Jia: A Novel of North Korea (7 page)

The soldier holding the pictures looked at them one
more time. "But look at these-her grandfather is obviously a general with a high position. We'd better take her to
the government office-they'll take care of her."

The bushy-eyebrow man hesitated and looked at me for
a while, his eyebrows undulating with thought. He gathered the pictures and put them back into my backpack. "Is
there anything else in there?"

"No, just some clothes, nothing else," the soldier said,
shrugging his shoulders.

"Take her in the car. Let's move. Get in the cars, men.
Hurry, we're late now!"

I got in the same car as Uncle Shin, and he told the others he'd take care of me. He held my hand without a word,
but when the car started moving, he whispered, "Good
girl. You did a good job. You'll meet your grandparents
soon," and rubbed my back softly. I wanted to say how
scared I was during the night and that I wanted to go back
to the mountain, but sitting next to him, all I felt was relief,
and I held his hand tightly. I rebuffed the soldiers' questions
until they grew tired of asking, and gave me whatever food they had in their pockets. Uncle Shin pulled a khaki cotton
blanket over my legs and hugged me tightly.

I fell asleep, but awoke with a start several times. I kept
having nightmares of my grandparents and sister being tied
together by a thick metal chain and dragged into a deep
cave. My sister stared at me and cursed, Everything is because
of you. Because of you... I cried out, I'll go with you. Don't
leave me! But my grandfather called down to me, Don't come
here. You're not part of our family anymore. Then they left together and disappeared, leaving me in the middle of a terrific darkness.

I awoke, choked with tears, crying, "Grandmother!
Grandfather! Don't leave me!" The soldiers thought I was
crying for the grandparents in the pictures, and Uncle Shin
cradled me until I fell asleep.

I awoke the final time to his words, "Jia, get up! We've
arrived in Pyongyang."

I opened my eyes and looked toward the open back of
the truck.

The car was still moving-not on the rugged mountain
path, but on even asphalt. There were high buildings in all
directions, and a big golden statue, stretching its arm up to the
sky, came in sight. That was my first glimpse of Pyongyang.

s your name Jia?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"According to the document, she is sixteen."

The director of the orphanage answered the questions
for me. The strangers-three men and two women-looked
through the document for several minutes. All the men
wore gray jackets in the same style; their appearance gave
them away as government officials. The women's clothes
contrasted sharply with the men's. I'd never seen so many
colors on one person. The older woman wore a light red
silk blouse and a black skirt. Her glasses, with their small,
thin lenses, looked as sharp as her eyes. She held a small
black handbag on her right arm, and all her small accessories seemed to be made for her tiny physique. The other woman wore a simple, light-blue shirt and a gray skirt.
Their outfits didn't match their surroundings at all; I was
curious how they got such clothes.

The eldest of the men peered at the document through
black, thick-rimmed spectacles. The woman with the red
blouse stood up briskly from her worn-out brown chair. It
was like a small red coil springing from the ground. With
her outfit, I guessed her to be around 40 (though I later
learned she was over 50); her body was still perfectly balanced, still fit. Walking in my direction, she took a good
look at me from top to bottom before grabbing my shoulder
slightly and spinning me around clockwise. Extending my
arms, she said to herself, "Such long arms and legs. Those
will be big advantages."

"She is too old to learn now. She has never had regular
training in a professional school," the oldest man said, raising his head from my identification papers.

The woman assessing my body threw her head back,
exclaiming, "What do you know about this field? It's not
too late-she could catch up. We're not looking for a lead
dancer anyway, we just need more dancers. The director
already said she's the best one here, and we saw her performance. What else do we need?"

Ignoring the man's pout, she turned back to me. She
took several steps back. I was baffled, and felt suddenly naked; my face flushed. She really had sharp eyes: their apple
shape and long slant made them even stronger. Not a strand
of hair stuck out of her ponytail. Seeing her up close, I
thought she looked much older than I had first assumed.
She went back to her seat, and, on sitting down, sighed and
said, "Sing whatever you want."

I stood up, looking dully at the director of the orphanage and the others in turn. Why would they want to hear my
song? The director had called me to stop by her office after
lunch, only to bring me to the room where these people
were waiting. I was bewildered; I stalled.

Losing patience, the director stalked over to me and
whispered, "Jia. Sing the song you think is the best for your
voice." She grabbed my left hand and yanked me forward,
in front of them. "She will sing. She's just a little nervous."
She signaled me again, with an urging eye.

I sang the Third Aria from the opera Girl Selli, Flowers.
As I sang, I remembered I had seen these same people the
previous weekend, at the performance to welcome the government officials on their regular visit. Every year, the orphanage held a performance to entertain visiting officials.
As I voiced the lyrics of the song, I tried to figure out why I
was there. The woman studied me with her hands clasped,
bobbing one of her crossed legs.

"Okay. That's enough. Show us your dancing." Waving at me, the sharp-eyed woman stopped me in midsong.
"You prepared the audio, right?" she said, turning to the
director.

The director seemed more nervous than I was. Her stout
body wasn't meant for rushing; she nearly toppled to the
floor in her haste to get to the tape recorder on her desk.
"Which music do you want?" the director asked me softly.

Before I could ask what music she had, the sharp-eyed
woman interrupted, "No. Don't turn it on." She crossed her
arms. "Show us the dancing part of the song you just sang."

Whenever we had performances in the orphanage, I took
the girl's part in Girl Selling Flowers. I was used to singing and
dancing in front of audiences, but in that room, at that moment, with only six people's eyes focused on me, I was more anxious than I had ever been. I glanced at the director, but
her eyes were busy darting around, checking the reactions of
the others and then looking tensely back at me. Something
must have happened between them before I arrived.

"Okay. That's enough. Go sit down over there." The
sharp-eyed woman pointed to a chair next to the window.

I immediately stopped dancing, crossed the room to
sit down, and heaved a sigh of relief. They talked together intently, the tops of their heads forming a circle. I
couldn't make out what they were discussing; their faces
were inexpressive. The director joined their conversation
and occasionally threw me a glance, bobbing her head
repeatedly.

The oldest man turned his head to me and asked abruptly, "Do you remember anything about your family or where
you lived before you were seven?"

"No," I said, shaking my head, folding my hands on my
knees.

"Stand up when you answer our questions," the sharpeyed woman ordered, and I sprang to my feet. Surely, she
was the scariest person I had ever met. "When did you
learn to dance?"

I stood at attention. "Three years after I came here."

"She was really good," the director said. "She had never been schooled in dance or singing. One day when she
passed a classroom, she saw a group of students practicing
dancing. She just copied the older students' dancing in front
of the door, but she was like a tiny flying butterfly." The
director lavished praise on me, gazing at me with a warm
smile. It was true: if she hadn't seen me in the hall that day,
I never would have started dancing professionally.

They didn't respond, or even look at the director.

"So...she might be from the reactionary class," the
oldest man muttered to himself, without taking his eyes
from my document.

The sharp-eyed woman nervously tapped the handbag
on her knees. "What are you talking about? I told you I've
already made a decision. I'm the one who trains students;
I'll decide whether we'll take her or not."

The man looked unsatisfied. "Whatever you want....
But bear this in mind: you may be wasting your time. I'll
report her to the department as a possible risk, and if she
isn't approved, you'll have to handle it on your own."

She stood up and said, "I'm not going to use her for the
main part. I just need more extras and stand-ins. We don't
have time to be so picky." The others stood up as well, and
the sharp-eyed woman turned to me and said, "We'll take
you tomorrow. Pack your things. You're not going to come
back here for a while, or forever. So take everything that
belongs to you."

As soon as she finished, she left the room, holding her
bag on her forearm. The oldest man accompanied her, shaking his head, his hands folded behind his back. The others
snickered into their sleeves and followed. The director hurried behind them. Their departure finally left me with some
space to breathe, and I felt all my muscles loosening. I tried
to stand up, but sunk down wearily into a chair. They had
demanded I do several things with no explanation; truly,
they were typical representatives of their government.

"What's going on here?" I muttered to myself.

We had made so many preparations for the annual visit of
the government officials. Two months earlier we had begun to put the building in order. For the performance, I danced a fan dance, sang in an opera, and then played the
accordion. The performers were divided into three groups:
traditional dancers, revolutionary dancers, and musicians.
Sixty orphans had been chosen for the performance.

For the finale, all the performers appeared on stage and
played the "Song of General Kim 11 Sung" (kimilsuug jaug-
guu ui norae) on accordions, and then the whole audience
sang together as the accordion players walked into the audience, praising the Great Leader's achievements.

The rehearsals had required so much time and effort,
but the performance itself was over in a matter of hours,
and afterward the government officials shot out of the auditorium like arrows. They had applauded, given us flowers,
and handed out a few wan compliments. Then their cars
disappeared. The performance season was officially over.
Returning to our rooms, we collapsed on our beds. The
following day was quiet, and we had no classes or activities
for the next few days.

On the day when the government officials came again to
see me, I had gone in the morning to the dancing hall,
but none of the other orphans were there. I knew that, after the performance, the others were sick of that place and
wouldn't go there for a while.

Alone, I practiced the part of Girl Selling Flowers that
I especially liked. Bending my arm as though holding a
flower basket, I stretched the other arm toward the sky. I
sang the passage where the lead, Kkot-bun, begs passersby
to buy flowers. Kkot-bun's devotion to her family saddened
me. At least she had a family near her.

When, with a heavy heart, I returned to my room from
the dancing hall, I found a message saying the director wanted me in her office right after lunch. But I didn't
expect I would meet those strangers in her office.

As I rose to my feet, still shaking from the impromptu
performance, the director returned to the office. She rushed
straight to me and grasped my hands. "Oh! I'm so proud of
you, Jia. You don't know how happy I and right now." Her
reddish round face beamed with pleasure.

I was taken aback. "What's going on here, Director?
Who were those people? Why did they come here?"

She held my arms more tightly and brought her face
close to mine. I couldn't help but grunt from the pain, but
she didn't care. "They are all government officials in the
art and propaganda department. Jia, they are really highpositioned people. In your life, you would never have the
chance to talk to them. Now, they are totally crazy about
preparing for the World Festival of Youth and Students, the
big festival next year. People all over the world will come
to see our Great Leader and the happy life we live under the
Great Leader, and we will welcome them with our dancing
performances. Isn't that exciting!"

The director's face glowed a deeper red.

"The government officials are looking for fourteen-toeighteen-year-old girls in every school. Every year they
select girls who have dancing and singing talent, and of
course, who have a good figure. They saw your performance last weekend, and this morning I got the call. Everything went so well! I still can't believe it. They'll take care
of you, they'll train you as a professional dancer. Jia-it's
a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This is especially rare
in the orphanage. You should be grateful to the government; you're a chosen person now. You'll participate in the official dancing group for the festival-they handle the best
dancing group in the country. The Great Leader will see
your dancing-I knew it. I knew they would take you. I
knew it."