Honolulu

by Alan Brennert

  "This is Mr. Kwon," she said of a good-looking young man in a Westernstyle business suit. "He lives on the island of Kaua'i. This is Mr. Kam," and she laid down a photo of a handsome man in his twenties. "He resides on the island of O'ahu. This is Mr. Li, of Honolulu," and here we saw a picture of a man in a dark suit and bow tie standing in front of an expensive house shaded by exotic trees.

  As I studied the photographs I felt a shiver of excitement I could not at first name. Then I realized that for the first time in my life I was looking directly into the eyes of a strange man! It was a startling, scary, thrilling sensation.

  "And we are to pick one of these men to marry?" Sunny said wonderingly.

  "Or they can pick you, when they see your pictures."

  "I'm so plain, I don't know that any man would choose me for a wife," I muttered, feeling a stab of my old insecurity.

  "Nonsense," Mrs. Kim said, "you're a pretty enough girl as you are. But we have ways of making you even prettier."

  Even this much choice into one's own spouse was simply unheard of. Despite my apprehension, I found the idea subversive and appealing.

  But there was one thing I needed to know.

  "Do they permit girls to attend school in Hawai'i?" I asked.

  "Yes, of course," Mrs. Kim said cheerfully, as if I had asked, "Does night follow day in Hawai'i?"

  In that instant I made up my mind.

  few days later Sunny and I again sneaked out of our homes, this time to accompany Mrs. Kim to a photographer's studio. There the matchmaker skillfully combed and braided my hair, then applied judicious strokes of lipstick, rouge, and kohl to my face. I balked at first, but Mrs. Kim claimed it was "just to provide some contrast to your features" in the black-and-white photograph. When she had finished I looked into the mirror and saw a strange girl staring back at me, like a daisy pretending to be a rose. I was still not sure I would have called her pretty, but Sunny and Mrs. Kim seemed to think so.

  The photographer took the film into a closet that served as his darkroom. Once our photographs were developed, Mrs. Kim said, she would write our names and ages on the backs, then mail them to Hawai'i-though she warned us that it would probably take several months to receive a response. Now there was nothing to do but wait. I was excited by my newfound prospects, but felt spasms of guilt at the thought of leaving my mother and, even more difficult, Blossom. I told myself that if I married a wealthy man, I would send Blossom a steamship ticket and bring her to Hawai'i as well. After all, she was only seven years old; her wedding day was still many years in the future. Surely I could save her, too, from becoming a Daughter-in-Law Flower.

  Sunny, ever the optimist, suggested we start taking English lessons. We arranged to do so with the American missionaries, an elderly couple from someplace called Minnesota (it sounded Japanese to me), who were only too happy to tutor us. Once a week we stole away to their home for our instruction in speaking and reading the English language. I found English, a phonetic language like hangul, relatively easy to grasp-my lessons with Evening Rose most certainly helped in this-but Sunny had more trouble and we spent many hours in her Inner Court, secretly studying together when we were supposed to be sewing.

  But perhaps the most interesting part of these lessons was the missionary couple themselves. I was startled to see them sharing household chores, asking each other's opinion, occasionally even arguing, all of which would have been unthinkable behavior for a husband and wife in Korea. And they were affectionate as well, in a way I had certainly never seen my parents act toward one another. I found it both strange and charming, like a shell you might find on the beach in a shape or color you've never seen before.

  At last, after nearly three months, Mrs. Kim sent word that two men in Hawai'i had chosen us to be their wives. We skipped our English lesson the next day and went straight to the matchmaker's home. We learned that Sunny had been selected by a Mr. Lim-young, fair-skinned, a bit thin but with very intelligent eyes-and I had been chosen by a good-looking, broad-shouldered man named Mr. Noh. I found him so handsome that I could not at first believe he had chosen me for his "picture bride" and I asked if perhaps there had been some mistake. But Mrs. Kim turned over the photograph and on its back I could plainly see where he had written, "My name is Mr. Noh and I choose the girl named Regret."

  I was ecstatic. To be marrying a handsome and prosperous man was thrilling enough, but to be going to a place where I could further my education-it all seemed like a waking dream.

  Now Mrs. Kim informed us we had to apply for a passport to leave Korea, and to do that we would need copies of our birth certificates: "Your parents can apply for these at the police station, and then you can have your name transferred to Mr. Noh's family register." I despaired to think that not only would I have to tell my father about my picture marriage, I would actually need his cooperation in obtaining a passport.

  After much deliberation I decided to tell Mother first. At first she couldn't believe I was serious. When she came to realize that I was, she began to weep. I felt like a horrible, traitorous daughter and even reconsidered whether I ought to go through with this if it were to cause my mother such terrible pain. But when I showed her the picture of my intended groom, and read aloud what he had written on the back, she began to understand how much this meant to me. And the truth was, even if I were marrying a man only two leagues away, Mother might never see me again either. At last she made her peace with what I was doing.

  The next morning I worked up my courage and informed my father that a great opportunity had been afforded me-that a marriage had been arranged for me to a man in Hawai'i. His response was more muted than I expected. He just stared for a moment, then said to Mother, "You see? A girl with a little education will always behave recklessly." He turned back to me. "Put this nonsense out of your head. You will marry whomever your parents say you will marry."

  "Respectfully, Father, I wish to go to Hawai'i and pursue an education."

  "Don't be ridiculous. No respectable girl chooses her own husband! You will not bring dishonor to this clan. This discussion is over."

  He retreated to the Outer Room, where we could not follow, and brushed aside any further attempts to raise the matter. I enlisted Eldest Brother in my cause, hoping his support might help sway Father, or at least blunt his wrath. But though he tried, Joyful Day reported that Father was immovable on the subject: "We may talk until we choke, but he will never agree to this." And without Father's permission, there could be no passport, no visa to America.

  Dispirited, I could see no solution to my problem. For a few days I moped as I did my chores, wondering whether I should simply go back to Mrs. Kim and tell her to call off the engagement. Then one morning I awoke early, Father's recriminations still ringing in my head, and I knew all at once what I had to do.

  After breakfast, when Father retired to his library to study the Chinese classics, I slipped quietly out of the house. When I returned a few hours later, I served Father his midday meal and again declared that I wished to obtain a copy of my birth certificate in order to apply for a passport.

  His expression was impassive, but his gaze was flinty. "Didn't I say that this discussion was ended?"

  "It cannot be ended because we still have much to discuss."

  He jumped to his feet, knocking his lunch from the table.

  "Insolent whore! Must I beat you again before you understand? I will not have you bring disgrace to this family!"

  "I already have," I told him.

  This caught him unawares. "What?"

  "I have already brought disgrace to the family. Today I went to everyone we know in Pojogae and told them that I was betrothed to be the picture bride of a man in Hawai'i."

  He stared at me in disbelief. "You did not."

  But I had, and I rattled off the names of every family whose household I had visited that day as I had eagerly spread the news.

  "So you see," I said, "you might as well help me get my passport, as I have already
dishonored our clan and as such you would be well rid of me."

  By this time Mother and Joyful Day had heard the commotion and joined us, and they were treated to the uncommon sight of Father at a complete loss for words. His face was flushed, his eyes bulged, and for a moment I thought he would indeed strike me again. But he seemed paralyzed-not merely with rage, I knew, but horror at the idea that this village, which showed him such deference and respect, would now be whispering about him behind his back, gossiping about the disgrace his brazen daughter had brought to the Pak clan.

  To Koreans, deliberately causing shame and embarrassment to others, even complete strangers, is anathema. Yet I had willfully brought such shame onto my own parents. What I had done was far, far more than just an insult to them; it was an insult to society.

  Finally my father's paralysis ended. But instead of a blow, he gave me only a cold smile.

  "You have lived up to your name," Father said.

  As I had hurt him, now he hurt me, and his aim was never truer.

  "Go, then," he said contemptuously. "Marry whomever you like. But should things not work out as you hope, your ship might as well sink into the Pacific Ocean, because you shall never set foot in this house again."

  These were the last words he would ever speak to me.

  hat night I tried to console a weeping Blossom by telling her what I'd told myself these past months: that as soon as I had enough money I would bring her to Hawai'i, where she could live with me and my husband. I held her in my arms, rocking her asleep with this lullaby of paradise and promises. I wish I could say I rested as easily, but the truth is I cried myself to sleep, uncertain if I truly was doing the right thing. Yet there was no turning back after what I had done, and in my heart I did not want to. I wanted to go to America. I wanted to learn.

  Sunny's parents took her news far better than mine had-they were touched that their daughter so desired to help her struggling family that she was willing to "sell herself" to a man three thousand miles away. After we both received our birth certificates, I joined Sunny in applying for my passport, which when it came bore the despised words IMPERIAL JAPANESE GOVERNMENT. We then applied for visas from the American Embassy in Seoul.

  Within six weeks, the hundred yen for my steamship ticket arrived, along with two hundred more for incidental expenses. I gave half of this to my mother to use for the household, and promised to send more once I was settled in Hawai'i. I was also required by law to deposit a portion of this money in a bank as a kind of insurance that I would go through with the picture marriage (some women, flush with spending money, had reneged on their engagements but kept the cash).

  Now that our plans were out in the open, Sunny and I boldly came and went as we pleased, increasing the frequency of our English lessons to an hour each day. By the end of these lessons we were conversing, simply but effectively, in English with our American teachers.

  Mother made two new dresses for me, in colors more befitting a married woman. As the day of departure neared, I packed these and my other clothes in a bag along with a sewing kit and the book my teacher had given me. The morning I left I bid goodbye to my family-all but Father, who had left for town before dawn. My clan surprised me with lovely and touching farewell gifts. Blossom, bravely trying not to cry, gave me some pressed flowers she had picked in the hills. My mother bestowed upon me a silver hairpintraditionally worn only by married women-to place in my hair on my wedding day. And finally, Joyful Day and my other brothers presented me with a package of writing paper and a fountain pen-"so that you might write us and tell us of your life and education in America, and keep us all as close as your pen." This meant more to me than I can say: it was both an acknowledgment of my literacy and an approval of my aspirations. I embraced each member of my family in turn and wept without shame.

  Sunny's parents took us on ponies to Taegu Station, where we boarded a train for the port city of Pusan. There, in the towering shadows of Mount Hwangnyeonsan and Mount Geumjeongsan, we transferred to a ferry bound for Yokohama, Japan. Though Sunny and I were sad to leave our families, being together made us feel less lonely; and the excitement of being aboard a ship for the first time, so far from everything we had ever known, was as bracing as the salty air. In Yokohama we were given physical examinations for smallpox and trachoma, and more embarrassingly were required to provide stool samples, which were to be tested for parasites. We knew it would take a day or two for the results, so we had made reservations at a local Korean-style inn, where we were made welcome and fed a fine dinner of kimchi, seafood soup, red bean paste, and, of course, rice.

  At the inn we met other Korean women who were traveling to America as picture brides. One, aptly named Beauty, was an exquisitely lovely sixteenyear-old with a melodious Kyongsang accent. In fact, all of us turned out to be from the same province. Within thirty seconds of introducing herself Beauty had pulled out a picture of her fiance in Hawai'i. "Isn't he handsome?" she asked, showing us a small portrait of a serious-looking young man with penetrating eyes. "Such a fair complexion, so scholarly!" She was clearly smitten with her intended, or perhaps just smitten with the idea of being smitten.

  Another woman, a well-dressed city yangban with features sharp as a paper crane's, glanced at the photograph and announced airily, "Fair ... but common.

  Beauty wilted like a flower in a dry wind.

  Theyangban, whose name was jade Moon, quickly produced her own fiance's photo. He cut a dashing figure in a Western business suit, holding a Panama hat in one hand as he posed jauntily with one foot on the running board of a Whippet automobile.

  "This is an uncommon man," she declared.

  A tiny young woman named Wise Pearl, no more than five feet tall, spoke up, quoting an old proverb: "An empty cart rattles loudly," she said, meaning, One who lacks substance boasts loudest. Sunny and I laughed, which seemed to annoy Jade Moon more than the jibe itself.

  I asked Wise Pearl why she chose to become a picture bride. She admitted that her parents were poor, that there wasn't always enough to eat, and the promise of abundant food as well as money to send home was what first attracted her. "But it also promises to be a great adventure," she added enthusiastically.

  With no prompting from me, jade Moon volunteered the information that while there had been much interest from many yangban families in having their sons marry her, she found them all too "common" and was much more taken with the idea of marrying a successful and socially prominent man in America.

  "You'd best hope," Wise Pearl said impishly, "that such a man does not find you too common."

  With a look of great forbearance, jade Moon excused herself and retired for the evening.

  Two days later, Sunny and I tested negative for parasites and were cleared to leave on the next ship bound for Honolulu: the Nippon Maru, a 6,000-ton steamship that at 440 feet was longer than Pojogae's entire main street. The first of Japan's great ocean liners, it had two big smokestacks like a steamer, but also three tall masts and an elaborately carved bowsprit like a sailing ship. As we walked up the gangway I was pleased to spy Wise Pearl among the crowd, as well as Beauty, who looked excited enough to levitate to Hawai'i.

  The Nippon Maru was well past its glory days-its once-glamorous luster dulled by years of service as a military troop ship in the Russo-Japanese War-but it was still a queenly and impressive sight to a pair of young girls from the provinces. Our quarters, however, were considerably less impressive. We were situated belowdecks in third-class steerage, so called due to its proximity to the ship's steering system. It was a huge, cavernous compartment-I had never seen an enclosed space so large-broken up into tiers of wooden bunks covered with straw mats, or "silkworm shelves" as they were sometimes called. Passengers were segregated by sex, except for families traveling together, and by race-Chinese, Japanese, and "Other." Koreans fell into the latter category, along with a smattering of Okinawans, Filipinos, Indians, and Siamese-lumped together in what often was referred to as "Asiatic steerage."

>   When the Nippon Maru finally set sail, we did not do so alone. This was February of 1915, the earliest days of the First World War, and just weeks earlier two Japanese passenger liners-Tokomaru and Ikaria-had been torpedoed and sunk by German U-boats. So the Nippon Maru was to be escorted across the now-perilous waters of the Pacific by two Japanese warships that were always visible off our bow. At night we also had to observe a blackout, which made for plenty of stubbed toes and short tempers in the overcrowded steerage compartment.

  Thankfully, we never encountered any U-boats in our journey across the ocean, but that is not to say the voyage was a pleasant one. The first few hours we enjoyed calm seas, and then for nearly the remainder of the trip the ship rocked up and down like a seesaw. It was bad enough on deck, but down in steamy, poorly ventilated steerage the motion seemed even more violent, and it moved many a traveler, myself included, to nausea. Soon the hold smelled not merely of sweat and urine (from the too-few lavatories) but of vomit as well. If that wasn't sufficient to kill one's appetite, the dinner menu was: stewards brought in big pots of rice, vegetables, and overcooked meat, shoveling the food willy-nilly into bowls. We ate on our bunks, and afterward had to rinse our dishes under the lukewarm tap water in the lavatories.

  The atmosphere in the hold became suffocating and drove most of us above decks (not strictly allowed for us bottom-dwellers) in search of fresh air. One chilly night, Sunny and I hid inside a lifeboat, huddling together against the cold but unwilling to exchange it for the stifling humidity below. Nothing could be done, though, about the pitch and roll of the ship itself, which often sent us sliding from one side of the lifeboat to the other like marbles in a game ofyut. The next morning, after we had crawled out from under the lifeboat's canvas top, we passed the first-class dining room-out of which emerged a happy and well-fed jade Moon. "You're traveling steerage?" she said, wide-eyed. "My fiance arranged for a first-class cabin." Were we not so exhausted and seasick, we might well have thrown her over the side.