it, I would have taken it already. Finding women here is not at all difficult, and you are not as attractive as you think.”

He pointed to the bathroom and then took me to a room on the second floor. “This is your room. These are some clothes you can wear—I didn’t know your size. If they are too big or too small, let me know. I can return them and exchange them for the right sizes.” He continued, “The second floor is all yours. I’ll use the first floor. Take a rest tonight. If you have any question, you can call me. Good night.” He started down the stairs.

He looked at me, frustrated. “I don’t want anything from you. If you want to run away, you can. I just wanted to help you. But, whatever you do, stay away from the police. First of all, think about how you can survive here. I didn’t promise I could help you forever—you’ll have to find a way to stand on your own feet. Good night.” He closed the door.

I watched the door for a while. Everything had happened so fast; I had been in hell only hours ago. I locked the door and pushed the bed in front of it, so he couldn’t get in. I lay down with my head next to the door, so as to hear the slightest sound on the other side. As soon as my body hit the bed, I realized how tired I was.

I didn’t want to think anymore; it didn’t get me anywhere. Tomorrow, I would ask one more time what he really wanted from me. My mind still swirling, I fell asleep.

The morning sun flooded in through a window. When I opened my eyes, I realized I hadn’t even changed my clothes, or covered myself with a blanket. My body no longer ached. Getting up, I opened the door slightly and stole a peek down the hall. It was perfectly quiet. The shadows of trees played on the floor and wall opposite a window. He seemed to have left already.

I found a message fastened to the door:

Dear Miss X,

Just now I realized I don’t even know your name. I hope you will tell me later. I had to leave—I will probably be back late tonight. You can have a rest. There is food in the kitchen and some books that I bought for you to study Chinese. They are all written in Korean. Have a look at them.

I’ll talk to you later. Have a good rest. Oh, by the way, I don’t recommend that you go outside. We can walk around together when I return.

I hope you have a restful day.

Sincerely,

Jin (金)

P.S. My name is Jin Xuezhen, in Chinese, which is Kim Hakjin in Korean.

I shut the door and looked around the room more closely. Like the rest of the house, it smelled of new furniture, and everything was white, ivory, or transparent. I found some Chinese textbooks and tapes on the desk. I might as well study this strange language, I thought. When I opened the ivory closet next to the desk, I discovered clothing hanging inside. I checked the clothes piece by piece, until I got to a pair of blue jeans. I had always wanted to try on jeans, but it was impossible at home; the government didn’t allow them because they are symbols of the West and not suited to “feminine modesty.” One of my coworkers always sighed with envy when we had the chance to watch Western television programs for language classes. She’d say, “I want to try on those tight blue pants, too. Don’t you think they look nice?”

Thinking of her, I smiled to myself. I took the jeans and a white shirt off their hangers. Closing the closet, I went to a corner of the room and hid behind a chair; I was scared out of habit. The jeans weren’t as tight as I had seen on TV, but they fit, and I felt comfortable in them.

I went downstairs, scouring the house for people. On my tour of the house the night before, my nerves had kept me from paying attention. It was hard to believe all that space was for just one person. I wondered what kind of job could maintain such a fancy house. In the living room, he had covered two entire walls with many kinds of small cars on ledges. A huge TV stood against the third wall—it was about as big as the one in the reception hall of the hotel where I had worked in Pyongyang.

There were several photographs along the hall to his room. I inspected them carefully, as though looking at a person’s entire history. Jin’s thick eyebrows were hereditary. One picture showed him with his parents. I couldn’t tell that his father was Korean and his mother Chinese; I just saw them as people, like me. It became clear why he had such dark skin; most of the pictures were taken at the beach. In several of them he was with foreigners, a big smile on his face.

I realized I didn’t have that kind of record of my life. I had no pictures with my grandparents or my sister, and their figures were vanishing from memory. All my pictures were taken during dance performances, when I was in thick makeup and wore a feigned smile. I had burned them all before coming to China.

There was a photo of a woman with a wide smile, her arms wrapped around Jin’s neck from behind; they looked happy. She might be his girlfriend or wife, I thought, and if he had wanted to seduce me, he would have taken that picture down.

I went back to the sun-filled living room. The sunshine tempted me sorely, and I decided to leave the house. If the door was locked, it would mean he wanted to shut me up in the house, and I would have to run away. Nervously, I gripped the doorknob. It twisted open smoothly.

Right, I thought. Maybe he really doesn’t care. It’s possible. A rich person might help a desperate woman out of fleeting sympathy, like buying a dog on the street. I felt so sad; I was becoming distrustful of everyone.

I stepped outside and looked up at the sky, letting my face bask in the sun. From the outside, the house looked like a simple two-story brick edifice. I walked around for a while. To the left was a wide green field dotted with ponds. The houses could be counted on two hands. I walked toward the ponds. A few people appeared in the distance, and I scrambled back to the house, seized with fear.

Inside, I felt much safer; I was still afraid of the outside. I took a shower, scrubbing hard to get rid of the dirt my life had collected. I wished all my pain would disappear down the drain, but I couldn’t get rid of Sangwon. He might still be looking for me. He didn’t mention the exact name of the place where we had stayed in the cave, but I vaguely remembered it being in the Baekdu Mountains. I thought about Kangmin and his friend, Bangmu. What did they tell Sangwon? He’s smart; he must have seen through their lies.

I thought about Gun and Sun, too. They might be close by, perhaps they passed through that same cave, took the same steps. I understood now why Gun was so worried about Sun being in China alone. Who knows, maybe Gun had already found her and they were together: that was what I hoped for most.

When I woke, it was dark again, and completely quiet. I went downstairs, but there was no sign of Jin. Feeling hungry, I searched the refrigerator, settling on some rice and vegetables.

He smiled and said, “Go ahead and eat. Actually, I haven’t eaten either. If you don’t mind, could you make enough for me?” Sitting down, he said, “How was your day? Did you rest enough?”

I noticed that Jin held his rice bowl in his hand, moving it to his mouth to eat. My grandfather always instructed me not to hold my rice bowl in my hand. He would say, “Only ssangnom”—the lowest class in dynastic times—“eat like that. Don’t even think about picking up your rice bowl. The spoon is for rice. Chopsticks are for dishes. Don’t lower your head. Raise your head while you are eating.”

Jin didn’t use his spoon at all; he preferred chopsticks for tossing lumps of steamed rice into his mouth. He seemed like a starving child, eating everything up before someone could take his meal away, and I smiled at the sight. Seeing me, he stopped suddenly and asked with his mouth full, “What? Is something wrong?”

“I’m glad you’ve started smiling.” He put the empty rice bowl down on the table. “Starting tomorrow, a girl will come to see you every day. She’s Korean-Chinese, and will teach you Chinese. She’s the only one who knows you’re here, so you’ll be safe with her. Whenever you have questions or problems, ask her, because I won’t be here much.”

“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.”

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.”

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 Il 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.

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?”

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.

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 kkotjebi 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 them 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 hanbok , 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 kkotjebi. 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 kkotjebi 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 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 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.

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.

He headed to the policemen and bowed to them. They talked for a while and Jin patted one man’s shoulder, smiling, nodding his head on and on. My heart beat loudly, and my eyes returned frantically to the door.

Jin came back with a man wielding a ring of rusty keys. The man searched through them slowly, looking for the right one. I wanted to snatch the keys out of his hands and open the cell door myself.

Finally I heard the sound of the key turning smoothly. As soon as the policeman opened the door, I jumped out and followed Jin. His car was right in front of the police station, and I rushed in as he ran back into the station in a flurry. I sighed and leaned back in the seat.

At that moment, three men strode brashly into the police station. I couldn’t see their faces very well, but I sensed they must have been the agents the Chinese police had called, and I sank into my seat. Jin came out with flushed cheeks and ran to the car, finding me crouched under the dashboard. Jumping in, he cranked the engine and we sped away.

“As you feared, those were the North Koreans. I was just finishing with the policemen when they came in, so I tried to get out quickly.” Holding the wheel, he loosened his necktie. His face was dripping with sweat.

He glanced at me. “I told them you are my ernai. That means my lover. I said I bought you and lost sight of you while we were shopping. They said that when they catch you next time, they’ll send you back right away and arrest me, too.”

I listened in silence; the excuse didn’t matter. I don’t have to go back! Those words spun around my brain. I was sure he must have had to strike a deal with the police.

Jin’s deep voice pounded through the car. “Why did you go there by yourself? Why didn’t you tell Hyunmi or me? She called me and said you were sick, so I went to the house to check on you. When I found you were gone, I knew something was wrong. If I hadn’t gone back, or picked up the phone, what would you have done?”

He paused, collecting himself. “Whenever you want to go into town, we’ll take you to the Korean-Chinese neighborhoods. But for the time being, it’s not safe for you to go by yourself.”

The cars were thinning out. Feeling the air conditioner in the car and watching the scenery go by, I couldn’t believe it was stifling outside. Everything looked so peaceful. The trees looked even fatter than the day I arrived at Jin’s house.

“What’s going on here?” Jin said, honking the horn. After a moment, he gave up and said, “Let’s see what’s happening.” He pulled over and we walked toward the center of the crowd. I saw five women seated on the ground, weeping. Some women were hugging men; one woman grabbed on to a policeman’s leg. Clicking their tongues and shaking their heads, spectators watched the scene. Some muttered in Korean, “Tsk. That’s too much.”

He glanced at me and explained, “The policemen rounded those women up just now. They’re all from North Korea and are married to Korean-Chinese men. The policemen are trying to take them back to North Korea, but they don’t want to leave. That’s why they are crying and begging.”

One woman, pregnant and in tears, nodded to a policeman. The policeman told her husband in Korean that a superior office had given the order and nothing could be done. Other officers smoked at a distance and watched the scene, barely interested.

The old man said, “If their husbands have money, it’ll be fine. There are a lot of North Korean women married to Korean-Chinese men in this village. But those husbands can’t pay the fines—they spent all their money buying their wives.”

“The director of the police station said that investigators are getting stricter,” Jin said, watching the police cars speeding in the opposite direction. “It really looks like he wasn’t kidding.”

That day brought several changes to our life, Jin’s and mine. I asked Hyunmi to teach me Chinese one more hour each day, and I spent hours watching Chinese TV. I practiced my Chinese with Jin daily, despite my embarrassment. He developed a new habit of collecting newspaper clippings related to North Koreans in China.

But when he returned that evening, he seemed depressed at the sight of me. “Damn it, I can’t understand it. Since when did we start following international law so carefully!”

I couldn’t get legal status in China, and Jin tried to explain why, but I couldn’t understand much of what he said. One night, he brought home a thick book about international law, written in English, and we stayed up all night reading it. He murmured, “It seems that there is still no legal process for getting status for you here.”

“Jin, how do we know other countries will welcome me? If they don’t accept me, where do I go next?” Before Jin could answer, I continued, “I owe so much to people I left there. My official defection could endanger their lives.”

I had talked about my secret life, my family and people I had met. I had even mentioned Seunggyu; he could be in danger as the ex-boyfriend of a national traitor. It wasn’t his fault that he fell for me. Then I told Jin Sangwon’s story.

“I don’t know whether my family is alive or not, but I can’t gamble their lives for my own sake. They’ve already risked their necks for me. I can’t ignore the people who stood behind me.” I thought about Director Park, Teacher Song, and the director of the orphanage.

Jin’s eyes faded with disappointment, and I forced some cheer into my voice. “Jin. I need to try to survive here first. I think it’s too early to give up on this place. My situation is much better than others like me, and I’m grateful for that. Here I still have hope that I’ll hear from my friends.”

“Okay, Jia. I understand. Let’s try to find a way for you to settle here safely and not be afraid of being dragged back,” Jin said, all smiles again, showing his orderly white teeth.

I was with Hyunmi, studying Chinese, as usual. After two hours of study, my brain had given up. I envied the Korean-Chinese, like Hyunmi, who could speak both languages fluently. We were about to drink green tea when Jin’s voice startled us. Out of breath, he looked at us in turn and sank down wearily into the sofa, but a confident smile lingered on his face.

After a bit, he drew a long breath and said, “I just got a call from my friend, my best friend. We’ve discussed you, and he knows a Korean-Chinese family. Several days ago, their daughter committed suicide, some kind of mental problem. But they are too poor to bury her and feel too shameful to talk about her death. My friend suggested they sell her ID to us instead of reporting her death to the local office; no one knows about it except her parents and brother. You could use her ID, have legal status, and be free. It’ll be much easier to live here. And then, Jia, with that ID, you can go to another country, like South Korea. Do you know what I mean? You can get out of here. You can walk outside whenever you want. Everything will be fine. You don’t ever have to be anxious again about being caught by the police.”

He smiled, wiping the sweat that flew down from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t think it’s so difficult. The mother said her hometown was also in North Korea and they still have relatives over there; they feel sorry for North Koreans. They already agreed to help you. You won’t have any problems using her ID.”