Jia: A Novel of North Korea (27 page)

"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 nle.

"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 kko jebi, begging for food all day. That
trash would be dinner for several kko 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.

"I haven't tried North Korean food before. Oh, but I
like bibimbab and naengmyeon, or whatever you call that cold
noodle dish. If you know how to make them, would you,
sometime? "

I didn't answer. So long as I didn't know what he really
wanted from me, I knew I couldn't feel secure. My head
was spinning. I should be ready to bolt, just in case. That's the
lesson I've learned in my lfe. Why did he buy me? Does he want
me to be his sex slave, like the other men? Is that why he brought
me here, to this isolated place? My fear returned with a rush.

Staring at his back, I said, "I was in that hell against my
will. Don't be confused and think you can do whatever you
want just because you bought me."

He continued washing the pans in silence for a moment,
then said quietly, "You'd better learn Chinese. I know it's
hard to learn a foreign language as an adult. But if you can't speak Chinese, you'll live in fear of being arrested. You
speak English, but it's not perfect either. If you meet Chinese people, you can tell them in English that you are from
South Korea. But if you run into South Koreans, they'll
know. Living here without speaking Chinese isn't difficult-you can go to the Korean-Chinese districts if you
need something. But you are in China now. Learning Chinese will be better for you."

I replied, as if he had not spoken, "You don't have to
pretend you are a nice guy. I know every man wants one
thing. I'll kill myself if you try to force yourself on me, but
I'll kill you first, I'm warning you."

He dropped the pan in the sink with a clatter. Swinging
around, he glared at me, his face twitching. "You know
what? I am not starving for sex. If I really wanted it, I would
have taken it already. Finding women here is not at all difficult, and you are not as attractive as you think."

He left the kitchen, and I stood holding on to the chair
with one hand.

"Come here," he called from the next room. "I'll show
you around the house."

He pointed to the bathroom and then took me to a room
on the second floor. "This is your room. These are some
clothes you can wear-I didn't know your size. If they are
too big or too small, let me know. I can return them and
exchange them for the right sizes." He continued, "The
second floor is all yours. I'll use the first floor. Take a rest
tonight. If you have any question, you can call me. Good
night." He started down the stairs.

"Why are you helping me like this? I know nothing is
free, and I really need to know what you want from me."

He looked at me, frustrated. "I don't want anything from you. If you want to run away, you can. I just wanted to help
you. But, whatever you do, stay away from the police. First
of all, think about how you can survive here. I didn't promise I could help you forever-you'll have to find a way to
stand on your own feet. Good night." He closed the door.

I watched the door for a while. Everything had happened so fast; I had been in hell only hours ago. I locked the
door and pushed the bed in front of it, so he couldn't get in.
I lay down with my head next to the door, so as to hear the
slightest sound on the other side. As soon as my body hit
the bed, I realized how tired I was.

I didn't want to think anymore; it didn't get me anywhere. Tomorrow, I would ask one more time what he really wanted from me. My mind still swirling, I fell asleep.

The morning sun flooded in through a window. When
I opened my eyes, I realized I hadn't even changed my
clothes, or covered myself with a blanket. My body no longer ached. Getting up, I opened the door slightly and stole
a peek down the hall. It was perfectly quiet. The shadows
of trees played on the floor and wall opposite a window. He
seemed to have left already.

I found a message fastened to the door:

Dear Miss X,

Just now I realized I don't even know your
name. I hope you will tell me later. I had to
leave-I will probably be back late tonight. You
can have a rest. There is food in the kitchen and
some books that I bought for you to study Chinese. They are all written in Korean. Have a
look at them.

I'll talk to you later. Have a good rest. Oh, by
the way, I don't recommend that you go outside.
We can walk around together when I return.

I hope you have a restful day.

Sincerely,

Jin O

P.S. My name is Jin Xuezhen, in Chinese,
which is Kim Hakjin in Korean.

He had the most common Korean surname-his father
must be Korean, so perhaps he wasn't lying.

I shut the door and looked around the room more closely.
Like the rest of the house, it smelled of new furniture, and
everything was white, ivory, or transparent. I found some
Chinese textbooks and tapes on the desk. I might as well
study this strange language, I thought. When I opened the
ivory closet next to the desk, I discovered clothing hanging inside. I checked the clothes piece by piece, until I got
to a pair of blue jeans. I had always wanted to try on jeans,
but it was impossible at home; the government didn't allow
them because they are symbols of the West and not suited to
"feminine modesty." One of my coworkers always sighed
with envy when we had the chance to watch Western
television programs for language classes. She'd say, "I want
to try on those tight blue pants, too. Don't you think they
look nice?"

Thinking of her, I smiled to myself. I took the jeans and
a white shirt off their hangers. Closing the closet, I went to
a corner of the room and hid behind a chair; I was scared
out of habit. The jeans weren't as tight as I had seen on TV,
but they fit, and I felt comfortable in then.

I went downstairs, scouring the house for people. On my tour of the house the night before, my nerves had kept
me from paying attention. It was hard to believe all that
space was for just one person. I wondered what kind of job
could maintain such a fancy house. In the living room, he
had covered two entire walls with many kinds of small cars
on ledges. A huge TV stood against the third wall-it was
about as big as the one in the reception hall of the hotel
where I had worked in Pyongyang.

There were several photographs along the hall to his
room. I inspected them carefully, as though looking at a
person's entire history. Jin's thick eyebrows were hereditary. One picture showed him with his parents. I couldn't
tell that his father was Korean and his mother Chinese; I
just saw then as people, like me. It became clear why he
had such dark skin; most of the pictures were taken at the
beach. In several of them he was with foreigners, a big smile
on his face.

I realized I didn't have that kind of record of my life.
I had no pictures with my grandparents or my sister, and
their figures were vanishing from memory. All my pictures
were taken during dance performances, when I was in thick
makeup and wore a feigned smile. I had burned them all
before coming to China.

There was a photo of a woman with a wide smile, her
arms wrapped around Jin's neck from behind; they looked
happy. She might be his girlfriend or wife, I thought, and
if he had wanted to seduce me, he would have taken that
picture down.

I went back to the sun-filled living room. The sunshine
tempted me sorely, and I decided to leave the house. If the
door was locked, it would mean he wanted to shut me up
in the house, and I would have to run away. Nervously, I gripped the doorknob. It twisted open smoothly.

Right, I thought. Maybe he really doesn't care. It's possible. A rich person might help a desperate woman out of
fleeting sympathy, like buying a dog on the street. I felt so
sad; I was becoming distrustful of everyone.

I stepped outside and looked up at the sky, letting my
face bask in the sun. From the outside, the house looked
like a simple two-story brick edifice. I walked around for a
while. To the left was a wide green field dotted with ponds.
The houses could be counted on two hands. I walked toward the ponds. A few people appeared in the distance, and
I scrambled back to the house, seized with fear.

Inside, I felt much safer; I was still afraid of the outside.
I took a shower, scrubbing hard to get rid of the dirt my
life had collected. I wished all my pain would disappear
down the drain, but I couldn't get rid of Sangwon. He
might still be looking for me. He didn't mention the exact
name of the place where we had stayed in the cave, but I
vaguely remembered it being in the Baekdu Mountains. I
thought about Kangmin and his friend, Bangmu. What did
they tell Sangwon? He's smart; he must have seen through
their lies.

I thought about Gun and Sun, too. They might be close
by, perhaps they passed through that same cave, took the
same steps. I understood now why Gun was so worried
about Sun being in China alone. Who knows, maybe Gun
had already found her and they were together: that was
what I hoped for most.

After showering, I fell into the most comfortable sleep I
had had since arriving in China.

When I woke, it was dark again, and completely quiet. I went downstairs, but there was no sign ofJin. Feeling hungry, I searched the refrigerator, settling on some rice and
vegetables.

As I was preparing my dinner, I heard Jin clear his throat
behind me. I whirled around, holding a sharp knife.

He smiled and said, "Go ahead and eat. Actually, I
haven't eaten either. If you don't mind, could you make
enough for me?" Sitting down, he said, "How was your
day? Did you rest enough?"

I continued chopping. "Yes, I slept all day."

"That's great. You must have gotten over your fatigue.
Do you want me to cook?" He rolled up his sleeves.

"No, I'm almost done." I hurriedly put the food into
some small dishes and served them. Jin smacked his lips.

We sat together and ate. "How are the clothes?" Jin
asked, eating with gusto. "Do they fit?"

I was too flustered to answer his questions, and I didn't
raise my head. I depended on him now.

I noticed that Jin held his rice bowl in his hand, moving
it to his mouth to eat. My grandfather always instructed
me not to hold my rice bowl in my hand. He would say,
"Only ssangtiom"-the lowest class in dynastic times-"eat
like that. Don't even think about picking up your rice bowl.
The spoon is for rice. Chopsticks are for dishes. Don't lower
your head. Raise your head while you are eating."

Jin didn't use his spoon at all; he preferred chopsticks for
tossing lumps of steamed rice into his mouth. He seemed
like a starving child, eating everything up before someone
could take his meal away, and I smiled at the sight. Seeing
me, he stopped suddenly and asked with his mouth full,
"What? Is something wrong?"

I quickly looked down at the table. "No." I put a load of vegetables in my mouth to show him I didn't want to talk
anymore.

"I'm glad you've started smiling." He put the empty rice
bowl down on the table. "Starting tomorrow, a girl will
come to see you every day. She's Korean-Chinese, and will
teach you Chinese. She's the only one who knows you're
here, so you'll be safe with her. Whenever you have questions or problems, ask her, because I won't be here much."

I stopped eating and said, "Thank you for doing all of
this."

He lowered his chopsticks. "Are you not going to ask
again why I am helping you?" His skin was as dark as Gun's,
but smoother, as if covered with wax.