Friend

by Paek Nam-nyong

  “Hey, Sun Hee. Get your things together. We’re almost at the station,” said Eun Mi.

  As soon as the train came out of the tunnel, it began to slow down with the abrupt sounds of gears changing and the screech of the wheels grinding against the tracks. The singers, actors, and other passengers got up from their seats, laughing and chattering while reaching for their luggage.

  Sun Hee remained seated and closed her eyes. She waited for the others to get off the train first and meet with their waiting family members. Sun Hee would get off the train when they had all left the platform. She would then head home by herself. She knew that no one would come to greet her at the station, so she would hide her melancholy and pain from her comrades by remaining in the car until everyone had left. And now, that moment of insurmountable pain was approaching as the train pulled into the station.

  The people waiting on the platform took a step back when the train came to a halt. The other comrades and Eun Mi moved down the aisles and got off the train, immediately greeting and being greeted by their loved ones. Some frantically looked for family members, standing on tiptoe and bobbing their heads for a better opportunity to identify their loved ones in the crowd. And some shouted names with the hope of an answer, even the faintest one. The many hands waving in the air made it impossible to distinguish to whom each was directed.

  How affectionate and harmonious does a family have to be to receive that kind of welcome? thought Sun Hee.

  “Ma’am, wake up, please. This is the final stop,” said the conductor, passing along the aisle.

  Sun Hee looked out the window. All the people bustling around on the platform made it through the turnstile in an instant. Sun Hee sighed, brushed her hair with her hands, and reluctantly grabbed her luggage. She was the last one on the train. She exited onto the platform and was greeted by loneliness. It no longer terrified her as it used to because she had grown accustomed to its spectral presence. It was the only faithful adversary that had never failed to greet her at the station in all these years. The station was completely desolate, and so was Sun Hee.

  Sun Hee composed herself and had headed out of the station when she noticed two men and a child standing by the turnstile.

  She felt a rush of electricity running through her limbs, momentarily paralyzing her. Without a doubt, the two men were the judge and her husband, and the child was unquestionably Ho Nam.

  “Mom!”

  In the midst of her dejection, Sun Hee heard the distinct and familiar voice of her son. Ho Nam ran toward Sun Hee at full speed, like a rolling ball.

  “Ho Nam!”

  Sun Hee dropped her luggage and ran toward her son. Ho Nam launched himself at his mother, making Sun Hee nearly fall backward. She held her son tightly while still standing, but then she crouched down to hug him, securing him deep in her warm embrace.

  Ho Nam whispered to Sun Hee, “Mom, that man came to our house. We told him that you weren’t home. And then he told us to go to the train station.”

  Sun Hee was at a loss for words.

  “You know what?” Ho Nam continued. “Dad said he will go to night school.”

  “Really?”

  Sun Hee, overwhelmed by mixed emotions, choked up with tears, unable to speak any further. She held Ho Nam’s small hand and slowly stood up. The mist in her eyes obscured her vision; she could not make out the judge and her husband.

  Jeong Jin Wu stayed back, and Seok Chun walked up to Sun Hee. Without saying a word, he helped Sun Hee with her luggage.

  It had been a while since the two had looked at each other. One appeared detached, and the other doleful. Their eyes reflected resentment and understanding, forgiveness and hope as they looked deeply at each other and felt the other’s pain.

  Ho Nam stood between them and held each parent’s hand like a child desperate for his parents’ love. He missed holding both their hands.

  Jeong Jin Wu looked warmly at the family as they approached him.

  Sun Hee kept wiping away her tears.

  Jeong Jin Wu greeted her with “How was your trip?”

  Sun Hee lowered her eyes. She felt the utmost respect and gratitude for the elderly representative of the law. She appeared enraptured at the thought of starting a new life.

  They walked out of the station and onto the square.

  Judge Jeong Jin Wu held Ho Nam’s hand and asked, “Would you like to come to my house?”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did your mom come home, too?”

  “Of course,” Jeong Jin Wu replied, chuckling. “In fact, she’s waiting for you.”

  “Then, let’s go!” shouted Ho Nam.

  Sun Hee gave Ho Nam a sign of disapproval. Ho Nam hid behind Jeong Jin Wu’s legs.

  Jeong Jin Wu laughed and said to the couple, “Comrade Seok Chun, Comrade Sun Hee, you two go home. I’ll go for a walk with Ho Nam. I will bring him back around dinner time.”

  Jeong Jin Wu wanted to give the couple as much privacy as possible. Seok Chun and Sun Hee must have so much to talk about on their tenth wedding anniversary—falling in love, the early days of their marriage … memories, life lessons, hope …

  Jeong Jin Wu took Ho Nam’s hand and walked down the path toward a small park.

  All the apartment buildings along the street had their windows open to welcome the sunlight and fresh air.

  The sun was warm in May, and the leaves on the trees gave off the fresh fragrance of spring. The trees along the street waved their branches in the light breeze and provided shade on the path. Another small path led to a park surrounded by tall pine trees and flowers that blossomed late into the spring season.

  They stopped at a newly painted blue bench.

  “Do you want to rest a bit?” asked Jeong Jin Wu.

  “Uh huh.”

  Jeong Jin Wu helped Ho Nam up onto the bench. They both took a deep breath of the sweet scent of flowers, grass, and pine.

  Between some trees and a grassy path, a newlywed couple was walking with an entourage escorting them. They took a picture amid the beautiful scenery with the apartment buildings in the background.

  The newlyweds walked toward Jeong Jin Wu and Ho Nam. The groom’s face was as bright as the flower on his lapel. The bride had a corsage pinned to her dress and a crown made of roses. She lifted her long dress so that she wouldn’t trip over it as she walked. Each time she took a step, the tips of her shoes poked out. The bride and groom stood affectionately next to each other. The bride then rested her head on the groom’s shoulder.

  The photographer knelt and focused his lens.

  Ho Nam seemed entertained by the sight. He stood up from the bench and said, “Isn’t that nice?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Jeong Jin Wu was immersed in such deep thoughts that he answered without knowing what had been asked.

  The photograph of the young couple captured life’s most beautiful artwork, the union and excitement of a new family on this joyous day. For older couples who had endured marriage through the seasons, the wedding ceremony was a fond memory, but for young couples, it was their reality. For the next generation, it would become tradition, society’s gift. The course of human history may seem uneventful, but the joy of one’s wedding day never grows old. This was the everlasting tradition of humanity that no one or nothing could destroy.

  “Hey, mister.”

  Ho Nam looked serious and continued, “It would be nice for mom and dad to have a wedding.”

  Jeong Jin Wu thought Ho Nam would be disappointed if he told the child that his parents had already had their wedding ceremony, like this young couple, long before he had been born. He tried to change the subject.

  “Would you like to have some crackers and delicious food?”

  “No.”

  “Then, what?”

  “If there is a wedding, then mom and dad will be better.”

  Jeong Jin Wu’s eyes began to sting with tears.

  You’re right, child. If your pare
nts had another wedding, then they would be more affectionate with each other, and you would be able to rest secure in their love and be the happy child that you deserve to be. However, what can I say? The wedding that you’re looking at with envious eyes happens only once. One day you will understand the meaning of marriage.

  Jeong Jin Wu looked at Ho Nam and tried to temper the child’s hopes. Don’t worry, child. Your parents will remarry. They may not have a wedding ceremony again, but they will renew their wedding vows. It will be a spiritual wedding.

  People began to fill the park to enjoy the mild Sunday afternoon.

  There are people who dream of building a family, and there are people who already live in one. There is no one without a family. A family is where the love of humanity dwells, and it is a beautiful world where hope flourishes.

  AFTERWORD

  Paek Nam-nyong’s Friend is one of the few North Korean novels that has reached an international audience. First published in Pyongyang in 1988, the novel was picked up by the South Korean press Sallimteo in 1992, and the French publisher Actes Sud produced a translation by Patrick Maurus in 2011. One reason for this interest is surely the subject matter. In a review in Le Monde, Philippe Pons writes, “[Friend] is revealing of a literary approach that began in the 1980s, aimed at getting rid of ‘socialist realism’ and ‘revolutionary romanticism’—idealizing the heroic struggle and sacrifice—to deal with the lives of ordinary people.” Almost all the North Korean writing we have access to in English translation is by dissidents or defectors. Friend is unique in the Anglophone publishing landscape in that it is a state-sanctioned novel, written in Korea for North Koreans, by an author in good standing with the regime.

  But Friend is not only of interest for what it can tell an Anglophone reader about North Korea. It is a novel constructed on powerful dialogues, internal monologues, and strong personalities. Paek’s Judge Jeong Jin Wu is concerned with the strength of the North Korean state, but he is equally concerned with universally thorny questions, such as how to balance work and family life and how to allow adults, especially women, the self-determination offered by divorce without causing the affected children undue suffering. Household chores and the social expectation that women will shoulder them even as they pursue careers outside the home are a recurring theme. And as the work’s title hints, Friend also explores the possibilities and limits of a helping hand, whether in the form of official government intervention or social or familial well-wishers, when an individual is struggling or a marriage is on the rocks. That Paek’s vivid psychological portraits also give readers a glance into a famously closed society is an unintended bonus.

  History and Style of North Korean Fiction

  Friend, of course, did not appear in a vacuum. As a rule, literary works in North Korea show the process of individuals acquiring “correct” political consciousness. Literature translates Party directives into entertaining narratives and models how one should adapt to new sociopolitical situations. The Party, Writers’ Union, and literary critics prescribe guidelines and ensure that artists adhere to them in both the form and the content of their work. Writers like Paek are able to operate within this framework of prescriptions and produce literature that fulfills the Party’s directives while challenging the reader.

  Historically, the Party has seen literature as a significant part of national campaigns to materialize Party directives. The Cheollima campaign, for example, in the late 1950s and throughout the 1960s focused on the collective effort of the people to reconstruct the country in the aftermath of the Korean War. A typical book from this period has an optimistic plotline, as the utopian socialist state was projected to be within reach. No problem was too big and no task was too tiresome for the gung-ho heroes and heroines whose nearly supernatural power and devotion to the nation were intended to increase morale among readers. This is the type of literature, with its glorification of work and workers, that will come to mind for many readers when they think of Socialist Realist or even Communist literature more broadly.

  Narratives that praise Kim Il Sung became standard in North Korean literature only after the Fifteenth Plenary Meeting of the Fourth Central Party Committee in 1967. Until then, most works of fiction did not depict Kim Il Sung or even mention him. By this point, Kim Il Sung’s supporters had decisively suppressed all other factions within the Party. The 1967 meeting codified the cult of personality that had grown up around Kim as well as officially adopted Kim’s Juche, or Self-Reliance, ideology. Kim’s words and image became commonplace in art and indeed in all public discourse, and writing the phrase “According to the Great Leader Kim Il Sung,” thanking Kim Il Sung, expressing a desire to please him, or using numerous fawning monikers to describe his being became the normative writing practice in North Korea after 1967.

  The 1970s was a period of heightened literary production, and to this day it remains the decade that saw the largest number of new works published in North Korean history. Two major national campaigns, the Three Revolutions Movement and the Speed Campaign, called on the people to reeducate themselves with the correct ideology, technology, and culture, along with increasing production at a rapid pace. During this period, writers scribbled madly to meet deadlines and fulfill quotas. At the same time, amateurs were encouraged to write in order to display the level of ideological education among the populace. This overproduction of literary works did not impress North Korean literary critics, who criticized the resulting narratives as trite and repetitive with flat characters. It was in this literary climate that Paek Nam-nyong made his debut.

  Life and Literary Career of Paek Nam-nyong

  Friend is one of the novels I analyze in my book Rewriting Revolution: Women, Sexuality, and Memory in North Korean Fiction, and through the auspices of an independent organization in the United States, I was fortunate enough to be able to travel to North Korea in 2015 to interview Paek. I had sent more than fifty questions for our meeting before my arrival in Pyongyang. I met Paek in the lobby of my hotel, the Haebangsan. We were taken to a conference room where we could discuss my questions and converse about other matters pertaining to his life as a writer. We were scheduled to meet for a day but ended up spending three days together. Most of what follows is drawn from my conversations with him, particularly regarding his personal life. One of North Korea’s most successful writers, Paek was humble, generous, and kind. I purposely refrained from asking sensitive political questions.

  Most of Paek’s works reflect his tragic upbringing and difficult journey to becoming one of North Korea’s most celebrated novelists. Born on October 19, 1949, in Hamheung City in South Hamgyeong Province, Paek had not yet turned one year old when his father was killed in an American bombardment during the Korean War. Like most survivors of the war, Paek, his two older sisters, and his single mother lived in poverty. When Paek was eleven, his mother died of a terminal disease, leaving Paek to be raised by his older sisters. As soon as he graduated from high school, he entered the steel industry, learning to turn the lathe and work other heavy machinery. Although Paek claims that he had found his life’s worth at the steel factory, his true passion was reading literature and writing short stories in his free time. These early stories were about his workplace and fellow workers.

  After publishing his first short story, “High-Quality Coal” (Goyeoltan) in a magazine, Paek decided to major in literature at Kim Il Sung University. He passed the entrance exam and was accepted in 1971. However, instead of moving down to Pyongyang, Paek continued to work at his factory in Hamheung to support himself and took long-distance learning courses. Every spring and fall, he would spend two months in Pyongyang attending classes on campus. During the rest of the year, he would work and study before going down to Pyongyang again. Paek graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Korean literature in 1976 and joined the Jagang Province Writers’ Union near his hometown.

  While he was content with his job at the factory, he followed the Party’s Three Revolutions campaign, which called o
n the people to study political ideology, acquire the latest technical skills, and raise their cultural consciousness through literature, cinema, songs, theater, and collective activities. Paek chose a career in writing to educate his readers on the importance of self-cultivation, which entails lifelong learning, serving the country and the people, abiding by Party doctrine, and participating in collective community initiatives.

  After working at the Jagang Province Writers’ Union for many years, Paek received an invitation to join the Writers’ Union in Pyongyang. Paek, his wife, and three children moved to the capital city and adjusted to their new living conditions. However, tragedy revisited Paek when his wife died of brain disease, leaving him to raise his three children on his own.

  Paek was later promoted to the April 15 Literary Production Unit, an elite group whose primary task is to write historical novels based on the lives and accomplishments of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. These books are then published in a series titled Immortal History and Immortal Leadership. The April 15 Literary Production Unit was conceived by Kim Jong Il during the mid-1960s and was tasked with producing the first novel in the series by 1972, in honor of Kim Il Sung’s sixtieth birthday. That novel is The Year 1932, and it recounts the formation of Kim Il Sung’s anti-Japanese guerrilla army, which had been instrumental in fortifying Kim’s political position during the colonial period. Thereafter, the writers of the April 15 Literary Production Unit produced numerous novels for the series, which continues to be published to this day. Paek’s contributions to the series are in the Immortal Leadership track and include A Thousand Miles to the East Sea (Donghae cheonni), Prelude to Spring (Bomui seogok), and Inheritors (Gyeseungja).

  It is important to understand the difference between the practice of giving leaders cameos in a novel and the work of the April 15 Literary Production Unit. The unit is tasked with the specific duty of delineating the historical accomplishments of the leaders. According to Paek, each writer in this group chooses a specific moment in the given leader’s life, researches the relevant revolutionary exploits, and creates a realistic narrative that dramatizes the events.