begged, grabbing an envelope from the floor, a flash of colour peeking out, sheets of paper covered in scrawled handwriting. I watched her gulping back tears as she stuffed the envelope inside her top.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “What is all this stuff?” I bent down, picking up a postcard of a city at night-time, the sky a beautiful deep, velvet blue, the streets alive with colour, buildings stretching up into darkness, the windows lit different colours, shop signs flashing neon symbols.
My stomach turned. “This… this is the city I dreamt about.” I felt breathless and dizzy, staring at the neon signs on the card in my hand that I didn’t understand and couldn’t read. “This isn’t North Korea,” I said. “It’s not Pyongyang. Sook was right.”
Everything stopped. They stared at me.
“I didn’t… I didn’t…” But I couldn’t lie. Father knew, of course he did; he knew the second he heard the engine and saw my face. I had betrayed him. I dropped my eyes away from them, the pain of the guilt too much to bear, and I stared at the floor scattered with the secrets they had kept hidden from me for so many years, secrets I had ruined without a thought.
I saw my grandmother’s feet stride towards me and I looked up. Her face wore an anger that was indescribable, venom I thought no one could ever feel for me. I didn’t see her lift her hand, but I felt it across the side of my face, and I felt the floor as I landed in a heap.
I stayed there. My face stinging, the car engine louder, the shuffling of paper around me, the crackle of the fire as it destroyed their memories. My mother’s sobs.
What had I done?
I could smell the car’s exhaust.
I felt my grandfather’s hand on my shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and I was so very scared. And I realised how stupid I’d been. How thoughtless and selfish and naive. Of course I couldn’t trust Sook. Of course he would tell his mother. How could I have thought anything else? I wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and disappear.
The flames destroyed the last of the papers and dwindled low to leave ashes, the delicate remains of destroyed memories, of knowledge and evidence of something I had never even been allowed to share. My father snatched the postcard from me and threw it in the fireplace.
Outside, the engine stopped. I heard the doors open. Heard them slam shut. Heard voices. Deep and male.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. And they all stared at me. All, that was, except my grandfather.
“You should’ve told her the truth years ago,” he said. “They’ll take her too. Think what they’ll do to her.”
My mother turned to me, her eyes raw, tears streaming down her face. Her hand lifted to me and touched my cheek. “Go, Yoora, go quickly and hide. Anywhere you can. Keep away from these men. Don’t let them see you.”
I stared at her, wishing she would hold me and hug me. “You have to go now,” she hissed. “Out of the back window.”
I stumbled backwards, watching the faces of my family, the pain I had caused with a few thoughtless words in the dark, and I clambered through the back window, pushed it closed and collapsed on to the ground below.
From under the window I heard the shouts of the men as they entered my home, heard my family’s quiet replies, but I didn’t know where to go, or what to do. Couldn’t think where I would be safe or how I could hide. They would know I was missing, come looking for me, hunt me down.
I couldn’t go to Sook’s house, or to the school, or to a neighbour. Or to a friend, or a colleague of my father’s. Nobody would protect me. Nobody would risk their lives for me. I was the only person I could rely on.
But I was scared. So scared. They were going to look out of the window, they were going to find me, they were going to take me away and kill me. And it was all, all, my fault.
If only, I thought. A million if onlys.
But something took hold of me, some survival instinct or fear, some voice in my head, and forced me to think and to act. There was a gap under the house close to me, a hole that maybe an animal had dug, and I squeezed myself into it, pulling the soft earth around me, smearing it on to my face, scooping up mud and dead leaves and branches on top of me. Surely they wouldn’t think I’d hide so close.
I pulled off a shoe, throwing it as far as I could, hoping they’d see it, think I’d lost it when I was running, think I’d gone in that direction.
My heart thudded and pounded in my chest and my arms and my head. Shouting came from inside the house. My grandmother’s voice pleading. My mother’s crying. Male voices barking, demanding – Where is your daughter?
Silence. A scream. A thud. A sob.
What have you been burning? they shouted. And there came no reply.
I was a coward, hiding in the dirt and soil from what I had caused, while my family suffered, protecting me.
Voices shouted about South Korea, about escape, about crimes against our Dear Leader. Threats of re-education through labour, prison camps, trials and execution. I shook with fear, tears stinging my eyes, my vision a blur.
What have I done?
I squeezed my eyes closed, wished I could block out what I could hear. I wanted to scream, run inside and tear them to pieces, shout and spit in their faces. There was nothing, nothing, I could do but sit and hide and listen.
Guilt tore through me. And I hated Sook.
With every part of my being, I hated him. With every breath I pulled, I thought of how he had betrayed me. How stupid I had been to trust him. To think he might actually care for me. I could see now how it had all been a trick, an elaborate hoax, a game.
I despised him.
Of course, why else would Min-Jee have let him have the food for me? She’d known all along. He had played me, and I was stupid enough to fall for it. I boiled with anger, at myself and at him. My mother’s cries sounded through the walls, and I burrowed further into the hole, wishing I could escape from what I’d caused. I hid like an animal because I was one.
Yet they were traitors, just like the boy with the radio, and they deserved to be punished. That was what I’d been taught for a lifetime.
But they’re not bad people, my head screamed, and I love them so much, and I know they’re guilty, punishable in the eyes of our government, but they’re my family, they just made a mistake.
The guards shouted my name again, but no reply came. I heard the door slam, the traipsing of boots, the muttering of soldiers, heard them barge into the neighbours’ house, questions shouted, orders given.
I felt terror. Pure, absolute terror.
I heard voices closer, feet nearby, frosty grass crunching underneath them, smelt cigarette smoke and boot leather. I opened my eyes a crack, peering out, watching two men, certain they would spot the whites of my eyes. I drew myself
