Paek Nam-nyong - Friend - A Novel from North Korea

All of a sudden, Sun Hee missed Ho Nam. She wondered if, in these past few days, he had eaten properly, or had gone to school on time, or if Se Pil, the kid who lived behind them, had hit Ho Nam again. As Sun Hee was thinking about her son, she also thought about Seok Chun. As if they were two leaves on a branch, there was no way for her think about her son without thinking about her husband. Yet she did not yearn for or miss him. She did acknowledge the fact that he must have had a difficult time trying to take care of Ho Nam by himself for the past few days. She wondered how his multispindle machine was coming along. That man, who could not stay away from his work for more than a second, must have had a stressful time juggling Ho Nam’s meal preparation and drawing up his blueprints. She also could not overlook the difficulty that he must have faced these past years in having to deal with a woman like herself. The night before she went on her tour, Seok Chun held Ho Nam in his arms as though there were no problems between them, and that had made her feel at ease. She regretted thinking him foolish for trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere in the house, though it turned out awkwardly at times. Ho Nam had sulked the entire evening until his father came home. After Seok Chun had eaten his dinner, he and Ho Nam went into the master bedroom and made various things out of wire. Later, Ho Nam slept in Seok Chun’s arms.

Sun Hee desperately wanted to see her son. However, longing faded into grief because she knew that Ho Nam would not be able to come out to the train station to greet her. Ho Nam had never once come to greet Sun Hee at the station when she returned from a tour. Since Seok Chun never came, there was no way for Ho Nam to come.

Sun Hee asked quietly, “Eun Mi, I was pretty bad, wasn’t I?”

“We’ve been on this train for an hour, and these are your first words?” said Eun Mi jokingly. She then turned serious. “Yes, you looked really depressed. You weren’t moved by the songs at all, and you looked like your mind was elsewhere.” Then Eun Mi tried to be encouraging. “But still, you sounded good. The audience requested several encores.”

Sun Hee turned her face toward the window again. She recalled the locals who gave the singers boxes of tomatoes on the day they were leaving, and the factory workers who showered her with applause and flowers. She recalled the joyful faces of the workers and their generous hospitality that overflowed like a mountain spring.

“Hey, Sun Hee. Get your things together. We’re almost at the station,” said Eun Mi.

As soon as the train came out of the tunnel, it began to slow down with the abrupt sounds of gears changing and the screech of the wheels grinding against the tracks. The singers, actors, and other passengers got up from their seats, laughing and chattering while reaching for their luggage.

Sun Hee remained seated and closed her eyes. She waited for the others to get off the train first and meet with their waiting family members. Sun Hee would get off the train when they had all left the platform. She would then head home by herself. She knew that no one would come to greet her at the station, so she would hide her melancholy and pain from her comrades by remaining in the car until everyone had left. And now, that moment of insurmountable pain was approaching as the train pulled into the station.

The people waiting on the platform took a step back when the train came to a halt. The other comrades and Eun Mi moved down the aisles and got off the train, immediately greeting and being greeted by their loved ones. Some frantically looked for family members, standing on tiptoe and bobbing their heads for a better opportunity to identify their loved ones in the crowd. And some shouted names with the hope of an answer, even the faintest one. The many hands waving in the air made it impossible to distinguish to whom each was directed.

How affectionate and harmonious does a family have to be to receive that kind of welcome? thought Sun Hee.

“Ma’am, wake up, please. This is the final stop,” said the conductor, passing along the aisle.

Sun Hee looked out the window. All the people bustling around on the platform made it through the turnstile in an instant. Sun Hee sighed, brushed her hair with her hands, and reluctantly grabbed her luggage. She was the last one on the train. She exited onto the platform and was greeted by loneliness. It no longer terrified her as it used to because she had grown accustomed to its spectral presence. It was the only faithful adversary that had never failed to greet her at the station in all these years. The station was completely desolate, and so was Sun Hee.

Sun Hee composed herself and had headed out of the station when she noticed two men and a child standing by the turnstile.

She felt a rush of electricity running through her limbs, momentarily paralyzing her. Without a doubt, the two men were the judge and her husband, and the child was unquestionably Ho Nam.

“Mom!”

In the midst of her dejection, Sun Hee heard the distinct and familiar voice of her son. Ho Nam ran toward Sun Hee at full speed, like a rolling ball.

“Ho Nam!”

Sun Hee dropped her luggage and ran toward her son. Ho Nam launched himself at his mother, making Sun Hee nearly fall backward. She held her son tightly while still standing, but then she crouched down to hug him, securing him deep in her warm embrace.

Ho Nam whispered to Sun Hee, “Mom, that man came to our house. We told him that you weren’t home. And then he told us to go to the train station.”

Sun Hee was at a loss for words.

“You know what?” Ho Nam continued. “Dad said he will go to night school.”

“Really?”

Sun Hee, overwhelmed by mixed emotions, choked up with tears, unable to speak any further. She held Ho Nam’s small hand and slowly stood up. The mist in her eyes obscured her vision; she could not make out the judge and her husband.

Jeong Jin Wu stayed back, and Seok Chun walked up to Sun Hee. Without saying a word, he helped Sun Hee with her luggage.

It had been a while since the two had looked at each other. One appeared detached, and the other doleful. Their eyes reflected resentment and understanding, forgiveness and hope as they looked deeply at each other and felt the other’s pain.

Ho Nam stood between them and held each parent’s hand like a child desperate for his parents’ love. He missed holding both their hands.

Jeong Jin Wu looked warmly at the family as they approached him.

Sun Hee kept wiping away her tears.

Jeong Jin Wu greeted her with “How was your trip?”

Sun Hee lowered her eyes. She felt the utmost respect and gratitude for the elderly representative of the law. She appeared enraptured at the thought of starting a new life.

They walked out of the station and onto the square.

Judge Jeong Jin Wu held Ho Nam’s hand and asked, “Would you like to come to my house?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Did your mom come home, too?”

“Of course,” Jeong Jin Wu replied, chuckling. “In fact, she’s waiting for you.”

“Then, let’s go!” shouted Ho Nam.

Sun Hee gave Ho Nam a sign of disapproval. Ho Nam hid behind Jeong Jin Wu’s legs.

Jeong Jin Wu laughed and said to the couple, “Comrade Seok Chun, Comrade Sun Hee, you two go home. I’ll go for a walk with Ho Nam. I will bring him back around dinner time.”

Jeong Jin Wu wanted to give the couple as much privacy as possible. Seok Chun and Sun Hee must have so much to talk about on their tenth wedding anniversary—falling in love, the early days of their marriage… memories, life lessons, hope…

Jeong Jin Wu took Ho Nam’s hand and walked down the path toward a small park.