“It is a television.” Like many North Koreans, Chung-Cha did not have a TV in her apartment. TV ownership was allowed in North Korea, but all sets had to be registered with the police. And all of the programming was heavily restricted and censored and mostly consisted of melodramatic praise of the country’s leadership and the bashing of countries such as South Korea and the United States and organizations like the UN. Though she did not own one, Chung-Cha had seen and used TVs when traveling. She did own a radio, because they were far more widespread than TVs, but most of the programs were similarly censored.
Things were changing slowly, particularly with the advent of the Internet, but there was no one in North Korea who could be said to be connected with the rest of the world. It was simply not acceptable to the government. While North Korean law, like American law, provided for freedom of speech and the press, there could not be a greater contrast between the two countries in that regard.
Chung-Cha picked up the remote and turned the TV on. When a picture of a man came on and he seemingly started talking directly to her, Min drew back fearfully.
“Who is that man?” she whispered. “What does he want?”
Chung-Cha put a calming hand on her shoulder. “He is not here. He is in the little box. He cannot see or hear you. But you can see and hear him.”
She clicked through the channels until she came to a cartoon. “Watch that, Min, while I check some things.”
While Min was instantly intrigued by the cartoon, even going so far as to reach up and touch the screen, Chung-Cha took out the phone she had been given and accessed her texts. There were a number of them, all in Korean. And they were all in code. Yet even if someone broke the code they would seem nonsensical because behind that code was another code that only Chung-Cha and the sender knew, and it came from a book the identity of which only they knew. These one-time codes were virtually impossible to break, because unless you had the book, you would not be able to crack the code.
Using her copy of the book, she deciphered the messages. Now she had some free time. She looked over at Min, who was still engrossed in the TV show.
“Min, would you like to go for a walk and then get something to eat?”
“Will the TV be here when we get back?”
“Yes.”
Min jumped up and put on her coat.
They walked many blocks until they reached the water. Across the harbor was the Statue of Liberty and Min asked what that was. Only this time Chung-Cha did not have an answer for her. She did not know what the thing was.
They later ate at a café. Min marveled at the odd assortment of people on the streets and in the shops.
“They have things on their skin and metal on their faces,” observed Min as she dug into a hamburger and fries. “Have they been injured?”
“No, I think they did those things by their own choosing,” said Chung-Cha as she glanced at the tattooed and skin-pierced people to whom Min was referring.
Min shook her head but could not tear her eyes away from a group of Asian girls who were giggling and carrying shopping bags and were dressed like typical college students. They clutched their phones and were endlessly texting.
In a low voice Min said, “They look like us.”
Chung-Cha glanced over at the girls. One of them saw Min and waved.
Min hurriedly looked away and the girl laughed.
Chung-Cha said, “They do look like us. But they are not like us.” She said this last part wistfully, but Min was too enthralled with all that was going on around her to notice.
Min said slowly, “People here, they laugh a lot.” She looked at Chung-Cha. “At Yodok, only the guards laugh.” She grew somber and continued to watch everything.
Chung-Cha observed the little girl and knew that it was as if she had been born in a cave and had now been whisked by a time machine into the present day and to a city that was a melting pot beyond all melting pots.
Where people laugh.
They stopped at Washington Square Park later and watched street artists perform: mimes and jugglers and magicians and unicyclists and musicians and dancers. Min stood there clutching Chung-Cha’s hand, her face utterly amazed at what she was seeing. When a person dressed as a statue suddenly moved and plucked a coin from behind her ear, Min screamed but did not run away. When the person handed her the coin Min took it and smiled. The person smiled back and gave her an official salute.
Chung-Cha led her away after a while, but Min clutched the coin and kept looking back over her shoulder at the performers.
“What is this place?” she asked. “Where are we, Chung-Cha?”
“We are in America.”
Min stopped so fast her fingers slipped from Chung-Cha’s. She exclaimed, “But America is evil. I heard so at Yodok.”
Chung-Cha quickly looked around and was relieved that no one had seemed to hear Min even though she was speaking Korean.
“You heard much at Yodok. It does not mean it is all true.”
“So America is not evil?”
Chung-Cha knelt down and gripped Min by the shoulder. “Whether it is or not, you must not mention such things here, Min. There will be people who come to visit me. You will not talk when they are with us. It is very important.”
Min slowly nodded, but there was fear in her eyes now.
Chung-Cha straightened and took Min’s hand once more. They walked back to the hotel without breaking their silence.
And once more Chung-Cha second-guessed herself about bringing Min along.
But I could not leave her.
Chapter
63
THE TRAIN ROLLED ALONG THROUGH the mid-Atlantic region. Min and Chung-Cha sat together in one of the train cars. Min was asleep. She had been so excited in New York that she had barely slept. Minutes after getting on the train, she had passed out.
Chung-Cha looked out the window as the train raced across a bridge over a river. She had no idea it was the Delaware River. She did not know what Delaware was, nor did she care. In a mission like this, one had to focus on what was important and rid oneself of all that was not important.
She dropped her gaze to Min. She moved a strand of hair from the girl’s face. Min’s skin was now clear of wounds. Her teeth were being repaired. She had gained weight. Her lessons were coming along nicely, but she had many years of work ahead of her before she would catch up to others her age.
Yet she could have a nice future. She could.
Chung-Cha looked away and studied the two passengers diagonally across from her. One man, one woman. Both Asian. They looked like a married couple, perhaps on holiday. They were not dressed as businesspeople like most of the passengers on the train.
But they were not married and they were not on holiday. They had already signaled her. They were her contacts. They would be getting off the train with her and Min at the last stop.
Washington, D.C.
The home of the American president. And his family.
When they pulled into Union Station, Chung-Cha woke Min. They left the train, and Chung-Cha steered Min until they were following in the wake of the young couple. They rode an escalator up to the parking garage and climbed into the back of a black SUV. The man drove and the woman sat next to him, while Chung-Cha and Min rode in the back.
“Where are we going?” Min asked in a whisper.
Chung-Cha shook her head once and Min lapsed into silence and stared fearfully ahead.
They drove to Springfield, Virginia, to a town house in a vast sea of them. As they pulled into a parking space in front of an end unit, Min looked out the truck window and saw children playing in a yard two units down. They looked up at her. One girl about Min’s age held a ball. The other, a boy about seven, was calling to his sister to throw it to him. The girl did and then waved at Min. Min started to wave back, but then quickly looked away when Chung-cha said something to her.
They went into the house carrying their small suitcases.
The town house’s interior was spacious, far larger than Chung-Cha’s apartment, but it was barely furnished. They were shown to their room upstairs and set down their bags. The man and woman ignored Min but showed Chung-Cha the respect her position entailed.
“We brought the girl toys,” said the woman. “They are in the basement. She can use them while we speak.”
Chung-Cha led Min to the basement, a large, mostly empty room. There was a stuffed bear, a book that Chung-Cha knew the girl could not read but that had pictures, and a large red ball.
“I have some work to do upstairs, Min. You will stay and play with these things, all right?”
“How long will you be gone?” Min said uncertainly.
“I will just be upstairs.”
“Can I stay with you?”
Chung-Cha said firmly, “I will just be upstairs. You will stay here and play.”
Chung-Cha left the girl there, but as she walked up the stairs she could feel Min’s gaze burning into her. And she felt a pang of guilt that was not easily swept away.
They met in the kitchen that was situated on the main floor at the rear of the town house. By now two more people had joined them, both men and both North Korean. One of them was the groundskeeper at the White House. They sat at the table, where pictures and files were laid out for Chung-Cha.
“There is a local team in place,” the groundskeeper, whose name was Bae, informed her. “And it will be ready to go at a moment’s notice, Comrade Yie. And it is an honor to have such an esteemed servant of the Supreme Leader here to assist us.”