Red Ribbons and Secret Scales

Dear Yeo-won,

Ah, that sounds exactly like him. The boy who tried to sell you secrets—yes, he’s one of my students. Bold as a sparrow, but with a spark in his eyes that makes it impossible to stay angry for long, even when he’s misbehaving.

I’ve been hearing quite a bit about him and his little accomplices lately. It seems they’ve formed a sort of band. The trigger was a book one of them found—a story about someone named Robin Hood. He supposedly stole from the rich and gave to the poor. And now they believe they can do the same. Here, in Pyongyang.

Just the other day, I saw one of those boys distracting a Party woman with some elaborate story. Meanwhile, another slipped behind her and took something from her pocket. I could hardly believe my eyes. But not long after, I heard that the old woman who always waits outside the vegetable shop for scraps suddenly had ration cards.

Of course, I cannot approve of such things. But when I think of that old woman sitting there, hungry, with eyes that have seen everything…and then hear that these little rascals are helping her, in their own way…well, I remain silent. For now.

I only pray they don’t get caught. Here, even small mischief can swiftly become a great crime. And these children don’t know how thin the ice is beneath their feet.

But oh, Yeo-won…how could I truly be angry with them? Perhaps we need more little Robin Hoods. Perhaps they’re proof that our city hasn’t entirely fallen asleep.

So if your young spy comes around again, go ahead and pay him with an egg. And let him know that his teacher sees more than he thinks.

With half a smile and a whole worry,
Mi-ran