A Dream of Lights (23 page)

She was dead by first light.

Was it luck that I found her in time? Sook said not. Said it was like she’d been hanging on, waiting for something, and now had let go in peace.

There was so much I’d wanted to tell her, share with her, ask her. Sook held my hand, wiped my tears, put an arm round me in the silence that enveloped us, held us static. He cradled the baby in his arms, stroked his head and smiled at him, and I wished he had been the father.

The day passed in a strange but comfortable silence. We boiled up what food we had left, and the vegetables I’d stolen from the market, into a soup, and we ate it as if it was to be our last meal ever.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he finally spoke to me in sentences of more than two words. “What have you called him?” he asked, rocking the bundle in his arms.

“Nothing yet,” I whispered. “I daren’t. Because that makes him more real. And if he’s real, he’s more likely to die.”

He shrugged. “I thought you had more fight in you than that. That’s like giving up before you’ve even tried.”

I didn’t reply.

“And if he did die, how could you mourn something that didn’t have a name?”

I ignored his question. “Why did you do it?” I asked him.

“What?”

“Why did you leave the village and look after her? And how?”

He shrugged. “I owed it to you. And your family. I ran away, didn’t care about the consequences if they found me. I didn’t care what they did to me. What else
could
they do anyway? They’d already taken you.”

He edged towards me. “I loved you. Always did.”

I looked at that face and into those eyes that had followed me from the village to the camp, across the mountains and to here. Never knowing if they’d betrayed me, but always assuming they had. Never being able to let go of that hope that he did care for me and so allow myself to admit what I felt for him. Luck, for once, had been on my side when I walked into his town, guiding me and showing me maybe the right streets to go down, leading me towards him.

But still,
still
, I couldn’t quite give him my trust.

“It’s not safe here, though, Yoora. We can’t stay. There are police everywhere,” he said. “We’re so close to the border. They look out for smugglers, people who’ve sneaked over the Chinese border and brought back things to sell, or people like me who’ve run away and don’t have a visa or a permit or any papers. People without their badges pinned on their chests, or people wearing Chinese clothing or eating Chinese food.”

“Are we that close to the border?”

He shrugged. “An hour’s walk to the river.”

I glanced at the body of my mother.

“She’d want you to go,” he said.

“I know,” I sighed. “But… but…”

He crept over to me, put his arm round me and pulled me towards him, my head tucked under his chin. “Scared?” he asked. I nodded.

“But you’re the bravest person I know. Think what you’ve done – survived two years in a prison camp,
escaped
from it, walked all those miles from there, keeping yourself alive, and this baby too. You’re so strong and brave. You can’t give up now.”

But I didn’t feel strong or brave. And I didn’t want to fight any more. I didn’t feel like I had anything left in me. Not even the energy to cry. All I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t do any more.”

“But you’re so close.” I felt his breath on my face, his hand stroke my hair. “We’ll do it together.”

I felt my head move with the rise and fall of his chest and I watched my baby’s eyes flicker as he dreamt.
What could he be dreaming of?
I thought. I listened for a moment for sounds from outside, the chatter of people walking by or the bounce of a ball against a wall, girls chanting as they skipped or children shrieking as they chased each other around houses. But there was none of that.

“Will the river be cold?” I asked.

“Freezing,” he replied.

“Will there be guards there?”

“I imagine so,” he whispered.

“Will they shoot me if they see me?”

“If they don’t, then they’ll capture you and send you back to prison.”

“And… and when we get across,
if
we get across, we’ll be safe then?”

He sighed, long and slow. “No. If the Chinese authorities find us, they’ll send us back.”

I knew all of those answers before I’d asked the questions, but I wanted to hear him say it, wanted to hear if he’d tell me the truth.

“But they won’t find us because we won’t stay there,” he said. “We’ll travel through, get to a different country. Somewhere we can claim asylum. The three of us together.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. I thought of Grandfather, and I knew I, we, must leave. I knew it was the best thing to do. Here, it wasn’t a matter of
if
I was caught, it was a matter of when. It wasn’t
if
my baby survived, it was when he would die. I had to trust Sook.

And I owed it to my family, to my baby, and to myself, to keep trying and to keep going.

“Let me rest a while first,” I said. “I need to. I’m so tired. Just a couple of days.”

“All right. Two days then. We should bury your mother, say our goodbyes to her. Maybe gather some food and extra clothing.”

I nodded.

It was decided. And on that day – leaving day – we would start walking as soon as the sun was down, the darkness our friend as it hid us from prying eyes, and the clouds, we hoped, would keep the moonlight behind it, and we would hurry across the river that should be frozen in winter to the safety that waited for us somewhere on the other side.

We hoped.

I remember the air growing colder, I remember the sun beginning to set, I remember shadows creeping across the shack and towards my mother’s body on that night. Sook trying to think where we could bury her, while, with guilt heavy in my bones, I looked through the few spare clothes she had for something warmer to wear.

I remember hearing the first scream. And that feeling of dread lurching through me. The look of terror in Sook’s eyes as I spun round to him. Then another scream. And a sob. Doors opening in apartments above us, slamming shut again, feet on stairwells, voices in tears, gasping and crying and wailing.

“What is it?” I whispered to Sook, but he shook his head, lifting his finger to his lips to quieten me, moving across the room to peer through the gaps in the walls.

I closed my eyes and listened, but all the sounds and the words were mixed up and nothing made sense.

“Sook?” I breathed. “Sook, I’m scared.”

We stared at each other a moment.

“Me too,” he said and looked away. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he muttered and he was gone. Out of the door before I could even think about replying or arguing.

So I sat there, on the cold floor. Waiting. Listening to the outside world. With my dead mother and my tiny baby. Waiting for the door to open again. Wishing it would be Sook who came back in. Not a guard, or a soldier, or even a neighbour.

I will never feel safe if I stay
, I thought.
I’ll for ever be looking over my shoulder.

I closed my eyes. And waited.
He’s not coming back
, I thought.
He’s abandoned us. He’s reporting us. He hates me. He’s tricked me. Again. And I fell for it again. What have I done? How could I have let myself trust him again? They’ll come for us, take us. What then?

My thoughts ran out of control, as flashes and memories and visions flew in and out of my head. The woman who helped me give birth. The stories she told me. The boy I saw killed. The guard who attacked me. The hunger. The desolation. The hopelessness.

What will they do to us?
I thought.

Suddenly my head was clear and I had the answer.
I won’t let them win. I won’t let them hurt me or my baby. I will kill myself before that happens. And my baby will die at my hands, as quickly and as painlessly as I can do it. Not at theirs. They will not do that. I will not let them. I will not give them the satisfaction.

I cried and I shook. I stared down at the tiny face staring back up at me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” I crawled across the floor, brushing the ground with my hands, searching for the knife I’d dropped the day before, and at my chest I felt my baby’s stutter of breath and I heard his tiny cry. “I’m so, so sorry,” I breathed.

The blade touched my hand and I stopped. My fist gripped the handle and I lifted it. I sucked in breath ragged and desperate, my head spinning and sweat dripping from me in the cold air. Behind me the door creaked open and I paused, and I turned, and standing in the doorway was Sook. And next to him was nobody.

“What… what are you doing?” he whispered, closing the door behind him and dropping to the floor next to me.

I stared up at him in confusion and fear and dread, and I realised what a mess I was. What an effect everything had had on me. The paranoia that had been drilled into me over years.

“I thought…” I sobbed. “I thought… I thought…” But I couldn’t say the words.

I felt his hand rest on mine, felt him pull the knife away from me and heard it clatter to the other side of the room.

“Oh, Yoora,” he said. I let myself be pulled towards him, and I let his arms go round me and hold me tight, and I let my body go limp as he rocked me from side to side. “I would never, never betray you, and I would never, ever let them hurt you again. Together,” he said, “we’re in this together. The three of us.”

I nodded my head against his chest.

“But, Yoora, listen, we have to go. We have to go
now
. Kim Jong Il is dead.”

Of all the things he could have said to me then, that was what I expected the least. That was not even in my imagination, not even in my hopes and dreams and wishes. It was impossible. I stared at him.

“Listen,” he said. “Listen to what they’re saying outside. It’s true, Yoora. This family, they showed me it on their television. I wouldn’t have believed it myself otherwise. He’s dead. He really is dead.”

I stared still, waiting for it to sink into my consciousness, waiting to understand it. “How?” I asked.

“Heart attack.”

“But—”

“I know, I know,” he said, and he had such excitement on his face. “He’s not invincible,” he whispered. He stood up and started hurrying around the room, gathering things together. “We have to go, Yoora. Now. We can’t wait. We can’t…” He looked at the body of my mother.

“Why? Surely this means it can all be over. Things will get better. Things can change.”

He shook his head. “Why would they?”

“Because… because it won’t be him any more. We can have a new leader.”

“Yes, you know who that’ll be? His son,” he spat. “Kim Jong Un. They’re talking about it in the streets already. He’s to be our
Great Successor
. Things will be exactly the same. Just as they were when Kim Il Sung died and his son took over. You remember? Nothing changed then. They’re all the same, one son after another. They all think the same. They all do the same.”

I stared at him and then nodded, still amazed, still shocked.

“Martial law’s been declared,” he said, “all over this province.” He stood up, taking the few steps to the other side of the room and pulling open a cupboard. “We’re supposed to report to the town offices and listen to speeches praising Kim Jong Il’s greatness.”

“What?” I stood up and moved towards him. “But—”

“And they’re going to block the roads, post policemen on them to stop people passing or leaving the town.”

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Then… wouldn’t we be better off waiting, hiding in here?”

“What if they see us? Or find us? Or hear the baby crying? What then? No. We
have
to go now, while we’ve still got a chance.”

Outside our four walls I could still hear all the movement and the crying and the wailing. “They’re grieving for him,” I said. “All of them. Crying for him.”

He nodded.

“I thought they’d be glad.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

I watched Sook stuff a few clothes into a bag and grab any bits of food we had left. I looked down at my mother, and I remembered my father, my grandmother and my grandfather. My grief seemed perpetual. “I can’t just leave her,” I said. “Can’t we at least bury her before we go? I should give her that, a resting place. Please, Sook. Let me do that before we go.”

He stopped what he was doing and he looked at me. He stepped towards me and he held my face gently in his hands. “I wish we could, but we don’t have time. They’re going to close the borders,” he said. “Announce a curfew, post more guards. If we don’t go now, Yoora, they’re going to find us.”

I didn’t want to nod or agree with him. Didn’t want to leave her there, my mother, to rot. Turning into something that wasn’t her.

“That isn’t your mother,” he whispered. “She’s gone now. All that is, is the body she lived in.”

“She’d be disappointed in me.”

“No.” He shook his head. “She’d be proud of you. She
was
proud of you. She told me so.”

In silence at first, down empty streets we walked, keeping close to the sides of buildings, peering round each corner, checking for guards, for soldiers, for police, for anyone. If anyone saw us, they’d be expecting us to be crying, to be heartbroken, to be on the point of collapse through grief – our leader was dead.

And if anyone spoke to us, they’d be telling us we were heading in the wrong direction. We should be reporting to the town offices, we should be listening to speeches and stories of his greatness, we should be mourning.

I was. We both were. But we weren’t mourning him.

Maybe it was coincidence, maybe someone was watching over us, or maybe, just for once, luck was on our side because every building we stopped at, every corner we glanced round and every street we walked down was empty. And so, slowly and cautiously, we edged our way through the town, leaving behind the buildings and houses full of their tears of grief, and the windows that we hoped didn’t have faces peering out, watching us, and we headed away into the barren fields opening up wide to countryside.

It was a pretty country. It was beautiful, serene and calm. I would miss that. But I wanted to be able to eat when I was hungry, to be safe and to be free. To spend time with whomever I wanted, to think whatever I wanted and to be judged only for being me.

In darkness again I walked with Sook like all those years before, but this time in hope of a freedom that could be ours beyond the river.

In the hour it took us to walk there, keeping among trees, following a line of bushes, staying in the darkest pockets, he explained how he’d tried to stop Min-Jee reporting my family, how he’d told her that her plan to stop us seeing each other was ridiculous. He warned her he’d leave if she did, that he would disown her, and she laughed at him, telling him he was a fool, and would lose everything if he did.

And he told me how helpless he’d felt, how, when he watched my father being shot, he could barely stop himself from crying out, and how when he saw me stand up he wanted to scream at me to run, shout at me that he would be behind me, tell me that he was sorry. And that when he tried to follow me, Min-Jee knocked him to the ground unconscious.

He explained how he’d found out where my mother had been sent, that he left that night, with not a goodbye or even a note to Min-Jee. How he found my mother after two weeks of searching, and how they had looked after each other, comforted each other, and together waited and hoped for one of us to make it back. One day.

He told me how the food rations stopped and the starvation began. How they begged and stole, sold everything they could to survive to the next week, the next day, the next hour. How weak she became. How ill. And I trusted he was telling me the truth.

We held hands through the darkness, and I wondered if I’d ever really fallen out of love with him.