a mother because that would mean she had come to accept herself as a human being, which she never could. Her name in the camp had been “Bitch.” Every woman in the camp had had that name. “Bitch. Bitch.” That was all she had ever heard from light to night for years on end. “Come, Bitch. Go, Bitch. Die, Bitch.”
She turned to the administrator, who lay on the floor near the door. He was not yet dead. He was still clutching his throat and gasping for air, his eyes unfocused but panicked. She had planned it this way, hitting him just hard enough to incapacitate but not kill. She knew exactly what the difference was.
She knelt down next to him. He stared up with bulging eyes, his hands at his throat. She did not smile in triumph. She did not look sad. Her features were expressionless.
She knelt down closer.
“Say it,” she said in a whisper.
He whimpered and clutched at his ruptured throat.
“Say it,” she said again. “Seu seung.”
She cupped a hand under his neck and squeezed. “Say it.”
He whimpered.
She placed her bony knee against his crotch and pressed. “Say it.”
He screamed as she jammed her knee down harder against his privates.
“Say it. Seu seung. Say it and no more pain.” She rammed her knee against him. He screamed louder. “Say it.”
“S…seu…”
“Say it. Say it all.” She ferociously ground her knee into him.
He screamed as loud as his damaged windpipe would allow. “Seu seung.”
She straightened. She did not smile in triumph. She did not look sad. She was expressionless. “See, that was not so bad,” she said, parroting his earlier words.
As he stared helplessly up at her she leapt into the air and came down on top of him. Her elbow slammed into the man’s nose with such force that she pushed the cartilage there right into his brain, like a fired bullet. This killed him instantly, whereas his crushed windpipe would have taken more time to finish him off.
She rose and looked around at the four dead men.
“Seu seung,” she said. “Me, not you.”
She searched the guards’ pockets and found a walkie-talkie. She pulled it out, turned it to a different frequency, and said simply, “It is done.”
She dropped the walkie-talkie, stepped over the dead men, and walked out of the room, still naked, covered in the men’s blood.
Her name was Chung-Cha, and she and her family had been labor camp prisoners many years ago at Camp 15, also known as Yodok. She had been only one year old when the Bowibu had come for them in the night. They always came at night. Predators did not come during the light. She had survived Yodok. Her family had not.
Other guards passed her in the hall and rushed onward to the room where the dead men were.
They said nothing to her. They didn’t look at her.
When they got there two of the guards vomited onto the stones after seeing the carnage.
When Chung-Cha reached the prearranged spot two men who wore the markings of generals in the North Korean military greeted her with respect. One handed her a wet towel and soap with which to clean off. The other held fresh clothes for her. She cleaned and then dressed in front of them without a shade of embarrassment for her nudity. Both generals averted their gazes while she did so, although it did not matter to her. She had been naked and brutalized in front of many men. She had never had privacy and thus had no expectation of it. It simply meant nothing to her. Dogs did not require clothes.
She glanced at them only once. To her, they did not look like soldiers; with their broad-rimmed puffy caps they looked more like members of a band, ready to pick up musical instruments rather than weapons. They looked funny, weak, and incompetent, when she knew them to be cagey and paranoid and dangerous to everyone, including themselves.
One said, “Yie Chung-Cha, you are to be commended. His Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un has been informed and sends his personal thanks. You will be rewarded appropriately.”
She handed back the soiled towel and soap.
“How appropriately?”
The generals glanced at each other, their features showing their amazement at this comment.
“The Supreme Leader will determine that,” said the other. “And you will be grateful for whatever he decides.”
His companion added, “There is no greater honor than to serve one’s country.”
She stared up at them both, her features unreadable. Then she turned and walked down the corridor and made