How I Became a North Korean by Krys Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

says none of them like you. They were going to throw them out—they didn’t have a home,” she sang as she jumped in circles around her
abba,
marking her territory. “I rescued them. Kind of like Abba rescued you.”
    You couldn’t say something like that to an
eoreun;
I was over twice her age. It was as if she had slapped me. I understood she was threatened by me, but I couldn’t even reprimand her; I had no such power. All I could do was wait and see what my new husband would do.
    Seongsik looked from me to his daughter. He combed his fingers through his hair so roughly it looked as if he would rip out what was left.
    â€œI’ve got the money to buy her new dolls, I do, but the church insisted,” he said, and fled the room.
    Once he left, a spring came loose and my body became alert and capable. The walls were only walls, the dolls only dolls. The girl flopped backward onto the thin mattress and pretended to sleep, but I squatted down to her level.
    â€œIf you make it difficult for me, it will also become difficult for you.” I kept my voice light, friendly. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. We can get along. I can be a nice person, really. You might even like me.”
    â€œYou’re not a nice person, I can tell,” the girl said flatly.
    â€œYou don’t know me.” My eyes crowded with tears, but I didn’t let them fall. “You don’t know how I’ve suffered.”
    â€œI am nice. Everyone says so. I look like my
eomma
.”
    â€œAre you being nice to me, Byeol? What do you think? I’m not trying to replace your
eomma
. I want us to be friends.”
    Byeol only made dizzying circles on her back, making a mess of the bed.
    â€œLots of people are nice to me, almost everyone I meet.”
    I leaned in until our noses nearly touched and said gently, “There is always an exchange between people, and right now that exchange is between you and me. It’s your choice. It can be easy or it can be hard, but I want it to be easy for both of us.”
    The girl sat up, her lips pursed into a stubborn knot that mirrored her father’s. “What about my
abba
and you? What does he get, when you’re only a North Korean?”
    I straightened. I was sure that men wanted only one thing.
    â€œDon’t worry about your
abba,
” I said. “He knows what he wants.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    Seongsik surprised me the next morning, tucking a dethorned red rose behind my ear. “A rose for a Rose,” he said, blushing like a boy.
    He hadn’t told me about Byeol’s existence, but he was a romantic. He insisted on music to match the mood of the weather and the light of the day, and he announced Classical! Rock! K-pop!, changing the small discs as each piece startled me with its strangeness. I wondered how many months he had replayed these scenes to himself since his wife had left him, living alone with an imaginary woman he courted nightly in the dark. He was so eager to love me, this man, and I was prepared to use that love.
    Before dinner he told me to fold my hands together while he conducted a conversation with someone who wasn’t there. I finally found the courage to ask about the American bastard framed and hanging above the television, and he said, “That’sJesus Christ,” with reverence in his voice. Only then did I connect his monologue to the air with the picture. “God’s son who gave up his life for us.”
    â€œJesus Christ?”
    â€œJesus, Jesus,” said Byeol, suspicious. “You mean you don’t know Jesus Christ?”
    She pushed a plate of bean sprouts my way, then gave me a strange look when I pushed it back toward her. The smell was too strong for me. Seongsik retrieved a large black book and placed it in my hands as if offering me a letter signed by the Great Leader himself.
    â€œIt’s the Bible,” he said. “It’s