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When I decided to leave the house, she followed me. She would have been safe with room and board had she stayed, but she left without hesitation. She seemed to entrust her life to me.

After inquiring secretly, I finally found a job at a factory in Yeonkil City and went to work there as a boiler engineer. On March 10, 1998, I was on my way back from the office around 11 p.m. When I reached the entrance of my apartment, Chinese policemen were forcing Haeyeong into a police car. She was in reddish-purple winter clothes.

According to a neighbor, a policeman had stopped and questioned her on a road to the apartment. There was only one thing for me to do. When the police car was about to depart, I threw myself into the car. I chose to be arrested rather than be apart from her.

As illegal entrants, we could not even dream of freedom in a foreign country. Nevertheless, we were free for the eight months we had been together.

Now, on the truck transporting us back to North Korea, Haeyeong's eyes were tearing but her face was smiling. Knowing that we would not be any freer than at that moment, she had asked me to kiss her. Perhaps she was carefully folding the memories of her life.

My hands bound with handcuffs behind my back, I kissed her. We were shedding tears but smiling.

The truck slowed down and stopped. Soon we would be transferred to North Korea. Dead silence reigned until the Chinese authorities drew back the cover of the truck bed.

"Get off."

North Korean security personnel were waiting for us, wearing black glasses and silk jackets. We turned pale with fear.

There were 28 captives, and the Korean officials made us kneel down and began to hit us with square bars. Then they took us to the Security Bureau. We were again kneeling down in the prison of the Security Bureau.

"Who is Kang Hyeok?" They fired questions at us like bullets. "Who is Lee Haeyeong?"

"I am Kang Hyeok," I replied. When I put up my head, a security member gave me a hard kick to my eyes. I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I found that my body had been kicked all over.

I looked around to find Haeyeong. She was lying down on the floor with her hair disheveled. Blood was flowing down from her mouth and nose. I felt my anger boiling up. When I saw my sweet girl being hit and insulted in front of me, I promised myself that I would endure all kinds of violence; I feared nothing anymore.

The more I was hit, the more the fire of my anger blazed. We were hit again and again. I could endure it, but to see Haeyeong being hit was more than I could bear. I wanted to be hit instead of her. They always tormented her in front of me.

Haeyeong and I were put underground, me in a male prison cell and her in one for women.

I heard a crow cawing outside one morning, when authorities selected me and 26 others from the now 128 people there who had crossed into China. We were put on a truck.

The truck ran along a steep, meandering mountain road into a valley. At last we arrived at a low hill in the valley.

As soon as we were taken down from the truck, we shuddered: Three reddish holes dug in the ground opened their mouths wide. There were muddy shovels and picks here and there. The executioners were wearing black glasses and white gloves, their killing devices shining in their hands. The security personnel glared at us, smoking.

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October 2004, Vol. 48, No. 10