Hyejin Kim - Jia - A Novel of North Korea

I turned to leave, but he seized my arm, snarling, “I warned you. Don’t embarrass me. They came here to enjoy themselves tonight, and if you leave like this, you will regret it, I promise.”

I didn’t know what I was doing; I only knew I had to escape. When he dragged me back to the table, I grabbed the nearest object and slung it at his head. Shattered glass spread all over the room. With a sharp scream—“You wretch!”—he tumbled to the floor, clutching his head. There were shrieks as a few people lunged for me. I covered my head and crouched in a corner to make my body as small as possible.

At that moment, one thick, low, commanding Chinese voice emerged above the yelling. I didn’t move. As he spoke, the others quieted. When I raised my head, the young man who had received the penalty of taking off his tie grasped the stout man by the arm and accompanied him out of the room.

The stout man’s voice spread through the hall. “If you guys don’t kill that crazy bitch, I’ll burn this building down.”

I was dragged to the room with the tiger-skin sofa, the sajat nim’s office. Two men stood next to me, holding clubs covered in white towels. The boss opened the door with a bang and rushed into the room, her high heels clacking viciously. I raised my head and saw that her face had already turned a dark red.

Her eyebrows whirling, she bellowed, “You crazy vagrant! Do you know what you did tonight?” She kicked at my chest with her shoes. “You can never leave this place now. You’re here for good.”

She snatched a club from someone’s hand and swung it around at me. I heard her snapping and snarling at me in time with the thuds on my body. I passed out.

When I opened my eyes, the woman who had helped me in the karaoke room was looking down at me, holding a cigarette. “They beat you the clever way,” she said.

I tried to stand up, but my shoulders felt stuck to the floor like magnets.

“You’d better not move. They wrapped their clubs in towels—it prevents bruising. Your skin won’t show any surface bruises, but you’ll have a lot of them inside.”

My nose felt clogged; it was hard to breathe. I looked around for a handkerchief and the woman gave me hers. It had a strong perfume smell. I unfolded it and blew my nose. There was a lump of blood. “Sorry,” I rasped.

Her voice was flat. “It’s okay. I have a bunch of hankies.”

I looked at her cigarette. It was the first time I was ever tempted to smoke. “Thanks for trying to help me.”

She moved her cigarette so the ashes would not drop on my face. “I wasn’t helping you, I was trying to earn my money. That’s our job, making them drink. They pay money and we satisfy their every dirty request. The more they drink, the better for our pockets, even though their behavior gets ugly. Don’t think you’re special, or purer than us!”

I broke in, “I have never thought I’m special, that’s not why I made a fuss. I came to China for a better life, not for this. That doesn’t mean I blame the women who work here.”

She stood up and headed to the door, sighing, “I have to go,” as she stepped into her orange high heels.

“Did you get your money for the night? Or did you get nothing, because of me?” I couldn’t see her eyes, but I was sure she didn’t like her job either.

“I got nothing. Thanks to you.”

I felt ashamed of my behavior. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Oh, well. I just hope I’m not in the same room as you next time.” Stepping out of the room, she looked back. “Did you study singing?”

I nodded slightly.

“I liked your voice.”

“Pack your things.” The owner stalked into the room; I hadn’t seen her since she had beat me senseless with a club. Mija was taking care of me. She had changed her hairstyle, and it looked so strange on her. My body had recovered somewhat, but I couldn’t stop retching.

The owner found an empty, worn-out backpack in the corner of the room and threw it at me. “Hurry. Just pack the things you really need.”

I could barely sit up. I stared at her. “I don’t have anything to pack. How does a person who was dragged here against her will have time to bring her own things?”

Ignoring me, she snapped to two men at her side, “Take her.”

“Where is she going?” Mija asked, fearfully.

The owner shouted, “Take her. Hurry!”

I tried not to move, but it was impossible to resist the men.

We were already near the end of the hall when the owner shouted behind me, “Your temper can destroy people around you. Leaving will be better for you and for us.”

My feet never touched the ground; the men held me up by my armpits. I asked them, through gritted teeth, “Where are you sending me?”

“To a better place.”

They dragged me to a white car in front of the building and forced me into the front seat. I screamed and struggled to free myself; I couldn’t imagine a worse place, but I somehow knew that one was waiting for me.

I heard the sound of the car doors locking, and turned to look out the back window at my captors as the car pulled away. The only difference between today and the day I was taken from the cave was the size of the car. It was a sedan, and it smelled like leather, not sour flesh. The car moved fast and without a sound.

I shot a sidelong glance at the driver. I could just make out his profile. It was the young man who had restrained the stout bully on my first night on the job.

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 matt 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.”

He seemed to be reading my mind, and it made me more anxious.

He continued, “I know what kind of person you are. I know why you are so afraid, but I’m not someone who will denounce a woman.”