“I wish we were back there,” she said. “That I hadn’t let Jisoo convince me to move into town.”
“Why?” I turned to her, but she curtained her face with her hair. I couldn’t decipher Haemi anymore. “What do you mean, Nuna?”
“All these people with their talk and gossip. The homes all close together.” She gestured to the houses beyond our stone wall. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“Korea’s changing,” I said. “It’s exciting. We’re rebuilding and modernizing.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.” She tried to hold her knees, but her stomach was too wide. “I don’t need you treating me like that, too.”
“I’m not trying to talk down to you.”
“Then don’t.” She raised her head to the sky, as if the clouds could part a path of understanding for her. “Jisoo made me feel like I was winning. He said I could get a job if I wanted to. Did you know that? He said living in town would provide me with more opportunities.”
“You want to get a job?” I scooted closer, almost hugged her. “You want to work?”
“No—never mind.” She massaged the back of her neck. “What’d you come out here for? What do you want?”
I pulled the drawing from my pocket. I unfolded it slowly, almost regretting the decision. “I wanted to show you this.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“You,” I said.
She tugged her dress over her stomach with a small laugh. “Looks just like me.”
“Jieun drew it. You see this? She said that you didn’t want the baby. That you wanted it to die.”
For someone so pregnant, Haemi’s face was all bone. She tilted her head to the sky again and sighed.
I got on my knees and touched her arm. “Is it true? Do you feel that way?”
“What kind of mother do you think I am?” She took the drawing and examined it, grimaced. “I’ll talk to her.”
“I want to make sure. If something’s wrong—” I grasped her hand. “You can talk to me.”
“Enough.” She cut me with her voice. “Don’t make me into some monster. I get enough of that from the girls.” She folded the drawing, set it on the ground, and finally met my gaze. Her dark eyes were impenetrable. “Are you hungry? What do you want for dinner?”
I sat back on my heels, not wanting her to shift the conversation, yet not wanting to fight. “I’m going out with Jisoo-hyung.”
“Oh, right.” She raised her eyebrows. “Your last meal with Jisoo. Is he going to teach you how to be a man tonight?”
“I came out here because I was worried.” I sat back on the mat. “Don’t be mean. Why can’t you be excited for me?”
“Mean mommy. Mean sister. I’m always so mean, right?” She shifted on her stool, edging farther away. “I am happy for you. We’re all so happy for you.”
“Stop it.” I kicked her stupid cigarettes. I didn’t know why I bothered. “Shut up.”
“My smart, brilliant brother ready to move to Seoul and make his family proud.” Haemi thrust her arms in the air. “Hurray for Lee Hyunki,” she shouted.
“Are you avoiding this?” I grabbed the drawing. The paper creased as I stood and I held it up to her again. “You don’t even want this baby, do you? That’s why you’ve been so miserable.”
She yanked the picture from me. “Don’t throw that in my face.” She stood with effort, her hands bracing her hips. I didn’t try to help her. “And don’t be so stupid. I didn’t say anything about the baby.”
“I’m not stupid.”
She sighed. “Of course you’re not.” She touched my cheek, brushed my hair back with her fingers, tenderly, like she used to when I was a sick little kid. “Maybe you shouldn’t go. What about that poor high school student in Masan Harbor? Can you imagine finding him dead like that?” She sucked in her breath. “You only saw the picture. That tear-gas canister slicing his head open—I’ve seen that kind of evil with my own eyes, Hyunki. Maybe Seoul’s not safe enough yet.”
I wanted to laugh. She careened from mood to mood. I wouldn’t let her sway me. “The revolution’s over. Hyung said it’s fine.”
“Then why don’t I come with you tomorrow and help you settle in? I could stay with you.” She squeezed my hand, her voice rising into girlishness. “It’ll be fun. Just us. I could sneak into your classes and see what it’s like to be you. I’ve never been to Seoul.”
It was too late. I picked up the picture, now torn at the edges, and heard the petulance in my voice. “I don’t want you to come. I don’t need you.”
Haemi released me and straightened her shoulders. “I’m joking anyway. I’m going to be right here.” She lit another cigarette. “Be careful tonight. You won’t be able to keep up with Jisoo.”
She walked to the house and sang over her shoulder, “Trying to be a big man,” light and airy. She didn’t turn back around.
I ran to Youngho’s even though it left me winded—my lungs tight from the exercise, heat, and humidity. I ran until Haemi’s taunt hardened into a little stone I could kick around in my mind. Outside Youngho’s hanok gates, I called his name until he came to the door. He held a spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Already?”
“Yeah.” I jerked my head at the road behind me. “I don’t want to be late.”
Youngho looked at me. Arguments always left their record on my face. This time I didn’t care. It was my last night in this tiny town and then I’d be rid of Haemi’s moods. I wouldn’t have to live with her inexplicable anger and feel guilty for wanting to leave. I’d go to Seoul and become my own person.
“All right, let’s go,” he said.
But when we arrived at the bar where we were supposed to meet Jisoo, the barkeep wouldn’t let us inside. Of the two of us, Youngho looked older. Dressed in a large button-down shirt, he argued with the man. “This guy’s brother-in-law is Yun Jisoo.”
The barkeep spread his arms. “Well, I don’t see him. Get out of here until you have someone of age with you.”
Down the street, Youngho and I stole nuts from the vendor with the lame leg and cut a deal with a street hawker selling photographs of naked women. I bought Youngho one of a girl showing her nipples. They were dark and large in contrast to the small verve of her tits. Jisoo found us hunched over it and clapped a hand on my back. He snatched the photo and showed it to his friends.
“You’ll like the ladies here, then,” he said, laughing.
Jisoo spoke in a large, rounded voice whenever he was in town. He held on to the edges of his syllables until they became generous. Around him, I found myself speaking this way, too.
“Let’s get drunk,” I said.
Jisoo grinned.
At the bar, we crowded up the painted stairs, past closed doors that seemed to vibrate with laughter. Jisoo led us to a private room where a long, low table was stocked with makgeolli and bar girls. Youngho had told me about these women, how they would pour drinks and laugh at your jokes all night. They wore matching modern dresses, dark blue and tightly cut. Their faces were painted with makeup.
“Come join us,” a girl in red lipstick said.
The others, at the corners of the table, tilted their heads at us, bowed and beckoned with their hands. Jisoo strode in and sat on the floor beside the one who’d spoken. His friends greeted the girls they knew. Youngho and I were given our own girl, one who looked as young as us.
She bent her head, a small bow. “You can call me Sookja. Would you like a drink?” She poured us two bowls of makgeolli and wiped the rims with her pinkie finger. Her nails were painted a pale pink. “Aren’t you going to ask if I’d like one, too?” She sat between us and touched our wrists. Youngho poured before I could, and I wondered if Sookja wanted both of us, if this night would unravel like one of those stories where men slept with girls in entwined, many-limbed groups.
She was pretty enough. With a small nose that didn’t thicken too much and a sharp littl
e chin to match. She guided the bowl to my mouth. “Drink up now, handsome.”
I wasn’t prepared and almost sputtered. Makgeolli looked creamy and sweet, but its taste was clinical. I tried to smack my lips like Youngho had. “It’s good,” I said. “Did you make it?”
Sookja laughed, her hand covering her mouth. She held up a bowl for Youngho but spoke to me across her shoulder. “Do I look like I work in the kitchen?”
Jisoo and his friends ordered snacks. We all raised our bowls in cheers. The girls replenished our drinks as soon as they emptied. I gulped a whole bowl, then another, and the room covered itself in a sticky wash, like sap clinging to my vision.
Jisoo wiped his mouth on his wrist. “I wish it hadn’t taken your leaving for us to do this, Hyunki.” He turned to the girl at his side. “My little brother-in-law’s going to Seoul tomorrow.”
“Maybe we should be doting on him instead of you,” his girl teased. Her lips looked even redder, parting to reveal white teeth, a pink tongue. She touched his ear and leaned in close. I couldn’t make out what she said.
He laughed at her comment and winked when he saw me staring. “Maybe we should go visit little brother together.”
The girl sniffed and thrust back her shoulders. “What about your wife?”
“She’s pregnant. You’re pretty and young and, best of all, not pregnant.”
The girls laughed. Youngho did, too, swiping glances at me until I chuckled. Trying to be a big man. Haemi’s taunt, that little stone, rattled around in my head. I would show her. I slurped more makgeolli. We cheered again and there was more stickiness.
“Am I right about Haemi or what?” Jisoo signaled to me from across the table. “She’s huge and always complaining about the girls, Mother, you.” He whistled. “She grouses about you a lot.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but whether to defend Haemi or agree with Jisoo, I didn’t know. She complained about me? I stayed out of her way and hadn’t done anything to her. I stared at my hands. They didn’t feel connected to the rest of my body. She terrorized us, and she complained about me? I looked up. Jisoo, his friends, Youngho, the girls—they were waiting for me to respond.
“You know it’s true,” Jisoo said. He spoke easily, shrugging, as if his words held no weight. I felt him leering in my direction. “Right, Hyunki?”
I nodded, working my anger until it heated through me. I wiped my face. “Yeah,” I heard myself say. “What a bitch.”
The red-lipped girl and her friends snickered. I nodded again, surging with the attention. I wanted Sookja to join in on the laughter. “She’s miserable to be around.”
“I told you,” Jisoo said to the red-lipped girl at his side.
“She’s not even happy for me. She doesn’t know how to be happy,” I said.
“I hear her and the little girls yelling all the time,” Youngho added, looking around the room.
I clinked bowls with him. “She hates being pregnant.”
Jisoo laughed, head thrust back. “She really does.”
“She wants the baby to die.”
Someone gasped. I followed the sound to a girl’s gaping face. I thought someone had spilled the makgeolli, the room became so quiet. Sookja shook her head, clutched my arm. “That’s terrible.” Another girl nodded. “Awful.” “Who would say that?” Everyone turned to me, their bowls left on the table, their faces drained. They looked at me like I was the one who wanted to kill the baby.
“She said it, not me.”
“That’s crazy,” the red-lipped girl said. “Is she crazy?”
“Shut up.” Jisoo’s voice shot across the room. He cocked his head at me. “Hyunki, did those words come out of her mouth?”
Everyone looked away. Jisoo rustled his shoulders, as if readying for a fight. He seemed too big next to the girls. If he stood, he could touch the ceiling. He could smash right through it. “She said that?”
I palmed a spoon in front of me. I didn’t know how it had gotten into my hand. I’d never seen it before. Makgeolli crawled up my throat, burned its acid taste into my mouth.
“Speak, Hyunki.”
“I think I’m drunk.” I glanced at the door. “I think I’m sick.”
No one looked at us, not even Youngho. Jisoo’s eyebrows and lips twitched. His face seemed strange, as if someone had stretched the skin wide and tight.
“I don’t know what I’m saying.” I stood, and the room seemed to move with me, snatching away its walls. I clutched at the air. Sookja steadied me.
“He’s so drunk,” someone whispered.
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” the red-lipped girl said to Jisoo. “He’s a kid.”
“I’m sorry.” I searched for my shoes. “I can go.”
“Sit down.” Jisoo grabbed the red-lipped girl’s waist. “You’re right. He’s a stupid kid.” She tittered, a small, high giggle, and glanced between us. He barked out a laugh and smiled at her, his teeth gritted into a grin. “My little brother made a stupid joke. He doesn’t need to leave for that, does he?”
“No.” She widened her eyes, rubbed his arm. “It was only a silly joke.”
He let her stroke him for a moment and then nodded at me. “Sit down.” His voice smooth, easy again. “Drink with me, Hyunki.” He pointed and Sookja placed a new bowl in my hand.
Jisoo cleared his throat. He stood and raised his bowl to everyone in the room. He gave a loose, indifferent smile. Using that big-room voice again, he said, “Let’s drink to my little brother-in-law. To Hyunki leaving for Seoul—here’s hoping some poor girl will let you stick it in.”
A trickling, testing laughter around the room. “He’s cute enough,” a girl with short hair said. “With more makgeolli.” The laughter came louder then, full-bodied, and their chatter erupted, eager to eat up the silence.
As Jisoo sat down, I caught a glimpse of his glare, the tendons of his neck raised tight. He slipped on a smile and nuzzled his head into the red-lipped girl’s hair. He kissed her ear, made her giggle, but he stared straight at me.
“I should leave,” I said to no one.
Sookja touched my hand. “Forget it, Seoul boy.” She rubbed my back. “Stay. I’ll make you feel better.”
Jisoo caught his girl’s necklace and pulled her closer, no longer paying attention to me. I didn’t want to watch any longer. The town rumors about him were true, then. Youngho, beside me, surveyed Jisoo as if taking notes. I concentrated instead on Sookja’s palm digging into a knot of muscle in my neck. When she leaned in, I smelled her clean, floral scent. “Let’s drink,” I said.
She slipped a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, let’s.”
I liked her crooked teeth. She was mine and not the others’, and so she was better. She was good. We struck our bowls together before swallowing the liquid down.
* * *
Beneath the streetlamps, Sookja danced. She lifted her skirt above her knees and kicked her feet. She ran ahead then circled around the road as I held out my arms for balance. Her blue dress, cut at the shoulder, revealed such softness.
She looped her warm, thin arm with mine. “So are you really sick?” She stood right beside me, her skin sticky with sweat, but her voice seemed to come from everywhere. “What kind of sick? Not bodily, I hope,” followed by a hard, streaky laugh. She was too loud, too disorienting for the night’s quiet.
I put a hand across her mouth. “I’m healthy. Youngho’s stupid.”
“I think he was taking care of you,” she whispered against my palm.
“We’re here.” I led her to the back of the house and opened the kitchen door. “Watch the fire pit,” I said as we ducked inside. I didn’t know if I liked her or if I was just drunk, but her fingers were laced with mine, and her perfume had changed somehow, into a stronger, muskier scent.
“I can’t see. I don’t even know why I’m here.” Sookja followed me past the piles of kindling, the earthenware jars, our rice chest.
I blinked with purpose, tried to ad
just my vision to the kitchen’s darkness. “You have to be quiet now.”
“I’m not actually supposed to leave the bar. Just entice you to come back for more. The men are usually so old.” She laughed. Her breath was warm against my neck.
I hit something hard and familiar and couldn’t understand how Sookja could be in front of me and behind me all at once. I stepped forward again. There was flesh and movement and a different laugh. Haemi.
She lit a kerosene lamp that blazed the room with light. Bending over her jutting stomach, she set the lamp on the counter and sucked her teeth. “This is what you’re doing on your last night?” She held a stick with a dried corncob stuck on one end—our mother’s back scratcher. Her top’s ties were loose. I remembered how she’d complained during the other pregnancies of an unbearable, roaming itch that lived beneath her skin.
Sookja, behind me, whispered, “Is this your sister?”
Haemi pointed at the door. “Go away, you silly girl.”
I held Sookja’s hand. “Don’t tell her what to do. She’s my guest.” I tried to sidestep Haemi, but she blocked me. She’d always been the strong one, protecting me from schoolboys and Jisoo’s ricocheting tantrums.
She pressed the whole length of her arm into my chest and used her stomach as a barrier. “What did you say to Jisoo?”
I pushed her arm away. “Nothing.”
“He came home angry. Usually those girls”—she flicked her stick at Sookja—“make him feel so good he falls asleep as soon as he takes off his shoes.”
“Leave us alone.” I gripped Sookja’s hand tighter. “Get out of our way.”
“What’s the point?” She wiggled the cob between Sookja and me. “You wouldn’t know what to do with her anyway.”
Sookja giggled, soft but present. Haemi laughed, too. I felt the heat return to my cheeks, my feet, my chest.
“Maybe,” I said, shaking them both off, “if you weren’t such a bitch, if you knew how to keep Jisoo happy, he wouldn’t have to visit bar girls like her. Have you thought about that?”
They both caught their breaths, a sharp intake that silenced us all. Haemi’s scratcher dropped to the floor. In the lamplight, her face seemed inflamed, almost red and purple with anger. A thick vein ran down her forehead.
If You Leave Me Page 18