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.We simply wanted to avoid the camps any way we could.I had, however, entertained the thought of moving abroad before and had put some money aside for that purpose.The time for action had come; it was almost a question of life and death.If they got us this time, we would be going to a hard-labor camp.If our plan were to succeed, it would have to remain secret.Even our families would have to be kept in the dark, and telling friends was entirely out of the question.Fortunately, because I was working in the distribution of beans and corn, people were used to seeing me leave town for several days at a time.Our departure thus would not be a cause for immediate suspicion or concern.Questions would eventually arise, of course, but by that time we hoped to be long gone.It was difficult for me to go this way.I was leaving behind my family and a young girl with whom I was in love.I had met her in Yodok.Her family, who was released when we were, benefited from the aid of a grandmother in Japan.Out of the camp, she had blossomed into a beautiful girl, and I was always thinking about her; yet my shyness and constant moving about made a relationship difficult, and I never declared myself.In the North it’s difficult to go steady with a woman, because that sort of intimacy is viewed poorly.So I couldn’t even tell her of our plan.What if she turned out to be against it? What if she started telling people?An-hyuk, for his own part, had been living a relatively happy, independent life for some time, so his parents wouldn’t notice his departure for at least a few days.Leaving with him gave me hope.We were friends and trusted each other like brothers.With him by my side, the adventure didn’t seem quite so impossible.Had he not already been to China? It’s true that he had come back between two border guards, but the experience had surely taught him something.Moreover, a friend of his who had managed a successful escape had let him know that things would be much easier once we were in China.What I brought to the partnership was a perfect knowledge of the train system and the route to the border zone.In the period following my release from camp, I often took the Pyongyang-Musan line to visit family, who lived up in the north.To avoid any problems—my identification card noted my internment at Yodok—all I had to do was ply the conductors with bribes.When one asked for ID, I told him I didn’t have any, but that my parents were Japanese and that I had some yen in my wallet.“I need to travel,” I explained, “and if you’ll permit, I’ll give you what you need.” We would go back to his compartment, chat, smoke my Japanese cigarettes.I always dressed impeccably, wearing all-Japanese clothes, and knew exactly how to make the conductor drool: “What else do you need?” I asked.“I’ll get it for you next time.” It was almost too easy.Rules, however, needed to be observed.I couldn’t distribute the gifts haphazardly; they had to be rationed in small, constant doses, so that the receiver would remember and think about them constantly.I once gave a conductor a Japanese tape recorder.He was very happy, and we began chatting like old friends.When he threatened a woman who was trafficking something, I interceded on her behalf.“She seems really poor,” I said.“You should let her be.” And he did.Another conductor, to whom I spoke of my imprisonment, was outraged to learn the cause of my family’s travails.But I tried to get him off that line of thinking.It could get dangerous.I said it was just “bad luck; the important thing now is to live well.”The conductors were generally a corrupt bunch, but that gave them a human side.They were so hungry for our gifts that we could count on them.They always gave perfect advice about who the obliging conductors were on the various trains, in which cars they could be found, and what stations we should pass through.Seiko watches were the most sought-after gifts.My relatives in Japan had brought me about ten of them, enough to satisfy quite a few conductors.I even became friendly with their chief, who told me in advance what number train I should take.He then gave word to his subordinates, so that I would be sure to have no difficulties.Not only would the conductor not check my ticket, he would usually invite me into his compartment so that we might share a drink together.If we craved a snack, he would go out for a food run.Stepping into the neighboring compartment, he would ask, “Who does this package belong to?” A trembling passenger would raise a hand.“Open it!”The packages often contained food smuggled in from China.“Close your eyes, comrade conductor.Take a little for yourself.”The controller would accept his share and bring it back to our compartment so that we might continue with our visit.Thanks to the money I received from my Japanese relatives, I realized that, despite its uncompromising allegiance to communism, North Korea longed for one thing only: to live as well as Japan.When the country was doing better than it is now—in the 1960s and 1970s, for example—the important thing was to be close to power—and, yes, to wear a Seiko watch.Yet power today is a hollow concept in North Korea.So while the Seiko is still important, most people would rather have a gold ring or a gold tooth than have power.The corruption I have been describing is rather petty.The problem is that it is everywhere, and the higher up you go the less petty it becomes.I once met a former political prisoner who, like many of the wealthy former Japanese residents, had been sent to a camp with his entire family.His father died there.Later, his mother, who was the only descendant of an extraordinarily rich businessman, came into a colossal fortune of some 4 billion yen, or $40 million! The money was deposited into a Chosen Soren bank and largely siphoned off into North Korean coffers, but what remained was enough to transform the family’s existence, removing all the obstacles that ordinarily impinge on average North Koreans.After signing a document discouraging her family in Japan from taking legal action against the Chosen Soren, the mother and her family were set free
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