- Brier Rose
We had lunch at a restaurant by the river. She was ugly, but her face held a certain charm. Talking to her about this and that, I found out, to my surprise, that she wasn’t a Korean Chinese, but an overseas Chinese from North Korea. She said that she had Chinese citizenship now and often visited Manpo across the river.
“How is that possible?” I asked her, unable to believe that she could go back and forth freely between the North and China.
“It’s easy when you have a pass,” she said, grinning. I had so many questions for her that I felt no interest in the ruins of Goguryeo. The woman and I went to a pub nearby. I found out that she was thirty-eight years old. I was quite surprised, because I had thought she was close to fifty. True, the cold winds of Manchuria had left their marks on her face, but when I took a closer look, I found that she didn’t have that many wrinkles on her face. I asked her questions, and she answered.
When she was living in Manpo across the river, she fell in love for the first time at age fourteen with a volleyball player who was thirteen years old. The thirteen-year-old boy was tall and handsome, just the way you would picture a volleyball player. They met stealthily like stray cats, and after two years, they made love for the first time among the reeds of the Amnokgang River. The woman pointed to the field of reeds, smiling awkwardly. She smiled again, saying she hadn’t known how good a man’s body was. Both of them were so healthy that whenever they came out of a field or the woods or a barn, she would be with child. They bribed doctors time and time again to have an abortion.
After three abortions, she became pregnant again, and they got married when she was twenty. As her belly began to swell, the young husband of nineteen wandered out. He began eyeing girls in the next town, even before the baby was born, and that was the beginning of his unending series of affairs. He acted like a bachelor the moment he stepped out of the house. Being a volleyball player, he was popular with the girls.
“How do you have an affair in North Korea, when there are no hotels or inns?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter whether there’s rain or snow or wind, you find a way as long as you want to do it. It’s not the place that matters, it’s the heart. There are barns, mountains, fields—empty classrooms, and of course, the reeds,” she said. We both laughed. She patiently endured through his affairs, but she couldn’t take the beatings, so in the end, she filed for divorce. She smiled bitterly, saying that it would have been quite difficult to get a divorce if she hadn’t been an overseas Chinese, but that it had been easy because she didn’t have North Korean citizenship. She had two boys from the marriage, which had been like hell. She smiled a hollow smile, saying she came to Jian because it was too much for her to live in Manpo by herself after the divorce. She was a woman who could smile even when talking of sad things.
“Have you been to South Korea?” I asked.