Dear Leader (37 page)

‘When our General met Chinese ambassador Wan Yongxiang in
Pyongyang, he said he knew about China’s proposed amendments to the pact and its intention to demand reparations for the Korean War. Our General threatened that if China did proceed in such a direction, North Korea would sell weapons to Taiwan. The Chinese ambassador tried to explain that the views in the document did not reflect the official stance of the Chinese leadership, but rather views held by certain individuals.

‘You won’t believe how it all backfired. The Chinese leadership dismissed ambassador Wan immediately afterwards, to show their displeasure at his weak retort to Kim Jong-il. At the time, China’s appointment of a new ambassador to Pyongyang had been postponed and was four months past its due date, because Wan Yongxiang had a good relationship with Kim Jong-il. But now they decided to replace Wan with hard-liner Wang Guozhang.

‘China’s swift decision was reported to our General on the day it happened. The following day, as you know, Central Party cadres were notified. In response, our General issued an internal order for the staff at our Embassy in Beijing to prepare for withdrawal. Everyone packed their bags. But I bet that’s the first and last time our General tries to play with China the kind of games he plays with the US. We all know that if they squeeze us, we’re dead.

‘Two months later, between May 29 and 31, Beijing invited our General to make an informal visit. He probably had to sit through lectures about economic reform or something. Whatever it was, it would have been really bad, because we had to deal with the damned Shenyang Incident after that.’

The Shenyang Incident was the crisis that occurred when cadres of North Korea’s Office 35 were caught grooming Chinese Communist Party cadres in local government, police and border units. The number of people arrested by China’s Ministry of State Security in relation to the Shenyang Incident numbered over sixty. Ultimately, while an owner could get away with kicking his dog, the dog – in
this case, North Korea – would not so easily be forgiven for biting its owner.

My former classmate continued, ‘China’s Ministry of State Security had been keeping an eye on us anyway, to show South Korea it was committed to protecting their investments in the north-eastern regions. They hadn’t really laid a finger on us before, but they were really determined to send us a message this time round. In addition to the arrests, they even put a stop to material aid to North Korea. All our General could do in retaliation was to execute a few Party cadres who had studied in China, and purge so-called supporters of Chinese-style reform.

‘What more could he possibly do in the face of China’s wrath? If they decide that our regime must go, it will go. When our General was summoned to Beijing in January 2001, he had no choice but to make the trip again. They made him and the rest of the delegation wait outside the city for days even though they’d sent the invitation in the first place. Eventually, our General had no choice but to grovel and go on a tour of Shanghai’s Pudong special economic zone, declaring his “admiration” for China’s economic reform. Then the media all reported the trip as a demonstration of our General’s interest in Chinese-style reforms. They really know how to twist the blade! You know what those of us working for him in China say? Our Great General went once to the Chinese Embassy full of bluster, but was dragged off to China twice as a punishment.’

Friends like us could share this sort of dangerous information because a conversation between two cadres in North Korea, no matter how treacherous, cannot be used as the basis for prosecution unless there is independent evidence of its having taken place. The Party had established this as an internal regulation within the Ministry of State Security in an attempt to prevent personal vendettas among powerful cadres from spiralling out of control, as they often did. This regulation is also the very loophole that the North Korean elite
employ to establish mutual trust and forge alliances. In fact, there is no more valuable currency of trust than sharing the truths behind the official narrative: in a system where we loyally upheld the fabricated cult of Kim to avoid the penalty of treason, we acknowledged no greater token of faith in another.

In 2002, so as to reduce his people’s dependence on China, Kim Jong-il issued an order for North Korean companies trading under Party auspices to cease business activities with China. But, among other factors, the North Korean economy was already much too reliant on cheap imports from China. Cracking down on the sale of Chinese goods in the markets could only lead to rising prices and a strengthening of the black market economy. As economic decentralisation would result in the loss of societal and political control, Kim Jong-il rescinded his order after just three months.

When I wound up my explanation, Cho-rin’s uncle shook his head slowly as if in disbelief. ‘Is this really true, what you’re saying?’ he asked. Muttering that only someone from the heart of such a corrupt regime could know these things, he took a final large gulp from his glass and repeated the number ‘three’ several times, as if it were his prophecy that the current North Korean regime would not last beyond three generations. ‘Tell you something,’ he said, ‘I might be in an ethnic minority, but all the same I’m glad – no, grateful – to have been born a citizen of China, not North Korea.’

AFTER THESE CONVERSATIONS
, Cho-rin’s uncle treated me with great respect. When he left for work in the morning he made sure to knock on my door and say goodbye. He phoned the house at least twice a day to ask if there was any snack or small treat I wanted him to bring home. Each time, Cho-rin would take advantage of the opportunity to ask for various delicacies that she wanted too.

I enjoyed an extravagant three days in this manner. Nevertheless, every morning, I made it my first task to phone Mr Shin. He kept reassuring me that I had luck on my side, but the more I heard this, the greater I feared for Young-min. What if he had forgotten Mr Shin’s phone number through some trauma he’d suffered? I mentioned this to Mr Shin in a roundabout way. Mr Shin said that the graver danger was that Young-min might give away his phone number under interrogation, as the authorities would then track us both down.

I understood his concern. His wife was a North Korean refugee too. When I asked about sending someone to check Young-min’s relative’s home again, Mr Shin made the excuse that he was very busy. Cho-rin, who was standing next to me, asked me to pass the phone to her. I wondered if she’d had an excellent idea that a man wouldn’t have thought of.

‘Hello!’ Cho-rin’s voice was cheery as always. She continued, ‘Please help find his friend. After all, it’s only locals like us who can help, as we speak the language and know the area. And please come with him to Shenyang! I’ll take you all out for a delicious meal.’ She was about
to return the receiver to me when she paused for a moment, took it back and added, ‘Well, goodbye for now!’

Mr Shin was very curious. Was she my girlfriend? How was it that we were staying in the same house? He remarked that she had a distinctive way of speaking, full of affection, and, without giving me a chance to explain, added, ‘Congratulations!’ Then he assured me, promising several times, that he would send someone to Young-min’s relative’s house that very day.

In terms of her cousin’s piano tuition, Cho-rin was also one step ahead of me. If I played the tyrant, wielding a kitchen knife in front of the child, Cho-rin led the way with empathy. When the boy was about to lose his temper because he was unable to get the notes right, she got the answers right on his behalf, so that his pride wouldn’t be injured. To deal with his whingeing, Cho-rin appealed to the family ties between them. Now and then, she would pretend to get very upset and tearful, saying that she would get in trouble with the scary piano teacher if he continued to misbehave – although of course I had no such thing in mind. Nevertheless, it worked, and the fierce tiger would return to being a ten-year-old boy.

Once, saying he was tired, the boy bolted from the room. When words couldn’t coax him back, Cho-rin tried a new tactic. In order to pique his jealousy, she sat next to me on the piano stool. It must have irked him, to see us ignoring him like that, because he screamed from the other room that if she didn’t get off the stool at once, he would hurl it out of the window. As she translated those words for me, she rested her head on my shoulder.

The lemon scent of her hair infused my body. All at once, I forgot about the boy. When the boy screamed again, Cho-rin took her act to another level, putting her hand on mine as it rested on the keyboard, then lifting it to put my arm around her shoulders. I was overcome by the sense of intimacy. In North Korea, no man would dare make bodily contact with someone else’s betrothed, and
a woman would never take the lead in such a way. Moreover, from Pyongyang to Shenyang, all I had had to touch were rough things. Even when I’d grasped Young-min’s hand, my hand had been met by trembling and the sense of a life that was barely holding on. The warmth of Cho-rin’s hand on mine awoke in me the touch of life. I became focused on my breathing and worried that my slightest movement might shatter the stillness of the moment. When Cho-rin lifted her head again, I wondered if she too felt that time had stopped for us alone.

As Cho-rin tried to allay her cousin’s tantrum, I went into the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. I wanted to wash off my shamelessness. Yet, even after I’d wiped my face with the towel, I felt the same. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw too many layers hiding my real self from the world.

I told myself that there would have been no double meaning behind Cho-rin’s actions. She genuinely wanted to help me, and she was satisfied with that. If that weren’t the case, she wouldn’t still enjoy laughing with me in the same way as when we’d first met. Neither would she put her head on my shoulder and take my hand as a mischievous ploy to annoy the boy. I had no right at all to expect Cho-rin to have for me any of the feelings that she had towards her fiancé. In fact, I was indebted to her for her many kindnesses and felt obliged to repay them in such a way that I would never regret it.

Suddenly, I heard Cho-rin scream from the other room. The sound was all the more shocking because the scream came when I had been re-examining my emotions for her and feeling repentant. As I ran out of the bathroom, I saw that the boy had embarked on another outrage while I was out of sight. With Cho-rin resisting, he was attempting to put his hands under her shirt.

Cho-rin struggled to push him away, but the boy did not budge. She was not strong enough to stop him grabbing at her breasts. I rushed to pull him off her from behind, and he yelled so loudly that
his body trembled in my arms. Seeing that Cho-rin was on the verge of tears, I gave the boy a hard smack on his backside, then pulled him off her with all my strength. Just as I was about to start shouting at him, I realised that clenched in the boy’s hands were Cho-rin’s bra and a piece of cloth torn from her shirt. At the same time, Cho-rin gave a cry. I quickly shut my eyes as Cho-rin stood there almost naked, covering her breasts.

I swung the boy round to face me and block her from my view. As I turned, I heard Cho-rin run out of the room. The boy flailed in my arms, and at that moment I was full of hatred for him. I held him tightly by the wrist and dragged him to his room. I wanted to confine his energy in there until he offered an apology.

Although I spoke no Chinese, the boy must have understood my resolve. ‘Sit there!’ I commanded. The boy complied with my Korean and put his arms around his knees. Once, when I’d thrown a tantrum as a young boy, my father had confined me to my room. When I heard my mother argue with him, saying I should be allowed out to join the family for dinner, hers had been the most welcome voice in the world. But my father insisted that discipline was more important than dinner, and I was not allowed out until after the meal. That was perhaps the first time in my life that I thought of one’s right to eat as something important.

I leaned over the boy and pointed my finger at him. ‘Don’t you dare leave this room.’

With those words, I left him in his bedroom. But in the living room, the awkwardness remained in the air. It was so quiet that, when I sat on the couch, I flinched at the sound of the leather underneath me. At first, I worried about how upset the boy must be. But as the minutes went by, I became more concerned about Cho-rin. Would she be sitting down in the other room, or would she be standing? I didn’t know what to do with myself. Perhaps twenty minutes later, I heard the boy’s bedroom door swinging open.

Although I had left him to calm down, he had spent the time stoking his rage. I had no strength left to deal with him when the boy ran to the front door. Holding up his shoes to put them on, he turned to me and shouted, ‘
Shabi zai zi!
’ As he opened the front door to leave, he shouted, ‘
Shabi, wo da si ni!
’

He slammed the front door behind him and the words continued to ring in my ears. With the boy gone, it was even more awkward. Without knowing what the words meant, I muttered to myself, ‘
Shabi zai zi, shabi, wo da si ni
.’ Looking up absently, I started at the sight of Cho-rin.

She was standing at the other end of the living room, seemingly unable to come near or to look at me. Even her hand, which touched her eyebrow and then her lips, moved unnaturally. As if her change of clothes did not fit her well, she pulled distractedly at the hem of her shirt. When I caught myself standing there in a daze, I too felt awkward. Then our gazes met and we both blushed. She was the girl whose modesty had been compromised, and I was the boy embarrassed by it.

I escaped into the piano room. This part of the house comforted me more than anywhere else. I sat on the stool and opened the lid of the piano. The black and white keys were like black pupils set against the white of an eye, all of them looking into my heart.

‘Play me something, please.’