The soldiers slowly approached the twenty-two escapees, guns leveled. One of the escapees, a teenage girl who had been licking her lips with a parched tongue, jumped up and opened her mouth to say something.
“We said, don’t move!” the soldiers yelled. The girl dropped back down to her knees and watched the soldiers. Although they were carrying guns, they too had hunger written all over their faces. The girl’s name was Rina.* She was short and had a thin face with yellow pimples on her forehead. Rina was sixteen years old, and her parents had been coalminers back home. Rina used to go to the youth vocational training center after school and assemble machine parts late into the night. Whenever she got sleepy or bored, she would pick up a screw, hold it up to her face, yell “Die, die!” at it, and toss it to the floor.
One of the soldiers approached the kneeling cluster of escapees. The worn rubber sole of his boot flapped open like the mouth of an angry toad every time he took a step. He crouched down in front of a little boy who sat crying and sniffling next to Rina, and tapped the boy’s head with his finger. Rina could feel the boy trembling against her arm.
“Hey, kid, sing us a song. Come on, don’t you know any? Sing something you learned at school. I’m bored out of my mind here.” “I don’t go to school,” the boy answered, and burst into a louder refrain of sobs. His father, who sat a few paces away, made a face as he tried to comfort his son, but it was no use. The little boy’s sobs echoed across the darkened border as if they were in a cave. There were rumors that little boys captured while fleeing the country were sold abroad and forced to work 36-hour work days with no rest, while girls were circulated from one red-light district to another and released only when they were diseased or dying These stories mystified Rina. It was hard to decide which was worse: spending the rest of her life in a cramped house in a mining town pock-marked with graying linens drying on laundry lines, or getting a taste of life abroad, even if it meant becoming a whore.
“I’m a pretty good singer,” Rina volunteered, but her offer was drowned out by the two toddlers of the group—a one-year-old and a three-year-old—who began wailing. Their hungry sobs dragged on piteously, but, like milk machines, all their anxious mothers could do was pull out their breasts and shove them at the babies.
They said the border was about two kilometers away. Rina had dreamt of it every night since the day her father had told her about their plans to escape. Every night, the border was flush with the sounds of wind, guns, and exploding columns of fire. Escapees captured while trying to cross over were stripped, lined up, executed by firing squad, and finally burned to black ash, all under the sullen gaze of the watchful owls. Still, Rina had no doubt that the border, which hovered before her like a vast blue levee, would open itself up for her. The blue levee would flow toward her like a colossal wave and open up like a stairway to heaven. She believed that an invisible hand would gather up the escapees safely in a net and magically usher them across the border.
The group of twenty-two escapees was made up of three families and a group of young people who worked at a sewing factory. They were all from a region near the border and had lived there their whole lives. When Rina’s father had first told her in a low voice that he had found some peopl...
Kang Young-sook has published three novels and five short story collections. Her novel Rina was published by Dalkey Archive Press in 2015, and has also been published in Japanese. She was a visiting scholar at Hosei University in Japan in 2007, and participated in the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa in 2009 and the Daesan-UC Berkeley Writer in Residence Program in 2014.