Auntie Zhu was older than their mother by two years, but she looked a lot older. Mother guessed she did not eat right. She was a bit taller but very thin and gaunt. Her eyes seemed to sink in unless they fixed you and pinned you to the wall like a moth. She and mother had not seen each other for years, since we were south and she was north. Mother tried not to cry, but that lasted about five minutes when Auntie arrived. She was finally allowed to visit. We could not go when the family was allowed to visit in the north after forty years, but Auntie was a talented singer, so she had some privileges. The visit was too short.
She was with us for only one week, but we crammed something into every minute we could. Evenings we ate well. Mother was putting on her best. The adults told stories while we kids just listened. This was the famous aunt who played for the ruler of North Korea. She was popular in Pyongyang. She laughed a lot, but her eyes were full of tears. Sometimes she and mother sang very old songs while Aunty played our old upright which mother had paid to have tuned before Auntie’s visit. Some of those songs I learned in school, but some I never heard. I watched them sometimes from my window when they sat on the porch talking so earnestly.
They loved each other and they both loved me and my sister. My father asked Auntie to become his second wife. That drew a cuff from mother, but you could see she was pleased that he made Auntie laugh. I always loved to hear a mother sing, but I soon found out why it was Auntie who was famous. Her voice was like the song of the phoenix rising from the ashes. It brought golden warmth into the room.
The last night came suddenly after the missing six-day vanished. Auntie had brought small gifts for us. She went home with new clothes, make-up, hair ornaments, and anything else my mother could press on her. She accepted gifts for her children, who had been forced to stay behind as insurance. North Korea wanted Auntie to return voluntarily. She was dressed the same as when she arrived, saying she should not look any better than when she left. She kissed and hugged us all and started to walk away. Then she ran back for one more embrace with mother, and a quick hug for me and my sister. Then she was gone.
We had more letters after that than before, until one day they stopped. No letters came for a month, two, then six months, a year. We all believed Auntie was dead. There was a knock and the door revealed Auntie with two girls, one older than me and one just a little younger. Mother could not stop laughing. “I thought you were dead.”
Mother brought them all in and took their few meager things in sacks. She made tea and then asked what had happened. Auntie replied, “I was. I was in prison with no books and not good food so they could interrogate me daily about my ideology. Finally, I confessed and they sentenced me to a year. I had been there three years by then. Finally, they wanted my music back and I was let go on the promise that I would never play those forbidden tunes again. I worked until I finally had a week off. I took the girls and left. It was a long walk to China.
“But why? What did you do?” asked mother.
Aunty replied, “I sang our favorite song at home alone in the living room. Someone passed by and heard. The leader does not like these songs.”
“So they arrested you?” Mother could not believe it. “How long did you take to come here?” she asked.
“Not too long. The walk to Chinese territory was long, several days, but they received us with great hospitality.” Once we told them our story they said they would send us home to you, my sister, if I would sing them one song. We all sang for the whole village that night, many songs, even the forbidden songs.
I lost my bedroom for a while, but I did not mind, I had two new sisters, and they were beautiful. We sing now every night, except when Auntie has a performance. She is popular, so at least one night per week she is not available. My sisters and I have learned new songs, old new songs. These songs were not sung in the absence of my grandparents, since the north closed the border. In the south, it is not to be talked about so as not to offend the fates. In the north, only songs approved by the leader are sung. I wonder what song the Phoenix sings.