7. Miniature Golf
MINIATURE GOLF
On the driver’s side they passed a shuttered miniature golf course, and for a moment she felt she was in a normal city, anywhere in the world—until she saw the drab olive uniforms of soldiers with bright red leadership pin flags on their uniforms, and red metal stars on their oversized hats.
“We’ll take Songyo-Kanggan Street, and pass Juche Tower,” Sven suggested.
They passed the tall, lonely Juche Tower that was seated on a vast swath of concrete blocks. The fixed flame on top looked petrified.
“What’s juche mean again?” she asked.
“Self-reliance, it’s a big deal here for—” Sven looked over at her.
Right. The DPRK encouraged people to make do with what they could produce domestically instead of relying on imports. The regime was literally trying to spin years of sanctions into a source of national pride.
Marina blinked. It was one thing to envision them in the abstract, but another thing to see them in action in person.
Everyone she encountered felt the effects of those sanctions, which made her feel both guilty for working for a government that imposed them, and righteous that they were standing up for the rights of those who could not.
“Up here is Okryu Bridge on the left—that’s a reinforced bridge for all of the military parades,” Sven said, saying nothing about how empty the roadways were.
She counted fewer than a dozen civilian vehicles since leaving the hotel. With fuel imports capped at five hundred thousand barrels a year for the entire country, perhaps that shouldn't have surprised her.
“On the left we’ll take Tongdaewon Street, then cut over to the left on Taehak, and finally one more street over and we’ll be in Minsu-dong quarter, Pyongyang’s Embassy Row.”
“Embassy Row?” she mused. “Have you ever been to Brussels?” she asked.
Sven cut his eyes over to her. “It looks a little different than Embassy Row does in Brussels,” he allowed.
He turned right, and he gestured ahead. “See for yourself.”
Minsu-dong announced itself the way the rest of Pyongyang did — abruptly, without suburbs, without the usual gradient of a city thinning out toward its edges.
One street was ordinary apartment blocks; the next was walled compounds, brass plaques, flags she recognized and flags she didn't. She catalogued the ones she knew out of habit — Sweden, Brazil, a scatter of others.
Sven slowed as they turned onto the final street, and something in his voice changed, dropped its tour-guide register. "Chancery's just up here on the right."
She sat up a little straighter without deciding to. In the back seat, the conversation had gone quiet too — Esmee's, Giovanni's, all of it, as if the whole car had felt the shift in air pressure before anyone said why.
When they pulled up, another sedan was waiting outside the old East German chancery. A man got out, closing the car door behind him.
Esmee leaned forward from the back seat: “Is that the guy?”
Marina shaded her eyes against the morning sun, picking him out easily. “Yes,” she said.
She realized that the way to the coffee machine had a window which overlooked the avenue in front of the building.
Ri Song-cheul stayed out there all morning. He was still out there at three in the afternoon when she made herself a cup of tea. She caught him standing outside the sedan and leaning against it, arms crossed in front of him.
She slowed her step and he looked up.
She knew the windows were darkened on the outside. He couldn’t see her or even her silhouette.
But the rest of her didn’t know this when she reached the coffee bar. She took a shaky breath as she reached up to the upper cupboard and took out a packet of tea.
She took two steps over to the left: he was still there, looking between the windows. The afternoon sun lit the crown of his dark hair.
The electric kettle was building to a rolling boil and its lever snapped down.
She flinched and walked back, pouring the roiling water over the tea bag in her cup.
A small smile on her face, she walked back to the window: he had shifted his weight to one leg, and leaned back over the curve of the car like he was stretching, his eyes closed.
She stirred her tea and gradually realized that she should stop finding excuses to look at him unnoticed.
She headed back to her cube when her pace slowed. There was an internal CCTV trained on the room.
Back at her cube, Esmee leaned out: “Oh, you have tea.”
She got up and walked to Marina’s cube. Marina locked her desktop without missing a beat, still stirring her tea.
“Do they have good tea here?” Esmee asked.
“They do.” Marina fished out the teabag and put it into the bin by her desk, cursing her luck to have forgotten that she worked inside a chancery, an evidence-gathering machine.
“I should probably get some, but I like mine with sugar.”
A coy smile on Esmee’s face at the last word.
Marina’s stomach tightened but she said nothing. Just looked at Esmee blankly. Two could play at this game.
“Do they have any sugar here?”
Marina put her cup down and shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you find out?” she suggested blandly.
Esmee smiled coyly. “I thought his picture was cute, but I think he’s already smitten with someone.”
Marina shrugged. “He might be. He’s got a whole life here. A lot of people live in North Korea.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.” Esmee pivoted on her heel.
Marina heard the click of Esmee’s heels as she walked down the corridor.
Marina packed up her bag and shut down her computer.
It was already five, and the building was emptying out.
She took the stairs two at a time, and waved at the guard as she walked past. In the corner of her eye, the guard made a checkmark on a list as she passed.
Good. The guard was keeping accountability of who was in the building.
She pushed open the door to the street, catching her breath.
“Miss Marina! Wait for us.”
It was Miss Wu, and Miss Park following behind her.
Marina bowed. “Nice of you to accompany me.” She might as well pretend that it was a pleasant thing to be escorted through the entire country like a prisoner under guard.
She looked around discretely. The car was gone, and with it, Ri was too.