With Choi’s thankfully short visit out of the way, she’d headed back to her office, via the clinic. She made the rounds as often as she could. Even if there was little she could give them, at least she could keep close tabs on their progress.
As she entered the long room, this time without the sergeant, volunteers and the patients’ family members greeted her quietly. Kary walked down the center aisle, between the double row of beds, speaking with any patients who were awake and checking everyone’s vitals. Few were as sick as she’d told Sergeant Choi, except possibly Cheon Ji-hyo.
The woman was mending slowly, getting by on minimal doses of the clinic’s painkillers and antibiotics. One or both of her kids were always on one side of the bed, her mother Gam Sook-ja on the other.
Kary couldn’t look at Cheon without feeling a little pride. She’d done more surgeries lately than she’d ever imagined, and Cheon Ji-hyo’s shoulder had been by far the most difficult. Bullet and bone fragments had torn through the muscles, but guided by divine hands, she’d repaired the torn muscles and stopped the bleeding. In a few days, Kary would have to go back in to see if she’d…
“Fowler-seonsaengnim.” Cho Ho-jin had left his bed and was standing politely nearby. “May we speak?”
Kary had done a fair amount of stitching on Cho’s back. She tried to remember the Korean word for “quilt.” He was pale, and obviously sore, but he’d been upright since yesterday.
“I haven’t examined you today yet. Do you feel well? If you laid down…”
“Perhaps in your office, or outside.”
She nodded. “Outside then. There’s a little breeze.” They walked to the “patio” and sat, shaded by the awning. Cho removed a T-shirt several sizes too large for him and turned in the chair so she could sit next to him and examine her stitching. He gave her a little while to work.
The four lacerations varied from one relatively deep puncture a centimeter across, to a ragged slash that had some width as well as depth. Bruising was already turning his back into a patchwork of blues and black, but thankfully none of the wounds showed signs of redness or swelling.
As she replaced the dressings, Kary said, “You are a genuine hero, Cho Ho-jin. Cheon Ji-hyo owes you her life.”
“As you said yesterday, but I just got her here. Your care saved her. But let this hero give you some advice. You must leave this place. Right away.”
“That isn’t the first time I’ve heard that advice, and not even the first time today.”
“It’s good advice.”
She spread her hands helplessly. “I can’t. People need us. If I had left, who would have treated you or Cheon?” After a pause, she added, “Besides, it’s over a hundred kilometers to the border with the South, and just as far to the northern border with China.”
“A hundred and thirty to the South and a hundred and eighty to China. I checked.”
“Should I walk? What about the patients? Their families? What would we—”
Cho cut her off. He spoke quietly, but with great intensity. “Questions can be answered, problems solved. The journey is long and perilous. Not everyone reaches their destination. But there are many who have set out, because to stay was even more dangerous. To sit here and hope puts too much trust in your god.”
“I cannot leave these people,” Kary said with such finality that Cho knew the matter was closed. She rose to leave, but Cho put his arm out to stop her, and winced at the motion.
“One other thing, Fowler-seonsaengnim. I am very grateful for your care. I have little to offer in payment, but…” He paused and removed his cell phone and offered it to her. “It’s much better than most of the phones around here. It has a satellite capability, and is hard for the authorities to trace.”
Surprised but intrigued, Kary took the device. Cho could see the wheels turning. She asked carefully, “Is this the type of phone an agricultural inspector needs for his work?”
He smiled. “No, it is not. But don’t ask me what I use it for. I don’t know if you’d like the answer. But I’m sure you’d like to call your family back in America…”
Her face lit up, and she said, “Yes! That would be amazing!” Excited, and unfamiliar with the device, she couldn’t dial it at first, and Cho entered the number for her. Surprisingly, it was a Korean phone number.
“My good friend Anita is in our mission in Sinanju. She has a satellite phone, too,” she explained to Cho, then focused her attention on the phone. “Hello, Anita, it’s Kary!”
Not wanting to listen in on her conversation, Cho nodded and decided to take a short walk. Yesterday he’d walked up and down three times inside the clinic, on Kary’s orders, and today he felt up to walking around the compound.
A low wall surrounded what used to be six buildings, but now was only three. Behind the office, clinic, and dining hall were the remains of three greenhouses. Wooden frames and plastic sheeting hadn’t been much of a barrier to looters. He couldn’t tell when it had happened, but it didn’t really matter. The three buildings, of light wooden construction, wouldn’t stop even a casual intruder. All that work lost. He could imagine her sadness at their destruction.
Cho realized he cared about these people and their foreign benefactor. Perhaps it was all the effort he’d expended getting Cheon Ji-hyo and her family here. He wanted them to be safe.
It was hot. He’d meant to circle all the way around the compound, but a wave of weakness overcame him, and his back started to complain, so halfway through his circuit, he turned toward the clinic. Once inside, he lay down carefully on his stomach. Exhausted, he fell asleep.
Sharp pain woke Cho when he tried to roll over in his sleep. Automatically, he felt for his one possession, the cell phone, and remembered he’d loaned it to Fowler. Standing gingerly, he discovered he actually felt rested, although still sore. He’d been asleep a little over an hour.
The patio was empty, and now in full sun in the middle afternoon. Listening, the sounds of battle to the east seemed louder, but still distant.
Walking slowly, he headed for the middle building. The first door in the long hall was labeled in both English and Hangul as “Office.” It stood half-open, and he could see her in a wooden chair, head cradled in her hands.
At the sound of his footsteps, she turned to face the door. She had been crying, a lot. Cho had meant to ask for the phone, but stopped with the first word half-formed. After a moment, he spoke softly, “Can you tell me what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”
“Oh, no, there’s nothing,” she answered, forcing a cheerful tone. She reached to one side of her desk, retrieved the cell phone, and turned to hand it to him. It looked like she was ready to burst into tears again, at any minute.
She is carrying this entire place on her shoulders. Cho wanted to do something, anything for her. As he took the phone, he said, “Even if I can’t help, I can listen.” Cho gently lowered himself into the only other chair in the room. He tried to adopt a relaxed pose, but as his back touched the chair, he winced and quickly sat forward.
The motion bordered on the comic, and Kary smiled, which improved her appearance. She sighed, and explained sadly, “When I called Anita to ask about the mission there, she told me it was gone, stripped bare by refugees headed for the Chinese border — except very few are getting across. The Chinese have lined the border with soldiers. They’re shooting people who try to sneak across.” She sounded horrified and disgusted at the injustice of it.