Cover art: Painting by Ron Laboray.
He held the small box in his hands for a long time, examining its top, turning it to see the sides, hefting it to feel the weight. It was about the length of a pencil box, a bit wider and twice as deep. It wasn’t too heavy – less than half a kilo.
Nicholas set the box on the small table in front of him. It was wrapped in brown paper, but not like the heavy, coarse brown paper used by everyone to write on, but a lighter weight and color paper. The folded-over edges of the paper were dark and frayed from age. The paper was held in place by some threads twisted together to make a fragile cord unlike any he had seen before. I will be cautious, thought Nicholas, when I open it. Even if there is nothing of value inside, the paper and the cord are special.
There was no writing on the paper covering the box. It did not have his name, Nicholas Rhee Petrov, on it, nor did it have his Mother’s name, Rhee Ja-eun, who had given him the box as she awaited death. She told Nicholas the box did not come from her. She had received it from her Mother just before she, too, found the relief of death. Her Mother, said Ja-eun, had been given the box by her Mother.
The box did, however, come with a message that Ja-eun recited in a voice running out of life:
This box is for the child of my child’s child.
Keep it safe from harm.
Keep it safe from danger.
On the 21st birthday of the child of my child’s child
It may be opened
But only by the child of my child’s child.
Today, Lunar New Year in the year DL-10080, was Nicholas’s 21st birthday. Lunar New Year, the day after the second new moon after the winter solstice, was not only a national holiday when everyone paid homage to the last four Dear Leaders. Now, everyone celebrates their birthday on this day as well. The Dear Leader says it brings order and equality to know everyone celebrates the same. Nicholas thought it brought more sameness, that it was an attempt to force the perception of an equality that did not exist. Nicholas was wise enough to keep thoughts like these to himself.
Nicholas was a tall, handsome young man, especially compared to his peers. He was thin, and the pallor of his handsome Eurasian face pointed to too many hours inside and not enough fresh air and sunshine. He had been alone since his Mother died. But he had felt alone his entire life, even in the crowds of the organized marches on Celebration Days. He took his correct place in the correct column and correct row and did as he had to do, yet his mind was always elsewhere, dreaming of something else. Nicholas was bright and intelligent enough to ensure no one else suspected it. He knew how to blend, how to not call attention to himself. In school, his favorite classes had been math and music. He loved to see the patterns and logic in both and had spent hours working out problems and writing chord progressions. But he always held back on the tests and discussions to be sure he was overlooked.
He also knew how fortunate he was to have been appointed a job in the Office of Official Information. He was able to write interesting articles that pleased his superiors. It was one of the few assignments that allowed him to use a computing device – an incredible machine that amazed and surprised him. Nicholas worked six days for 10 hours in the OOI. On the seventh day, if there were no marches or demonstrations, he would spend hours daydreaming and wandering the unrestricted streets of his city with its old, interesting buildings, beautiful parks, and waterfront trails.
Nicholas started at the box and imagined what might be inside.
The box was the only present Nicholas would receive for his birthday. He had hidden it carefully away after Ja-eun gave it to him when she died the year before. He had kept the box from harm. He had kept the box safe.
Nicholas was nervous. He walked around his small, drab studio with its single light, looking for any new small hole that might indicate a camera had been placed. Nothing. He put his ear to the west wall where the resident manager lived. Nothing. He opened the door and looked down the hall both ways for snooping neighbors. Nothing.
He finally pulled his only chair to the table and sat before the box. Carefully, he untied the thin cord and unwound it from around the box. Gently, he smoothed down the triangle-folded ends of the unusual paper, then lifted the right side of the long edge and moved the paper slowly away from the box to the table. He did the same with the left side. Now he saw an oblong box with a lid, both covered in a flower fabric whose colors were still bright and beautiful. It was the only thing of color in his drab, dark room.
Nicholas’ fingers trembled as he looked at this box that had been made for him years before. For the child of my child’s child. From Mother to Mother to Mother to son. My Great-Grandmother made this, Nicholas thought. For me. So long ago.
He cautiously lifted the lid off the box and set it aside. The first thing he saw was a piece of fabric of the same cloth that covered the box. He took it out, and it unfolded into a large square. I have never seen these flowers, he thought. I’ve never seen such colors. He set the cloth on top of the lid.
Now he saw an envelope. He slowly lifted it out of the box. It had been sealed, but the glue had dried, and the flap was open. He turned it over in his hands and saw the writing. Printed on the envelope were these words:
FOR MY GREAT-GRANDCHILD – SEPTEMBER 20, 2050 – SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
He started at it and tried to decipher the words. It was not any of the languages he knew. It was not Korean or Russian. He was puzzled. Then he understood. It was English.
Nicholas dropped the envelope as if it were on fire and stood up so fast the chair went backward.
English! English was against the law in East Korea! People were sent to detention camps for reading or writing English! People were shot for speaking English! Having anything in English in his possession was so dangerous. He could be exiled. English!
English had been the language of his Great-Grandmother. His Grandmother had spoken a little English, as had his Mother. Both had taught him words and phrases but severely punished him if he spoke English outside their home. They had made him understand how dangerous it was.
Nicholas paced around the room to calm his racing heart. He took large gulps of air into his lungs and counted to ten. He then once again checked for cameras or people talking. He righted the chair and went back to the box. He thought of his Mother and Grandmother keeping this box hidden for so many years. Keeping it from harm. Keeping it safe. To honor them, he must continue.
Nicholas Rhee Petrov saw two small books inside the box and lifted them out. One was in Korean, and he read the title English to Korean Dictionary. The other was in Russian: English to Russian Dictionary.
There were six more things in the box, all folded flat. Nicholas could not read any of the names printed in large letters on the front of each piece. He got up and found a piece of old writing paper and a pencil. Using the English to Korean Dictionary, over the next hour, he puzzled out the names:
A Map of the United States of American
A Map of the State of California
Official MUNI San Francisco Transit and Bike Map
The Declaration of Independence
The Constitution of the United States of America
The Bill of Rights
Nicholas Rhee Petrov had no idea what any of these words meant except for the word “map.” He had never heard of the “United States of America.” He had lived in East Korea all his life. He had never heard of the State of California. And what was San Francisco, and why was there a map of it? Independence? Constitution? Bill of Rights?
He carefully opened the map of California. The shape on the paper was vaguely familiar. Part of the western side looked somewhat like East Korea’s, but East Korea was a much larger country. The ocean appeared to be the same one that separated East Korea from Reunited Korea, but the coastline was not as long as it should be.
He refolded the map and picked up the one of the United States of America. Ah, better, Nicholas thought. Although it was divided into unfamiliar divisions, the shape was more accurate. He took a pencil and drew a vertical line in the middle of the continent where the border between East Korea and Western Russia now exists. This map stopped far short of the North Pole, but had it been shown, the borderline would have extended all the way up. Everything to the left of the line belonged to Korea. The United Countries of Russia controlled everything to the right.
The last map Nicholas opened was the one of San Francisco. He gasped. It was a map of here, a map of where he lived – Kim Jong-un City. The outline was the same, yet the names were unfamiliar, and he didn’t understand the lines on the map. He deciphered the words “Muni” and “cable car,” but he didn’t know what they meant. He examined the map closely to see if he could find where he lived. Using the water edge as a guide, he believed he found it. He lived somewhere on what the map said was 2nd Street. He had walked on many of the unrestricted streets on this map.
Nicholas was exhausted. And the electricity would be going off in 15 minutes. He would leave the other three documents for later. He picked up the envelope again and took out the letter – four hand-printed pages. They would have to wait. He put the letter back in the envelope, put the envelope, the books, and the documents back in the box, and covered them with the cloth. He put the lid on the box, folded the paper it had come in, coiled the small cord, and returned them all to the hiding place.
Nicholas spent the next six days working 10 hours a day at the Office of Official Information and as many hours each night as he could before the electricity went off, translating the letter. Each morning, he would read what he had translated and spend the day amazed, confused, angry, sad, and overwhelmed.
On the morning of the seventh day, this is the letter Nicholas Rhee Petrov had received from his Great-Grandmother.
My dear, dear child. You have finally found your present. I am sure it isn’t what you expected. Perhaps, and I pray for this, things have changed these last few years, and there is no longer an “East Korea” or “Western Russia.” Perhaps freedom has returned to our great land. If that has happened, you need to read no further. You can toss all this in the garbage and get on with your young and exciting life.
If that has not happened, if you are still living under the authoritarian government of Korea, then please keep going.
First, a little family history. My name is Corrine O’Brien, and I am writing this in the our year 2050 – under the new calendar DearLeader-10030. My husband, Patrick O’Brien, was your great-grandfather. He died – or more bluntly – was killed in 2031 – DL-10011. I miss him still. We had a daughter – your Grandmother – named Hillary O’Brien, born in 2020 – the year of the Great Takeover. We lived in Sun Francisco, now called Kim Jong-un City. Patrick and I worked for the SF Chronicle, a daily newspaper. Do you know about newspapers? They were once the primary vehicle of open and unrestricted reporting before the 1st Amendment to the Constitution was summarily canceled. Patrick was a famous political investigative journalist – one of the best in the business. I was the assistant editor for political news.
Once the Great Takeover happened, everything changed. There were no newspapers. Television stations could only broadcast the Korean State channels. Cable TV was canceled. “Citizens” were prohibited from owning any type of computing device or phone, punishable by death. We were isolated from one another. Most government officials were assassinated. Every single law and public practice was disrupted and repealed. US money was declared useless. Everyone was broke, hungry, and terrified. The democracy of the United States of America, after 245 years, was over.
I will tell you some things now that will be dangerous for you to read. Here is another opportunity to stop, tear this up, and put it in the garbage. Also, please be careful if you decide to tell the authorities about this box and the letter. It can get you into serious trouble. Even now, the use of English is limited to people over thirty, and it will soon be punishable by death. I believe it is best for you to simply destroy it all and forget you ever heard from me.
So, on we go, do we? You are a brave child. I do wish I knew if you were a man or a woman. I know you were born between 2056 and 2061 because your Mother was born in 2040, and the law said she had to have a child before age 20. We will never meet. I will die before you are born. I am now 55, the upper limit of life for a woman. I’m not sure how this will happen – but I am sure it will.
Your Mother was born in 2040 after my daughter Hillary (your grandmother) was raped by a Korean soldier. Rape is no longer a crime; did you know that? She never knew your father other than his last name was Rhee, but she was forced to give the baby a Korean name – thus, your Mother became Rhee Ja-eun. You were also likely conceived by rape by a Russian Lieutenant? A Korean Sergeant? I do not know but if your middle name is Rhee and your last name is Russian, I’m guessing the Lieutenant. All of this is done to control and frighten women. It worked in some ways, but not all of them, as you will read later. Another law enacted by the Dear Leader early after the Great Takeover was that all women in East Korea are sterilized after their first birth. This was done to control the size of the population.
When did it start to fall apart? Your Great-Grandfather and I believed it started years earlier with the Supreme Court decision that allowed unlimited corporate money to flow to our elected officials. As a result, corporations became more powerful than the Government. Politicians and policy were bought and sold like commodities. It was no longer “We the People”.
After the 2016 election, The Republican Party controlled all three branches of government – the Congress, the executive branch, and the judiciary. The Republicans had become the party of the right. The base changed from patriotic conservatives to white men and women who believed they had been slighted and discriminated against. They elected a very wealthy man to be president who had no experience and who surrounded himself with people who wanted to dismantle the government. They objected to immigrants, to Muslims, to people of color, and even to the equality of women. They despised the college-educated, the free press, and anyone they felt was “elite.” Even though they were fewer in number, the years of Republicans controlling state government led to voting restrictions and strangely shaped congressional districts.
The final step to the demise of the United States of America was the interference of the Russians in our free election process. It took years to figure out precisely what happened. Still, briefly, they allied with the presidential candidate and offered support in the form of damaging information against his opponent. Then they ‘hacked’ our numerous election computer systems – which meant they could manipulate who was elected. Once this was done and their candidates were in office, they were in charge. It took four more years for the Russia – North Korea Alliance to consolidate its power and divide the country.
I know there are a lot of statements and words in that last paragraph that are new to you. When you understand the three documents in the box, you will see how drastic a change was for us. From a democracy to tyranny in five short, devastating years. Timothy D. Snyder, a leading historian of our time, said it only takes these simple steps: go after the facts; lie – lie all of the time; say it’s your opponents and journalists that lie; then it is impossible, to tell the truth from the lies and the game is over.
One good thing came out of that 2016 election – the Women’s Resistance Movement. Women of all ages, all over America and worldwide, organized, marched, raised funds, and, I believe, raised awareness. Women in our society, especially older women, tend to become invisible, yet we can see one another. Our strength and resolve were even more powerful when we worked together. Even as the worst was happening, we resisted. As books were being burned, we hid copies; as computers were being outlawed, we made digital copies of all we could get our hands on. We disassembled computers and secreted the parts. There is, my child, useful information hidden all over this City including a history and a timeline from 2016 until 2040 I wrote using your Great-Grandfather’s journals. Look at the maps. Look carefully.
In 2020, while we could still gather and communicate, we organized one last “march” – one last attempt at resistance.
In the 55th year of each of our lives, we were to make a box for the child of our child’s child. A box to be opened by our great-grandchildren at least 40 years later. The third generation from us. A generation that still might have enough of our genetic heritage to hear our words and understand. Our boxes would be opened by people who would be young and strong. And hopefully, ready to resist.
There were tens of thousands of us – in San Francisco, New York, Omaha, and Denver – everywhere who participated in our last resistance. Each box we made has a letter, maps, and essential documents. Each box has a piece of floral cloth. Each box was put together so there would be a new resistance. One led by your generation.
My dear, dear child, the choice is yours. If you want to join, wear the flowered cloth when you go out. Wear it as a scarf, sticking out of your pocket, or peering from the edge of a bag. I believe and hope you will be amazed at the size of your new army.
One last thing – please do not throw away the box. I made it by hand. I covered it myself. It is a final, important present for you. Keep it from harm. Keep it safe. Your loving, proud, and patient Great-Grandmother, Corrine.
Nicholas Rhee Petrov re-read the letter several times. He put it down and turned to the box. He examined it more closely, turning it upside down and running his hands along the fabric. Then he found it. A tiny button taped under the fabric on the inside of the lid. A button he knew was like the head of a pin with millions of dancing angels. All he needed now was a computer.
Nicholas picked up the map of San Francisco. He went over it inch by inch but could find no marks. He took the map to the one window when the sun was streaming in to see if the map held any secret. And it did. As he held it to the light, Nicholas saw at least twenty tiny pinholes at different locations on the map. He saw one at something called the “Russian Center Library.” He knew that building. It was still there. There was another in the old Japanese Tea Garden at Kim Jung-un Park. And another at the old Mexican Museum building. He grabbed the State of California map from the table and brought it to the window. Yes, there they were – fifty or sixty of them – in a place called Sacramento, one in Santa Rosa, and one at a place he knew was still there – the old Russian fort at Fort Ross.
Nicholas sat and thought for a long time. He then returned the box and its contents to the hiding place – except for the piece of cloth he tied around his neck under his shirt. He looked at himself in his mirror and laughed out loud for the first time in years. He felt hopeful. He felt fearless.
He opened the door, took a deep breath, and Nicholas O’Brien Rhee Petrov walked into the shining day.
Jan Phelps has lived and worked in Northern California for most of her adult life. For several years, she owned a company that helped small businesses with their accounting software. That led to her becoming a partner in a accessory-design company that developed and manufactured products mainly in Southeast Asia, where she worked with artists, small-business owners, and craftspeople. In 2017, she joined a writing workshop in San Francisco, and she has been writing fiction, life stories, and essays with enormous pleasure ever since. Her email address is jmc.phelps@gmail.com
