She watched as Min’s fists uncurled. Yet Min still looked wary. Chung-Cha could understand this. The official first rule of the camp might be, You must not escape. But the unofficial and far more important first rule for any prisoner was, You must trust no one.
“I lived in the first hut by the path to the left of the inner gate,” said Chung-Cha. “This was some years ago.”
“You were a hostile, then,” Min blurted out. “So why are you no longer here?” she asked, anger and resentment pronounced in each of the words.
“Because I was useful to others outside this place.”
“How?” demanded Min, now forgetting her caution.
In that question Chung-Cha could see what she had hoped to see. The girl wanted out, when so many prisoners, even younger than she, were totally resigned to living here forever. The fire in their lives, and with it their courage, was gone. It was sad, but it was a fact. They were lost.
“I was a tough little bitch,” replied Chung-Cha.
“I am a tough little bitch too.”
“I could see that. It’s the only reason you’re here talking to me.”
Min blinked and relaxed just a bit more. “How can I be useful to you?”
Defiance yes, but intelligence, and its first cousin cleverness, thought Chung-Cha. Well, after all, in Korean that’s what Min meant: cleverness and intelligence.
“How do you think you can be?” asked Chung-Cha, turning the query around and flinging it back at her.
Min pondered this for a few moments. Chung-Cha could almost see the mental churnings going on inside the girl’s head.
“How were you useful to others?” asked Min. “That allowed you to leave here?”
Chung-Cha managed to hide her smile, and her satisfaction. Min was proving to be up to the challenge.
“I was trained to do a specific job.”
“Then I can too,” said Min.
“Even though you don’t know what the job is?”
“I can do anything,” declared Min. “I will do anything to leave here.”
“And your family?”
“I have no family.”
“They’re dead?”
“I have no family,” repeated Min.
Chung-Cha nodded slowly and rose. “I will be back here in one week. You will be ready to go.”
“Why one week?”
Chung-Cha was surprised by this question. “These things take time. There are arrangements, paperwork.”
Min looked doubtfully at her.
“I will be back.”
“But I may not be alive.”
Chung-Cha cocked her head. “Why?”
“They will know what you are going to do.”
“And?”
“And they will not let me go.”
“I come with the highest authority. The guards will not harm you.”
“There are accidents. And it’s not just the guards.”
Chung-Cha nodded thoughtfully. “The other prisoners?”
“They do not care about the highest authority. And what do they have to lose?”
“Their lives?”
Min screwed up her face. “Why would they care? That would be a good thing for them.”
Chung-Cha knew that she was absolutely right about this.
“Then we will leave here today.”
For the first time probably in her life, Min smiled.
Chapter
51
CHUNG-CHA HAD PATIENTLY FILLED out the paperwork necessary for Min’s release into her custody. They had driven back to Pyongyang in the Sungri with the windows down. Chung-Cha did not tell Min that she was doing this because she did not want to smell the girl’s stench for the next seventy miles. Instead, she told her it was good to breathe free air.
And Min seemed to suck in each breath with delight.
She had been reluctant at first to get into the Sungri. Chung-Cha knew immediately why. The girl had never ridden in a car before. She had probably never even seen a car, just the old trucks used at the camp.
However, when Chung-Cha had told Min that it was the fastest way to get away from the camp, she had climbed in immediately. After she sat down her hand reached out and touched all the dials and other items of interest.
That was good, thought Chung-Cha. She still had her curiosity. Her wonderment. It meant that the child’s mind was intact.
As they drove away, Chung-Cha looked twice in the rearview mirror at the camp. She had seen prisoners staring at them through the fence, perhaps wondering why they could not also be free.
When she looked over at Min the girl’s gaze was pointed straight ahead. She did not look back once.
Chung-Cha had done the exact same thing when she had left the camp. She had been afraid that if she looked behind her, they would take her back. Or, more likely, that she would awaken from her dream and return to her nightmare.