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

Come on. Please. Someone answer.
Min-ho later told me that he and Mr Ahn had heard the phone ring but
couldn’t see what to press to answer it. Neither of them had seen a
cellphone before. Finally, they figured it out. Min-ho answered.
In a low, urgent voice I told him to leave the wallet in my bag but take
out all the cash, pay Mrs Ahn the smuggler’s fee, and go as quickly as he
could back across the river to Hyesan.
One of the gang returned with my bag. Min-ho had done as I had asked.
Later that day Shaven-head lowered the gang’s fee to 60,000 yuan
($7,250) and told me not even to think of leaving until it was paid.
There was no lock on the room where they kept me, so they took turns to
guard me outside the door, while the others slept in the room connected to
the only exit. Escape was impossible.
That evening one of them brought back a takeaway meal of skewered
lamb and dumplings. My hope was that if I held out they would continue to
lower the fee. I was too ashamed to play the only card I had – calling my
uncle and aunt in Shenyang. I thought I would rather face my fate in North
Korea. After the disrespect I had shown them, how could I ask them to pay
a fortune to a criminal gang?
I played for time, telling Shaven-head I was messaging people, appealing
to various contacts to see if I could raise the money.
By the third evening they’d had enough of takeaways and took me to a
local restaurant, where I was wedged between two of them in a dining
booth. I can’t imagine what other customers thought I was doing with these

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thugs. The gang knew that an illegal like me wouldn’t try anything stupid,
like calling for help. If I did, I’d be in even worse trouble.
From their accents I knew that the one with face piercings was Han
Chinese. He scared me the most. Violence crackled about him like static. I
tried to avoid his eye. He kept looking at me in a way that made me feel
naked. Two of the others were Korean-Chinese. They were more normal in
appearance. I gathered that they were from a gang based in Yanji. They also
dealt in fake leather goods and amphetamines. They were respectful toward
Shaven-head. I couldn’t place his accent. Dandong, maybe.
Later, after they’d closed the door on me in the bare room, they opened
beers and toasted each other with shots of soju. I heard the constant flick of
a lighter and guessed they were smoking a drug. Whatever it was, it wasn’t
calming them. The talk became competitive and aggressive, and soon
turned ominously coarse. My stomach began to knot.
Then the one with the face piercings reminded them that they had a
twenty-one-year-old girl in the next room.
There was silence for a moment. I heard him say: ‘What’s she going to
do?’
Please no.
Until this moment I’d been in that strange calm emergency mode I’d
been in at the Xita Road Police Station, keeping my fear under control, as if
I wasn’t quite there. Now I was losing it. My breathing became shallow. My
body began trembling and refused to stop. If they entered the room now I
would start screaming.
I heard movement, as if they were getting up off the floor. I pressed
myself into a corner. I would beg and plead.
They were talking again. Face-piercings asked why the hell were they
treating me so well. One of the Korean-Chinese said: ‘She’s like our client.
If you mess her up we might lose the fee.’
One of the others murmured agreement. Shaven-head remained silent.
There was another toast of soju. Face-piercings seemed to back down. The
conversation moved on.
All night I remained crouched in the corner with my arms around my
knees, not daring to move, watching the moon’s progress across the
windowpane, silken and faint behind cloud, like a moth cocoon. It was the

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same moon my mother and Min-ho could see. I told myself that if I stayed
in its light I would be safe.
Safe. I thought of my policeman boyfriend in Shenyang, Sergeant Shin
Jin-su. I wondered what he’d do if I asked him for help, if I told him the
truth about me. The thought of the shock on his face almost made me smile.
At first light I called my uncle in Shenyang. It was the first time I had
spoken to him since fleeing his apartment. My voice was fragile with fear
and shame. I asked him to help me. I told him I would devote my life to
repaying him.
He said: ‘I’ll do it at once.’ He would transfer the money to the gang’s
account.
I tried to thank him but the words choked in my throat. He had my
father’s genes, and the same love and generosity my father had shown me.
We had to wait two days for the money to clear. I noticed that the two
Korean-Chinese took turns to guard me in the next room, not Face-
piercings. They didn’t trust him. I was grateful to them for that.
After almost a week as their prisoner, the gang took me with them to the
bank in Changbai, and withdrew the money.
Face-piercings’ eyes shone when he saw the thick wads of red 100-yuan
bills in an envelope. He clasped the others by the shoulders and pulled them
toward him. ‘Oh, we did well.’
Shaven-head took me to the coach station. Before he left he held out his
hand and said: ‘Give me your fucking phone.’
I gave it to him.
When he’d gone, I reached into a hidden pocket in the lining of my long
winter coat and retrieved some money I had hidden there in a tight roll. I
used it to buy a bus ticket for Shenyang.
On the journey back, I rested my head on the cold glass of the window
and stared out at a world of white, an empty dimension. Sixty thousand
yuan – a fortune representing ten years’ wages at the restaurant – and a
week’s imprisonment with the threat of rape, and all I’d achieved was a
three-minute reunion with Min-ho.
But I had made contact with my family. I knew they were alive and not in
prison. And they knew that I was alive, and that, somehow, I was fine.

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With the stress of my ordeals, not to mention the debt that would take me
decades to repay, I fell sick once I got back to my apartment, and developed
such painful mouth ulcers I found it hard to eat or drink. I was anxious and
paranoid. I wanted to get out of Shenyang. Fast. I had an idea of where I
would go, but, thinking of what my mother would do, I visited a fortune-
teller for good luck.
‘If you move …’ the lady said, pausing for effect, ‘you should go south,
to a warmer place.’
‘Such as Shanghai?’ I did not care that I was prompting her with the
response I wanted.
She pronounced her next words with an air of profound wisdom, as if she
hadn’t heard me. ‘The best place for you would be Shanghai.’
That was all the confirmation I needed.
I gave notice on my apartment. I quit my job at the restaurant. I was
about to call Police Sergeant Shin Jin-su to arrange a final meeting and tell
him our relationship was over, but changed my mind. He’d soon figure that
out for himself.
Just days into January 2002, I packed everything I had into two light
bags, bought a one-way ticket to Shanghai, and boarded the fast train.

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Chapter 30