“Okay. I’ll call the Ministry of Foreign Affairs right now,” he said.
I gave him Chorusu’s number, thanked him, and hung up.
To give the man his due, he moved very fast. About a quarter of an hour later, I got a call from someone in the Northeast Asia Division of the ministry’s Asian Bureau, who told me to call the Japanese embassy in Beijing. They were expecting to hear from me.
I dialed the number he’d given me and told my story again.
“And you’re definitely a Japanese national?”
I gave him my details. Date of birth. Place of birth. The precise date I’d been shipped off to North Korea. There had to be records.
Okay. He’d report to his boss and get back to me.
Everyone seemed to doubt that I was genuinely Japanese. Looking back on it, I can’t really blame them. I could barely speak the language, after all. But I was scared to death of being arrested at any moment and felt like time must be running out for my family back in North Korea. I had no time for sympathy. I needed someone to help me get back to Japan, so that I could start working on helping my children.
According to Choro, phone tapping was par for the course near the border. It wasn’t just a question of monitoring escapees. There were Russian and South Korean spies in the area too, looking for defectors or investigating suspicious activities. I decided it would be best to decamp again.
For the next few days, I moved from house to house. I kept calling the embassy, and they referred me to the Japanese consulate in Shenyang.
“Be patient,” they said. “We’re trying to get in touch with your relatives in Japan.” But my patience was running low.
Finally, they succeeded.
“Congratulations. You’re clear,” they told me.
By this time, I’d been in China for a week, living in a state of terror that I’d be arrested at any moment. So I phoned the consulate in Shenyang and said I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Okay, then. You need to come to Shenyang. Ask the people who’ve been sheltering you to bring you here. We’ll pay them for their trouble. There’s a huge TV transmission tower with a bridge right in front of it. Be there the day after tomorrow at five o’clock in the afternoon. Have you got that?”
I hung up and turned to the brothers.
“You’ve gone far beyond the call of duty, but I need to ask you one last favor. It’s a big one. Can you get me to Shenyang? The consulate will cover your expenses,” I said.
Choro didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Sure. When do we leave?” he asked.
It was all I could do not to burst into tears.
“How about right now?” I asked.
We all laughed.
Chorusu got hold of a friend who had a car and asked if he could drive us.
He could.
The whole plan was in place before sunset.
Choro’s wife was eager to come with us, so there were five of us in all.
I went to see Mr. Kim Senior before I left. I couldn’t thank him enough for all he’d done for me. The tears streamed down my face as I tried to express my gratitude. I knew I would never see him again, and that I would never be able to repay his kindness for saving my life.
Then the five of us piled into the car and set off.
Shenyang was about two hundred fifty miles away as the crow flies. To get there by car, we had to cross over the Changbai Mountains. We could make it in two days if we drove nonstop. The mountain roads were narrow and winding and dotted with checkpoints.
When our driver spotted the first checkpoint up ahead, he called out a warning to me. I dove down in the backseat and covered myself with a futon, my heart thundering in my chest. The Kim brothers sat on top of me.
I heard a soldier’s voice. It sounded young and friendly.
“Where are you folks off to?”
“Visiting some relatives in Shenyang.”
And that was it. The soldier didn’t even ask to see our travel permit. He just let us through.
“We’re clear,” Chorusu said, moving off the futon.
I emerged from beneath it and sat up.
I was amazed we’d got through the checkpoint so easily. I couldn’t help asking about it.
“Well, these soldiers, you see . . . They’re all alone in these isolated checkpoints in the middle of nowhere for hours on end. They like human interaction.”
After thirty-six years of living in North Korea, I felt as if I were on another planet.
We drove for two days almost nonstop. The odd toilet break. The odd nap. Nothing more. We got to Shenyang around two o’clock in the afternoon on the day of the rendezvous.
I’d never seen so many cars. They were everywhere, a great milling mass of them. But I could barely take it in. I was breathless with excitement, but also extremely nervous. There was a North Korean consulate in the city, after all. There were secret police.
We found the enormous TV tower. The man on the phone had been right. You couldn’t miss it.
We parked the car nearby, got out, and walked toward the bridge. The Kim brothers walked on either side of me.
When we got to the bridge, I called the consulate on a public telephone. My hand was shaking as I put the receiver to my ear.
“Hello? This is Ishikawa. I’m at the bridge. I don’t think we can wait till the time we agreed. Too dangerous. Maybe this call is being tapped. I don’t want to get picked up. Please come and get me now.”
I put down the receiver without waiting for a reply.
Chorusu said to me—and I’ll never forget it—“Don’t worry! If something happens, I’ll risk my life to protect you.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t really concentrate. I felt as if everyone around me was a threat. I was convinced I’d be caught any moment. My heart was hammering. My throat was dry, and my palms were clammy.
Suddenly, someone called my name from behind me.
“Are you Mr. Ishikawa?”
I turned around to find two men in expensive suits standing before me.
“My name’s Kusakari,” one said. “I’m from the consulate. You’ve been through a horrendous ordeal. I salute you. Let’s go!”
He took my arm, and we started to walk away.
The second man thanked Choro and Chorusu and handed over some banknotes. A real wad, from what I could see. I was relieved they were being compensated for all they’d done for me.
The brothers looked amazed.
“I don’t know what to say. I can never thank you enough. Look after yourselves!” I said.
“Take care! Go well!” they called out. Then they waved. And that was it. They were gone forever.
We walked to the consulate, which was only about five hundred yards away, surrounded by four high walls. Fine by me. There were Chinese policemen standing in front of the gate, fully armed. We walked into the consulate at two thirty in the afternoon. I can’t tell you what it felt like to be in there. My emotions were potent and mixed. Even in my relief and my giddy disbelief, haunting images of my children flashed through my mind. A sharp pang of guilt reverberated through me. It’s never ceased.
I kept waking up in the middle of the night. The rational part of me knew I was safe. But I still had nightmares of being caught and arrested, and often awoke in a cold sweat, heart pounding. I was startled by the slightest sound—even a creak from the floor or the rustling of the branches outside. I was convinced that the secret police would come and take me away.
The consul was at a loss for words the first time he set eyes on me.