Twenty minutes later Chung-Cha sat in a small room with two chairs and one table. She stared over at the little girl. She had asked Min to sit down but Min had refused, preferring, she said, to stand.
And stand she did, with her hands balled into fists as she stared back at Chung-Cha with open defiance. With that look Chung-Cha knew it was a miracle the girl was even still alive at this place.
“My name is Yie Chung-Cha,” she said. “I have been told that your name is Min. What is your other name?”
Min said nothing.
“Do you have family here?”
Min said nothing.
Chung-Cha looked over the girl’s arms and legs. They were scarred and dirty and heavily bruised. There were open, festering wounds. Everything about the child was an open, festering wound. But in the eyes, yes, in the eyes Chung-Cha saw a fire that she did not believe any beatings or disease could extinguish.
“I ate rats,” said Chung-Cha. “As many as I could. The meat, it staves off the sickness that others here get. It is the protein that does it. I did not know that when I was here. I only learned of it later. I was lucky in that way.”
She watched as Min’s fists uncurled. Yet Min still looked wary. Chung-Cha could understand this. The official first rule of the camp might be, You must not escape. But the unofficial and far more important first rule for any prisoner was, You must trust no one.
“I lived in the first hut by the path to the left of the inner gate,” said Chung-Cha. “This was some years ago.”
“You were a hostile, then,” Min blurted out. “So why are you no longer here?” she asked, anger and resentment pronounced in each of the words.
“Because I was useful to others outside this place.”
“How?” demanded Min, now forgetting her caution.
In that question Chung-Cha could see what she had hoped to see. The girl wanted out, when so many prisoners, even younger than she, were totally resigned to living here forever. The fire in their lives, and with it their courage, was gone. It was sad, but it was a fact. They were lost.
“I was a tough little bitch,” replied Chung-Cha.
“I am a tough little bitch too.”
“I could see that. It’s the only reason you’re here talking to me.”
Min blinked and relaxed just a bit more. “How can I be useful to you?”
Defiance yes, but intelligence, and its first cousin cleverness, thought Chung-Cha. Well, after all, in Korean that’s what Min meant: cleverness and intelligence.
“How do you think you can be?” asked Chung-Cha, turning the query around and flinging it back at her.
Min pondered this for a few moments. Chung-Cha could almost see the mental churnings going on inside the girl’s head.
“How were you useful to others?” asked Min. “That allowed you to leave here?”
Chung-Cha managed to hide her smile, and her satisfaction. Min was proving to be up to the challenge.
“I was trained to do a specific job.”
“Then I can too,” said Min.
“Even though you don’t know what the job is?”
“I can do anything,” declared Min. “I will do anything to leave here.”
“And your family?”
“I have no family.”
“They’re dead?”
“I have no family,” repeated Min.
Chung-Cha nodded slowly and rose. “I will be back here in one week. You will be ready to go.”
“Why one week?”
Chung-Cha was surprised by this question. “These things take time. There are arrangements, paperwork.”
Min looked doubtfully at her.
“I will be back.”
“But I may not be alive.”
Chung-Cha cocked her head. “Why?”
“They will know what you are going to do.”
“And?”
“And they will not let me go.”
“I come with the highest authority. The guards will not harm you.”
“There are accidents. And it’s not just the guards.”
Chung-Cha nodded thoughtfully. “The other prisoners?”
“They do not care about the highest authority. And what do they have to lose?”
“Their lives?”
Min screwed up her face. “Why would they care? That would be a good thing for them.”
Chung-Cha knew that she was absolutely right about this.
“Then we will leave here today.”
For the first time probably in her life, Min smiled.