A DREAM OF LIGHTS. Kerry Drewery

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      Together we strolled up the track that led away from the village, my mind racing for things to say as I pulled the blanket tighter around me, felt the roughness of it on my face. I was nervous, a little frightened, and next to me I could feel Sook glancing one way then another, up to the tops of the trees then down to his feet on the ground.

      “Are there bugs?” he asked. “Insects and little creatures like that? Or any animals?”

      I couldn’t help but smile at him. “Of course – it’s the countryside.”

      I heard him suck breath in. “Big ones?”

      “What?” I asked. “Like tigers and bears?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Yes,” I nodded. “They’ll be watching you now, then they’ll leap out and grab you and eat you up.”

      “Really?” His voice trembled.

      I paused, letting him believe, just for a moment. “No. Not really. Not here. Further north, yes.”

      “How do you know that?”

      I shrugged. “Everybody knows that. There are some here. Insects of course and a few animals and birds. Owls. Nothing that will hurt you. Lots that you can eat, if you can catch them.”

      “Snakes?”

      I laughed. “No snakes. I promise. You’re not from the countryside, are you?”

      “No.”

      I didn’t dare ask him any more, it felt rude and intrusive. He must be from a town. Or a city, I thought. I already knew the reasons why people were moved – those who had fallen foul of the authorities or committed some crime against the Fatherland, yet nothing bad enough for a prison sentence. That or they had connections that protected them, or they were well thought of. Before.

      We stopped walking and turned round, staring down at the groups of houses and fields that were our village, silver moonlight passing over them as the wind blew at the clouds.

      “My father’s disabled,” he whispered, as if this would answer the questions I didn’t dare ask. “We lived in the capital, Pyongyang. He had an accident at work. Lost half his leg. Then we moved.”

      I nodded. “I see,” I replied. But I didn’t.

      “He doesn’t leave the house now. Mother was really angry.”

      “Why? Was it somebody else’s fault?”

      “No.” He shook his head. “I mean, she was angry that we had to move. But… but… she didn’t show it, didn’t say anything; she couldn’t: she knew we had to do what we were told.”

      I turned my head to him and stared at his silhouette in the moonlight, surprised how open he was being. “I’m sorry, Sook,” I said, and his name felt strange in my mouth, “but I don’t think I understand.”

      He sighed long and heavy and I waited until finally he turned his face to me. “It was Pyongyang,” he said.

      “I don’t… I still don’t…”

      He leant in closer. “There are no disabled people in Pyongyang. It’s not allowed,” he whispered.

      “Oh,” I replied, putting the pieces together in my head. “I didn’t know that.”

      “It’s not written anywhere. Nobody says it.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Business people go there, and tourists, foreigners. It doesn’t present a good image, having disabled people or handicapped people in the streets.” His voice was so low I could barely make out his words. “Or the old. They move away too. Sent somewhere foreigners aren’t allowed to go. Pyongyang is a place for the young and the pretty, for successful people and the trustworthy. People who don’t ask questions.” And he stared at me, right into me, with such intensity. “I didn’t just say that. You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t…?”

      And I knew so well what he was asking for. Reassurance that I wouldn’t repeat what he’d said, or report him, because some might think what he’d said was scandalous, punishable, reactionary. But to me it wasn’t. It made perfect sense. Pyongyang was the face our nation showed to the world, and of course anyone would want that to look as good as possible. Maybe it was surprising to hear that put into words, but not shocking.

      But still, I thought to myself, he must trust me to say it out loud. Or trusts that I wouldn’t dare speak out against the son of the Inminbanjang .

      “I… I… won’t say anything,” I replied.

      And there it was. Something we shared. That tied us together. I wished I could tell him something in return, a secret or a suspicion, something dangerous or daring, that meant I had given and trusted, as he had; but I wasn’t brave enough, and I didn’t have anything to share anyway.

      Not then at least.

      We walked a little more, that first meeting, and spoke a little more, but we soon headed home, beaten by the cold and my lack of courage. I wanted to be brave and bold, to not care if we were caught or our parents found out, but the consequences frightened me, shouting a warning at me from the back of my mind – his mother is the Inminbanjang!

      But it was only our first meeting, and I sneaked back into the house while everyone slept on oblivious, and I climbed back into bed, peeling away my layers of clothes under the blankets and looking forward so much to the next time I saw Sook.

      We met more, and I thought less of being caught and of what might happen. Together, on our evenings, we would stroll up past fields and away from the village, barely able to see each other except for when the moon was out, but it never mattered – we were there for each other’s company.

      We talked about everything and nothing, shared thoughts and wonderings and sometimes opinions. I asked him if he was proud of his mother when she reported the first reactionary citizen in the village, an old man, recently widowed, who could no longer work and had no family to support him. Someone had overheard him saying that our Dear Leader wasn’t providing enough food for His people. He was executed two days later.

      Of course, she’d done well and the old man deserved it; it’s not our place to complain or to judge His leadership. But the delight in her eyes as the man was taken away woke me with nightmares for weeks, imagining it was me she was reporting, with some made-up charge to have me taken away after she found out about me and her son.

      But even as time passed and Sook and I spoke more and more, we never talked about or queried or commented on whatever it was we had together, growing and deepening. Even though whatever we had didn’t have a future.

      Not if either of us wanted a future that was safe.

      Time passed. Winter passed. Spring drew away and summer arrived with СКАЧАТЬ