JON WALLACE
Lips and Teeth
Camp 15, Yodok, 16 December Juche Year 100
The rain stops by morning, and a little sun breaks through the clouds, thank the Dear Leader. I get out of bed. I scratch at the lice. Then I pick up Jin-Song and step outside.
The yard is a small square of yellow and white mud, ten paces wide and twelve paces long. It’s surrounded by a rotting dried mud wall, topped with rusty wire. In one place the wall has crumbled, leaving an opening. If I want, I can look out at the fields, all the way along the deep, narrow valley and up the mountains.
Sometimes there is a farmer with deep brown skin wading in the nearby paddy, carrying a tool that is not unlike Jin-Song. Sometimes I peer over at him and watch him work. I’m afraid of being caught, but Jin-Song is convinced that nobody watches me anymore.
In the corner of the yard is a pile of large rocks that it is my duty to break into smaller rocks. I start on the largest, most stubborn looking one, the one I didn’t have the energy for yesterday. I lift Jin-Song over my head. He mutters:
‘Here we go again.’
I lower him, drained by his tone. As pickaxes go his blade is blunt, but his words are sharp. He thinks our incarceration is unjustified, our labour pointless. He also gets mad and spews treason about the Dear Leader, which I guess is why he’s in here with me.
He’s always telling me to escape, but I can’t do it. It frustrates him, and he sometimes gives me the silent treatment. One time he didn’t say a word to me for a year.
When he’s not silent he talks my ear off about being special. He tries to make me think I deserve better than this. I tell him – if that were the case I wouldn’t be here.
‘You used to have balls,’ he says.
‘Let’s just get on with the work.’
‘This isn’t work. This is punishment. You do know that this is a prison, right? You do know that?’
‘I’m not a prisoner. I am being re-educated.’
Ha. He doesn’t have an answer to that. It feels good to outwit him. He thinks he is so much smarter than me.
We start smashing the rocks, having talked enough for one morning. I only manage four swings before I am crumpled on my haunches, gasping for air. How old am I, anyway?
‘You’re 31,’ says Jin-Song.
‘No, no, that can’t be right. I must be older.’
‘Physically, yes. That’s what a diet of gruel, rat and earthworm will do for you.’
I pant and stare at the rocks.
There is a seashell lying in the rubble. I pick it up and turn it over in my blackened fingers. I have not seen a shell like this in . . . how long have I been here?
I know the date precisely, but I can’t remember when I was born, or how I came to be here, or how long I have been here. I know the days pass but I do not count them, ever. What would that achieve? Time here passes in ages. This is the age of acceptance. There was also an age of despair, and one of hope, or maybe anger, before that. I don’t remember clearly. It’s like that school textbook I once had – I can see the cover but can’t recall the pages inside.
The shell is from an age that passed in days and even hours. An age where I sat on the beach and watched my father fishing.
‘Nice shell,’ says Jin-Song. ‘I wonder how it got here?’
‘It must be a gift from the Dear Leader.’
‘Oh, for heavens sake. . .’
‘You can’t deny it. Only he could have provided it!’
I hold it in the palm of my hand. Briefly I’m seized by the urge to crush it to dust, but I hold back. If the Dear Leader meant me to have it I should not reject it. I drop it into my pocket and lift Jin-Song over my head, ready to get back to work.
‘Here we go again,’ he says.
Camp 15, Yodok, 17 December Juche Year 100
I cannot tell exactly what is happening because my yard is sealed off from the rest of the camp. Something about me is infectious and I am locked away, out of sight.
My cell has no windows. I never speak to the guards. I do not attend political education classes. Food is passed under my rotting, black, wooden door.
Still, I can hear a commotion nearby. I hear chanting, wailing and screaming.
I try to ignore it. I lie on my bunk and shiver, scratching at the lice, and turn the shell over in my fingers. It is perfectly intact, from fat end to curling point. I remember that it was rare to find them in such perfect shape on the beach.
I look into the shell and suddenly I remember the courtyard at university, the dead staring at me. I see the courtroom. I remember being unable to speak. I recall sitting in the back of the truck, driving up into the brown mountains, and soldiers laughing at me. I remember the blue room, and the pain of bamboo shoots pushed under my fingernails.
What is it that I did?
‘I’m sick of telling you,’ says Jin-Song. ‘You’ll just forget again.’
There is a noise. I sit up on my bunk and regard the door. Someone is knocking.
‘Prisoner 11-17. Prisoner, are you in there?’
I fall off the bed I am so startled. I get up of my knees, dropping the shell into my pocket, and stagger to the door.
‘Yes, sir,’ I reply. ‘Yes, Sir, I am here, thank-you, Sir.’
Jin-Song fumes at my groveling tone, but I must thank the guard. I haven’t spoken to a person in so long. I want to embrace him. I want to tell him my name. Who am I anyway? My name is. . .my name is. . .
‘Prisoner 11-17. You will join the other prisoners in the main recreation yard for our day of national mourning.’
‘Mourning?’
There is a rusty shriek. The door is opened. A young Major stares at me. Two privates stand behind him.
‘You will shave, prisoner. You will shave and dress.’
‘Yes, I will shave and dress. Thank-you, Sir.’
The guards push me out of the cell, behind the Major, out into the courtyard and . . .
People! Hundreds, maybe thousands of other prisoners. They are lined up in neat rows, all on their knees, all wailing in horror. The noise is incredible. An old man chews on his hat, biting off pieces and spitting them out. Women shriek and pull their hair. I want to call out to them but I do not know what to say. What has happened?
I am led through the crowd, into another hut. I flinch when they push me into a chair, thinking of the blue room, but then a Corporal with a moustache begins to shave me. He is weeping too and his hands tremble. He starts with scissors, then moves on to electric trimmers. I sit and stare into the small mirror. I watch my face appear from behind the beard. I remember this face and I smile.
The Corporal stops his work. He slaps me hard across the face.
‘You might be simple, but you do not smile today. Do you hear me?’
He pulls my hair, wrenching my head back, tears pouring down his cheeks.
‘Do you hear me?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
He gathers himself, wipes away his tears, and finishes his work.
I am led back out into the wailing yard. Thousands of bald, half-starved figures kneel and genuflect in the yellow and white mud, boxed in by the black dormitory huts. A poster of the Dear Leader hangs from a watchtower, smiling at their grief. The soldiers drop me to my knees at the edge of the crowd.
‘Prisoner 11-17. You will mourn. You will return to your cell in three hours.’
‘Please Sir,’ I ask. ‘What has happened?’
‘The Dear Leader has ascended to the heavens.’ He marches away. The two young guards take their place in the mourners, then begin crying and wailing themselves. Only the Major doesn’t cry. He watches me, frowning.
I am not sure how best to mourn, so I watch my neighbour, an old man with hairy ears. He is banging his head onto a rock. I copy him, crashing my head as hard as I can onto a jagged white stone. Still no tears come.
I realise now, listening to this noise, that it is true. The Dear Leader is dead. Yet I feel nothing but the lice crawling over me. I hold my eyes open until they sting. A few precious, merciful tears roll down my cheeks.
In a few hours the guards toss me back into my cell.
Jin-Song is propped against my cot. I drop next to him and bring the shell out of my pocket. It is still in one piece.
A terrible sadness overwhelms me and I begin to sob uncontrollably. Grief like I have never known shakes and twists me. I get to my feet, go to the rotting black door and thump on it as hard as I can.
‘Let me out! Let me out! I’m ready to mourn now!’
Nobody comes. I sit on the bed. I howl and sniff and scratch at the lice, until eventually I am quiet again.
‘Do you feel better?’ asks Jin-Song.
‘Yes, thank-you.’
‘Did you notice something?’ he asks me.
‘What?’
‘They didn’t gag you. You are supposed to be gagged at all times, you know. I wonder if they’ve forgotten?’
Camp 15, Yodok, 18 December Juche Year 100
Whatever Jin-Song thinks they’ve forgotten, they’ve remembered. The two guards are back, wearing earmuffs. They look ridiculous, and they seem to know it. They throw me onto my back, and push a rag into my mouth.
I am dragged out into the main yard again, staggering barefoot through the mud. The prisoners are all there again, wailing and beating themselves. If only they had seen me last night. I expect to join them, but instead I am dragged past them, through the rows of stinking black huts, through a gate that leads to the guards’ quarters.
Inside there are two neat concrete accommodation blocks with tile roofs. A small hut sits between them. I am pulled up the steps and shown inside.
The Major sits behind a desk, his wide brimmed hat resting on the table before him. He nods to the two guards. They drop me in a chair, salute, and leave. It is wonderfully warm in here. The Major has a heater which sweeps the room, warming my frozen nose. Thank the Dear Leader. Do I still say that? I suppose so. I wish someone would tell me who to thank now.
The Major doesn’t look up from his file. He picks up a cup of tea, slurps it noisily and gasps.
‘We have a snake among us.’
He looks up and smiles.
‘Do you remember how you came to be here, 11-17?’
I shake my head. Jin-Song says people died because of something I did. I was trying to lead people somewhere, trying to change something. . . but what? The Major slurps his tea again and nods.
‘You do not recall what it was that you were arrested for? It was quite a unique case. I have been reviewing your file and I can honestly say that I do not know of another like it.’
I shake my head again.
‘Do you remember any of your time at Camp 25?’
Was that the place with the blue room? It may have been. Nobody told me where I was at the time. They were too busy pushing bamboo under my fingernails.
The Major shakes his head.
‘No. Judging by the treatments listed here I can’t say I’m surprised.’ He sits up, running his hand over his thin hair. ‘If I remove your gag you will not speak unless spoken to. Is that understood?’
I nod. He stands, steps around the table, and unties the gag. It is a relief to have the taste out of my mouth. He takes his seat and pushes a cup of tea towards me.
‘Go on,’ he says. I reach forward and drink.
‘Thank-you, Sir.’
He smiles again.
‘I was going to have you shot yesterday, do you know that?’
‘No, Sir.’
He holds his belly like an expectant mother.
‘Your quarters over there take up a lot of space. I have only joined the camp this month and I couldn’t understand why you deserved such space all to yourself. A good thing I read your file. You have unique talents 11-17, which may be of use in the quest to complete our revolution. Do you understand?’
‘I understand, Sir.’
If I can help I will.
‘Now before we can go any further I need to know exactly how badly they damaged you at Camp 25. From what I read they made a complete mess of you. I quote from your chief interrogator’s report: ‘Subject’s political re-education has compromised ability for independent action of the kind required by intelligence services.’
The Major drops the file, lights a cigarette, inhales deeply. He taps ash onto the floor. ‘That’s the curse of our countrymen, I think. Trying to achieve too much too quickly. Trying to leap too far forward.
‘Well, even if you can’t be sent abroad you may yet be of real service. You’re clearly deficient mentally but what I need to know is . . . does your voice still have the same power? Can you still persuade people to do your bidding, 11-17?’
I turn the shell over in my hand. The question makes a kind of sense to me. It is also completely meaningless. The Major claps his hands.
‘OK. Time for a simple test. I am going to call in one of the guards. When he comes in I want you to tell him to shoot himself. Do you understand?’
I chew my lip, uncertain.
‘Look, 11-17. Let me spell this out for you. If you can’t do this there’s no reason for your accommodation here to go on. You’ve survived until now by slipping through the cracks, but that’s over now. If you can’t do this I will have to shoot you and demolish your little hut. Do you understand, 11-17? You need to give this everything you’ve got.’
‘I will, Sir.’ The Major stands, steps behind me, opens the door. He calls in one of the guards, who walks in and stands at attention. He’s lost his earmuffs.
The Major sits on the edge of his desk and narrows his eyes at me.
‘Well?’
I stare at the guard and say nothing. I don’t want to hurt him.
The Major prods his cigarette out on the desk. I think I have made him feel foolish. I wonder what Jin-Song would advise in this situation? Probably something like:
‘Do what he says, you idiot!’
I look up at the guard.
‘Hey,’ I say. He glances at me. ‘Shoot yourself.’
The guard picks up his rifle, jams it in his mouth, and pulls the trigger. The back of his head blows out across the office.
The Major steps carefully through the mess and kicks the solider with his boot.
‘Well done, 11-17,’ he says. ‘Most impressive. Now put that rag back in your mouth.’
I replace the rag.
‘You have done well,’ he says, securing the gag. ‘You have done very well. We will work closely together you and I. We will be as close as lips and teeth.’
He grins, as if he finds this very amusing.
Camp 15, Yodok, 21 December Juche Year 100
We are breaking up the rocks in the yard. Jin-Song is very excited by developments.
‘This is excellent. This could get us out of here. We might never have to smash another rock again.’
‘I don’t see why?’
‘I’ve been telling you this stuff for years. Your words have power over people. They do whatever you tell them to. Why do you think I’ve been begging you to speak to that farmer? You could have told him to break you out anytime and he’d have done it!’
‘Nonsense.’
I bring him down with a crash onto a stubborn rock. He bounces off without effect.
‘It’s not nonsense. Don’t you remember what you did at University? You had 1000 students ready to burn down the Supreme People’s Assembly.’
I laugh.
‘It’s true. You know it’s true, you cretin! They had to shoot that entire university to stop you!’
I close my eyes and smash him onto the rocks harder than ever.
‘I would never threaten the Dear Leader.’
‘OK, let’s not get tied up in that again. You’ll only forget. The important thing is that this Major obviously wants to use your power for his own ends, which almost certainly means leaving the camp. He’ll have to take your gag off at some point, and that’s when you’ll strike! You tell him to drive you to the Chinese border. He’ll do it, believe me. Everyone does what you say.’
‘I want to stay here.’
‘I know, I know. That’s why you’re going to need to take me with you.’
‘You? Why would I take you?’
‘Because I’m the only one you can’t persuade.’
23 December, Juche Year 100
When we drive out the gates I can barely contain my excitement, but Jin-Song keeps me calm. The Major laughed when I asked to bring my pickaxe. Whatever makes you happy, he said.
We drive along empty roads, passing people on foot. I’m not sure if they’re prisoners or normal people.
The Major is driving us in an army truck. The heater is broken and we can see our breath. We go on and on for hours, driving through the night, until the Sun rises. I stare out the window, shivering, scratching at lice, wanting to laugh or sing or cry out.
The Major doesn’t say anything for the entire journey, apart from:
‘Damn cold.’
Then we meet a track and begin to climb up into the brown mountains. Something about the road is familiar. It makes me want to vomit. The Major lights a cigarette.
‘As you know 11-17, The Dear Leader ascended to the heavens this last week. What you don’t know is that our imperialist enemies have taken the opportunity to intrigue against us, to plot counter revolutionary activities. They have corrupted some of our weak-spirited comrades. They plot against the revolution and we have to stop them, do you understand? These are uncertain times, and uncertainty breeds trouble. We must be decisive. We must snuff out the flame of counter-revolution immediately. The eternal president himself has charged us with this mission, so we cannot let him down. Do you understand?’
I nod. Jin-Song scoffs. The Major points at me.
‘You yourself plotted against the revolution at one time. But The Eternal Leader gave you the opportunity for re-education, and now he is giving you the chance to complete your redemption. Do not disappoint him.’
He leans in closer.
‘Now listen, 11-17. In a minute we are going to reach some gates. You are going to get out of the truck and speak to the guards. You’re going to tell them to shoot themselves, just like you did with the man in camp. Understand?’
‘This is it!’ says Jin-Song. ‘Now’s your chance. When he removes the gag tell him to drive us to the border.’
The Major removes orange plugs from a plastic case and presses them into his ears. Only then does he remove my gag. Jin-Song is angry.
‘Sneaky bastard. He knows what you can do.’
We approach the gate. A large 25 is printed on a metal sign above it. Either side are two watchtowers. Behind I can see a driveway, leading up to a huge concrete cube.
Camp 25, Chonjin, 23 December Juche Year 100
The guards start shouting at us as we slow down. The Major pulls up, and they surround the truck. The Major rolls down his window and has a gun pressed into this ear. They ask him what he is doing here, demanding papers. I’ve never seen one soldier threaten another before. The Major punches my arm.
‘Do it, prisoner, now!’
‘Let the bastard die!’ says Jin-Song.
I jump out of the truck. The guards prime their weapons and surround me, dragging me towards the gate. I see another two pull the Major out of the cabin.
I scream out the words.
The guards turn their guns on themselves and tumble in a hail of gunfire. The Major gets to his feet, nursing a cut on his head. I go to help him up. He strikes me hard across the face.
‘What the hell were you waiting for?’
‘Hit him back!’ yells Jin-Song from the truck. ‘There’s just the two of you. Pick up a gun and shoot him!’
I can’t do that. Finally I am part of the revolution. Finally, somebody is telling me what I must do.
We pass through the gate and drive towards the cube. Even in the gloom I recognise it. Somewhere in there is the blue room. Nothing stirs. Did nobody hear the shooting?
We drive around to the back, and I am startled to see a small, pristine house, with a lawn. There are a few lights on inside. We park and walk to the rear. The grass is soft and strokes my bare feet. We walk up a flight of stone steps to a quiet porch. The Major presses a button in the wall. There’s the distant sound of a bell.
A maid answers the door. The Major grabs her, puts his hand over her mouth, and looks at me.
‘Tell her to show us where her master is.’
I do as I am told. So does she. She leads us down a corridor. Paintings of white people hang on the walls. There are no images of the Dear Leader or our revered Eternal President. The carpet is even softer and deeper than the grass.
The maid shows us into a large room. A fire burns in a hearth. An old man in a dressing gown sits in a leather armchair, reading a book. He hasn’t noticed us. The Major pulls his gun and shoots the maid in the back of the head.
The old man turns. He looks at me, then at the maid. The Major grins.
‘You backed the wrong horse.’
The old man almost smiles. He lowers his book and removes his glasses.
‘That suggests we have a race. All I see is one half mad donkey running backwards. And you’re asking everyone to be excited.’
The Major shakes his head.
‘Why did you do it? Why try to disrupt the succession?’
The old man considers.
‘Guilt,’ he says.
The Major shrugs.
‘OK, let’s get to the point. You’re going to tell me who else is with you.’
The man snorts.
‘Never. There’s nothing you can do to compel me, Major. I know too much about pain to be compelled to talk. You know that.’
‘Well to be precise,’ says the Major, ‘you’re going to tell him.’
The Major points at me. The old man peers almost through me. I might recognise him. I think I know him. I tell him to give us the names of who else is involved (in what?). Instantly he reels off a list of names, tears pouring down his cheeks. I wonder what else he would do if I told him to. I remember wondering the same thing as my fellow students stood in the courtyard, cheering me, ready to follow me. I remember the feeling of power.
When he is done the Major claps his hands.
‘OK. Ask him where his family is hiding.’
Camp 25, Chonjin, 24 December Juche Year 100
The Major stands on the porch with me, smoking a cigarette. He even takes out his earplugs. I think about telling him to drive me to the border, as Jin-Song suggested, but I know I won’t do it. He seems to savour this moment.
‘You did well,’ he says. ‘You will live, 11-17.’
‘Will I be freed?’ The voice doesn’t sound like mine.
‘No. I need you to stay where you are. You are a useful tool. I may need to call on you again.’
‘Yes Sir, thank-you, Sir.’
‘You should be proud,’ he says.
Cigarette finished, he replaces his earplugs. ‘Come on, time to get you home.’
I trail after him, looking forward to getting back. In the camp I will forget what I’ve seen.
Camp 15, Yodok, 23 January Juche Year 101
‘Proud of yourself?’ asks Jin-Song.
It’s the first thing he’s said to me in a month. He wanted me to kill the Major on the way back from the mission, or jump out of the truck and run away. I ignored him and he is furious with me.
The Major locked us up. I know I will never see him again. Jin-Song said he probably took the old man’s position in the new government. He said that is how things work. I told him I didn’t believe him and he started with the silent treatment. Now he’s talking again. I’m surprised.
‘Have you forgiven me?’
‘Of what? Murder?’
‘I didn’t kill them.’
‘No, no you just watched. Much better. I suppose I shouldn’t criticise. It was revenge on your part, after all.’
‘What? No it wasn’t!’
‘Yes it was. It’s just your dodgy memory doesn’t know it. I can understand you wanting to see the old swine suffer after what he did to you. Trouble is that he was one of the few people in this country who could have made a change. He was a brutal enough bastard to see it through. Probably had some kind of coup set up. It would probably have failed but you never know. He might have changed things more than you ever managed. And you had to go and kill him.’
I am enraged. I have finally done something of value and still he finds fault. I grip his handle until my knuckles turn white. Heaving with all my might I throw him over the wall.
I pace around in the yellow mud. I pull the shell out of my pocket and find that it is damaged, a hole smashed in the fat end.
I stare through it and see the face of an old man, smiling in the blue room. I drop into the mud on my knees and ask the Dear Leader for guidance. Then I remember he’s dead.
‘Excuse me,’ says a voice.
The farmer stands at the broken section of wall, smiling, holding Jin-Song.
‘Would you like this back?’
I wave him away.
‘No. No. I don’t want it.’
‘Oh.’ The farmer frowns. ‘Can I help at all?’
I wipe my eyes and look at him.
‘Well . . . perhaps you can.’
Jin-Song sighs, swinging in the farmer’s grip.
‘Here we go again.’