The Korean Word For Butterfly

by James Zerndt

  There must be another reason why she was late.

  A punishment from God?

  Yun-ji didn’t know. And she didn’t much care at the moment. What she needed was answers, not more questions. She called Soo. She could trust her.

  “I know, Soo. Believe me, I know. Just please go to Samsung and pick me up some tests. And don’t go to the one next to the bank. My father is friends with the owner.”

  There. She’d have her answer soon enough. In the meantime, she needed not to think about it. She turned the television on. Of course. A replay of the last match. Korea was up by one. The crowd absolutely euphoric. Who were these people? What happened to her old, repressed Korea? It was like the whole country was having a big orgasm or something.

  Yun-ji shook her head.

  Wrong choice of words.

  She almost allowed herself a smile but then her phone lit up. Shaun again. That was the sixth text today.

  Why won’t you answer me? Is this about the tank accident?

  She wanted to answer him. She wanted to ask him if he already knew about those girls when they were together. She wanted to know why he didn’t tell her.

  We all feel horrible about it. I’m sorry it happened, Yun-ji, but it really was an accident. A terrible accident.

  Was it? Yun-ji wasn’t so sure anymore. Her father said they did it on purpose. For fun. That the Americans cared that little about their people. But then again her father wasn’t exactly impartial when it came to things like this.

  Mianhamnida.

  Yun-ji smiled. So he looked up how to say “sorry” in Korean. It was cute, she couldn’t deny that, but it wasn’t enough to make her answer him.

  Not yet anyway.

  She had to know before she spoke with him.

  Come on, Soo. Please hurry.

  Billie

  I threw up twice on Saturday.

  And again on Sunday. Then again before we had to leave for work this morning. Joe thought I should stay home, but I insisted on going in. At first I thought it might be food poisoning, but it was obvious what was wrong.

  Well, to me anyway.

  On our lunch break, we went in search of a pregnancy test. Not an easy task when you can’t read any of the store names. We found a pharmacy near the school, but they didn’t have any tests. Or maybe they did, but the guy behind the counter didn’t seem to understand when Joe stuck out his belly and started rubbing it.

  Not to worry though. There was another pharmacy right next door. Just like they have a gazillion seafood restaurants right next to each other. This time I mimicked the pregnant belly (the first guy probably thought Joe had indigestion or something) and shrugged my shoulders into a question mark. We then played the expectant couple, eager to know the happy results. Joe smiled and bowed to the counter lady as she wished us luck.

  Christ, if they only knew.

  I decided to wait until after work to take the test, though I knew from experience that mornings were best. There was one problem though. All the directions were written in Korean. I’ve used pregnancy tests before but couldn’t seem to remember what meant what.

  Did the red lines mean yes or no?

  Why couldn’t they just put a picture of a baby in one of the damn boxes? Or maybe a happy face and a sad face? But that wouldn’t work, would it? I mean, it all depends on whether you want to be pregnant or not.

  After work, we watched two red lines form. Joe thought it meant yes, I was pregnant. But I wasn’t so sure. We agreed that in the morning I’d go to the pharmacy and ask the lady behind the counter what the red lines meant. Until then, we wouldn’t worry about it.

  Like you could just decide not to worry about something like that. But that’s exactly what we did. We decided.

  There. Done.

  Yeah, right.

  In the morning, I was informed that the two red lines did mean yes. The lady even knew the English word for it and said “baby” with this big, sugary smile like I was the luckiest girl in the world. I smiled back and held up two fingers indicating I’d like to purchase two more packages. She seemed confused, her smile limping just a bit, but she got the tests anyway. When she handed them to me, she pointed to the one already in my hand.

  “Good. One Hundred. Good.”

  Again, a big smile.

  I gave her my best kamsahamnida and bowed.

  When I got back to the apartment and told Joe about the red lines meaning yes, he didn’t seem to know how to react. It was something straight out of one of those horrible Lifetime movies. The one where the befuddled boyfriend suddenly forgets how to act like a decent human being...

  I took the other two tests into the bathroom and locked the door.

  Pregnant. One hundred percent.

  Pregnant. Two hundred percent.

  Yippee.

  Moon

  Moon takes the bus to work.

  His car’s in the shop. Somebody nicked it in the parking lot, but he doesn’t mind. Taking the bus reminds him of the old days. About half the people on the bus are nodding off, and there’s an old woman asleep next to him. She’s slumped against the window, motionless. Moon wants to poke her, make sure she’s still alive, but when he goes to give her a nudge, she twitches her nose and gives a snort.

  Moon smiles to himself.

  It reminds him of Hyo as a baby. When awake, he was a wrecking machine. A bulldozer. But when asleep, he was so still there were times Moon worried he was dead.

  SIDS. Just thinking about the word scared him.

  He used to kneel down by Hyo’s side so he could see the rise and fall of his chest. It was only then that he was able to relax again. What if something happened after all the horrible things Moon had thought? All those times he wished for Hyo to just be quiet?

  He never would have been able to forgive himself.

  Classes are almost ready to begin for the day by the time Moon makes it to work. Kim looks tired. She has three kids of her own, was probably up half the night. Which probably explains the remark Moon heard as he walked in.

  Just make sure he doesn’t run anybody over with it.

  She’d said it in Korean so none of the teachers would understand. But there was something in the tone that worried him. It wasn’t like Kim. She was a good woman. Kind. Like his wife.

  Then Moon realizes what it’s all about.

  Joe had brought his guitar to work, was probably planning on playing a song for the children later. Normally, this would be a good thing. But nothing is normal right now. It’s been all over the news lately, what the U.S. tanks did to those two school girls.

  And then there are the memorials popping up everywhere.

  The photos of the two girls in their school uniforms.

  The tank. The bodies. And at night people are starting to hold vigils. Moon wonders if the teachers have even heard about it yet. Probably not. He listens as Joe picks out a few notes on his acoustic. It’s simple, but good.

  Good enough, anyway, to give Moon a lesson.

  He’ll ask later. During lunch maybe.

  Now, obviously, isn’t the time.

  Joe stops playing, picks up some dried Cuttlefish lying out on the table, sniffs it, then pulls a face at Billie. He thinks it’s funny that Koreans eat this. Moon’s heard plenty of jokes about Koreans eating dog from other teachers. Foreigners were so quick to judge, yet they considered themselves to be “open-minded.” But they weren’t. Not really. They judged. And by what right? In America, they got cosmetic surgery for their dogs while their neighbors went homeless without anybody so much as lifting a finger to help.

  Moon bought Hyo a dog after he and his wife split up. The non-eating kind. Someone for Hyo to play with when he got lonely. Eolin Chingu. That’s what Hyo named it.

  Little Friend.

  Moon listens in as the teachers talk. Jean-Paul is spouting off about the World Cup again, how incredible it is that people from all over the world are in Korea right now.

  “You’re American, Joe. Do you lik
e soccer?”

  “No, not really. I don’t follow sports all that much.”

  “Figures. America is pretty much the only country that doesn’t love soccer. They prefer baseball. The most boring sport in the world.”

  Moon doesn’t like Jean-Paul. He’s arrogant. Like Moon used to be. He’ll learn someday though.

  Life humbles everybody eventually.

  “To each his own,” Joe says, putting his guitar away. “I guess you Canadians are just more advanced than we ignorant Americans.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  When the bell rings and the teachers all leave for their classes, the room is quiet. Moon knows Kim is thinking about it. The girls were about the same age as hers. It could have been them that day.

  “Did you see the match last night?” Moon asks when the silence gets to be too much.

  “No,” Kim says without looking up from her desk, her papers. “I took care of my children.”

  On any other day, Moon could have taken it to mean something else. Possibly a veiled comment about his own family life. Or the lack of it.

  But he knew what she meant.

  When he’d heard about the accident, he called his wife and made her put Hyo on the phone.

  “Daddy loves you, Hyo. More than anything in the whole world. You know that, right?”

  Hyo didn’t say anything. Moon hadn’t expected him to. But he could hear the slow rasp of his breathing into the phone.

  And that was enough.

  Yun-ji

  “An-young haseo.”

  “Hello,” Yun-ji said flatly.

  She didn’t want to speak Korean with Billie.

  She wasn’t in the mood.

  And, besides, Yun-ji’s written English was probably better than hers anyway. She guessed Billie didn’t even know the difference between a count and a non-count noun. Or why the plural of fly was spelled flies and not flys. Most Koreans knew the rules of the English language. But it was sort of like knowing all the notes to a fugue you’ve never actually heard.

  Billie was just the CD player.

  A very expensive CD player.

  “What are you so bummed about?” Billie asked as she sat down.

  Yun-ji smiled despite herself. She didn’t know the word.

  “Bummed?”

  “It means sad. Are you sad?”

  “Not sad. Angry.”

  “Angry? Why angry?”

  “The demonstrations. It is a big deal,” Yun-ji said, trying out a phrase she learned from one of the other teachers.

  “Yes,” Billie said. “I’ve seen them, too.”

  “Everybody obsess.”

  “Obsess?”

  “Angry and sad.”

  “Oh,” Billie said. “You mean upset.”

  “Yes, upset. Everybody upset.”

  “Ki-op-ta.”

  Billie said the Korean word slowly, like she was saying it for the first time. She probably overheard one of the children using it. Everything was cute in Korea. Yun-ji wouldn’t be surprised if one day a Hello Kitty doll made its way onto their national flag.

  “No,” Yun-ji said, hoping the bell would ring soon. “Not ki-op-ta.”

  “No, not the demonstrations. I meant you. You’re cute.”

  Yun-ji stared at the hair on Billie’s arms. She’d seen some of the children stroking her arm, petting her. They called her “White Monkey” behind her back.

  “Would you maybe want to watch the World Cup with me after work?” When Yun-ji was slow to answer, Billie added, “I could really use the company right now.”

  “I not drink.”

  I don’t drink, Yun-ji silently corrected herself. Why did she always get so flustered around foreigners?

  “I’ll buy you a Coke then. You know the little chicken place down the street, by the bank?”

  “Yes, I’m under...I understand.”

  The bell rang. Good, another eighty minutes and Yun-ji could go home.

  “It’s settled then. We’ll go after work.”

  “No. I’m sorry, but no. I cannot.”

  Billie looked disappointed, which surprised Yun-ji a little. Why did she want to go with her anyway? Why didn’t she just go with her boyfriend?

  “Okay, I understand I guess. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

  Yun-ji felt bad, but she couldn’t be seen in public with a meegook after what had happened. Suppose an a-jo-she, a respected business man, saw her talking freely with an American? If Billie had asked her two weeks ago, before the accident, then maybe she would have gone.

  Then maybe it wouldn’t have been such a big deal.

  Billie

  It’s funny how memory works.

  I’m reading the kids a dinosaur book, pretending I know how to pronounce names like diplodocus (dip-low-doe-cuss?) when I remember something I haven’t thought about in years.

  DON’T BE LATE!

  That’s what the invitation to the abortion party said.

  I didn’t know the girl who was pregnant, but I went anyway. To show support. I even donated twenty bucks to the cause. They had a keg, mixed drinks. Bloody Marys were popular, of course. Very few boys though. Well, except for the boyfriend. But nobody talked to him much. He just sort of hung out on the porch and smoked a lot. It didn’t seem fair. I remember that. Feeling sort of sorry for the dude. I mean it takes two to tango, right?

  Oh, and the little girl. I almost forgot about her. She had to be about six years old or so. A tiny thing. Super cute. Glasses. Very serious. But in a cool way. You know, one of those Portland kids with hipster parents. She had a streak of dyed red hair and a little Ramones t-shirt on.

  And she was carrying around a dinosaur book.

  The walls of the living room were covered in red bed sheets so that it looked like the inside of a giant womb. I assumed that was the idea anyway. I never really asked. And the stereo was blasting songs about female empowerment. You know, Gloria Gaynor stuff with some Sleater-Kinney thrown in.

  People would walk past the little girl, pat her on the head, but nobody talked to her much. And nobody seemed to think it was strange that she was there. At an abortion party.

  “I know this one,” I said, sitting down next to her on the couch and pointing to one of the pictures in her book. “That’s a Brontosaurus. He used to be my favorite when I was your age.”

  The little girl looked up at me and adjusted her glasses. “That’s not a Brontosaurus. It’s called an Apatosaurus.”

  Then the little girl got up and walked off.

  Like I said.

  Funny, the things we remember.

  Moon

  Moon doesn’t have much time to clean the apartment.

  Not that he needs to. He’s learned to keep things fairly tidy these days. He has a room set up for Hyo filled with toys for when he visits. There’s even a little piano with a stool that Moon ordered online. Hyo doesn’t use it all that much, just bangs on the keys every now and then. Sometimes he’ll turn his head and grin at Moon before running off to something else.

  The grin makes it worth the money though.

  Ten times over.

  There’s a knock at the door. That will be Joe. Moon finally asked him to come over and give him guitar lessons. He offered to pay, but Joe said he didn’t want money. Moon thought that was strange. Nice, but strange. Maybe Joe was lonely, too.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Joe says, taking his shoes off. “There’s some stuff going on with Billie. Anyway, long story.”

  Why did Americans think all their stories were so long? Not everything was meant for a drive-thru window.

  “You sit here, please. Okay?”

  “Okay. Sure.” Joe sets his guitar down on the couch, but he doesn’t sit. Instead, he walks around the living room taking things in, stopping at the gold plaque on the wall. “What’s this? Seems pretty fancy.”

  Moon smiles to himself, says, “Long story.”

  “Okay,” Joe laughs. “Fair play, I suppose.” He reaches
for the bottle on the mantle, turns it over in his hand. “Mind if we crack this open? I could really use a drink right about now.”

  Moon hadn’t considered this. He should have bought some Chung Ha, or some beer maybe, but the thought never even crossed his mind. Of course Joe wanted something to drink. Two guys sitting around playing guitar? It was almost a requirement.

  “Not for drink,” Moon says, carefully taking the bottle from Joe and placing it back on the shelf. “Orange juice-uh?”

  Joe laughs again. “Okay, Moon. I can’t stay too long today anyway. I think Billie kind of needs me right now.”

  Moon nods, smiles. He isn’t sure what to say, so he goes into the kitchen for the juice. When he returns, Joe is sitting on the couch, strumming his guitar. The song is simple, something played on only a few strings. It’s rhythmic though, the melody repeating itself over and over with only subtle changes. Moon watches Joe and how he seems to disappear inside the music. Become one with it.

  He’s seen it happen before.

  With his grandfather.

  He’d always been envious of it. That ability to disappear into something else. For a while that something else was the bottle for Moon. But it wasn’t the same. His grandfather always came back from wherever he went off to, but Moon had started to disappear altogether.

  Like the bottle was swallowing him up.

  He sets the glasses on the table, listens to Joe’s playing.

  It’s a beautiful song, but there’s something incomplete about it. Then it dawns on him. The song is made for a voice. It’s almost begging for lyrics. So much so that Moon finds himself quietly humming along. He doesn’t have any of the words yet, but he can hear where they’re supposed to go.

  Why doesn’t Joe sing? Surely he can’t be that bad.

  When the song finishes, Joe rests the guitar on his lap, picks up one of the glasses. “Bottoms up.”

  “Chukbae,” Moon says and downs his juice in one go just like in the old days. It always makes him feel better for some reason, even though he knows how ridiculous it is. His grandfather had carried a full pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket for twenty years after he quit. When Moon asked him why he did it, his grandfather said, “Because we always want what we don’t have.”