S
HE HAD EXAMINED OVER A
hundred children aged four to fourteen. They all looked alike in many respects: malnourished, filthy, and blank-eyed. She spoke a few words to each of them. Their answers, when they came, were halting, inelegant, and simple. None of this was their fault, she knew.
She turned to the guard accompanying her. “How many were born here?”
He looked at her with some insolence, but had no doubt been told to cooperate fully or feel the Supreme Leader’s wrath. He gazed over the ranks of young prisoners with a lazy eye. They might as well have been chickens lined up for slaughter.
“About half,” he answered in a casual tone and then rubbed a smudge of dirt off his gun. “There were more, but they were unauthorized births, so they were of course killed along with their mothers.”
Chung-Cha knew that the children’s education, what there was of it, was totally inadequate. They had been raised as simpletons and they would perish as simpletons despite whatever belly fire they might have for something more in life. At some point, no matter the rage that dwelled within, the beatings and starvation and brainwashing that were all prevalent here would douse all hope until there was nothing left inside. She felt if she had stayed one more day in Yodok she never would have left it alive.
In the distance Chung-Cha saw a group of children laboring along under the weight of either logs or buckets she knew were filled with dung. One child stumbled and fell, dislodging the contents of her bucket. The guard accompanying the group hit her with both a stick and then the butt of his rifle, and then encouraged the other children to attack her, which they did. They had been taught that when one worker failed they would all be punished, directing their anger away from the guards, where it rightfully should be, onto one of their own.
Chung-Cha watched the beating until it stopped. She made no move to halt the attack herself. Even with the authority of the Supreme Leader riding in her pocket, she could never do such a thing and hope to avoid punishment. The rules of the camps were inviolate and certainly no one like her could intervene and break them without consequences.
But she had no desire to stop the beating. She
wanted
to see the result of it, because even from this distance she had noticed something that intrigued her.
The beaten child rose, wiped the blood off her face, grabbed the bucket off the ground, scooped the dung into the bucket with her bare hands, and marched past the guard and the other children who had beaten her. Her head was held high and her gaze was fixed determinedly ahead.
“Who is that prisoner?” Chung-Cha asked the guard.
He squinted in the distance and then blanched. “Her name is Min.”
“How old is she?”
The guard shrugged. “Maybe ten. Maybe younger. She is trouble.”
“Why?”
He turned and grinned at her. “She is a tough little bitch. She gets beaten and then gets up and walks off like she won a great victory. She is stupid.”
“You will bring her to me.”
The guard’s grin faded and he glanced at his watch. “She still has six hours of work to perform.”
“You will bring her to me,” said Chung-Cha again, more firmly, her gaze never leaving the man’s face.
“We heard about you here. What you did at Bukchang.” The guard said this in a surly manner, but Chung-Cha, who could sense fear from almost anyone, could see that the man was afraid of her.
“About my killing the corrupt
men
? Yes, I did. I killed them all. The Supreme Leader was most grateful. He gave me an electric rice cooker in reward.”
The guard gazed at her in astonishment, as though she had just informed him that a mountain of gold had been delivered to her door.
“Is that why you are here?” he asked. “They suspect corruption?”
“
Is
there corruption here?” asked Chung-Cha aggressively.
“No, no. None. I promise it.”
“A promise is a strong thing, Comrade. I will hold you to it. Now bring me Min.”
He bowed quickly and hurriedly set off to fetch the child.
Twenty minutes later Chung-Cha sat in a small room with two chairs and one table. She stared over at the little girl. She had asked Min to sit down but Min had refused, preferring, she said, to stand.
And stand she did, with her hands balled into fists as she stared back at Chung-Cha with open defiance. With that look Chung-Cha knew it was a miracle the girl was even still alive at this place.
“My name is Yie Chung-Cha,” she said. “I have been told that your name is Min. What is your other name?”
Min said nothing.
“Do you have family here?”
Min said nothing.
Chung-Cha looked over the girl’s arms and legs. They were scarred and dirty and heavily bruised. There were open, festering wounds. Everything about the child was an open, festering wound. But in the eyes, yes, in the eyes Chung-Cha saw a fire that she did not believe any beatings or disease could extinguish.
“I ate rats,” said Chung-Cha. “As many as I could. The meat, it staves off the sickness that others here get. It is the protein that does it. I did not know that when I was here. I only learned of it later. I was lucky in that way.”
She watched as Min’s fists uncurled. Yet Min still looked wary. Chung-Cha could understand this. The official first rule of the camp might be,
You must not escape
. But the unofficial and far more important first rule for any prisoner was,
You must trust no one
.
“I lived in the first hut by the path to the left of the inner gate,” said Chung-Cha. “This was some years ago.”
“You were a hostile, then,” Min blurted out. “So why are you no longer here?” she asked, anger and resentment pronounced in each of the words.
“Because I was useful to others outside this place.”
“How?” demanded Min, now forgetting her caution.
In that question Chung-Cha could see what she had hoped to see. The girl wanted out, when so many prisoners, even younger than she, were totally resigned to living here forever. The fire in their lives, and with it their courage, was gone. It was sad, but it was a fact. They were lost.
“I was a tough little bitch,” replied Chung-Cha.
“I am a tough little bitch too.”
“I could see that. It’s the only reason you’re here talking to me.”
Min blinked and relaxed just a bit more. “How can I be useful to
you
?”
Defiance yes, but intelligence, and its first cousin cleverness, thought Chung-Cha. Well, after all, in Korean that’s what Min meant: cleverness and intelligence.
“How do you think you can be?” asked Chung-Cha, turning the query around and flinging it back at her.
Min pondered this for a few moments. Chung-Cha could almost see the mental churnings going on inside the girl’s head.
“How were you useful to others?” asked Min. “That allowed you to leave here?”
Chung-Cha managed to hide her smile, and her satisfaction. Min was proving to be up to the challenge.
“I was trained to do a specific job.”
“Then I can too,” said Min.
“Even though you don’t know what the job is?”
“I can do anything,” declared Min. “I
will
do anything to leave here.”
“And your family?”
“I have no family.”
“They’re dead?”
“I have no family,” repeated Min.
Chung-Cha nodded slowly and rose. “I will be back here in one week. You will be ready to go.”
“Why one week?”
Chung-Cha was surprised by this question. “These things take time. There are arrangements, paperwork.”
Min looked doubtfully at her.
“I will be back.”
“But I may not be alive.”
Chung-Cha cocked her head. “Why?”
“They will know what you are going to do.”
“And?”
“And they will not let me go.”
“I come with the highest authority. The guards will not harm you.”
“There are accidents. And it’s not just the guards.”
Chung-Cha nodded thoughtfully. “The other prisoners?”
“They do not care about the highest authority. And what do they have to lose?”
“Their lives?”
Min screwed up her face. “Why would they care? That would be a good thing for them.”
Chung-Cha knew that she was absolutely right about this.
“Then we will leave here today.”
For the first time probably in her life, Min smiled.
C
HUNG-CHA HAD PATIENTLY FILLED
out the paperwork necessary for Min’s release into her custody. They had driven back to Pyongyang in the Sungri with the windows down. Chung-Cha did not tell Min that she was doing this because she did not want to smell the girl’s stench for the next seventy miles. Instead, she told her it was good to breathe free air.
And Min seemed to suck in each breath with delight.
She had been reluctant at first to get into the Sungri. Chung-Cha knew immediately why. The girl had never ridden in a car before. She had probably never even seen a car, just the old trucks used at the camp.
However, when Chung-Cha had told Min that it was the fastest way to get away from the camp, she had climbed in immediately. After she sat down her hand reached out and touched all the dials and other items of interest.
That was good, thought Chung-Cha. She still had her curiosity. Her wonderment. It meant that the child’s mind was intact.
As they drove away, Chung-Cha looked twice in the rearview mirror at the camp. She had seen prisoners staring at them through the fence, perhaps wondering why they could not also be free.
When she looked over at Min the girl’s gaze was pointed straight ahead. She did not look back once.
Chung-Cha had done the exact same thing when she had left the camp. She had been afraid that if she looked behind her, they would take her back. Or, more likely, that she would awaken from her dream and return to her nightmare.
They had arrived back in Pyongyang very late at night. Chung-Cha had parked her car and led Min up to her apartment. The girl had stared at everything as they had driven along. From asphalt streets to tall buildings, to something as simple as a traffic light, or a neon sign, or a bus, or someone walking along the sidewalk, she looked at it all in complete amazement. It was like she was just now being born, ten years late.
When Min looked up at the apartment building she wanted to know what this place was.
“It’s where I live,” answered Chung-Cha.
“How many people live with you?”
“I live alone. Well, I did. Now you live with me.”
“This is allowed?” asked Min.
“It is allowed everywhere except in the camps,” Chung-Cha answered.
The first order of business had been to prepare Min some food. Not too much and not too rich—not that Chung-Cha possessed any rich food. But even too much white rice could make Min sick. Chung-Cha knew all of this because it was what those who had freed her had done. So the meals would be simple and small, to start.
The next order of business was a shower, a very long, hot shower with plenty of soap and elbow grease.
Chung-Cha did not let Min do this alone, because the girl did not know how to properly clean herself, so Chung-Cha had scrubbed her down. The filth that poured from her skin, hair, and orifices would have made most people sick. It did not faze Chung-Cha. She had been expecting it. And Min exhibited no shame as she watched the dirty water going down the drain. She knew no better. She just wanted to know where the water went.
“Into the river,” answered Chung-Cha, because that response, she knew, would suffice for now. It would take many more cleanings for the girl to be truly free from her years of filth.
She laid out sheets and a pillow on the small sofa, which would be where Min would sleep for now. Chung-Cha had already purchased clothes and shoes for her, correctly assuming that a camp girl would be smallish. They fit very well, far better than the rags she had come here in. Those went into the trash.
Chung-Cha showed Min how to brush her teeth, cautioning her against swallowing the paste. Then she cleaned her nails, which were caked with years’ worth of grime and crud. Next, she combed out Min’s long hair, untangling knots and trimming errant strands with scissors. Min sat patiently while this was done, staring the whole time in the mirror Chung-Cha had seated her in front of in the small bathroom.
She well knew why the girl was studying herself so closely. She had never been in front of a mirror before. Thus she had no idea what she looked like. Chung-Cha could remember herself slipping out of bed at night and going to the bathroom, not because she had to relieve herself but because she wanted to see what she looked like again.
She fed Min another small meal and then attended to her multiple cuts and scabs with peroxide, salve, and bandages. Then she put Min in her makeshift bed under her clean sheets and wearing a new pair of shorts and a top. Even though she had tended to the girl’s many injuries, healing cuts and scabbed-over old wounds as best she could, Chung-Cha had scheduled a visit to a doctor the next day. She wanted all of these seen to. Infections were rife in the camps and had killed many prisoners. She had not freed Min to watch her die. And ordinarily before prisoners were released from the camps they had to show that they were free from infection or disease. Since this was nearly impossible they almost never achieved their liberty. Chung-Cha had thus pledged in her signed paperwork to have a doctor thoroughly examine and treat Min within one day of leaving the camp.
After settling Min on the sofa, Chung-Cha turned the light off.
She heard Min gasp and then say, “Can you make it light again, Chung-Cha?”
She turned the light switch back on, then went over to Min, perching on the edge of the sofa.
“Does the darkness cause you fear?” She knew that the prison huts had no electricity, and that while Min had probably seen electric lights, she was not accustomed to them.
Min said, “I am not afraid.”
“Then why do you want the light on?”
“So I can see where I live now.”
Chung-Cha left the light on and went into her bedroom. She kept the door partly open and told Min if she needed anything to come wake her.
Chung-Cha got into bed but did not go to sleep. Not much scared her anymore; it simply wasn’t possible after all she had experienced. But what she had just done frightened her more than beatings or fear of death possibly could. Her whole life had been spent alone, and now she had assumed responsibility for another human being.
She listened to Min’s even breathing, which, because of the tiny size of the apartment, was happening only a few feet away. She wondered if the girl was sleeping, or was simply gazing around at a world that she could not believe even existed and, for her, had not existed until a few hours ago.
Chung-Cha knew exactly how she felt. She had gone through the same emotional spectrum. But her release and what happened to her afterward were far different from Min’s situation.
The guards had come for her one morning. At first she thought they were coming to punish her because of a snitch. But that was not the reason. She had met with the prison administrator, Doh, the same man she had seen today. They had an offer for her. It came from high up in the government. She had no idea what had been the catalyst for it.
Would she like to be free? That’s what they had asked her.
At first she had not understood what they meant. She instinctively thought it was a trick of some kind and was unable to answer, fearing she would say something that would lead to even more pain or perhaps her death.
But she was led into another room where there was a group of men and, startlingly enough, a woman who was not a prisoner. Chung-Cha had never seen a woman who was not a prisoner. The woman told Chung-Cha she was with the government and that the leadership was looking for offspring of wrongdoers who wanted to serve their country. They would have to prove their loyalty first, she said. And if they did that, they would be taken to another place, fed, clothed, and educated. They would then be trained, over many years, to serve North Korea.
Would Chung-Cha want that? the woman had asked.
Chung-Cha could still remember gazing around at the men in the room staring at her. They had on uniforms, not of the prison, but of something else. They had shiny things on their chests, all sorts of colors.
She had been dumbstruck, paralyzed, unable to answer.
One of the men who had more shiny things than anyone else finally said, “Get us another and take this bitch back to where she came from. And however hard you are working her, triple it. And cut her food too. She has wasted our time.”
Hands had reached for Chung-Cha, but then she suddenly found her voice.
“What do I have to do?” she screamed out so loudly that one of the guards reached for his weapon, perhaps afraid she was going berserk and would attack them.
A minute of silence passed as all in the room looked at her. The man who had called her a bitch was scrutinizing her in a different way now.
He said, “You have been described as a tough little bitch. How tough are you?”
He backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the floor. Chung-Cha, all of ten years old, quickly got back on her feet and wiped the blood away from her mouth.
“That is nothing,” said the man. “Do not think that makes you tough, because it does not.”
Chung-Cha gathered her courage and stared back at him. “Tell me what it is I have to do to be free of this place, and I will do it.”
The general looked back at her with amusement, and then his features went cold. “I do not discuss things with filth. Others will tell you. If you fail, you will never leave this place. I will instruct them to keep you just barely alive so that you will have many more decades here. Do you understand?”
Chung-Cha kept staring at the man, her mind as clear as it had ever been. It was as though a life of darkness had just been suddenly filled with light. She knew this was the only chance she would ever have to leave here. And she meant to seize it.
“If you will not discuss it with filth like me, then who here will tell me what I have to do to be free of this place?” she said firmly.
The man seemed surprised by her audacity. He turned to the woman and said, “She will.”
Then he turned and left.
And that was the first and last time that Chung-Cha had personally laid eyes on General Pak.
Chung-Cha was stirred from her musings by her door slowly swinging open. Min stood in the doorway.
Chung-Cha sat up in her bed and looked at her. The two females did not say anything. Chung-Cha motioned with her hand and Min hurried over and climbed into bed with her.
She lay back and immediately went to sleep.
But Chung-Cha did not go to sleep. She just lay there looking at Min and thinking about events from what seemed like another life.
But it truly had once been hers.