The Girl with Seven Names: a north Korean Defector’s Story

Interrogation
The two plainclothes officers escorted me outside to an unmarked BMW. I
felt hazily detached from reality, as if this were some bad daydream. They
did not cuff me. They seemed relaxed, as if they’d done this many times.
One of them was extraordinarily handsome I noticed, like a movie actor. A
third man was sitting in the driver’s seat. I sat between the two men in the
back.
‘Where are we going?’ I said.
The handsome one answered. ‘Xita Road Station.’
The car’s air con was chilling me. My teeth began to chatter. It’s over, I
thought. There was no possible way out of this.
As we sped through the familiar streets of Xita I thought of the awful
trouble my family would be in once the Bowibu found out I’d been in
China. It was my mother and Min-ho I was fearful for, not for myself.
I deserved this. I had done this to myself.
I linked my fingers in my lap, and for the first time in my life, I prayed. I
belonged to no faith, so I prayed to the spirits of my ancestors. If this is
another nightmare, let me wake up. I prayed to the spirit of my dear father.
If you can, please help me now.
The car pulled over in front of the station. The officers walked either side
of me into a reception area lit by fluorescent lighting. It was busy, with
people in uniform and civilian clothes coming and going. To the left I saw
what looked like a temporary holding cell with floor-to-ceiling bars. At
least thirty people were crammed into the space, leaning against the wall or
sitting on the floor. Men and women together, silent, with blank, resigned
faces. Some of them were very thin. They stared at me. They looked North
Korean. I felt no pity for them. I felt nothing.

---

In a few minutes I’ll be joining you.
We passed a desk where a one- or two-month-old baby lay wrapped in a
blanket. It was crying, and unattended.
My legs turned to straw. The two policemen led me upstairs.
On the second floor, we entered a large, bright conference room. Twenty
or so police officers in pale-blue shirts stood about, leaning against the wall.
All watched me as I came in. The handsome officer politely offered me a
chair facing a desk, then sat behind it between two other male officials. The
scene was surreal, and like a dream. Relaxed, yet menacing.
The handsome officer introduced himself as Inspector Xu. He was to be
my interrogator. It was happening here. I was surrounded.
Focus, I told myself. Pay attention only to what is crucial – the three men
behind the desk. Forget the others watching me.
Inspector Xu was not the only one asking the questions. The other two
also took turns to interrogate me in Mandarin.
What is your family name? Where were you born? Your parents’ names?
Their occupations? Their precise address? The names of your siblings?
I told them I was the daughter of Uncle Jung-gil and Aunt Sang-hee in
Shenyang and gave all their details.
‘I need your family’s home phone number,’ one of the officials said.
Sirens went off in my head. I could not risk them phoning my uncle and
aunt.
‘We don’t have one now. My parents cancelled it because they’re staying
in South Korea for a while.’
Which elementary school did you attend? What was the headmaster’s
name?
My mind dredged up every shred of information I could recall from
conversations with Geun-soo and his sisters about their schooling in
Shenyang.
Your secondary school? Which one?
My heart was beating wildly but I forced myself to remain calm. My
body went into a kind of emergency operating mode. It was almost as if I
was not there.