All Woman and Springtime by Brandon Jones Page A

“I would like to tell them of the wonders of Jesus Christ.”
    The mistress blanched. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said. It was one thing for her to keep the illegal activity secret, but to expect children to remain quiet about it was asking too much.
    “But don’t you want God’s precious little ones to know the truth? I would hate to have to discontinue food deliveries. There are so many deserving Christians who could use the help.”
    The mistress suddenly boiled inside. He was trying to manipulate her through her desperation only to gain more converts to his dangerous ideology. Did he think that this was a game? These were children, and this could kill them! She wanted to lift him by the lapels of his threadbare shirt and toss him into the mud on the street. But she was desperate, and he had proved that he had the means to help. She forced a veneer of self-control and tried a diplomatic approach.
    “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You know as well as I do just how dangerous your . . . our . . . practices are. I cannot in good conscience endanger the lives of the girls in my care. I doubt that Jesus would want that.” She monitored his face for his reaction, but it was hard to read. “Here’s what I propose: I’ll read the Bible on my own and pass the teachings of Christ on to the girls, but I’ll say that they are conventional wisdom, or even the wisdom of Kim Il-sung, without mentioning their true origin. That way, the girls get the teachings without being put into harm’s way. If the Dear Leader ever decides to soften his position on Christianity, then we can talk to them more openly about it. That seems fair, considering the charity. You can still send the food, knowing that the teachings of Christ are being taught to them.”
    Father Lee looked doubtful. He seemed about to refuse, so she cut him off.
    “If you won’t send the food, then I will publicly renounce Jesus Christ.” She said it threateningly, her eyes wide and her nostrils flared.
    Father Lee looked at the mistress in an appraising way. He understood her veiled meaning. She may be plain, but she’s certainly not short of wit, he thought. He realized that he was in a perilous situation: The mistress could, out of spite, turn him over to the authorities, who would waste no time making a public example out of him. He imagined his trial and his martyrdom. And then the pain. He would surely be subjected to horrible, horrible pain. His facial tic began to work double-time. A dark cloud passed through his eyes.
    “Very well, you will receive your food.” With that he turned on his heel and marched out the door.
    F OOD DELIVERIES CONTINUED with surprising regularity over the next six years. In a country where most of the infrastructure had shut down, the black market moved with punctual regularity. Father Lee often made the deliveries himself, but sometimes they were brought by other members of his organization. The mistress never asked too many details, but received the goods with much gratitude.
    It took several weeks, but Father Lee eventually recovered from the humiliation of the first contentious delivery. He even humbled himself and became a welcome visitor at the orphanage. He would engage the mistress in conversations about what she had read in the Bible. She enjoyed the stimulation, even if she did not share his zeal for the subject. She could not blame him for wanting so desperately to share his belief with others. Everyone needed to believe in something in such a dark time. Also, being denied faith by the government only made people hold their faith more dear. For his sake, she pretended to go along, and out of self-preservation he never challenged her.
    The Bible, however, she cherished. It turned her into an unlikely criminal: a renegade with the power to poison the minds of the youth with imperialist dogma. Just the awareness that she could do it gave her a sense of power over the establishment, which