Photo of Hyeonseo Lee.
I set my phone to silent, dressed myself entirely in black and walked calmly and purposefully through the hotel lobby. Outside I hailed a cab and directed the driver to take me to the point where the town ended, about 200 yards from the river. There, at the end of a row of low buildings, was the derelict house among the trees where I was to meet my mother and brother. I crouched down behind an old garden wall and waited. The place was cold and damp and smelled of mouldering leaves and animal droppings. I peeped over the wall and saw North Korean border patrols passing on the opposite bank of the river. In the half-tones beneath the trees, I felt camouflaged.
The sunset looked ominous, a palette of murky reds and yellows. On the other side of the water Hyesan seemed lifeless, a city dug from rock, or an intricate cemetery. A place of ghosts and wild dogs.
Min-ho had told me he would lead our mother waist-high through the water and help her up one of the ladders on the Chinese bank. The water must be freezing.
I checked the time on my phone every minute for an hour. Night had fallen like a cloud of ash. I could see nothing on the other side of the river. The power was out in Hyesan.
The blood was no longer circulating in my hands and feet. The temperature was dropping by the minute. I didn't know whether my teeth were chattering from cold or panic. Where are they?
Another hour went by. Then out of the darkness someone called: "Ya!" My heart went into overdrive. Along the North Korean bank a beam of light was bouncing on the dirt track. Border guards, patrolling in pairs, greeting another patrol. They were passing every two minutes. I didn't remember there being so many guards. They were just 50 yards away from me. I could hear their conversation.
One patrol had a dog, which turned its head towards me and barked, setting off a dozen other dogs. A memory came to me, long suppressed, of seeing blood on the ice one morning. A failed escape. I put my hands to my ears. If the dogs would stop barking...
My phone was buzzing. Min-ho's voice was fast and tense: "We've had a problem."
Quickly Min-ho explained that just as he and my mother had been about to cross they had walked straight into a border guard. Luckily he was someone Min-ho did business with. The guard told him there was a general alert out for a high-ranking family from Pyongyang that was attempting to escape this very night. There were extra guards all along the river, he said, as well as Bowibu (secret police) agents. The whole area was in lockdown. The guard then asked Min-ho to stay a while and keep him company while he kept a lookout. At that moment, my mother had said good night and had walked away.
Min-ho said he and my mother would try again to cross just before dawn. I returned to Changbai. I went back to the hotel and tried to doze for a while in my clothes. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew the phone was buzzing next to my face.
"We'll be there at six," Min-ho said. I jumped off the bed. Minutes later, as I was in the taxi, he called again. "We're across. We're hiding in the derelict house."
I was elated. I had not seen my dear mother in 11 years, nine months and nine days. Now I was minutes away from her. I asked the driver to wait and walked across the rough ground toward the riverbank. The sky to the east was turning a faint duck-egg blue. Then there, about 50 yards ahead, next to the derelict house, I made out the silhouettes of two figures. They were walking at a crouch, coming toward me.
My Omma. In the half-light I saw a strained, old face and a body moving very stiffly. Min-ho was behind her, protective and guiding with his arm around her.
I ran to meet them, but there was no time for a reunion. "We have to go," I said.
We were exposed, between the river and the town. I pulled out the clothes I had brought for them to help them blend in on the Chinese side. "Put these on. Over what you're wearing. Quick." Once they were dressed I led them towards the taxi. "Act normal, but don't speak. He'll think you're locals."
We sat in silence for the 10-minute ride. The hotel lobby was empty when we arrived and the sole receptionist was engrossed in her cellphone. I closed the room door behind me. For a moment we looked at each other. Half a lifetime had passed since the three of us had been together. No one could speak. Then my mother broke down, weeping uncontrollably. Over her shoulder, Min-ho's face looked immensely sad. He'd shared her pain all these years. And soon he would say goodbye to her and probably never see her again.
My mind still held the image of her face the night I'd last seen her. She was 42 then, and a woman of so much energy she could hardly sit still. Now she was 54, but she looked much older. She was far thinner than I remembered, and her mouth was drawn and lined. I held her: the clothes she had on underneath were icy and soaking wet. "Why are you so spotty?" my mother said, as if no time had passed.
After they'd run into the border guard on the riverbank, Min-ho had kept the guard company for a few hours then gone back to Yoon-ji's house, where he'd been living with her and her parents. Their wedding plans were under way.
"I couldn't let Yoon-ji know I was helping Omma escape," Min-ho said. "If we'd come over last night, I was just going to call her and say I was here on business and would be back in a day or two. She was still asleep when I left this morning. I wrote her a note."
Two guards had been patrolling when Min-ho had returned to the riverbank with my mother just before dawn. He told them she was a client meeting someone in China and would be coming back.
"I told them she was paying me big money, so I'll have to give them something when I go back. While we were talking, more guards appeared. Suddenly there were nine of them. But the guys all know me. It's not a problem. I just said goodbye and crossed."
The irony was all too much. I started giggling and couldn't stop. The border crossing is the most dangerous moment for anyone attempting to escape. But my brother and mother had been waved off by every armed border guard along that stretch of the river. Next thing I knew all three of us were weeping with laughter.
As we went down in the lift the next morning I told my mother and Min-ho not to speak too loudly at breakfast. I was worried that Min-ho stood out. He was the youngest person in the hotel. The other guests were middle-aged or elderly.
After breakfast we ventured out, disciplining ourselves to say as little as possible. Strong North Korean accents would be conspicuous. We went shopping at a market so I could show them the wealth of goods on display. Then I took them to lunch at an upmarket Korean restaurant. I'd figured, again, that this was the last place anyone would expect to spot escaped North Koreans. But I also wanted to treat them. Soon Min-ho would be leaving us, and I wanted us all to have a wonderful memory of our last time together.
Back in the hotel room, Min-ho turned his phone on. It rang straight away. It was Yoon-ji. She was shouting the moment he answered. My mother and I could hear every word.
"Where are you? Who's the bitch you were with?"
"Why?"
"Don't you know what's happening?"
"Calm down. What's the matter?"
"Everyone is going crazy here. The senior guard who let you across is here at the house. He's in a panic."
"Why?"
"Someone informed his commander that you'd gone across with a woman. The commander says if you come back with her right now you'll be all right. But if you come back alone you'll be in deep trouble. And so will the guard, for letting you cross. They'll accuse you of human trafficking."
Min-ho hung up and collapsed onto the bed with his hands over his face. He was in an impossible dilemma. He had to go back but couldn't return with my mother - or they'd ask what she was doing in China. The answer could only be to meet me. If he went back alone, he'd be accused of human trafficking and interrogated. The Bowibu would break him and quickly get to the truth - that he was helping his mother to defect. He'd face political prison, a zone of no return. His life would be over.
I went to the window and my forehead hit the glass with a thump. Not in any of the disaster scenarios I'd envisaged had I imagined a complication such as this. For several minutes we said nothing, sunk in our own thoughts. I broke the silence.
"Min-ho, if you go back you'll be in terrible trouble," I said, speaking slowly and evenly. "If you both go back it'll be worse. Omma can't go back with you. That leaves us two choices. We can hope that your connections with the guards will get you out of this..." I was talking to him but he made no sign that he was hearing me. "The other choice... is don't go back."
My words filled the room.
"Your friend the guard will be finished. I'm very sorry about him. But we're your family. Min-ho, you can't go back. You just can't. It'll be so dangerous. You have to come with us. I hadn't planned for this, but we'll figure it out somehow."
Min-ho was in shock. "I can't go back." His voice was a whisper. "We all know that." His phone rang. Yoon-ji again. "Are you on your way?" she asked. "It's going to take me one more day," he said quietly. He was buying time to figure out how he was going to tell her. Her parents liked him and had connections that could help him. But if they thought he was running out on her, they also had the power to stop him getting far. The Bowibu were permitted to operate in China to track down escapers.
"You've got to come back," she cried. We could hear her weeping. She'd sensed he wasn't going to come.
In the morning we decided to leave Changbai as fast as possible. Min-ho was dreading turning on his phone. It rang within seconds. Yoon-ji was calling again. "Tell me... the woman you're with. Is she really a stranger? Or is she your mother? Just say the truth."
"She's my mother," he said. "My sister came for her. That's why I crossed."
She started crying again. "Min-ho, please come back." She was begging him. "You left me a note but all the time you knew you were going for good. How could you leave me sleeping without saying goodbye?"
Min-ho's lip trembled. "Please believe me. I wanted to go back. I still do. But I can't take Omma back. So how can I go back alone now? Check the money in the drawer. It's all there. If I were going for good, would I leave it all there?"
"I believe you," she said. "Just come back."
"Min-ho." A man's voice, now. Stern. Yoon-ji's father. "Please return right away. I'm begging you, for Yoon-ji." Min-ho didn't answer. He was breathing deeply. The look on his face was one I remembered from when he was a little boy and wished something wasn't happening to him. I took the phone from his hand.
"This is Min-ho's sister," I said, hearing the coolness in my voice. "We want him to go back; he wants to go back. Whatever he does now is dangerous. But please understand that returning now is the more dangerous option."
I could hear Yoon-ji in the background crying almost hysterically. I ended the call and, without expecting to, burst into tears. I was exhausted. I looked over at my mother, who had remained silent this whole time. I could only imagine the guilt she was feeling. She had been the rock of our lives, always able to solve any problem, fix any situation.
"I'm going to take a shower," Min-ho said.
My mother shot me a puzzled look. He closed the bathroom door. We heard him turn on the taps and flush the toilet. Then the shower came on with a hiss. We could hear him sobbing. He had nothing left but his body and the clothes on his back.
A few minutes later he came out, dressed and towelling his hair dry. We pretended we hadn't heard. He had regained his composure.
"So, what's the plan?"
"We're leaving in under an hour."
The sunset looked ominous, a palette of murky reds and yellows. On the other side of the water Hyesan seemed lifeless, a city dug from rock, or an intricate cemetery. A place of ghosts and wild dogs.
Min-ho had told me he would lead our mother waist-high through the water and help her up one of the ladders on the Chinese bank. The water must be freezing.
I checked the time on my phone every minute for an hour. Night had fallen like a cloud of ash. I could see nothing on the other side of the river. The power was out in Hyesan.
The blood was no longer circulating in my hands and feet. The temperature was dropping by the minute. I didn't know whether my teeth were chattering from cold or panic. Where are they?
Another hour went by. Then out of the darkness someone called: "Ya!" My heart went into overdrive. Along the North Korean bank a beam of light was bouncing on the dirt track. Border guards, patrolling in pairs, greeting another patrol. They were passing every two minutes. I didn't remember there being so many guards. They were just 50 yards away from me. I could hear their conversation.
One patrol had a dog, which turned its head towards me and barked, setting off a dozen other dogs. A memory came to me, long suppressed, of seeing blood on the ice one morning. A failed escape. I put my hands to my ears. If the dogs would stop barking...
My phone was buzzing. Min-ho's voice was fast and tense: "We've had a problem."
Quickly Min-ho explained that just as he and my mother had been about to cross they had walked straight into a border guard. Luckily he was someone Min-ho did business with. The guard told him there was a general alert out for a high-ranking family from Pyongyang that was attempting to escape this very night. There were extra guards all along the river, he said, as well as Bowibu (secret police) agents. The whole area was in lockdown. The guard then asked Min-ho to stay a while and keep him company while he kept a lookout. At that moment, my mother had said good night and had walked away.
Min-ho said he and my mother would try again to cross just before dawn. I returned to Changbai. I went back to the hotel and tried to doze for a while in my clothes. I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew the phone was buzzing next to my face.
"We'll be there at six," Min-ho said. I jumped off the bed. Minutes later, as I was in the taxi, he called again. "We're across. We're hiding in the derelict house."
I was elated. I had not seen my dear mother in 11 years, nine months and nine days. Now I was minutes away from her. I asked the driver to wait and walked across the rough ground toward the riverbank. The sky to the east was turning a faint duck-egg blue. Then there, about 50 yards ahead, next to the derelict house, I made out the silhouettes of two figures. They were walking at a crouch, coming toward me.
My Omma. In the half-light I saw a strained, old face and a body moving very stiffly. Min-ho was behind her, protective and guiding with his arm around her.
I ran to meet them, but there was no time for a reunion. "We have to go," I said.
We were exposed, between the river and the town. I pulled out the clothes I had brought for them to help them blend in on the Chinese side. "Put these on. Over what you're wearing. Quick." Once they were dressed I led them towards the taxi. "Act normal, but don't speak. He'll think you're locals."
We sat in silence for the 10-minute ride. The hotel lobby was empty when we arrived and the sole receptionist was engrossed in her cellphone. I closed the room door behind me. For a moment we looked at each other. Half a lifetime had passed since the three of us had been together. No one could speak. Then my mother broke down, weeping uncontrollably. Over her shoulder, Min-ho's face looked immensely sad. He'd shared her pain all these years. And soon he would say goodbye to her and probably never see her again.
My mind still held the image of her face the night I'd last seen her. She was 42 then, and a woman of so much energy she could hardly sit still. Now she was 54, but she looked much older. She was far thinner than I remembered, and her mouth was drawn and lined. I held her: the clothes she had on underneath were icy and soaking wet. "Why are you so spotty?" my mother said, as if no time had passed.
After they'd run into the border guard on the riverbank, Min-ho had kept the guard company for a few hours then gone back to Yoon-ji's house, where he'd been living with her and her parents. Their wedding plans were under way.
"I couldn't let Yoon-ji know I was helping Omma escape," Min-ho said. "If we'd come over last night, I was just going to call her and say I was here on business and would be back in a day or two. She was still asleep when I left this morning. I wrote her a note."
Two guards had been patrolling when Min-ho had returned to the riverbank with my mother just before dawn. He told them she was a client meeting someone in China and would be coming back.
"I told them she was paying me big money, so I'll have to give them something when I go back. While we were talking, more guards appeared. Suddenly there were nine of them. But the guys all know me. It's not a problem. I just said goodbye and crossed."
The irony was all too much. I started giggling and couldn't stop. The border crossing is the most dangerous moment for anyone attempting to escape. But my brother and mother had been waved off by every armed border guard along that stretch of the river. Next thing I knew all three of us were weeping with laughter.
As we went down in the lift the next morning I told my mother and Min-ho not to speak too loudly at breakfast. I was worried that Min-ho stood out. He was the youngest person in the hotel. The other guests were middle-aged or elderly.
After breakfast we ventured out, disciplining ourselves to say as little as possible. Strong North Korean accents would be conspicuous. We went shopping at a market so I could show them the wealth of goods on display. Then I took them to lunch at an upmarket Korean restaurant. I'd figured, again, that this was the last place anyone would expect to spot escaped North Koreans. But I also wanted to treat them. Soon Min-ho would be leaving us, and I wanted us all to have a wonderful memory of our last time together.
Back in the hotel room, Min-ho turned his phone on. It rang straight away. It was Yoon-ji. She was shouting the moment he answered. My mother and I could hear every word.
"Where are you? Who's the bitch you were with?"
"Why?"
"Don't you know what's happening?"
"Calm down. What's the matter?"
"Everyone is going crazy here. The senior guard who let you across is here at the house. He's in a panic."
"Why?"
"Someone informed his commander that you'd gone across with a woman. The commander says if you come back with her right now you'll be all right. But if you come back alone you'll be in deep trouble. And so will the guard, for letting you cross. They'll accuse you of human trafficking."
Min-ho hung up and collapsed onto the bed with his hands over his face. He was in an impossible dilemma. He had to go back but couldn't return with my mother - or they'd ask what she was doing in China. The answer could only be to meet me. If he went back alone, he'd be accused of human trafficking and interrogated. The Bowibu would break him and quickly get to the truth - that he was helping his mother to defect. He'd face political prison, a zone of no return. His life would be over.
I went to the window and my forehead hit the glass with a thump. Not in any of the disaster scenarios I'd envisaged had I imagined a complication such as this. For several minutes we said nothing, sunk in our own thoughts. I broke the silence.
"Min-ho, if you go back you'll be in terrible trouble," I said, speaking slowly and evenly. "If you both go back it'll be worse. Omma can't go back with you. That leaves us two choices. We can hope that your connections with the guards will get you out of this..." I was talking to him but he made no sign that he was hearing me. "The other choice... is don't go back."
My words filled the room.
"Your friend the guard will be finished. I'm very sorry about him. But we're your family. Min-ho, you can't go back. You just can't. It'll be so dangerous. You have to come with us. I hadn't planned for this, but we'll figure it out somehow."
Min-ho was in shock. "I can't go back." His voice was a whisper. "We all know that." His phone rang. Yoon-ji again. "Are you on your way?" she asked. "It's going to take me one more day," he said quietly. He was buying time to figure out how he was going to tell her. Her parents liked him and had connections that could help him. But if they thought he was running out on her, they also had the power to stop him getting far. The Bowibu were permitted to operate in China to track down escapers.
"You've got to come back," she cried. We could hear her weeping. She'd sensed he wasn't going to come.
In the morning we decided to leave Changbai as fast as possible. Min-ho was dreading turning on his phone. It rang within seconds. Yoon-ji was calling again. "Tell me... the woman you're with. Is she really a stranger? Or is she your mother? Just say the truth."
"She's my mother," he said. "My sister came for her. That's why I crossed."
She started crying again. "Min-ho, please come back." She was begging him. "You left me a note but all the time you knew you were going for good. How could you leave me sleeping without saying goodbye?"
Min-ho's lip trembled. "Please believe me. I wanted to go back. I still do. But I can't take Omma back. So how can I go back alone now? Check the money in the drawer. It's all there. If I were going for good, would I leave it all there?"
"I believe you," she said. "Just come back."
"Min-ho." A man's voice, now. Stern. Yoon-ji's father. "Please return right away. I'm begging you, for Yoon-ji." Min-ho didn't answer. He was breathing deeply. The look on his face was one I remembered from when he was a little boy and wished something wasn't happening to him. I took the phone from his hand.
"This is Min-ho's sister," I said, hearing the coolness in my voice. "We want him to go back; he wants to go back. Whatever he does now is dangerous. But please understand that returning now is the more dangerous option."
I could hear Yoon-ji in the background crying almost hysterically. I ended the call and, without expecting to, burst into tears. I was exhausted. I looked over at my mother, who had remained silent this whole time. I could only imagine the guilt she was feeling. She had been the rock of our lives, always able to solve any problem, fix any situation.
"I'm going to take a shower," Min-ho said.
My mother shot me a puzzled look. He closed the bathroom door. We heard him turn on the taps and flush the toilet. Then the shower came on with a hiss. We could hear him sobbing. He had nothing left but his body and the clothes on his back.
A few minutes later he came out, dressed and towelling his hair dry. We pretended we hadn't heard. He had regained his composure.
"So, what's the plan?"
"We're leaving in under an hour."
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