The Beloved Daughter

by Alana Terry

  The Gift

  “So is the word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” Isaiah 55:11

  “Where is everybody?” I asked So-Young when I got out of bed the middle of the next day. Still in my nightgown, I entered the main living room and found my teenage hostess alone washing dishes at the basin sink.

  “Good morning.” So-Young turned her face away and hid her smile.

  “Where is everybody?” I repeated. So-Young stared at the pan she was scrubbing, blushing until the red crept all the way down her neck.

  “Nowhere.” So-Young closed her lips together. As she focused on scouring the pot, a giggle crept up her throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed, perhaps some time with Mee-Kyong before her pregnancy.

  I didn’t ask So-Young any more questions. I took the cup of tea she handed me and warmed my face in the steam. “Are you hungry?” So-Young asked.

  “Yes, very.” I sat down at the table. So-Young stopped washing dishes and cracked a few eggs into her wok. A few minutes later, she placed a full plate on the table then sat down across from me. “My father keeps some chickens out back.” So-Young’s explanation wasn’t necessary; if the chickens hadn’t been clucking all morning long I would still be in bed.

  “Did you sleep well?” I nodded with my mouth full, feeling boorish. My experience in labor camp didn’t prepare me for polite mealtime conversations. Although I filled myself on rice and broth the night before, I was famished.

  “My father should be returning soon.” It seemed clear that So-Young was the woman of the house. I wondered what became of her mother, and how this beautiful girl managed to remain so joyful and radiant with the burden of running a home on her shoulders.

  “And the young man?” I inquired. “Is he your brother?”

  “Kwan?” So-Young’s dark eyes grew large. “My brother?” So-Young stifled another giggle and turned away, hiding her flushed cheeks. She didn’t offer any further explanation.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “I’ve forgotten.” So-Young poured me another cup of tea. “I was very young when my father and I moved to Sanhe.”

  I had more questions, but the front door opened. So-Young jumped up. She raised her eyebrow at her father. Mr. Kim nodded his head almost imperceptibly, although he didn’t return her smile. So-Young looked at Kwan and blushed once more. “So then you were able to find it?” she asked him.

  Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “Come with me, Daughter. I need your help with the chickens.” So-Young looked at her father, then at me, then at Kwan. Her wide and expectant eyes lowered, and her thin shoulders fell toward the floor. She didn’t argue with her father, but So-Young bit her lip as she followed Mr. Kim to the chicken coop out back. Before she closed the door behind her, she glanced back at Kwan with a pout.

  Kwan stood staring at me, scratching his elbow and drooping his head. Kwan was a little too tall and much too skinny to be handsome. He wore wiry glasses and looked like he needed some sunshine to help color his pallid face.

  Kwan lowered himself into the same chair So-Young was sitting in a moment earlier. He reached in his coat.

  “I have a … a present for you.” Kwan fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and then he took out a black leather book. “Do you recognize this?”

  “Yes.” I picked up the Bible and turned it around in my hands. “My father had one like it.” I wondered how many Korean Bibles with study notes were in this region. I couldn’t understand why Kwan’s eyes shone or why his lanky frame leaned toward me so expectantly.

  “Don’t you see?” Kwan rubbed his hands together. “It is your Father’s!”

  I was glad that I was already sitting down. I didn’t know what to ask Kwan first. The mysterious link that somehow connected my father to these strangers in China was as frightening as it was baffling.

  “Sister Chung-Cha.” Kwan blinked hard as he stared at my empty breakfast plate. “You were very young when you father was arrested. He probably never had the chance to tell you of his work for the Lord.”

  “What do you mean?” I never wondered until now why my father was given a study Bible when most pastors and evangelists in North Korea probably didn’t have a New Testament. I resented that Kwan knew more about this Bible and my father’s history than I did.

  “Before his arrest,” Kwan explained, “I was privileged to meet your father over a dozen times.”

  I thought for a moment that this might all be a huge mistake. Perhaps there was another Christian man with a similar name who also happened to live in our small village. Yet there was Father’s Bible before me, the one he so deeply cherished. There was the same black leather binding, the same small print, the same bent corner on the back cover.

  “Are you from Hasambong?” I flipped the Bible over and back again in my shaking hands, trying to perceive whatever secrets it contained.

  “No.” Kwan shook his head. “I’ve never been across the border myself. It was your father who came here to us.”

  “Here? To China?” I couldn’t remember what So-Young called their town earlier.

  “There is so much you were never able to learn.” Kwan took off his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve. “Your father often spoke about you, you know. He regretted not being able to tell you about his work as a donkey.” I stared at the teacup in front of me so I didn’t have to meet Kwan’s gaze. I was embarrassed to admit I had no idea what he was talking about. “Your father was the only Bible smuggler I know who also had a young child. Most donkeys I’ve met are unmarried. The fewer attachments, the better. Many times Mr. Kim urged your father to choose a less risky vocation to serve the underground church, but your father would never listen to his warnings.”

  Unwillingly I heard Agent Lee’s voice in my head: “What a pity your father loves his silly god more than you.”

  “Song Hyung-Ki was a brave man.” Kwan scratched his black hair. “Perhaps the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

  I squared my shoulders, vowing that I would never tell Kwan and his friends what really happened to Father in the detainment center. It still didn’t seem possible that the father I knew and revered as a child led such a secret life. I looked around the room at the chair Father might have sat in, the fire where he would have warmed himself after his dangerous trek across the Tumen River. A question came to me. “Did Mother know?”

  Kwan shook his head. “Hyun-Ki didn’t want to worry her any more than necessary. From what your father said, it sounded like she was anxious enough without knowing of your father’s dangerous work. Hyun-Ki completed all of his journeys by night while you and your mother were sleeping.” I thought back to the times when I was certain I heard Father come in during the early morning hours. I always assumed he was outside meditating under the stars of Hasambong that he and I both loved so much. I never imagined that he went to a foreign country and back.

  “How did he keep from getting caught?” I sipped my tea, trying to stop myself from shaking.

  “Hyun-Ki was remarkably blessed, as though he was protected by the archangel himself.” Kwan rubbed the top of his thigh. “Most other donkeys I’ve known only manage to make the journey two or three times. It is very dangerous.” I thought about the night Shin was killed crossing the border.

  “But Father wasn’t even arrested for smuggling Bibles.” I shuddered. How much more would our family have suffered if Father was caught crossing the border with Bibles?

  Kwan cracked his knuckle. “The last time we saw him, your father told us that he didn’t know how many more trips he could make. We all knew that it was just a matter of time before Hyun-Ki was arrested for his work as a donkey. Too many Koreans were being caught with Bibles and interrogated for him to stay safe for much longer.” Kwan stretched his bony legs under the table. “Actually, we were all relieved to learn that Hyun-Ki was arrested by the inspections unit. We hoped that your fami
ly’s punishment would be less severe than if he were discovered across the border.”

  I thought about my parents’ argument the night the People’s Safety Agency barged into our cabin. “Do you think he meant to be caught?”

  “It’s possible.” Kwan scratched his smooth face. “Maybe he decided it was safer that way for you and your mother. But I never knew your father to be afraid of anything.” For the first time it sounded like Kwan was talking about the same Father I remembered from my childhood. “Hyun-Ki was the only donkey who refused to adopt an alias. He believed that to use a different name when he crossed the border would reveal fear and embarrassment of the gospel.”

  The mention of pseudonyms reminded me of the Bible smuggler my father revered so much. “Have you ever heard of a man called Moses?” Immediately, Kwan’s smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. He leaned his head close to mine.

  “Never mention that name,” Kwan hissed. I couldn’t tell if he was frightened or angry.

  I recoiled in surprise. “I’m sorry.”

  Kwan sat back in his chair. “There are some things that you should not ask. It’s for your own safety,” Kwan assured me with a heavy sigh.

  Unspoken

  “Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God.” Ecclesiastes 5:2

  “May I come in?”

  I looked up and was surprised to see Kwan standing in the doorway to my room. “Am I interrupting your study?” Kwan glanced at my father’s Bible lying open on my lap.

  “No, I was just reading.” I was curious to know what Kwan was doing in my room. For the past three weeks at the safe house if either Kwan or Mr. Kim had a message for me, they relied on So-Young to deliver it. In such a short time, So-Young became a dear friend. I hated the thought of leaving her in only a few days. My time at Mr. Kim’s safe house passed much too quickly.

  “Are you ready for your journey?” I wondered if Kwan came to my room just to chat.

  “I think I have everything I need.” I gestured to my duffel bag. “The clothes So-Young found will fit after a little altering. And I hear that Mrs. Cho is an excellent seamstress.”

  “So they say.” Kwan sat on the edge of my bed. At first he stared at his knobby hands that rested on his knees. Then he turned and gazed at my half-filled suitcase. “You will be a great blessing to her.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I wished for some way to keep my hands occupied.

  “ow many c

  How many children did you say Mrs. Cho cares for?” I picked some imaginary lint off of the duffel bag and smoothed So-Young’s dress that I was wearing.

  “At least twenty.” Kwan cleared his throat. “Maybe more by now. I don’t know how she has been able to keep up with all of them for so long without any help. You must be an answer to many prayers offered up to heaven on her behalf.”

  “There’s such a need.” I remembered when I first heard about Mrs. Cho. About one week after I arrived at the safe house, I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of an almost catlike crying. The next morning I saw So-Young in the common living area. She was caring for newborn twin girls. Since I was a guest in the safe house, Mr. Kim didn’t allow me speak with any of the other refugees who came seeking help. He also wouldn’t let me ask questions about anything else going on around me. It was for my own safety, Mr. Kim assured me. I was curious about the babies, but I couldn’t talk about them until So-Young and I were left alone later that day.

  “Who is their mother?” I asked So-Young.

  “We don’t know.” She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “By the time we woke up to their crying, the person who dropped them off was gone.” So-Young pursed her lips into a tight little ring as she cradled one of the twins. “People drop their babies off here fairly often.”

  “Why?” I rubbed my cheek against the baby who was asleep drooling on my shoulder. What would bring anyone to abandon such a helpless creature?

  “The mothers are almost all refugees from North Korea.” So-Young shifted the child in her arms. “The fathers are either Korean or Chinese. It doesn’t really matter. Either way, the babies will never be accepted here in Sanhe.”

  “What happens to them?” I knew that adult defectors captured in China were immediately sent back to North Korea to face their punishment. I never thought about the children they might bear while they were on foreign soil.

  “Some are abandoned, others are killed at birth. Of course, many women try to raise their infants, but if the mother is repatriated, her children will be sent back with her. Every once in a while the babies find their way to our door, just like these angels.”

  I never saw So-Young look so content as she did at that moment. A twinge of loneliness pierced my heart when I remembered my own mother. In all of my memories, Mother never looked at me with such gentleness and love. Perhaps our homeland, which stole away our freedom long before we saw the confines of Camp 22, kept her from being the mother she might have been, the mother I now longed for with a poignant heaviness.

  “Sister So-Young.” I didn’t want to be so blunt, but there was no tactful way to voice my question. “Where is your mother?”

  So-Young wiggled her finger in front of the little girl’s face but stopped looking at her. “I don’t remember my mother.”

  “What happened?”

  So-Young hung her head. “My father won’t tell me.”

  I thought about Mr. Kim and tried to guess his reasoning. “Why not?”

  So-Young smoothed out her jet-black hair. “I don’t ask him anymore. He just tells me that he doesn’t want to talk about her. Sometimes I wonder if she died giving birth to me. But why wouldn’t Father say so?” An uncharacteristic whine crept into So-Young’s voice.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I wasn’t trying to …”

  “I know.” So-Young smiled at me. “With so much work going on at the safe house, I don’t really have time to miss a woman I can’t remember.”

  I have to admit, beloved daughter, that as So-Young and I talked, I never thought about becoming a mother myself, about loving a child so dearly, about adoring someone who might never even remember my face …

  I knew So-Young was trying to be cheerful, but I still regretted bringing up such a sensitive subject. “And what about your mother?” So-Young asked me.

  “I remember her,” I admitted. “I know she loved me, but I have very few fond memories left of her.”

  “She is still in prison camp, then?” The baby in So-Young’s arms began to fuss.

  I shook my head. “She died just a few weeks after we arrived there.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” So-Young bounced the upset little girl in her arms.

  “What will you do with the twins?” I was relieved to change the subject. For a moment, I hoped that So-Young would say we would keep the babies. In all my life, I had never smelled anything so fresh and pure and innocent as the little girl I now cradled in my arms.

  “We have a contact in South Korea.” So-Young rubbed the baby’s back. “My father has already notified her. She has an orphanage in Seoul devoted to little ones like these.”

  “So this woman will come and pick the girls up?”

  “No, not at all.” So-Young understood much better than I that, although these children were born on Chinese soil, they would never be granted the rights of Chinese citizens or the legal ability to move around from country to country. “There is an entire network established to get the babies to South Korea.”

  It was only two days later when an old woman arrived at the safe house. She was the first of many links, I gathered, to transport the twins safely to the orphanage in Seoul. I was in my room, and as I had been instructed I did not come out. Still, I couldn’t keep from overhearing the conversation as the baby girls were placed in the woman’s care on the other side of my bedroom door.

  “I wish you safety and speed on your journey,” Mr. Kim told the stranger. “May you have ample str
ength for the road ahead of you.” I never heard Mr. Kim speak so kindly to anyone in the safe house before, and for a moment I wondered if the voice I heard truly belonged to my benefactor.

  “The Lord Almighty will tend to my old arthritic bones,” declared the lady. “I’ve made this journey many times.”

  “I have not forgotten, Sister,” responded Mr. Kim.

  “It is Mrs. Cho that needs your prayers more than I.” The woman wouldn’t know that I was listening behind my closed door, a stranger who shouldn’t have even heard the identity of this South Korean worker. “Caring for almost two dozen children and she nearly eighty. It is too much work for one woman alone.”

  “The Lord gives our sister in Seoul remarkable strength,” Mr. Kim observed.

  “That he does,” admitted the courier, “but what Mrs. Cho really needs is a strong girl to help her care for so many babies.”

  A few mornings later So-Young shook me awake at dawn.

  “Wake up, Sister!” she exclaimed.

  “What is it?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as cross as I felt at having been aroused from my sleep.

  “Father asked me to talk to you.” So-Young didn’t pause for breath. “Remember the woman I told you about? The one who runs an orphanage in South Korea? She needs help. She needs someone to help look after her babies. Father says he thinks you should consider it.” So-Young prattled on while I tried to open my eyes.

  “She can provide you with room and board. Imagine it! You’d be in Seoul. You’d be safe there, and no one could ever send you back to North Korea again. Can you believe it? Mrs. Cho has already offered to provide for your passage. It’s a long journey, of course, but you know, God protected you from so many things in your past. Why wouldn’t he just keep on watching over you now?”

  And so it was decided that in a fortnight I would travel to the interior of China with Mrs. Cho’s many anonymous escorts. I would make the journey by car, train, and foot all the way to Vietnam and then take a boat to South Korea. The trek sounded arduous, but I was assured that Mrs. Cho aided so many refugees along that path before that I had very little to worry about. Boredom and exhaustion would probably be the biggest threats to my well-being.