The Beloved Daughter

by Alana Terry

  “I hope nothing happens to So-Young,” I breathed into the semi-darkness. Kwan shifted over onto the little hammock and put his arm around me. Without thinking about it, I leaned into his wiry frame and rested my head on his chest.

  Kwan leaned his cheek against my hair and took a deep breath. “I love you.” I waited for him to apologize for the argument back at the safe house, but he just sat and let me absorb the strength and warmth from his body. In spite of our frequent conflicts, I was now terrified to think of being separated from my husband.

  “Are you scared?” I could only nod in response. I waited for Kwan to lecture me, to remind me yet again that it would be best for us to immigrate to South Korea. “What if you have a child?” Kwan often mentioned. “How could we stand to raise a son or daughter in this sort of danger?” If only Kwan knew how his words resonated in my soul this morning, now that I tasted true danger for the first time since arriving in Sanhe. I waited for the lecture to resume anew, but after a short period of silence, Kwan patted my knee and stretched out again on the floor.

  I tried to recline on the cot, but after a few minutes, I crawled to the ground beside Kwan. I thought through our argument at the safe house. Like so many other times, I had refused to go to South Korea, certain that God’s work for me was in Sanhe. By my stubbornness, I put my family and our friends in danger. I couldn’t shake the foreboding in my spirit when I thought about So-Young. When would the Kims be here?

  And now I realized that I had another person to care about, another being whose life and safety were intricately connected to mine. A wave of protectiveness swept over me.

  “Husband,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms and legs around Kwan, as if I might hold on to him forever that way, “once we make sure So-Young is safe, let’s go to South Korea.”

  Rescuer

  “Come quickly to my rescue; be my rock of refuge, a strong fortress to save me.” Psalm 31:2

  I woke up to the sound of driving rain. It was cloudy and dark. There was no way to guess how long I slept. Kwan’s coat was wrapped around me, but it was soaked from the water cascading in through the makeshift canvas door. Kwan was hunched over on the tree stump next to me, holding his head in his hands.

  “Where’s So-Young?” I was surprisingly alert for just waking up.

  “They haven’t come,” Kwan mumbled.

  “What time is it?” I sat up and winced in pain. A nerve in my back fired all the way down to my leg in protest.

  “It’s past noon.”

  “I thought you said they were only an hour or two behind us.” I wasn’t trying to sound accusatory, but Kwan’s face set with characteristic defensiveness.

  “How could I know the exact time that they left? Obviously I can’t be both here with you and back at the safe house at the same time.” I told myself that my husband wasn’t angry with me, just worried for our friends. I tried to lessen some of the tension in the dark cabin.

  “I just … I …”

  Kwan rolled his eyes. How I wished he understood. I opened my mouth but closed it again when Kwan stood up.

  “I’m going to look for them,” he declared as thunder rumbled nearby.

  “Right now? In this storm?” I wished I didn’t sound so irritated. “You must be crazy.” But I knew there was no way to change my husband’s mind. Kwan wasn’t an idle man. I couldn’t expect him to wait here until the storm subsided, not knowing what had become of our friends. Willing away my tears, I held out Kwan’s soaked coat.

  “What good will that do me in this rain?”

  “Please.” If something happened to Kwan, I didn’t want our last words to be angry. “Let’s not keep fighting like this.”

  Kwan hardened his expression, shrugged his shoulders, and took his coat. He didn’t even say good-bye as he left the cottage.

  By nightfall, the storm clouds were gone. So was my husband. I had hoped Kwan would find Mr. Kim and So-Young on his way down the mountain trail and we would all be reunited in a few short hours. Kwan didn’t leave me any directions to follow if he was delayed. I wasn’t even sure I knew which path would take me back to Sanhe.

  I wanted to pray. Desperately, I longed to pour my heart out to the Lord and find the comfort and assurance that only he can give. But along with my broken relationship with my husband came an obstructed communion with God. Often I tried to apologize to the Lord for my resentment toward Kwan, but usually my prayers did more to exonerate myself and slander my husband than to address the sinfulness that dwelt in my own heart.

  I peeked into the bag of provisions that Mr. Kim sent with us. I ate a boiled egg for dinner, leaving one more egg and two cabbage rolls to last until whenever my husband returned.

  If he returned.

  During my first year of marriage, I often imagined Kwan’s death. I hope that you do not think me a cold and unloving wife, but I must admit to you, beloved daughter, that I often pictured myself at Kwan’s funeral, accepting the condolences of So-Young and Mr. Kim and Pastor Tong. In my mind, I always appeared so stately and composed. In the most distressing days of my turbulent marriage, I envisioned how many ways my life would be easier if I no longer had a husband. I could move into So-Young’s room again and renew our late-night talks. Perhaps Mr. Kim would pity me as a widow and soften in his attitude toward me. Without the dark depression hanging over me – which I wouldn’t be struggling with if Kwan were a better husband – I could be a much more competent servant for the Lord. I pictured myself ministering graciously and tirelessly as So-Young did, without the heaviness of spirit that dragged me down ever since Kwan and I joined our lives together.

  But after a year of such thoughts, I realized that night how helpless I would be if Kwan died or was arrested, leaving me alone with minimal provisions on a completely unfamiliar mountainside. I sat shivering in the drafty cabin, mulling over all the horrific fates that might befall my husband as he searched for our missing friends. In addition to my anxiety for Kwan, I was convinced that something dreadful happened to So-Young. Why else hadn’t Mr. Kim arrived here as planned? Although the storm clouds had vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving me closer to the stars than I had ever been, I could find no peace or solace.

  When I woke up the following morning, Kwan was still missing. I waited in that dank cabin for three days. You might not believe, beloved daughter, how quickly I regressed to an almost primitive state of survival by the time Mr. Kim found me. At least once an hour during those days on the mountain, panic seized my body and allowed me only the shallowest gasps for air. With each spell, I was certain that I would die of suffocation. I sobbed uncontrollably, gasped the name of Jesus in a futile attempt to ward off the attack, and waited for death to end my suffering. But I always remained alive, left alone to wait for the next assault with little hope of reprieve.

  On two different occasions I made up my mind to hike down the mountain, back in the direction I guessed was Sanhe. Twice I set off, but as soon as the cabin was out of sight, I started to hyperventilate, certain that if I took one step farther I would never find my way back to shelter. After the second failed attempt to leave my mountain abode, it took me half a day just to crawl back to the refuge of my deserted cabin home.

  On the third night of being in such a wretched condition, I was lying on the cot and hoping that starvation might soon end my misery when Mr. Kim burst into the shelter. I cried out in terror when he entered the cabin.

  “Be calm!” Mr. Kim ordered. I begged myself not to fall into another spell in front of Mr. Kim. He held out a boiled egg, already shelled. “You must be famished.” Mr. Kim’s voice was tense, without a trace of sympathy.

  “Where’s Kwan?” I questioned after I swallowed the last bite.

  Mr. Kim looked at me through narrowed eyes and frowned. “We can’t stay here any longer. It’s time to move on.”

  “To Sanhe?” I noted with trepidation how much Mr. Kim had aged in the past four days.

  Mr. Kim shook his gray head. “I’
m taking you deeper into the interior. You’ll be safer there.” Mr. Kim winced as he said the words.

  “Where is So-Young?” I was certain now that she would be here with her father unless something was wrong.

  “Kidnapped.” There was a terrifying lifelessness in Mr. Kim’s eyes. “We don’t know where she is.” I didn’t let the full weight of his words penetrate my heart just yet. There was something else I needed to know first.

  “And Kwan?” I inquired, leaning against the cottage wall to steady myself as I stood up.

  “Gather your belongings,” Mr. Kim commanded. “We have a long journey. We need to start right away.”

  “And Kwan?” I repeated, strangely self-possessed. I lifted my head high and demanded again, “Where is my husband?”

  Mr. Kim shuffled back and forth, his eyes not quite lifting to meet mine. He rubbed his cheek with a grubby finger, wincing as I stared at him.

  “The police shot him.” Mr. Kim walked out the doorway. “Your husband is dead.”

  Trapped

  “Woe to me! The treacherous betray! With treachery the treacherous betray!” Isaiah 24:16

  I followed Mr. Kim blindly. I was grateful that I didn’t suffer another anxiety spell, but I couldn’t understand why the news of Kwan and So-Young left me feeling nothing at all. Thinking that conversation might trigger some sort of reaction, I tried talking with Mr. Kim as we hiked further up the mountain.

  “When did So-Young disappear?”

  “The night that you left.” Mr. Kim didn’t offer any further comment.

  “And the baby? The one she took to the nurse’s?”

  Mr. Kim just shrugged and grunted. I thought about So-Young, captured with a child under her care. Knowing my friend’s compassion, I was certain that So-Young would do anything in her power to shield that baby. I refused to think about my previous experiences with guards and prayed that the grace and mercy that flowed from So-Young would somehow protect her from excessive violence and brutality.

  Mr. Kim was even less helpful when I asked him about Kwan. “The police shot him.” And so we traveled on in silence through the night. By the time we reached the mountain summit, I was dizzy with exhaustion.

  “Please, I need to rest.”

  “No,” Mr. Kim snarled. “Not here.” And so we began to hike down the north-western slope.

  Although I was weak and famished, I was too wary of Mr. Kim to ask him for something to eat. But after another hour of relentless descent I knew I would faint if Mr. Kim pressed me any further. Would I need to tell him?

  “I’m sorry,” I announced, “but I can’t walk any farther.” To make my point, I sat down and leaned against the trunk of a spruce. I was grateful that Mr. Kim didn’t argue but only took turns glaring alternatively between my feet and his pocket watch.

  “Where are we going?”

  “That’s not your concern.” Mr. Kim slammed his pocket watch shut. “We’re getting you to safety. That’s what matters.”

  I didn’t ask Mr. Kim any further questions.

  “Get up,” Mr. Kim commanded after another minute passed. “We can’t be late.”

  I followed Mr. Kim’s stooped frame in silence. What was Mr. Kim keeping from me? Did he still think that I would protest passage to South Korea after all that happened? Did he have a plan for me to escape but was afraid I would resist, even after losing my husband to the Chinese police? Was there more to Kwan’s death that Mr. Kim hadn’t told me?

  It was just before dawn when we stopped at a spot where two mountain streams intersected. Without a word, Mr. Kim pulled out his pocket watch again. The pale moonlight revealed heavy beads of perspiration on Mr. Kim’s forehead. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “They should be here by now,” he muttered to himself.

  “Who?”

  A rustle behind some trees made me jump. Before I could react, two Chinese policemen forced their way onto the path in front of us. Each of them aimed a pistol at our heads.

  Mr. Kim raised his hands high in the air, and I imitated him. Mr. Kim appeared calm. I tried to do the same. The guards spoke to Mr. Kim in Mandarin. He answered back with uncharacteristic obsequiousness. I kept trying to catch his eye, hoping to ascertain what they were talking about. One of the policemen pulled out an envelope. I wondered if somehow Mr. Kim had managed to bribe the police in exchange for my safety.

  The policeman handed Mr. Kim a wad of bills, and his colleague grabbed my arms. I winced as he forced handcuffs on my wrists. Mr. Kim turned his face away from me. It was then I realized that I had just been sold.

  “Don’t!” I begged. “Please don’t let them. You don’t understand.” Before the policemen dragged me away from Mr. Kim’s side, I leaned over and whispered into my betrayer’s ear, “I’m with child.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mr. Kim hung his head low. “I did it to save my daughter.”

  PART FIVE

  Chongjin,

  North Hamyong Province

  North Korea

  Interrogation

  “Sustain me according to your promise, and I will live; do not let my hopes be dashed.” Psalm 119:116

  “Name,” the National Security agent demanded. I lost track of how many times I was interviewed in the past three weeks. First the Tumen Detention Center police with their barely decipherable Chinese accents questioned me, followed by the People’s Safety Agency guards in Onsong after I was sent back to North Korea. Now I was being interrogated in Chongjin, North Hamyong after my transfer to the National Security Agency jail there.

  “Song Chung-Cha.” I stared at the North Korean officer’s black army boots and remembered with pristine clarity the night of my family’s arrest.

  “Place of birth.”

  “Hasambong, North Hamyong Province.”

  “What were you doing across the border?”

  I repeated the same answer I gave during all of my previous interrogations. “I was captured by a guard. He was defecting from his post at Camp 22 and forced me to go with him.”

  The three junior officers around the room laughed. “There’s a story we haven’t heard before!”

  “I wonder how she paid him for her escape,” another commented. “It certainly wasn’t in yuan!” I tried to remain calm, but I was shaking. This was the first time I was questioned before such a large group. Each of the agents was heavily armed. I worried more for my unborn child than for myself. What would they do if they found out I was pregnant?

  “I was forced to leave against my will,” I insisted. It no longer mattered what was true and what was false. I lied so many times to my interrogators in the past three weeks that I no longer cared about something as nebulous as honesty. Things might have been different if I wasn’t carrying Kwan’s child in my womb, but now every ounce of maternal instinct I possessed demanded that I protect my baby. A blighted conscience seemed a small price to pay in exchange for my child’s survival.

  “What was the name and rank of this guard?” the officer wanted to know.

  “His name was Shin. He worked in the detainment center at Camp 22 and then in the train depot. That’s all I know.”

  “And what became of this guard of yours? This Shin?”

  “He was shot and killed when we crossed the Tumen River.” Memories of Shin’s death left me numb. I hadn’t even had the opportunity yet to process my own husband’s murder. My only goal was to keep my baby alive throughout these endless sessions. “I was afraid to return to North Korea, and so I lived there in Sanhe.”

  “How long did you remain across the border?” The officer raised his eyebrow and glared at a clipboard, which probably contained my prison records.

  He would know when I left Camp 22.

  “A little over two years ago,” I answered honestly.

  One of the junior officers laughed. “A stupid peasant girl gets lost in a foreign country, and it takes her two full years just to find her way home!”

  “It took her that long to realize that those Chinese ar
e lousy lovers compared to the real men on this side of the boarder.” The bawdy laughter in the room made me even more nervous than the thought of a harsh prison sentence. I put my hand on my abdomen.

  “And did you have contact with anybody else in Jilin?” The officer ignored his comrades’ vulgar comments and stared at my midsection with probing interest. I begged God to let me find mercy in his eyes.

  “I stayed with a family there.” I crossed my hands behind my back in an attempt to look more natural.

  “Chinese or Korean?” the officer pressed.

  “I don’t know,” I stated. The officer’s eyes flashed.

  “Answer my question, you pig!” He threw the clipboard onto the ground. I flinched when I heard it clank against the metallic leg of the desk. “Were they Korean, or were they Chinese?” the man demanded again.

  “Both,” I stammered. “They were Chinese citizens, but they were Korean by ethnicity. South Korean.”

  The tallest of the junior officers guffawed. “So they spoke Mandarin all day, then Korean when they were making love all night long.”

  “That’s enough!” roared the interrogating officer, slamming his hand onto the desk so that it nearly toppled over. At his outburst I cringed, and the three junior officers stood up straight at attention.

  “And did you have sex with anyone during those two years you were in China?”

  The directness of the question shocked me. Blushing, I stammered a negative reply. I thought about the woman I met at the People’s Safety Agency jail in Onsong, where I was first transferred from China. Obviously in the last stages of pregnancy, the woman was dragged out of her cell by guards and came back an hour later with two black eyes that stared at the world vacantly. Her abdomen was reduced to half of its previous size. She died that night after hemorrhaging all over the holding cell.