The Fugitive: A Condemned in Workers’ Paradise

By Walter Jung

A political fugitive wandering about China and Mongolia and chased by the local police and the North Korean secret police, Lee Gildoo is from Pyongyangs elite family. In the nick of time, he escapes the capital of the Kim Empire after having been tipped off on his imminent arrest by the secret police. The trumped-up charge means that he has become an enemy of the regime, an ominous warning. In Chongjin, he stages his flee in such a way that the police suspects him to have become a victim of local gang violence. However, correctly presuming defection, the state continues to comb China and sends his wife and his daughter to a notorious political prison with no prospect of release.
After eluding the states tenacious chase for three years, Lee finally concocts a bold scheme to rescue his family. His friends and a noted underworld figure in China provide critical helps in completing the rescue operation. In the end the state has no choice but to release the mother and the daughter. Lees friends in the border area quickly arrange for the two women a safe border crossing, and wasting no time his Chinese friends put the family on a fishing boat for a final leg of the voyage to their new country, South Korea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503588127

Walter Jung

Born and raised in Korea, Walter Jung earned his masters and doctoral degrees in the United States. He taught geography classes at a public university for over twenty years. After serving as a children’s advocate and a volunteer for the US Peace Corps in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, he has resumed teaching as a professor emeritus. He lives with his wife, Young, in a quiet corner of the Great Plains. His joy and pride, Spence and Blake, his grandchildren, live nearby.

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Copyright © 2015 by Walter Jung.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/29/2016

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CONTENTS

1 Elites in the Workers’ Paradise

2 Wandering Fugitive

3 Rescue Mission

1

Elites in the Workers’ Paradise

A T SEVEN IN the morning, it was still dark in the room as a dawn in the winter broke slowly in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. In fact, it had been the same dreary dawn for several weeks; the daybreak was slowed down by serious smog, and fierce sandstorms rushed in from the great Mongolian desert, a frequent occurrence in the central Mongolian plains. It looked as though the kitchen’s tiny transom window had to remain shut for another day lest the relentless invasion force of desert sand would be indiscriminately blanketing inside. That was not the only unwelcome gift of the winter: the temperature had dropped down to just above zero even though it was only early November. The weatherman had already warned the citizens of typical winter weather for the rest of the season. On the edge of the great Gobi desert the weather was almost always precarious, but nearly predictable: harsh cold, persistent smog and invasive sandstorms.

Gildoo was already familiar with the uncharitable weather, among other things, of his new home. He got up quickly, much like a professional soldier, for his short morning rituals. After all, he had a work to report to, unlike some of his new neighbors—unemployed or welfare beneficiaries. Moreover, his ride was to be at his duplex at seven thirty sharp. Basangsurang never failed to do so: he was like a clock, a rare Mongolian clock at that. Gildoo prepared his simple breakfast in a hurry: a glass of warm milk, two jam-covered slices of hard bread, two fried eggs. His other morning ritual was washing his face, but with less than a glass of water, an art he had mastered with his characteristic determination.

What is new, Narantuya? Basangsurang asked while driving his car, a late-model Hyundai Sonata, his pride and treasure.

Nothing, I am happy to say, Gildoo answered cheerfully.

Well, better that way than a problem, for sure.

You are absolutely correct. How are things with you, my friend?

I just learned that I have to help my father and my brother again next weekend.

Doing what?

They have to move their herd again to a location about four hours away.

Oh, moving that huge herd again! Do you think I can tag along with you like the other time?

You mean, to help us?

Yes. If you call it a help, I will be most pleased to do that.

"You know you are better than most of us Mongolians in setting up a ger. You must have a lot of experience in the Inner Mongolia. If you would like, I will pick you up around eight on Saturday morning. Will that work with you?"

Yes, it will be perfect. By the way, can I ride a horse this time?

I don’t see why you shouldn’t have one. They have enough good horses. I am sure you would show us how good a rider you are. We all know that every Mongolian is born with the basic instinct for being a good horseman, Basangsurang said with mischievous grin on his dark face.

I am not so sure. After all, I am just a Chinese Mongolian, Gildoo answered with a smirk.

But you have proven how remarkably adaptable you are. In a few more years, you would lose your Chinese—most of it, I would guess. After all, you have mostly mastered the Mongolian living in no time, for an example. I am sure it has been quite a transition from your previous big-city living. I mean Beijing.

Well, you can say that again. But I do really like the Mongolian people for their openness and generosity.

I know what you mean. Yes, I do. Basangsurang nodded emphatically.

As the Hyundai entered the central part of Ulaanbaatar, the Mongol capital, the traffic became heavy, with an increasing number of black smoking–belching buses and various old models of passenger cars competing for the three-lane Genghis Avenue. Gildoo expected heavy traffic all the way to his employment on Khursgal Road, the western edge of the capital city.

I take that it was quiet at your place last night. Basangsurang continued their conversation without turning to face to his friend.

Yeah, it was quiet, Gildoo answered. Chitgars seemed to have a visitor, however.

A visitor? A man? Basangsurang expressed his slight curiosity.

Right. A young man in his early thirties. It looked as though he is one of their close relatives.

Oh, he must be a nephew from Darkhan.

Darkhan in the north?

No, no. It is in the southeast. The same name, but this one is a tiny desert village, Basangsurang hurriedly added his explanation.

Oh, I understand. Gildoo sounded relieved.

As I said before, Chitgars has very few relatives here. And most of them live in the far eastern counties.

Yes. I do remember you said that.

Don’t worry, friend. And whenever you feel something uncomfortable with him, I will find another place for you. I do know a good deal of nice rentals.

Thanks for your help, old friend.

Soon the Hyundai pulled up to a small roadside parking lot. Without saying a word to each other, the two headed to the two-story building with a large Western-looking showroom. Above its entrance door, a silver metal plate displayed its business name: Ulaanbaatar Automotive Center (UAC).

As Basangsurang stepped into the floor, a young female receptionist greeted him with slight bow and a pleasant smile, but without a word being uttered.

Is Nimdashi in? Basangsurang asked, referring to his sales manager, instead of exchanging greetings with the receptionist.

Yes, he is. He is holding the morning meeting with his salespeople, the receptionist answered politely.

Nodding to the young lady, Basangsurang headed to his office, which sat on the far right side of the floor. He knew that his sales manager would come to his office for their morning session as soon as the meeting with his salespeople was over. Gildoo also was to join the two to discuss the day’s business agenda together.

In his small office, as if an established routine, Gildoo first checked his e-mail on a small laptop and then glanced over at the fax machine to make sure if there was anything from Chang, his friend in Beijing. There was not. He checked his answering machine although he knew that Chang would not use it unless it had become his last resort. He suspected that his phone calls were being hacked by someone whose identity he was yet to discover. Nonetheless, he was not certain whether the hacker or hackers were pursuing his friend Lee Gildoo or someone else. But he had taken precautions not to use office phones lest he revealed the whereabouts of his friend.

The fact that there was no alert or warning from Chang greatly relieved Gildoo. In a relaxed manner, he started to review his business messages: mostly reports on low-stock items from the sales floor. As UAC’s one-man purchasing department, he issued purchase orders for the company and transmitted them mostly to its major business partner, an automotive parts wholesaler in China. Today’s big item was another batch of high-capacity batteries, an item whose demand soared greatly during the early winter months. It was inevitable for the country that bought a large number of old-model used cars (rather than pricy late models) from its neighbors South Korea, Japan, and China.

Once review of overnight communications was completed, Gildoo stepped to his window and, carefully hiding his body behind the wall, surveyed the company’s driveway, which led to its small parking lot. The city’s busy main artery in front of the UAC, separated by the pedestrian paths on both sides, looked quite usual: along the heavy rush-hour traffic, the pedestrians moved briskly, apparently heading to their works. He carefully, deliberately checked everyone in his view. It took a good ten minutes for him to conclude that there was no one who attracted his interest. Relieved, he walked back to his desk to enjoy a few minutes of quiet time before the company’s business meeting at Basangsurang’s office.

The smog-covered but sunny day reminded Gildoo of the fateful day in China, and he visualized in his mind the event like a film showing. Then, he was not yet Narantuya. He was Hong Shao Peng (the first alias he took in China), a temporary help at the China Automotive Corporation (CAC), at which his longtime friend, Chang Har Long, was a vice president.

Gildoo had dealt with the CAC for the last two years for UAC. But his dealing with CAC went back to more than a decade, albeit mostly for the North Korean trading outfit Daesung Trading Company (DTC). Indeed, his long-term and close association with Chang was the very reason why he was where he was, in Ulaanbaatar. Yet it took a rather long and dangerous detour for him to get to the Mongolian capital.

***

Two years ago, on one sunny summer morning, Chang sent Gildoo to Hohhot, the capital of Inner Mongolia in China, quite unexpectedly but expeditiously. Neither Chang nor Gildoo had anticipated the emergency, although they were ready to take evasive actions at any minute and at any place. And they were quite aware that an emergency like it should take place without a warning.

It was Chang who quite accidentally spotted the presence of a stranger across from his parking lot. Although young and appearing ordinary, he didn’t look quite like a casual passerby. Chang quickly realized the young man’s unusual behavior: he deliberately walked back and forth down the sidewalk, taking secretive and quick glances at the CAC building. It did not take long for Chang to draw a dreadful conclusion—that the young man was casing his establishment. He, of course, was aware that there were many valid, innocent reasons for a man to pay attention to his business, for the CAC was one of the leading firms in Chinese automotive wholesale business. Still, the man did not look like an innocent passerby; moreover, his honed instinct warned him to take the man seriously. After a quick and vigorous self-debate, Chang determined that the young man was from either North Korea’s State Security Department or the Beijing police. And he might be interested in his young friend from Pyongyang.

Promptly, Chang went to Gildoo’s workstation and closed the door after him. It was rare for the vice president for operations to visit with a mere stocking clerk. He usually summoned him to his office for a talk.

Chang rushed over and pulled Gildoo to his side and said, Gildoo, something looking very suspicious is happening. I am afraid that the bad guys may have smelled something.

What? About me? Gildoo shouted back in distress.

I just spotted a young man across the street apparently watching our business. He could have something else on his mind. Then again, he might be an agent from your home, Chang hastily explained.

You mean to say that there is a guy out there? Here?

I am very much afraid so, friend. Let’s not panic. Let’s think it over carefully. But first, I will show you the suspect, Chang cajoled his friend and took him to an office next door. He then signaled Gildoo to face its wide window, but to stay several feet away from it.

Can you see the guy there on the sidewalk? He has been loitering there for more than an hour. Have you seen him before? Chang asked, pointing to the man on the sidewalk.

Gildoo looked steadily at the man with the best focus he could muster. He didn’t see anything strange and suspicious about the man. Neither could he identify the man even though he could clearly view the man’s round face.

I haven’t seen him before. I am sure of that, Gildoo finally said.

Me neither.

But you think…

I think he is from either security or police.

From Pyongyang’s security police?

He very well could be, although he looks more like a member of the Beijing police. I did call a friend, but he was of no big help.

What should I do? Wait and see? asked Gildoo, in a voice full of anxiety and uncertainty.

We should be proactive, no matter, Chang calmly responded, like an experienced former police officer.

I have to agree with you, Gildoo said, painfully realizing that there was nothing else he could do.

Gildoo, do you have to return to your place before you leave?

Leave? To where? Gildoo asked dubiously.

I have yet to finalize your next destination, friend. But I do feel that we have to make the decision ASAP.

In that case, I guess I don’t have to. I mean, if that would be risky.

It would be risky, almost certainly. We have to assume that they are watching your place too.

I see. I keep the important stuff right here in this office, as you had suggested. So I suppose I don’t have to go back to my place, Gildoo said as if he had his mind made up.

That is good, Gildoo. Then stay at your station for my instruction. I have a few things to check out before your departure. In the meantime, you may clean up your station because you wouldn’t be back to the CAC. Do you understand me, friend?

Yes, I do, sir, said Gildoo.

It took two long hours for Chang to return to Hong’s workstation in the stockroom and faced his friend from Pyongyang.

Gildoo, I am sad and frustrated to send you away this way. But the situation looks quite precarious and can get worse rapidly. So we must act right away. What I am afraid of so much is that the guy out there could at any minute enter the premise with a search warrant. Then we have to surrender you. I have no idea at this time where the leak comes from. But I do now know that the Beijing police got hold of some information on your whereabouts. My source at the Beijing police finally informed me that they would not wait until the end of the day.

Chang then calmly explained the steps Gildoo must take immediately.

Gildoo listened carefully but did not appear overly anguished; the truth was that he had had so many emergencies, big and small, in the last a couple of years that even such a dire development was merely a thing he had to take care of, just another hurdle he had to negotiate, to survive.

Chang handed Gildoo a large brown envelope.

In that envelope, you will find cash for your payment for this month. I added some more since you will need money. Also, you will find my letter to Mr. Wu, an official at the provincial government in Hohhot. He is a highly loyal friend of mine and very well connected in the Inner Mongolia, Chang gave Gildoo his last directive, sounding not unlike a battlefield commander.

Did you say I am heading to Inner Mongolia? Gildoo calmly asked for he was no longer surprised or dismayed.

That is right. I figure that Wu is the best man at present to give you a safe shelter and to arrange another in case an emergency arises like today.

I will go to where you direct me. But how do I get there?

There is a truck leaving for our branch store in Hohhot within thirty minutes. I already told the driver what to do. You would go through the accounting office to get the warehouse. There you will be shown to the truck. You will not ride in the cabin but the cargo bay that is totally blocked by boxes just in case. The driver will stop only when he feels safe from any tailing. Then you can move to the cabin. Mr. Wu will be waiting for you at Hohhot. In my letter to him, I introduced you as an ethnic Korean born and raised in Harbin, the Dongbai region. He would not question it. You should know that he is a Mongolian Chinese and speaks Chinese good enough, but with slight accent. His native tongue is Mongolian. Do you have any question, friend?

Only one. Do you expect me to present myself as an auto parts worker?

I prefer it. Of course, Wu will use his discretion considering the local situation. If he is able to find a position at a local auto parts business, that will be nice. More than anything, that way we could communicate often and without attracting unnecessary attentions. Regardless where you end up, please do not initiate any call to me. Rather, wait until and unless I initiate it. Do you understand me, my friend?

Yes. I do.

Gildoo left his stockroom station about eleven o’clock. Chang embraced him tightly, and said Be careful, friend. Never forget for even a minute what you are. I will let you know immediately if and when I hear of your family. No matter what your situation may become, I will remain your friend forever. Trust that I am with your family, friend! I will contact you as soon as the situation here calms down.

Gildoo gravely nodded to his friend, unable to say a proper farewell. A few minutes later, he was in the dark cargo bay of the large truck full of automotive boxes. At the company gate, the CAC security officials checked the cargo to make sure it matched with bill the driver presented. But they did not board the truck, so they did not uncover the unusual cargo. Unknowingly to the driver and Gildoo, however, an undercover detective had peered into the truck cabin and cargo bay but found no one but the burly driver.

The driver pushed his truck hard in a northwest direction for five hours before he stopped at a truck stop on Highway 110. And there he opened the cargo door and asked Gildoo to come out.

I think it is safe from here for you to ride in the passenger cabin now. Here we will have our dinner, a late dinner it is, the middle-aged driver explained.

Are we in Inner Mongolia yet? Gildoo asked.

Not yet. It will take another ten hours of hard driving to cross the border to the Inner Mongolia. The traffic will lighten up a bit as we further distance ourselves from the Beijing metro area. Still our drive will remain slow and hazardous. Because of ever-present congestion, it is almost impossible to drive even at the legal speed.

Gildoo just nodded to the driver for the information. He had no intention to chat with the driver; he was determined not to share his personal information with the man.

It turned out that the driver was correct. The highway was overcrowded with the hordes of trucks, but not many passenger cars; they all seemed in a mad rush to get to somewhere as fast as possible, and were hardly in the mood to yield to their fellow drivers. Gildoo glanced through the windshield from time to time to learn the driving conditions of the highway his truck was laboring on. Much more comfortable and quieter than in the dark cargo bay, the passenger cabin even had a small television set, which, at his command, reluctantly produced blurred images of a Chinese broadcast. The driver, properly, advised him that the set tended to work better when the truck parked at certain locations, which he did not elaborate on.

Having nothing else to do in the small cabin, Gildoo found himself reflecting on the incident took place in the morning. Although annoying and bothersome, it didn’t appear to be an emergency to him; after all, he had gone through so many life-and-death dangers in the past year. Furthermore, the newest happening was uncovered and reacted to by his friend Chang, not him. The truth was that he was yet to determine the level of danger he might have been exposed to this morning. He had no idea how the republic’s State Security or the Beijing police had found out about his whereabouts, for he had been a consummate fugitive, hiding himself with utmost care and precaution.

In fact, Gildoo had assumed that Chang was the only one in Beijing and in China, for that matter, who had full knowledge of what he was. Although it was a mind-boggling mystery to him, one thing he was absolutely certain about was that Chang would not do the things he did without reaching a definite, logical conclusion. Apparently, the former Beijing police captain felt that the danger to Gildoo’s security was imminent and real. At the end, Gildoo concluded that he had to accept Chang’s judgment at face value. CAC’s delivery truck was still fighting for its respectable speed on the highway, which no longer looked and worked according to the original intention, a road for high-speed vehicles.

After lumbering two whole days and a half on the crowded highway, the truck at last pulled up into a small parking lot in front of a warehouse building.

Sir, I want you to remain in the cabin, preferably unseen from the outside. A man named Wu would come for you shortly, and you are advised to follow his directions. That is what Mr. Chang told me to tell you. I wish you the best of luck, sir! the driver delivered his message without turning his head.

Thank you very much, Gildoo responded.

Within a minute, Gildoo heard a soft tap on the cabin. Unsure if he was supposed to wait, he remained silent. Shortly, the passenger-side door was opened.

My name is Wu. I am here to escort you, Mr. Hong, the voice identified himself.

Hello. I am Hong. Thank you for coming, Gildoo hurriedly greeted the fiftyish man while moving to the passenger seat.

Do you have a luggage? I can help, the man offered.

Just a little one. I can handle it.

Let’s move to my car now. The man pointed a small SUV parked a few spaces away.

As soon as Gildoo was on board, the car bolted out of the driveway at full speed. The driver did not say a word about what he was doing; Gildoo did not ask for he already knew that the driver needed no input from him, at least for the time being.

The warehouse was on the edge of the city, which looked to be a few kilometers away from the city’s central district. Soon Wu’s truck was traveling a city street narrow and old. Within twenty minutes, the street became much less congested, and the pedestrian traffic was notably absent. As if he was relieved, Wu initiated a talk with his guest.

Mr. Hong, I am sorry for not informing you of our destination in advance. Mr. Chang asked me to withhold the information until we are clear of any tailing. At this moment, I am certain that no one is tailing us, stated Wu in a relieved voice.

Thank you for telling me that. Did Mr. Chang tell you that there is a chance that we would be pursued here? Gildoo asked.

That is right. It may be just a precaution, however. I checked with the local police but found no such signs.

You checked with the local police, for me?

Oh, I should tell you something about myself. Like Mr. Chang, I was with the national police. In fact, he was my boss while we both worked for the Beijing police.

Oh, I see. So you two are old colleagues?

That is right. About our destination, we have three more hours of driving ahead of us. Our destination is the small town named Ulan Hua, a town of Mongolian majority. There you will be the guest of Mr. Batmayar, the county’s former party official. A family friend who operates a fairly large farm has agreed to hire one temporary worker at my request. Are you familiar with farmwork, Mr. Hong? asked Wu.

I can’t claim to be a professional farmer. But I am quite familiar with the works involved. I am sure I can contribute someway.

Yeah. I remember that you are from the Heilongjiang province, am I right?

That is right. It is a small town north of Harbin, rather in close proximity to the Amir River.

You would have little problem in adjusting to Batmayar’s farm.

Mr. Wu, did you choose Batmayar for me?

Yes. I did it after I found myself unable to find a position for you at local auto parts dealers in three days. As Mr. Chang asked me, I told your new employer very little about you: Batmayar knows you are a Korean Chinese from the Heilongjiang province who needs to remain strictly anonymous for the meantime. You are, however, in good health. That is all, and that is about all I know about you. What other information you would share with your host is entirely up to you. I will, however, leave you my number in case you need to talk to me. One last thing, Mr. Chang has asked me to remind you that you should not contact him until he initiates it. Do you understand me, Mr. Hong?

Entirely.

Sorry that we are not able to stop for dinner. Instead, Batmayar, I am sure, shall expect you with dinner ready at his home.

I am grateful for your thoughtful arrangement. I would prefer to have dinner at Batmayar’s anyway. Gildoo realized that Wu was a policeman. Much like Chang, he was thorough and proactive.

At dusk, they arrived at a rather small town, particularly in Chinese scale, but Wu continued driving for another thirty minutes. Finally, he pulled up to an enclosed compound. As if the owner expected the arrival of the two, the large wooden gate promptly opened from inside, disclosing a large farmhouse and its spacious front yard. A man in his sixties was standing at the narrow concrete entryway with a grim but curious face. He did not move at all until Wu hurriedly got off to face him.

It took several minutes of rapid talks before Wu signaled, with his right hand, for Gildoo to get off.

Welcome to my humble home. I am Batmayar, the burly, gray-haired man offered his hand for a handshake.

I am Hong. I am most grateful for your hospitality, Gildoo said politely.

Let’s get in. I will show you your room. Mind you, Mr. Hong, I haven’t had time to tidy it up. Just tell me if anything bothers you at all. Batmayar led Gildoo and Wu to the house’s west wing

Much bigger than it looked from outside, it seemed to Gildoo the wooden house was designed to accommodate a large family. It had the rather spacious kitchen and the dining room in the central area. Its west wing had two full bedrooms and a bath. At the end of the short corridor to which each room’s door opened to was a small but stylish library.

I hope this room meets your privacy requirement. I heard from Mr. Wu that you prefer a quiet room, the homeowner explained while showing the room to his guest.

It is perfect, Mr. Batmayar, Gildoo agreed easily. Indeed, it was much better than he had feared; he did not expect such a nice, large room, which he even did not know if he could afford. He made a mental note to talk about the rent to Chang as soon as possible, although he was repeatedly cautioned not to call Chang until he called him.

Don’t you have to bring in the rest of your luggage, Mr. Hong? Batmayar made a rational suggestion.

Well, that is all he has for the meantime, Wu answered for Gildoo.

Oh, I see, the homeowner said, without concealing his considerable bewilderment. Gildoo then realized that Batmayar had been minimally informed of himself and his circumstance, if any.

Wu presently left the house without giving Gildoo any additional instruction regarding the lodging arrangements. Even in considerable anxiety, Gildoo refrained from raising the question directly to Batmayar. First of all, he still had no idea to what extent he would disclose his extraordinarily unique personal story to both Wu and Batmayar. Yet what was deadly sure to him was that whatever he would utter shouldn’t compromise his most precarious security situation.

Labora, Batmayar’s wife, came home late afternoon and lost no time in welcoming her new guest. She explained that she was visiting her married daughter who was living in the city. Unlike her aloof husband, Labora was open and pleasant, Gildoo figured. She quickly checked out his room and brought in several additional sheets of blankets and a box of tissue.

Mr. Hong, just tell us whatever you need. We do live simply and ordinarily, but we will do our best to accommodate your needs. Better yet, why don’t you regard me as your older sister while you are with us, however long it might be. You look young enough to be my younger brother, am I not right? she asked with a mischievous grin on her small round face.

I am sure you are right. I would be most honored to call you sister, said Gildoo, rather cheerfully.

That is fine and dandy. Brother, you have to know that you are not our first boarder. We often take in people from far away. One unwritten rule we unfailingly live by is that we don’t ask them any personal questions. Of course, if they wish to talk to us, we would listen, the woman explained.

Gildoo finally understood why Wu chose Batmayar’s farm as his temporary refuge. What Labora announced to him proved to be quite accurate. Her household was invitingly quiet, if ordinary. The dinner was simple but sufficiently tasty: steamed rice, fried muttonchops, a glass of milk, and a simple dish of salad.

The Batmayars spent their evening watching TV, to Gildoo’s surprise—that is, Mongolian programs without subtitles. For the first time, he realized that his host was indeed a Mongolian-Chinese couple, who apparently were proficient with their native tongue, Mongolian, in addition to their flawless Mandarin. Almost as if on impulse, he started to assess his new environment and its implications to his security. He now found that his new host was not an ethnic Han; after all, the name Batmayar was not a typical Chinese name. That was obvious to Gildoo, a Chinese language major and a notable China expert at his former employment. It was his understanding that many ethnic minorities in China have ethnic names as a token of their ethnic identification. Many such people do not speak their ethnic language at all, a sign of successful Hanification.

But the Batmayars were different: they watched Mongolian programs without resorting to the aid of subtitles. They even conversed in the language of which Gildoo had no knowledge, which he accurately guessed to be Mongolian.

Gildoo had no idea how long he would stay with the Batmayars; it could be days or months, depending on the development that had forced him to seek a refuge in this Mongolian home. Only his ever-uncertain fugitive status would hold the key to his future.

Gildoo’s first breakfast at the Batmayars’ was equally simple Mongolian dishes: fruit jam and bread slices, green tea. Of course, he had little say or complaint over the food for he had no idea how he had to pay for it. A sort of answer presented itself soon enough. After breakfast, Batmayar took Gildoo to his barn in the spacious backyard where he kept his cattle.

I hope you could lend me a hand in cleaning this barn. I have to do it once a week, Batmayar announced in an even tone.

Of course, yet I am afraid that you have to show me how to do it. It is true that I am from Heilongjiang, but I am quite a novice in farmwork, Gildoo confessed half bashfully.

You don’t have to worry about that. We will move this mess to that mound and then spread around the new hay from that stack. That’s about all to it.

It turned out that Batmayar was right: the work was simple but moderately hard labor, for the rectangular barn was large enough to hold fifty cows. The two spent virtually all of the morning at the barn.

You may have come from Heilongjiang, but I am sure that you have never been a farmworker. Am I right, Mr. Hong? Batmayar asked while they ate the sandwich lunch Labora had prepared for them.

Mr. Batmayar, you are quite correct. I have done no farmwork in my life, Hong answered honestly.

That is enough. I am not interested in your private life.

Gildoo was grateful for his landlord’s sensible discretion. The two spent a couple of hours of the afternoon to further tidy up the barn. After the work, Batmayar led Gildoo for a little walk and showed his new temporary employee his farm—a rather large-sized property that Gildoo had never seen before in his country. The host did not mention the size but explained that he had planted winter wheat, which covered most of his farm with tiny green sprouts. He added that the land was not of high quality and, moreover, was subject to the region’s uncertain and insufficient rainfall, inherent penalties of living at the edge of the mighty Gobi desert. He also confessed that the farmers around him became heavily dependent on the government subsidies just to survive.

Although Gildoo was not entirely clear on how Batmayar, a former secretary of the county communist party, had managed to accumulate such a large-sized farm, he soon had identified a plausible cause: the land was not that expensive in the first place. It was not difficult for Gildoo to accept Wu’s introduction that Batmayar, a farmer and a former county party boss, was fairly influential in his community. He came to suspect his host’s prominent social standing as being another reason why Wu chose Batmayar as his new employer.

Labora came home past six o’clock, with the half excuse and half complaint that she was too busy in her office. Her taciturn husband did not react to that and just glanced at his wife, who promptly disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the family’s dinner. At the same time, Batmayar occupied his time by receiving several younger men who appeared to Gildoo to be his neighbors. Their conversation was conducted in Mongolian, he assumed, for he did not understand a word of it. It was apparent that at home, Batmayar and his wife used only Mongolian, not Han’s Botunghwa, the standard Chinese language. Both, however, spoke flawless Chinese when they spoke to Gildoo.

Although Gildoo spent his first full day in Inner Mongolia with Batmayar, the two did not exchange a single serious word or personal information. In reality, the two endeavored hard not to show their own cards. Gildoo had valid and grave reasons for his being scrupulous, but he couldn’t fathom why Batmayar, a farmer, had to be wary of him to the point of open precaution. But he did not push the issue further; one thing he had learned so thoroughly for the last two years was that he should be patient and tolerant at all times and on all matters—his primary survival tactic in the foreign land.

The next day, Batmayar had used three hired hands to mend the windbreaker walls around his farm, which were erected at regular intervals. He instructed the men in Mongolian, which instantly rendered Gildoo incapable of following the conversation. He wondered if the men’s language was limited to Mongolian, unlike the bilingual Batmayar and his wife. Regardless, neither Batmayar nor his men had shown any signs of inconvenience at all.

On the early morning of his fourth day at Batmayar’s, Gildoo received an unexpected visit from Wu. After a brief private discussion with Batmayar, Wu surprised Gildoo by asking him to get ready for a little outing. Toward a hesitant Gildoo, Batmayar simply nodded his consent. Gildoo thanked his employer for the time off by slightly bowing, and then he headed to his room. Without so many words, he understood that Wu should have some valid reason for the outing.

Do you have any problem with Batmayar? Wu asked after his car left the village.

Not that I can think of. They are very kind and considerate to me, Gildoo reported his observations truthfully.

That is nice to hear. In fact, they are the nicest people around here. Also a rare friend I can trust at all times, Wu stated in a light tone.

Mr. Wu, are you a Mongolian Chinese? Gildoo inquired.

You could say that. The truth is that I am a half Mongolian. My mother is a Mongolian, full blood, and my father a Han Chinese, full blood.

I see. So you speak the Mongolian, right?

You are right. I am bilingual, like the Batmayars. How about you? As a Korean from the Heilongjiang province, do you speak Korean as well?

Yes, I speak Korean, but as a second language. I went to schools where Chinese was spoken exclusively. I did pick up some Korean later at home. My Korean is fairly acceptable, but not perfect by any means, Gildoo revealed his fictitious background a little bit, but with a pinch of guilt.

By the way, are you interested in learning Mongolian? Wu raised the issue Gildoo had not entertained at all.

Mongolian?

Yes, Mongolian. I heard somewhere that there are many Mongolian terms that sound quite similar to Korean ones.

Is that so? I didn’t know that. But if there are, there must be a reason.

Oh yeah? Can you share it with me? Wu said, showing interest.

Well, the Mongol army once occupied most of the Korean Peninsula, Gildoo uttered with disinterest.

That could be … under the great Genghis Khan? Am I right, Mr. Hong?

Yes, of course.

During the occupation period, the Mongol soldiers could have picked up something from the Koreans, I presume, Wu drew his own conclusion.

Gildoo did not say anything to indicate his agreement.

Wu drove not to the central area of Ulan Hua as Gildoo had assumed. Instead, he veered right for a few miles and pulled up in front of a small duplex at the edge of the