“Going live in thirty seconds,” said the technician.
Il-sun knew that there was no point in obsessing over her dread. She took a position on the sofa and waited.
“Going live in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”
Il-sun began to strip. She flirted with the camera in the way she knew was expected of her, following the timing bells. She could see Mr. Choy standing with his arms folded, observing her. She could not see his expression because of the lights, and his glasses reflected them like two glowing monster eyes. A bell rang and she began rubbing herself through her undergarments. Another bell rang and she removed her bra, and then after another bell, her panties. She felt herself flush with embarrassment as she spread her legs, opening herself to the camera, but she did not stop for fear of Mr. Choy’s fury. She continued to rub herself. She was too scared to feel pleasure in it, but she pretended all the same. A bell toned and she reached for the dildo on the table. The bell rang again, and she knew there would be no stopping. With one hand she spread her labia, and with the other she pressed the tip of the dildo into the entrance of her vagina. She took a deep breath, and on the exhalation she pushed it into herself. Her vagina started to give way, and for a moment she thought the dildo was going to slide in easily; but it quickly became too thick and she felt a tearing pain. She stopped and withdrew it, taking a couple of deep breaths. She tried again, pushing, but again she could not open enough to comfortably accept it. She tried one more time, determined, weighing the fear of pain against the fear of Mr. Choy. She pushed hard and she felt as if she was being ripped apart as the tip went in.
The pain awakened anger inside of her. She was no longer afraid. She hated Mr. Choy. She hated Gianni. She hated Foreman Hwang. She hated the Dear Leader. She withdrew the dildo, screaming, “Fuck you!” She then threw the dildo at Mr. Choy. Taken by surprise, his reflex to duck came late and it hit him square in the face, knocking his glasses askew.
Mr. Choy exploded. To be defied was bad enough, but to be outwardly attacked was too much. He picked the dildo up off the floor and ran at Il-sun, who lifted her legs and crossed her arms over her face in self- defense. Mr. Choy lifted the dildo high over his head, and began beating her with it mercilessly. Soft though it was, he hit with such force that it stung badly. She kicked and punched at him, but he was so much larger than she that it was useless. His eyes were wide and his lips set in a rabid snarl. He reached with his left hand and wrapped it around her throat, pinning her to the sofa. He then took the dildo in his right hand and forced it between her legs. She fought hard, and it was difficult for him to overcome her, but eventually she succumbed. He positioned the dildo over her vagina, and then thrust it with all his might. She felt a searing, ripping pain as the dildo entered her. He kept pushing and pushing until it was as far as it could go. Il-sun nearly vomited as she could feel the intrusive object all the way in her belly. She thought she might die, choked to death by the wild Mr. Choy. She hoped she would. The pain was unbearable, and she felt herself slipping from consciousness.
Mr. Choy released the death grip on her throat and her vision began to fade back in. She coughed. Mr. Choy stepped back from her and she rolled onto her side, tears streaming down her cheeks. She reached between her legs and removed the dildo, causing almost as much pain as when it went in.
“I want you ready in twenty minutes; and I want you to do what you’re told!” Mr. Choy screamed at her. He turned and stormed out of the studio.
Il-sun rolled her face into the cushion of the sofa, wrapping her arms around herself, and sobbed.
Several minutes later she got up, holding her lower abdomen, and started making her way toward the restroom, without even bothering to put her clothes on. It hurt to walk, but not as much as it hurt her pride to walk past the technicians who had all witnessed her being violated. She kept her head down.
She could hear the clack of high-heeled shoes running to catch up with her. She did not turn to see who it was. A moment later, an arm wrapped around her shoulder and she was accompanied to the restroom. Once inside, Il-sun looked up at her companion. It was a Hanguk girl she had met briefly a couple of times in passing. Like many of the women in Mr. Choy’s empire, she had chosen to go by an English name, Susie.
Il-sun stood at a sink, holding herself up with her hands, and broke down sobbing. Susie, without saying a word, rubbed her back and stood with her until the tears subsided. Il-sun turned the faucet on and washed her face, then she made eye contact with Susie in the mirror.
“He is such an asshole!” Susie said. “I can’t believe he did that to you.”
“What can I do?” pleaded Il-sun. “He scares me so much. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“I know. I know,” replied Susie in a consoling way.
“When will this ever end? Can you tell me that? When?”
“We don’t always have a choice about what we do. I hate this business.”
“Then why don’t you leave? You’re one of the free ones. Not like me.”
“I may seem free, but I’m not. Not really.”
“Then how did you end up here?” Il-sun asked, wiping the remainder of her tears away with the back of her hand.
“When I was sixteen I had a boyfriend who was going to the university. I would have done anything for him. He wanted to have sex with me, so I let him, thinking he would love me if I did. He didn’t want to use a condom, and I was stupid and said okay. We did it once, and that was it. I was pregnant.
“I came from a good family; my dad is an executive in a big company. When he found out that I was pregnant, he went through the roof. He kicked me out of the house, saying I had shamed him. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I lived on the streets. I begged for help, but I didn’t have enough to eat. I miscarried. I went back to my dad and begged him to take me back, but he wouldn’t have me. Said I no longer existed to him. I was crushed.
“Eventually, a man offered me money if I would suck him off. I was desperate, so I did it. I tried to find a good job, but I was only sixteen and no one wanted me. Whoring was the easiest way—in fact, the only way—I could find to make enough money to eat and afford a place to live. Then I fell in with Mr. Choy. He did not pay me as much per job as I was making on my own, but he could get me more clients, so I started working for him. And now there’s this Internet thing. So, now I’m stuck too.”
“How do you deal with this?”
“I’ll tell you. Actually, I’ll show you,” replied Susie, reaching into her purse. She withdrew a small glass object and a plastic bag filled with a white substance.
“What’s that?” asked Il-sun.
“This is hiroppong. It’ll make you feel great. Even after that shitty episode back there.”
“How?”
“We’re going to smoke some of it right now. Trust me, it’s what you need to get through this.” Susie took a small chunk of the hiroppong out of the bag and loaded it into the glass device she was holding—it was a kind of pipe. Susie then brought the pipe up to her lips. She took a plastic lighter out of her purse and then held the flame to the bottom of the pipe. In a few seconds, the hiroppong turned from solid to liquid, then began to bubble and smoke. Susie inhaled.
An odd smell, vaguely like burning plastic and ammonia, filled the restroom as Susie exhaled a long stream of smoke. “You take it in, and then hold your breath for a moment so that it gets into your bloodstream. You start to feel really good almost immediately,” Susie instructed.
“I’m not sure . . .”
“Trust me. It will take away the pain. You will feel like the most powerful woman in the world, and you’ll be able to get the job done. You heard Mr. Choy. He wants you back in there.”
Il-sun took the pipe and Susie loaded it with more hiroppong. “You won’t regret this, I promise you. Now hold it in your mouth. I’ll tell you when to inhale. Since it’s your first time, just take a little bit and see how you feel.” She held the flame of the lighter under the pipe
. “Okay, now inhale.”
Il-sun inhaled and tried to hold her breath, but the smoke hurt her lungs. She felt like her chest was on fire and she went into a fit of coughing. Susie laughed. “I did that the first time, too,” she said.
The coughing subsided and Il-sun began to notice a peculiar feeling taking over her body. At first she just felt dizzy, but that was quickly replaced by a feeling like electricity shooting through her bones and out of her fingertips and toes. The pain in her body was replaced by a light, transparent feeling. She felt like she might even be hovering off the floor. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Colors became sharper, sounds became clearer. She felt like if she wanted to, she could jump and touch the ceiling. She was powerful. Infinitely powerful. She could do anything; in fact, she just might do . . . everything. Everything! She would do everything!
She looked down at herself and realized she was still naked. She was beautiful! Having a body was the most wonderful thing ever. It felt so good to be alive. She looked at Susie and realized that she was beautiful too. They were the most beautiful people in the whole world, standing side by side in the restroom. And they both could do everything.
Il-sun and Susie floated out of the restroom and back into the studio. They walked past the technicians, who looked up and then averted their eyes. They apparently felt bad about what they had seen Mr. Choy do.
“It’s okay!” exclaimed Il-sun to them. “I’m okay!”
Il-sun glided into her stall. She could do it, and it would be beautiful.
“Are you okay?” asked the technician over the loudspeaker.
“I’m great,” she responded.
“Are you ready to try again?” He sounded uncertain.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Going live in one minute.”
Il-sun put her clothes back on and struck a pose on the sofa.
“Going live in five . . .”
Il-sun needed to move fast. She knew it would be better that way. The minute bell seemed to take an eternity to ring. She stripped forever, and the whole world was watching her. The whole world loved her. She was the most beautiful thing on earth.
The buzzer rang. The customer went offline. She had not even taken off her top.
“What was that?” asked the technician. “What’s wrong with you? Just do it like normal.”
“Wasn’t that wonderful?”
“No, it was awful. The customer thought so too. Do it right, or Mr. Choy will come back. You don’t want that.”
“Okay. Sorry. I’m really sorry. Sorry. I’m ready to do it again. Sorry. It’s hot in here. I’m ready. I said I’m ready! Why is everyone so fucking slow today?”
“Calm down, please. Just relax and do it like normal, okay? Going live in thirty seconds.”
“Okay. I can do it.
“I can do it.”
“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”
IL-SUN WOULD NEVER need to sleep again. She told the technicians that she could stay for another whole shift; but they would not allow her to. She went back to the apartment and paced until the others came home. They were exhausted. She watched them sleep, impatiently. The sun came up, and then the woman across the hall knocked on their door to tell them it was time to clean. Il-sun felt like she could clean all day.
But the hiroppong gave out soon after she reached the alley shop. She came crashing down from her high all at once, and all the darkness of her life closed in around her. She felt like weeping, but she was too tired for even that. She was no longer immortal or beautiful. She hated her loathsome, ugly self.
Somehow she made it through the cleaning shift, but then fell into a deep sleep. Her friends could not wake her for night work. Fortunately Mr. Choy was not on site that evening, and the technicians took pity on her by allowing her to rest. When Il-sun came to, their neighbor was knocking on the door for cleaning duty the next day. She got out of bed with a terrible headache and overwhelming thirst. She hurt all over. She remembered being violated by Mr. Choy and she seethed with anger and embarrassment. Her skin still stung where he had struck her. Her throat was sore where he had throttled her. Her vagina ached. She felt dirty inside and out.
Cho and Gyong-ho stared at her wide-eyed. She was bruised in the places where she had been hit, and there was a red and black ring around her neck. They asked her what happened, but she did not feel like talking about it. She was hungry, but all she really wanted was more of Susie’s hiroppong. She needed to feel that way again.
55
GYONG-HO WAS LYING ON her side, facing Il-sun’s back, watching her shoulder rise and fall with her breath, counting. Could she dare touch her again? This time the urge to do so was not entirely selfish: Il-sun looked in terrible shape, and Gi longed to offer comfort. Il-sun was beaten and bruised, and even though her body was filling in quickly from three weeks—twenty-four days, by her count—of better nutrition, she appeared to be deflating. Something of her essence was draining out of her, leaving her hollow. Gi once again felt a stirring fury, like when Foreman Hwang had told her he was going to marry her, and was once again disappointed that such a strong emotion—like her love—could be so useless. There was nothing she could do about it. Her greatest fear was not of the damage that this life could inflict on her, but for what it could do to Il-sun. If Il-sun lost the power to attract sunlight, then there would be no light left for Gi—the sun did not shine for her.
Gi waited until she was almost choking before getting up to spit. It seemed that the substance of her blood was slowly being replaced by something thicker, each day she worked behind the curtain. If she spit enough, maybe her veins would not solidify with it. And spitting was the only outlet for her anger. She spit, not only to clear her blood, but also to spit on something. She wished it could be Mr. Lee or Mr. Choy, but she would never dare. Between breath six hundred eighty-one and breath six hundred eighty-two she fell asleep.
The next morning, they performed their cleaning routine as normal, and then went back to the apartment to get ready for night work. Jasmine was still in the habit of coming to help them get ready, even though they did not really need the assistance anymore. She enjoyed their company. When Jasmine saw what Mr. Choy had done, and once she had drawn the story out of Il-sun, she fumed.
“He seems to be getting worse all the time,” she said. “When I first started working for him, he never lost his temper. He was always a cool manipulator, not an outright bully. Mr. Lee, on the other hand, isn’t above hitting a woman, but Mr. Choy would never do that. Now he flies into a rage at the littlest thing. It’s like he can’t control himself, and he’s always high.” She paused thoughtfully, looking out the window, and then added, “There has to be a way out.”
“What can we do? I don’t think I can carry on,” said Il-sun. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I just want to go home.”
Jasmine sighed, then hoisted a stiff smile to her lips. “Let’s see what we can do about those bruises,” she said to Il-sun, reaching for the makeup.
56
THE NEXT NIGHT, JASMINE burst into the apartment and closed the door behind her. Gi was accustomed to seeing her in the evenings, but tonight she could tell that something was different. Jasmine called them into the living room, and they gathered on Cho’s futon.
“I’m getting us out of here,” Jasmine said, in a whisper.
“What? How?” asked Il-sun.
“I’ve been chatting online with a man from Kwangju, one of my regular Internet clients. He has offered to marry me.”
“But what does that have to do with us?” asked Cho.
“I agreed to marry him if my mother and sisters could live with us. You’re my sisters!”
“What about Mr. Choy?” asked Il-sun. “How can we leave? We’re guarded all the time.”
“I have a plan, but before I tell you, I need to know that you’re willing to take a risk. Will you leave with me?”
“I’m not sure,” said Cho. “We have been here
for almost a month and I have been working really hard. I must be getting close to paying off Mr. Choy, and then he’ll help me get papers and start paying me real money. Who’s to say if Kwangju will be better?”
“Look, I didn’t want to tell you before because I didn’t want you to get discouraged, but Mr. Choy is never going to help you get papers. He isn’t keeping track of any tab because he has no intention of ever letting you go. I have seen a lot of Chosun girls come and go, and none of them have ever been allowed to go free. Honestly, I think he sells off the ones who don’t earn well.” Jasmine lowered her head, and then said, in a barely audible whisper, “I have seen this happen too many times without doing anything about it. I can’t live with it anymore.”
“But he said—” Cho began, defensively, but stopped herself. “I was wondering about that,” she continued in a low, defeated voice. She sighed heavily. “Okay. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“Me, too,” said Il-sun. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“Gi?” asked Jasmine. All eyes turned to Gyong-ho, who did not speak right away. Her life in Mr. Choy’s empire was unbearable, but facing even more uncertainty might push her past the breaking point. At least she knew, more or less, what to expect where she was. This was not the kind of decision that growing up in Chosun prepared her for. Where was the wisdom of the Dear Leader to guide her?
“Gi, we can’t leave without you,” said Il-sun. Then she added, “I don’t want to lose you.”
That was the one thing that Gi needed to hear, and it propped her against her fear. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go.”
“So what’s the plan?” asked Cho.
“As soon as you come back from cleaning tomorrow, one of you will go into the restroom and wait there for me. I will come up right after you’re done with the cleaning—that’s when there’s the least activity in the building. Razor will be at the gate, and I’ve seen how he looks at me. He sits there bored all day, and I know he wouldn’t mind getting laid. I’ll come to the gate and seduce him. He’ll let me in, and I will take him to the restroom and let him have his way. When we get into the restroom, whoever is in there will leave and let the others out of the apartment. Then all of you will go out the gate and down to the street level.”
All Woman and Springtime Page 22