Hyejin Kim - Jia - A Novel of North Korea

I felt a rush of relief; he had saved me from the stout man, but what was he doing? What did he want from me?

“Did you buy me from them?” I asked suspiciously.

He looked straight ahead and nodded. “Yes.”

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.

After a long while, he replied, “Why? I don’t know.” He shrugged gently. “Have you met other North Koreans here?” he asked, changing the topic.

I didn’t know what to make of him. His answers were unexpected and his questions were strange too. “Yes,” I answered, shortly.

“How do they make a living here? Do they live as you do?”

I watched him, thinking about Sangwon and Mija. “Much worse.”

“Jesus!” he sighed.

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.

“How much did you pay? I’ll pay you back. I am not a dog waiting for a master to come along.” My voice reflected my embarrassment.

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.

I remained silent and looked ahead, avoiding his eyes.

“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.

The house was dark and seemed empty; the entryway was bare and chilly compared to the warm air outside.

“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.”

He flew around the kitchen. The faster he cooked, the faster he spoke. Finally, clapping his hands twice, he turned back to me.

“Okay, I think I’m pretty much done. Let’s eat.”

He gave me an empty dish, chopsticks, and a spoon. When I caught a whiff of the dish, I was suddenly famished.

“Big spoons, right? Isn’t that Korean style?” He handed me a large, flat spoon. It seemed new. “I’m half Korean too, actually.”

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.

When he put his chopsticks down on the table, I stopped eating. I stood up with my plate and reached for the other dishes, but he took them from my hands.

“I will take care of everything tonight. You can do it starting tomorrow.”

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 kkot-jebi, begging for food all day. That trash would be dinner for several kkot-jebi. He scrubbed the plates and utensils and returned them to the cupboard. Inside the cupboard were too many bowls and plates for one person.