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brother, I thought. I felt proud to be the sister of such a man.
By this time, they all knew who Dick was and what he had done. One by
one they shook his hand and bowed with gratitude and disbelief. The old
lady managed to say in English: ‘Thank you very much.’
The van’s engine was running; we were ready to go.
Dick said he was leaving for Thailand. He gave me his phone number
and email address, and then one final, overwhelming gift: the money for my
flight home. ‘You need this more than me.’ He was saying goodbye to me
before I could thank him properly. He swung his leg over the scooter and
rode away, shouting: ‘Get in touch if you need me.’
My angel vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared.
We set off for Vientiane, six of us accompanied by a senior policeman,
the prison translator and a police driver. As part of the deal, I had to pay for
the meals of all three of them along the way, and they ate gluttonously when
we stopped for lunch and dinner.
As Reverend Kim had warned, there were regular checkpoints along the
road, but the van was waved through each time. This gave us a tremendous
feeling. We passed through hilly countryside dotted with mahogany trees,
and small picturesque villages. The windows were open to let in the breeze,
and everyone seemed to breathe deeply, scenting freedom.
Min-ho told me what had happened after I’d last seen him and my mother
in Kunming. Near the border Mr Fang had guided them to the foot of a hill.
‘This is as far as I take you,’ he had said. ‘The border’s over that hill.’ Min-
ho listened carefully to his directions. ‘Keep going straight and you’ll come
to a small, empty house. Go inside. A man will come. Follow him.’
He and my mother were shocked to find themselves suddenly alone, and
in complete darkness. They started to climb. The terrain soon became thick
jungle, and a light rain was falling. It was extremely slippery and there was
no path to follow. They had to pull themselves up by grabbing at branches
and vines until their hands and faces were scratched and bleeding. In pitch
dark they had no sense of where they were; they tried to keep moving in a
straight line, up what now seemed like a mountain, not a hill. It was almost
too much for my mother. She said that if Min-ho hadn’t been with her, she
would have lost her way and died.
After a couple of hours, when they were almost down the other side of
the mountain, a figure sprang up in the darkness in front of them. A man
had been crouching in the undergrowth and stood to block their way. Min-
ho could make out the glint of a badge on a uniform. The man held up the
fingers of one hand and rubbed them together to mean money. Then he
made another gesture to indicate two cuffed hands.
Money, or I arrest you.
Min-ho had separated the money I’d given him and put it in different
pockets. He took out 300 yuan ($45). ‘No,’ the man said in English. Min-ho
gave him another 500 ($75). The man smiled and let them on their way.
Shortly after, and by some miracle, they found the empty house the
broker had described. It was hidden in thick forest. Another man was
indeed waiting there. He gestured for them to sleep, spread out some
flattened cardboard boxes, and lay down. They watched as he fell asleep.
He looked poor, my mother thought.
When it was light, he loaded them into a tuk-tuk and drove them to a bus
station. He pointed at a particular bus and told them to get on. Min-ho
assumed the man would board it with them, but he disappeared. Again they
were on their own with no idea where they were heading.
‘One of the broker’s men is sure to be on the bus,’ Min-ho said, trying to
reassure my mother. ‘He’ll make himself known at the right moment.’
In fact, the broker’s man, a policeman, was supposed to be at the next
checkpoint, but due to a mix-up was not manning his post when the bus
arrived. My mother and Min-ho were handcuffed and put into a police car. I
was glad I only learned this now. The thought of my omma in handcuffs
would have tormented me. At the prison, Min-ho’s remaining cash was
taken off him by the gangster inmates who helped the guards maintain
control.
We arrived in Vientiane in the early morning. It was not like any capital city
I’d imagined. There were no tower blocks. It was almost entirely low-rise,
with buildings separated by lush tropical greenery. There seemed more
gardens than buildings.
We turned onto a leafy street of large, official-looking buildings topped
by flagpoles. I assumed this was the embassy quarter. My eyes were
scanning the road ahead, searching for the South Korean flag.
We stopped outside one of these buildings, which had a plaque written in
Lao. There was no South Korean flag.
‘What’s this place?’ I said to the translator.
‘The Vientiane immigration office,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out.’
I was immediately on my guard. ‘Why?’
‘Just procedure. Someone from the South Korean embassy will come this
afternoon.’ In my dealings with the prison superintendent, I had built up a
rapport with the translator and had slowly won his sympathy. He seemed
decent and more honest than the others. I watched as he got into a long
conversation with the senior police officer. The translator had told me we
would go directly to the South Korean embassy. He did not seem pleased
with what the senior police officer was telling him.
‘What’s happening?’ I said.
‘Don’t worry. Please get off.’
We took our bags from the van and were taken to the second floor of the
immigration office. We left our bags in a corner and sat down to wait in
silence. I had an uneasy feeling about this. Then an immigration official
entered and called my name. ‘Please follow me.’
I told my mother and Min-ho I’d be back in a few minutes. One of the
North Korean women asked me to buy toiletries.
‘We just have a few questions,’ the official said as we walked along a
corridor.
‘I don’t want to be separated from the group.’
‘It’s all right, I’ll take you back.’
He led me to an air-conditioned conference room where four officials in
green uniforms were waiting. One was a lipsticked woman in her mid-
forties who was introduced as the chief of the immigration office. Her
epaulettes had gold stars. She spoke in Lao. One of the officials in uniform
translated into Mandarin.
‘Do you know why we’re questioning you?’ she said coolly.
‘I have no idea.’
‘Because you’re a criminal.’
Chapter 49
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