Hyejin Kim - Jia - A Novel of North Korea

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 gradually it’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 one-piece 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!”