A narrow pathway ran along the edge of the Taedong River. I slipped on the muddy precipice and almost plunged into the roiling water below, at the last minute grabbing shrubbery, steadying myself, and moving forward. Besides the three-quarter moon, the only visibility was provided by the glare of the floodlights of the port behind me. I was heading north, not sure if this was the right way but knowing that I didn’t want to return south toward the port. If anyone were following me, they’d be coming from that direction. The message written on the floor of the grain warehouse had been clear. Head for water and run.
Doc Yong knew that I’d studied the Korean language and memorized a few dozen of the Chinese characters that educated Koreans sprinkle amongst their phonetic hangul script. Had she told Hero Kang about me? Was she here? The thought excited me but also frightened me. Frightened me because I wasn’t sure what to say to her after being separated for so many months, and frightened me even more because I didn’t want her to be in danger. I shoved such thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on keeping my footing on the slippery precipice.
A breeze flowed from the land above, caressing my cheek, wafting down toward the Taedong River and joining the swirling current below. The wind carried guttural male voices and shoe leather slapping on stone, from how far away I couldn’t be sure.
I didn’t think Food Worker Pei and the gate guard had blown the whistle. They had too much to lose. Also, if it had been them, Hero Kang or whoever was waiting for me at the warehouse wouldn’t have known I was being followed. Not that quickly. Somehow Hero Kang had been tipped off already, which means that he had contacts feeding him information from inside the Port of Nampo.
Occasional flashes of light glinted from between the wood-and-brick walls that lined the top of the cliff. I increased my speed, plowing ahead for what must’ve been at least a mile. Abruptly the pathway ended, or at least it appeared to end. It curved sharply up the muddy incline. There was nowhere else to go, so I clambered uphill, following as the path squeezed between the walls and fed into a stinking pedestrian alleyway, barely wide enough for my shoulders. The ground was layered with mud except for a narrow center channel lined in flagstone. Waste flowed freely through the channel, gurgling beneath my feet.
Eight-foot-high walls loomed above the alleyway. Behind them, all was quiet. It was probably close to midnight by now, but this was more than just the silence of exhaustion in a working neighborhood. It was as still as death. So far, that’s what this country seemed like to me. Like death.
I ran my hands along either side of the narrow walkway, stepping widely to avoid the central gutter. I passed alleys between buildings that were even narrower than the one I was on, veering off at odd angles to the right and the left. The only light left now was the glimmer of the overhead three-quarter moon.
Finally, the alley ended, merging into an open area paved in a circular array of old-fashioned cobblestones, which surrounded a naked elm tree bracketed by flat wooden benches. I knelt in the mouth of the alleyway, catching my breath, studying the darkness. Across the little plaza, candlelight shone through a crack in the walls, golden beams bobbing like mischievous imps. The electricity in this area had probably been switched off by the local authorities-a routine practice to conserve energy, according to my briefers in Seoul. I stared up at the stars, bright among drifting clouds. No one followed me anymore. Where were the running footsteps I’d heard before? I listened for what must have been two minutes. Nothing.
I thought about the message on the warehouse floor. There had only been one pathway along the river’s edge and only one way to climb back up to ground level. It led here, to this spot. Whoever had left the message for me was the same person who’d lit that candle across the plaza. I was certain of it. I stared at the flickering light, appreciating the fact that someone in this vast wilderness of death had lit a candle for me, and enjoying the sensation of sweat pooling beneath my coat. But the night was growing colder. Soon I would begin to shiver. The light on the far side of the cobblestones portended warmth and safety.
Just as I was about to stand up and step out into the open, I heard footsteps. Rapid. Too rapid for me to react. Shadows appeared at the far end of the clearing. I crouched back into darkness. Demons of the night, maybe a dozen, filtered across the cobblestones.
I suddenly became aware of something behind me. Back some thirty yards, where this pathway opened onto the muddy cliff, I heard heavy breathing, and cursing.
Only seconds ago, I’d been counting on being saved. Now I was trapped.
No time to think. I retreated back down the alley, away from the central clearing. Ahead of me, along the main path, I heard sloshing. The cursing had stopped but the breathing was still audible. Whoever they were, they were only a few yards off in the darkness, moving toward me. I had no choice. I slipped sideways into one of the cracks between the buildings and sidled my way north, moving as quickly as I could without making noise.
Spiderwebs and moth cadavers hung from rafters. I shuffled along the narrow opening, which became even narrower, the moss-smeared walls in front and behind pushing in on me. Just as I was about to be hopelessly wedged in, the building in front of me ended and another, slightly wider lane emerged. I ducked into it, holding still for a moment, listening, not breathing. I couldn’t be sure because the sound reverberated off oddly juxtaposed walls, but I believed the footsteps passed the narrow crack and continued toward the central square. Still, I dared not go back there. I edged my way along these brick-and-stone walls, occasionally passing a window boarded up with ancient wood. The alleyway turned and turned again and finally widened. A slippery brick pathway opened in front of me, lined with a sturdy metal railing. Below me, water surged through a cement channel, narrow enough for me to hop across, moving downhill toward the Taedong River.
Behind me, someone shouted.
They’d realized I’d slipped away. In a matter of seconds, they’d be searching between the buildings. Toward the river, the pathway along the edge of the narrow channel hit another building. A dead end. In the other direction, the pathway wound out of sight but led, I believed, back toward the central square. Someone would be waiting for me there. Once again, I was trapped. For a brief moment, I considered leaping into the water and taking my chances plunging downstream. But who knew what tunnels or grates or underground reservoirs loomed between me and the open river? Frantically, I searched my surroundings. Then I saw it. An indentation in the wall on the far side of the channel, large enough for a man. If I managed to make it over there, I’d be spotted easily. Was there a similar opening on this side?
The footsteps and heavy breathing were louder now. Someone was making his way down the same narrow crack I’d just traversed. I climbed over the metal railing, lowered myself, and searched the cement on my side of the channel. About ten yards downstream, I saw it. A recessed opening, directly across from the one on the far side, probably designed to anchor a footbridge or a sluiceway yet to be constructed. I pulled myself toward it, hand over hand. When my feet reached the recessed ledge, I fought for purchase, but only my toes balanced on the slippery lip. If I didn’t lower myself flush up against the cement wall of the channel, I’d plunge backward into the river. Luckily, the wall angled forward slightly.
Loud cursing above gave me courage. I let go of the railing, and hugging the smooth cement in front of me, lowered myself straight down until I could reach inside the opening. I was tilting backward and grabbed frantically for a handhold. Just as I was about to fall, my fingertips found jutting stone. Holding all my weight by straining digits, I managed to pull myself slowly into the narrow opening.
The sound of footsteps exploded onto the brick walkway above. I curled myself into a ball and prayed they hadn’t seen me. More shouts. Men cursing, trotting up and down the pathway. Then, after the sounds of a thorough search, more shouted orders and a pack of them headed off, away from the river, back toward the open central square.
All was quiet. Still, I waited. I knew better than to expose myself too quickly, before I was sure no one was up there. I lay curled in a fetal position for what seemed a long time, listening. Finally, a comet streaked through the air and hit the rushing water, sizzling. A flaming cigarette butt. Someone coughed directly above me. More coughing, more spitting, and then a silvery stream of glowing water rushed down directly in front of me, steaming and splashing into the canal.
Not water, I decided.
The sentry above me was taking a leak.
After an hour, the sentry left. When I was sure there hadn’t been any coughing or soaring cigarette butts in a long time, I peeked out of my cubbyhole. Moving slowly, I managed to twist myself out of the opening and sidle up the slippery cement. I pulled myself up the metal railing onto dry land.
I felt a sense of triumph. They’d searched for me but they hadn’t found me. I retraced my steps, listening at every intersection.
