Ji-min Read online

  “You really believe they can do more?” the Colonel asked.

  “Everyone holds something in reserve. That’s a basic survival instinct.”

  “I’ve been out among the people. They have little left. We need outside resources. Trade must flow.”

  Minister Pak sipped his drink. “I’ll do what I can to convince Dear Leader to… adjust his strategy. Until that happens, I need you to do as I ask.”

  “You want me to get blood from a stone,” the Colonel said.

  “Yes. I do.” He hung up the phone and returned to his emails and spreadsheets. The phone rang almost immediately. The image of a rotund man with a benevolent smile appeared on the screen.

  Dear Leader.

  “This is Pak,” the Minister said. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Dear Leader?”

  The room grew still.

  “I want you to present a detailed plan to weather the sanctions at the next assembly of ministers,” Dear Leader said. His tone was cheerful, which gave Pak cause to worry. The storm often followed the calm.

  “It would be my pleasure. I was just working on-”

  “Along with a detailed accounting of strategic resources. Food, oil, steel, wood. I would hate to discover anyone in our government hoarding the very things we need to survive. We’re running out of competent officials.”

  Minister Pak’s face reddened. You had a dozen competent officials killed this year. My friend among them. “Of course, Dear Leader. Thank you for your wise guidance.”

  “I anticipate your report.” Dear Leader hung up.

  The room moved as if releasing a collectively held breath. One mover drilled a hole into a wall, making a whirring, ratcheting noise.

  Minister Pak lowered his forehead to his hand and rubbed his temples. “Everyone out!”

  The men set whatever they were holding down and scurried away.

  “Ae-jung, stay. Shut the door.”

  She obeyed, her eyes held low.

  Town

  The days following Bae’s disappearance were mild, but the mood was frigid. Nobody spoke of him as if saying the words would make his fate real. If Bae could be taken, any of them could be. Arguments broke out. Some children were terrified to remind the villagers that orphans roamed the woods, some were terrified of facing starvation without food from town.

  Ji-min sat apart on a dead log, hunched over, indifferent to the debate. Bae. What have you done? What have we all done? The one kindness in this world, the only person who cares I exist, gone. Are you still alive? How can I find you again? If they took your life, I would like to bury you next to my mother. She would like that. Once it’s done, I think I should lie down forever next to you both.

  “If we keep stealing from town, they’ll kill us all!” one orphan said.

  “Better than withering away,” another said.

  Ji-min pulled back her sleeves and regarded her arms. Dry cracks covered her skin, punctuated by red blotches that grew larger every day.

  “What kind of existence is this?” she whispered. Can I give in? Give in to evil? Can I find the strength to fight back? She pushed herself up on wobbling legs and held her quivering hand aloft until all eyes were on her. “Most people in town aren’t evil,” she told the orphans. “They’re scared for their own survival. Scared for their families. They don’t want to kill us. Many townspeople would help us if they could.”

  “How do you know they’re not evil?” someone asked.

  Ji-min bit her lip and thought. “I refuse to believe they are. If I’m wrong, there is no hope. I have faith.”

  A boy kicked at the ground.

  “We won’t make it without more food,” Ji-min said. “There isn’t enough wild food buried under the snow. I won’t tell anyone else what to do, but I’ll tell you what I intend to do. At first light, I’m going to town and looking for things that need doing. If people see I’m not lazy, they have one less excuse for not sharing. If people see me working, they might see a human in need. They can’t all be evil. Some must have a good heart.” Please. They must.

  #

  As dawn’s first golden rays pierced the trees, Ji-min pulled her coat tight and set off toward town. She slogged past the mill where workers sipped steaming liquid from mugs, wary eyes fixated on her. She turned and walked toward the men.

  “Off with you, orphan!” one shouted.

  Ji-min was too weak to answer at that distance. She stumbled closer.

  “Are you stupid?” the man asked.

  “She must be, Chief,” another said.

  When she was close enough, she answered, “No, sir. I’m looking for work, in exchange for food.”

  The men laughed.

  “There’s no work here for a girl,” the first man, the Chief, said.

  Her eyes wandered from face to face. Some expressions were hardened, some regretful. These men are not evil. They’re broken. “I wish you a blessed day,” she said. Ji-min turned her back on the mill and forced her feet to move along the dreary road into town.

  The pungent scent of coal smoke assaulted her nostrils. She passed a slate gray, blocky, concrete abomination of a building housing numerous families. Children peeked down from tiny balconies, their bleak faces following Ji-min as she hurried along the street. The smell of rice and kimchi wafted out of an open window on the ground floor, causing her to peek inside. Almost a dozen people crowded around a flimsy table. They appeared to have even less living space than back on the farm. Back on the farm. With Appa. With Eomma. The next building was the shop. The place where Bae fell. Is that blood in the flattened patch of snow? The shop door had a piece of reused plywood nailed over the hole the ax had made. I should take an ax to the men who stole him. Ji-min’s cheeks flushed. No, I refuse to be evil. She continued past the building.

  An oversized billboard stood in an empty lot, its vibrant red and gold colors a stark contrast to the dusty town. Dear Leader’s smiling face towered over the words, “Together, We Crush the Imperialist Americans.”

  Ji-min regarded the billboard. Do the Americans inflict such hardship on us because they are evil, or are they broken, like the men at the mill? She noticed a smudge on the picture, right over Dear Leader’s cheek. Bird droppings. Ji-min scanned her surroundings and found an empty crate behind the market. She pushed it over and scurried atop it so she could reach the blemish. With melted snow and the arm of her jacket, she cleaned the picture.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” A policeman came out of the shop, pointing at her.

  She stepped down. “Sir, there was a blot on the image of Dear Leader. I cleaned it.”

  The policeman nodded, then stared at her. “Where do you live?”

  Ji-min lowered her gaze.

  “Orphan?”

  He can’t be evil. Please. She nodded.

  The man pulled something from an inner pocket. A ball of rice, wrapped in paper. “Here.”

  He looks haggard. The rice may be his daily ration. She didn’t move.

  “Here, I said.” He pressed the food into her hand. “Don’t let me catch you stealing. Now move on.”

  Stealing. Is he the one who caught Bae? Dare I ask him about Bae? He showed me kindness, but what if he thinks I’m an accomplice? Police are never kind to thieves. “Thank you, sir,” she said. She opened her mouth to speak again, but her jaw hung half-open. No words emerged. I’m a coward. How will I ever find Bae? The policeman vanished around a corner.

  Ji-min moved through town, greeting the people she encountered, cheerful despite her misery. She performed any small labor she could think of. Most townspeople avoided her. A blessed few shared scraps of food. The day seemed to drag on, and the pain gnawing in her stomach sapped her strength, making each step a struggle. Finally, there was enough food for a real dinner. I can’t keep all this for myself. It’s not right. She nibbled at the food and brought the rest back to share.

  Her stomach hurt less that night, which gave her the opportunity to think. To feel. She missed Bae, her only friend
. The only person she cared about, or who cared about her. She had nobody, no place in the world. I’m a ghost, an empty spirit doomed to roam the earth.

  #

  Ji-min tossed in bed all night, fading in and out of sleep. Fragments of dreams mixed with the waking world, forging a surreal reality. Appa was holding her hand in a spring field one moment, arguing with the cigarette-smoking man the next. Eomma entered her consciousness, from a time years ago. Before the Americans so brutally undermined the nation. When food was plentiful. That time was an eternal spring. Eomma was full of life. She turned in her sleep, aware of a painful cramp. Moments later, she drifted back to the dream world. She was in the village hall, watching the only TV she had ever seen. Dear Leader was on, supervising a rocket launch. The image faded. Ji-min shivered, half-consciously pulling her jacket tighter around her frame. She drifted back to sleep. A branch broke. The sound was muffled, distant.

  “Ji-min,” a familiar voice called.

  Familiar. Bae. That’s Bae’s voice! She rolled in her sleep. Strange images flooded her dream state.

  “Ji-min!” the voice called again. “Wake up.”

  “Bae? Bae!” Ji-min shot up, scraping her head on the low branches of the shelter.

  In the light of the full moon, filtering through the tiny opening and small gaps in the branches, knelt a magnificent figure. A shape she knew well. Bae had returned.

  Is it a dream? She rubbed her sore scalp. No, it’s real! Bae’s really here. I’m not alone, not anymore.

  “Yes, Ji-min. It’s me.” Bae crept forward and collapsed on their bed of pine needles and leaves.

  “I thought I lost you,” Ji-min said. “Where have you been?”

  “Cold. Hungry. Hurt.” He punctuated each word with a suppressed moan.

  Ji-min wetted a rag and wiped his brow. Bruises covered his face and his left eye was swollen shut. He was missing another tooth.

  “The police. No sleep. Freezing water, bright lights, Dear Leader’s speeches blaring on the radio.”

  Ji-min pushed scraps of food into his mouth. He gulped each one down. “How could they do that to you?” To anyone. How can one person be so brutal to another?

  Mumbling unintelligible words, Bae fell asleep.

  I’m so grateful you’re back. She held him close, for both moral comfort and life-giving warmth. Her hand came to rest on his cheek. He winced when she touched it.

  “Mom,” he called out, twisting around.

  “Shh,” Ji-min said. “You’re alright. You’re with me now.”

  Survival

  A fire blazed in Minister Pak’s hearth, bathing his parlor in radiant warmth. An ornate ivory lamp resting on a mahogany end table cast dingy yellow light onto a lavish, red-brown, overstuffed recliner. Each corner of the room featured a dim, bamboo floor lamp. The Minister pulled a worn copy of The Wealth of Nations from a stained oak bookshelf and settled into his chair. He raised a glass of Hennessey XO to his lips and inhaled its complex aroma. Outside, a blizzard raged. By morning, the capital would be buried in white.

  His young servant Ae-jung entered and offered a deep bow. “The Colonel has arrived,” she said.

  Minister Pak marked his page with a silver clip and set the book aside. “Show him in.”

  The Colonel entered with confident strides.

  “Please, sit. What will you drink?” Minister Pak asked.

  “Do you have coffee?”

  “My apologies, no.”

  “Jasmine tea, then.”

  Ae-jung brought tea and an assortment of smoked Norwegian salmon.

  The Colonel leered after her as she retreated. “Such a pretty one you found.” When she reached the recesses of the room, his attention shifted to the Minister. “I’m almost finished squeezing resource production,” he said. “There’s one more visit tomorrow. A minor one.”

  Minister Pak draped a slice of fish over a cracker, sprinkled Japanese furikake on top, and bit in. He savored the delicacy. “It won’t be enough,” he said. “Not nearly.”

  The lights dimmed, went dark, then came back on.

  “Wonderful,” Minister Pak said. “We can’t even keep the power on for the elite. How are we supposed to run a country?”

  The Colonel nodded. “Or wage a war, if it comes to that.” He finished his tea and signaled for Ae-jung to refill it, eying her as she did. “Speaking of possible war, how’s the political front going?”

  “Unchanged. Dear Leader isn’t backing down.” Minister Pak tipped his Cognac glass, trickling the last luxurious drops over his tongue.

  The Colonel lit a cigarette.

  “Dear Leader’s convinced the Americans won’t risk one of our ICBMs making it past their defenses,” Minister Pak said.

  The Colonel exhaled a plume of smoke. “Maybe. But if they wait much longer, our missiles will be more reliable, and we’ll have more of them. If they intend to strike, their best option is to do it soon.” He shook his head and jabbed at the air with his cigarette. “If they do, they’ll target our leadership first. We’re both on their kill list. Even if we can avoid their smart bombs and assassin drones, our military won’t survive two weeks of war without China’s support.” The Colonel took another drag of smoke. “Of course, we’d wipe out tens of thousands in Seoul first. Do you think that threat will deter them?”

  “America claims to cherish life,” Minister Pak said, “but they value American lives most. If we continue our missile program, they’ll strike. No doubt about it.”

  “Then we need to speak of limiting the damage,” the Colonel said. “We must ensure the right people don’t suffer, and the wrong people don’t revolt.”

  Minister Pak nodded.

  “It would be easier if I were a general,” the Colonel said.

  “Dear Leader won’t allow it. He won’t give you such power.” He nibbled a cracker and washed it down with alcohol. “Speaking of which, Dear Leader demands an audit of the ministry.”

  The Colonel extinguished his cigarette. “Are you in danger?”

  “He would be foolish to move on me with so much pressure on the economy.”

  “True, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

  Minister Pak chuckled. “I suppose not. I must be careful.”

  “You’re always careful. I hope you’re careful enough. As they say, though, hope is not a strategy.”

  “That reminds me,” Minister Pak said. He pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket and handed it to the Colonel. “I asked the Cuban ambassador to smuggle a shipment of food. I even offered to send a warship to take on the cargo in international waters. He gave me a polite no, and a box of these.”

  The Colonel accepted the cigar and ran it under his nose. “That smells like prosperity.” The Colonel clipped the end of the cigar. “Even our best friends are afraid of the Americans. We need to solve this problem ourselves.”

  Minister Pak rested his chin on steepled fingers. “Will the soldiers under your command follow your orders if we take decisive action?”

  The Colonel nodded. “The food reserves are locked away in your warehouses. I allow each base sufficient food to last a few days. They understand if they don’t perform, they’ll starve. If we give them a plausible rationalization for any orders, they’ll obey.”

  “And the generals?”

  He toasted the end of the cigar with a wooden match. “Blissfully ignorant,” he said. “I have loyal men willing to isolate them should the need arise.”

  “Excellent. If we manage this crisis carefully, we might emerge from it better off.”

  The estate lights flickered and went out. Twisting shadows cast by the fire’s light danced along the parlor walls.

  “Again?” the Colonel said.

  “We’re serving on a dilapidated ship and the captain’s daring the shoals to sink us,” Minister Pak said.

  The Colonel grunted. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “We’re a joke to the world. It’s not enough to survive this crisis. Not for me. We
need a radical change of course.”

  “More naval analogies?” the Colonel said with a smirk.

  Minister Pak smiled, the meandering shadows contorting it to a crooked grin. “We must burn our rotting hull and lay down a new keel.”

  Blood from a Stone

  Ji-min woke at first light. Bae was still, his breathing slow and deep. A bruise on his cheek swelled his left eye firmly shut. Ji-min dug up a small stash of wild roots from under their bed and mashed them between two fist-sized rocks. He has to survive. He’s a good person. He’s my… my family now.

  Bae stirred. “Mom,” he called out. “Stay with me!” Twisting and squirming, he reached out with open hands. “No, not now, no, don’t. Please.”

  “Shh,” she whispered, placing a hand on his forehead.

  His eyes shot open. “Where am I? Ji-min?”

  “You’re safe. Back at camp.” She pushed food into his mouth.

  He swallowed a pinch of mush, then another. “Wait,” he said when she offered a third. “You must eat, too.”

  “I ate yesterday,” she said. “I can wait.”

  He shook his head. “I eat when you eat.”

  Frowning, she took a nibble then pushed a mouthful on him. “I need you to survive.”

  He turned his sunken eyes toward her, nodded, and accepted the food.

  “You rest today. I’ll go to town and try to beg food.”

  With a wince, he tried to push himself up in protest but collapsed back on the dry leaves of their bed.

  “Rest. I’ll be back by dark, I hope with food.” Ji-min slipped out the tiny entrance of their home and headed toward town. Overnight, it had first rained then become wicked cold. The pine branches sagged with heavy ice and Ji-min struggled to cross the frozen ground.

  As she reached the edge of the woods, a mechanical rumbling reached her ears. A familiar rumbling. The sound of military trucks. She crouched at the edge of the forest and watched. A boxy car rolled toward the mill, sparkling in the morning light. It was followed by three heavy trucks with a camouflage canvas covering their cargo bed. The vehicles rolled to a stop. An army officer emerged from the car. The officer that took Appa! The Colonel, Eomma had called him. Ji-min’s head spun. She reached out and steadied herself against a sapling. Her pulse drummed anger in her ears.