The Surrendered

by Lee, Chang-rae

  He waited until Tanner had departed again to return it; the reverend had gone off to Seoul, for a dinner meeting with some other clergy. Just after Sylvie left the children for the aunties to take care of for the rest of the evening he went to the cottage. He knocked on the door and called inside. He knocked again. When there was no response he stepped inside, calling "Mrs. Tanner." The cottage was a three-room railroad flat, with a front sitting room and a rudimentary kitchen with a washbasin and tub in the middle and at the rear a small bedroom with a window and back door. He had often sat with Reverend Hong in the front room and he was surprised to see that a single cot had been brought in and jammed in the corner, with a proper double bed in the bedroom. The rear door was slightly ajar and when he pulled it in he saw her sitting in a chair in the tiny weed-choked plot with her head down in her lap, like she'd been ill. The sky was a curdled mass of high clouds lit in their bellies by the dusky light, the top of her white blouse aglow like dying coals, cooler blue beneath. She was wearing khaki trousers, but she was oddly barefoot.

  "Are you okay?" he said.

  She startled with the sound of his voice. "My goodness, you scared me."

  "Sorry."

  "It's all right," she said, catching her breath. Her eyes were glassy, shimmering as she looked up at him. But she hadn't been crying. In fact she now smiled, with a strangely easy languor. "You have my book."

  He gave it to her. She pressed it in her lap and thanked him. It was somehow difficult for him to meet her eyes. Her pupils were so small that the gray-green of her irises seemed as large as coat buttons.

  "You left very quickly."

  "Did I?" she said absently. She was now leaning back in the chair like she was near-paralyzed, her wide, pretty mouth slightly hanging open. "Maybe I did. I don't know why I feel I should be ready and present whenever he comes back. Ames isn't at all needy, that way, but I want him to see me when he returns, even if he doesn't care and he's constantly coming and going anyway. I didn't even know he was going into Seoul for dinner."

  "Is he coming back tonight?"

  "Later, yes," she said. "Did you look at the book?"

  "No," he answered, though not exactly sure why.

  "I'm glad. There's no reason for you to read it," she said.

  "Why's that?"

  "It's about a battle. Someone who was a soldier doesn't need to know any more about that."

  "And you do?"

  She was silent for a moment, running her hand over the book's cover. "Maybe, yes. Like most people, I have my own problems and get wrapped up in things. Everything seems so important. But despite the signs, sometimes I forget what's happened all around us here. The enormity of it. The cause of all this."

  "You should have been a soldier," he said to her. "Then you'd be dying to forget."

  Her eyes flashed at him, which at first he took as edged with anger but then realized instead was a disarmed recognition, as if he'd poked through some hard wall. But then she went back to the way she was before, slack again, and she seemed to be washed over by a wave of dizziness and nausea. He asked if she needed to lie down.

  "Okay."

  He had to help her to her feet, pulling on both hands, and for a moment she teetered and leaned into him as they went inside. She walked as if the fl oor were pliant. She passed the bed in the bedroom and when they reached the front room she lay down on her side on the cot in the corner.

  "I left the book out there. Again."

  "I'll get it."

  "Listen, Hector," she said. He liked the way she said his name, with a faintly Spanish inflection. Not so hard, or Aegean. "I'm so terribly thirsty. Would you get me some water, too?"

  Out in the back there was a pump and he let the water run until it was very cold before filling the mug. He picked up the book on the way and when he got back to the front her arms were turbaned about her eyes. He watched her for a long moment.

  "Mrs. Tanner," he finally said, if too softly. She didn't stir. He didn't try to rouse her. He understood now what was the matter with her; he'd seen her kind back in Seoul. Most all of the servicemen and ex-servicemen like himself, and the aid workers and newly arriving businessmen, preferred the scores of lounges and bars, but there were a few places for those who had acquired a special taste, from a stint, say, in Shanghai or Rangoon, or from the treatment of an injury. He examined her closely now, her wrists and her arms, and was surprised to see them unblemished. Perhaps he was wrong. But her leg slipped over the edge of the cot and when he lifted her cool ankle to set it right he could see them, a perfect line, a dozen tiny healed marks tattooing the nook of her heel, the last one still weeping a pindot of red.

  S I X

  T H E N E X T D A Y at the morning meal the Tanners ate among the children, as always, Sylvie's heel tucked inside her blue canvas sneaker. Hector sat by himself at the far corner of the pavilion. She was animated and laughing and joking with the children and didn't look over at him, but Tanner acknowledged him with a typically direct, if bloodless, nod. Hector wondered if he even knew about her habit. Maybe she hardly knew herself.

  She could certainly believe all was in order. The atmosphere had changed since their arrival. The orphanage was named New Hope, for obvious reasons, and it surely was that for these children, but there had always been certain reminders of a natural limit to the notion, maybe found in the spartan meagerness of the surroundings, the children's worn, ill-fitting clothes, but now the air in the play yard seemed eminently clearer and fresher, as if a vibrant, sturdy fir had suddenly taken root in their midst, its limbs heavy with sticky needles. The children were orbiting about Sylvie in ever-denser clusters, following her lead to the last letter and note as she taught them old camp songs and games like Red Rover and Telephone. She had also bought a brand-new soccer ball when she was last in Seoul, and after classes and chores (Tanner would always retire to the cottage, to read or go over plans), she'd often run around with them until suppertime and have to switch teams in the middle to prevent arguments, and it wasn't hard to see how any of them could begin to forget that she hadn't always been a part of the orphanage, and wouldn't always be so in the future.

  They began their play in the late afternoon. Hector never tried the game and this was his excuse for not joining in but often now he'd pause at his work and watch the action, the more sporting boys quicker than everyone except for Sylvie, who wasn't so much skilled as determined; she seemed intent on keeping the contest fair and getting everyone involved, and with her long legs she could protect the ball and keep them at bay so that the more tentative boys and girls could get touches and shots at the goal. She wore light cotton men's trousers, which she cinched tight with a doubled length of rope; by the end, her knees and flanks would be dusted brick-red from the clayey dirt of the yard. When she took a break she led the rest of them on the sidelines in chants and cheers, and here, too, there'd be a competition among them to see who could sing the loudest, not for their own esteem of course but for the sake of gaining Sylvie's, and for brief moments Hector almost felt as though he were a young boy again in Ilion, sitting in the high school field bleachers with his father, the crisp autumn air thrumming with hoarse, happy voices.

  The only child who never played or cheered was June. Hector sometimes saw her slip into the high brush of the valley, or into the dormitory, making a point of disappearing for the entire time. It was as if June couldn't bear the sight of the others enjoying Sylvie's company, even as it was evident to all how special her own position was. But one afternoon she emerged from the brush behind Hector's quarters and stood leaning against the corner of the building as he cleaned rust from some tools with a scraper and a rag soaked in kerosene. The game now was especially spirited, for it was the boys against the girls and Sylvie, and he could see in her tensed chin that June was wanting to join the action.

  "Go ahead, why don't you."

  "I don't want to," she told him. "The boys are losing. They need you."

  "I have work to do."


  "You always have work." She spoke to him in the declarative tone she employed with everyone except Sylvie Tanner.

  He replied, "I like work."

  "No, you don't. You do it for another reason."

  "Yeah? What's that?"

  "Because you don't want to have fun." She said it seriously but was smiling at him, slyly but almost broadly, at least for her. It was the fi rst time she'd ever smiled at him (and maybe at anyone else) since he'd met her on the road, and he was surprised by how fetching and kindly her face could become.

  "Maybe you're right," he said, wiping the rusty leavings from the spade with a cloth. "What's your excuse?"

  She was watching the game intently now, as one of the older girls, a very pretty, very round-faced girl named Mi-Young, was celebrating a goal with Sylvie, hugging and laughing.

  "Same," June said, with sudden seriousness.

  "I guess that makes us birds of a feather."

  "I don't understand."

  "Flocking together. Enjoying our no fun."

  "I don't understand."

  "Forget it. You want to scrape that shovel head for me?"

  She glanced at the game and then diffidently nodded and he tossed her the wire brush. She held the wooden handle and went at it hard, as though she were playing a cello but trying to break the strings.

  "Take it easy," he told her.

  "Why?"

  "You're going to breathe in the rust."

  "So?"

  "It can't be good for you."

  "It's okay."

  "You want to live a long life?"

  "Yes," she answered, with near defiance, as if he were somehow threatening her.

  "All right, then."

  She didn't answer him but soon she slowed her scraping, carefully blowing away the dark orange dust after every half-dozen or so passes with the brush. The game grew more raucous and vocal, the aunties and children on the sidelines guffawing and cheering whenever there was a nifty pass or a good shot, but he and June simply tossed the damp rag back and forth, both subconsciously trying to show their lack of interest in the game, which would have been easy had Sylvie Tanner not been at the center of the action, the girls constantly passing the ball to her, the boys checking her closely or else trying to dribble right through her. But she was more agile than her tall frame suggested and had clearly played the game before and she set up two quick goals and kicked in one herself, while the boys were held scoreless. They all seemed deflated by this last goal and one of the most skilled boys, Hyun, even sat in the dirt in disgust, wearily rubbing his scalp, and soon some of the others began to sit down as well. Sylvie went about their side, clapping her hands, shouting, "Hey, hey, we'll have none of that, boys," and though they were listening to her they didn't rise to their feet until June appeared in their midst. She had simply handed Hector the cleaned spade and trotted out to them.

  "May I play now?" she asked Sylvie.

  "Of course!"

  "I'll play with them," she said, pointing to the boys.

  "Even better!"

  The boys protested but Sylvie would have none of it. She whistled through her fingers and put the ball into play by nudging it to June, who without hesitance bolted by her and then passed it to Hyun, who had broken toward the goal. He scored easily. The boys whooped and hollered as the girls cried foul that they weren't yet ready.

  "Let them play like that, girls," Sylvie exhorted them, lining up the ball at midfield again. She was beaming at June, obviously pleased by her unexpected involvement, though crouched in an athletic, ready stance. "We'll win our way."

  The game was a tight contest from that point on. Mi-Young scored next, but then the boys' team put in three in a row to tie the score. Everyone could see that the difference was June. She was adept enough at dribbling and passing, but it was her tireless, almost furious play on defense that changed the flow of the game. The boys had been holding back somewhat in checking the girls, but this was not the case with June; she threw herself at whoever had the ball, and covered Sylvie closely so they couldn't pass to her, and then relentlessly hounded MiYoung, who was their best player. They were the same size and age and perhaps rivals in that Mi-Young was well liked by all the girls and seen as a mentoring big sister (the girls would crowd around her cot in the dormitory), whereas June was June, someone to avoid, or at least to give a wide berth to. But now June was bringing the action right to her. If Mi-Young was near, June would bump her, and whenever she had the ball June would lean into her roughly and fi ercely kick at the ball. Mi-Young would push back with equal force and kick at June as well, neither girl wearing anything on her feet, and by the end of the match they had gouged jagged little cuts into each other's ankles and calves with their toenails. Sensing that their mutual malice was now detracting from the friendly mood of the game, Sylvie announced that the next goal would be the winner. By this point Hector had ceased cleaning the tools, caught up, too, in the action. In the fi nal moments Hyun attempted a crossing pass to June but it was intercepted by Sylvie, who fed the ball to Mi-Young as she streaked alone the opposite way. It was surely the end of the game. But June then seemed to fl y downfield, passing everyone as though they were rooted, and before Mi-Young could take a shot June tackled her so hard that she upended her.

  Mi-Young came up swinging; she madly pounced on June, all fi sts and fingernails, and for a moment no one did anything, paralyzed by her uncharacteristic, explosive rage. Hector actually confused the two of them, sure that only June could be as furious as that. He was the first to reach them, and as he pried Mi-Young from her he was struck by how June left herself wide open as Mi-Young wildly rained down blows, not even curling up in a ball, not even shielding her face. When Sylvie got there she instinctively fell upon June to cover her and it was only then that June began to cry. It was like any girl's weeping, the sobs breathy and plangent, but no one had ever seen June cry before and the sight and sound of it was oddly awesome, everyone (including MiYoung) standing by silently. Then Sylvie spoke, murmuring to her that she would be all right. But June didn't look all right; there were ugly scratches on her cheeks and nose and her lip was bleeding and one eye was already turning purplish and inky with a bruise. It was wholly her own fault, yet she was the injured one, and Sylvie helped her up and the two of them walked back to the Tanners' cottage, June's bloodied face staining the fabric of Sylvie's blouse.

  After that, June didn't play in any of the games. Whenever Hector saw her outside in the yard or at the dining tables under the pavilion she appeared to keep herself at a distance from Sylvie and the other children. She continued working in the Tanners' cottage, and for longer stretches than before; from his chair outside his quarters Hector would catch sight of her coming and going whenever Reverend Tanner traveled. It was as if they had entered into some kind of agreement, one in which June would respect the right of the others to be with Sylvie in exchange for more hours together. He couldn't help wondering, as surely everyone was, what they did in private, picturing how they were knitting (Sylvie was having the older girls make all the children mittens for the approaching winter), or reading books, or simply sitting together talking (though about what? the wondrous future? the awful past?). He thought he knew what any orphan would desperately seek in a woman like Sylvie, but what Sylvie was doing, what she was actually intending, he couldn't fathom. Reverend Tanner had made announcements about adoptions, that they might be chosen in the next period and should be prepared, but he would always note that he and his wife would be continuing their work only here, knowing every last one of the children was surely wishing it would be he or she the Tanners themselves might eventually take to America. It was strange, but sometimes he felt he might like to be adopted away, too. Welcomed back but by an unfamiliar set of people and in a circumstance in which he would have no responsibilities except for some strenuous job or chores. His mother was gone now, too, from a massive stroke during the last month of the war, and though he still had his sisters, he didn't want to return to Ili
on or any place like it and he even surprised himself with the ridiculous fantasy of being the Tanners' handyman, lodged in a shack he imagined would be damp and cool for being set on a property on a bay of Seattle, waiting for Sylvie Tanner to come bring him a slice of cake, a mug of tea. The kitchen aunties had opinions about everything and held forth in their hardscrabble voices, and while cleaning out the garbage cans he heard their baseless conjectures about why the Tanners were childless ("She's too thin to become pregnant"; "She must not want his children"; "They lost the one they had"), and why she gave special attention to June ("She needs the most mothering"; "The girl reminds her of herself "), but none of these remarks quite described the cloister Sylvie was willing to make for them, despite Reverend Tanner's obvious displeasure and the growing puzzlement of the other children. Did the marks on her heels explain it any better? Was any addiction or compulsion (like his own jags of drinking and fighting) really worth looking into, for explanation or cause? Those pin-dots--and all his own perfectly healed scars--went forward and back, and they were now their own reason and consequence.

  As the weather cooled with the onset of autumn, the schedule of Sylvie's day began to change; she would teach the English class and take the midday meal with the children, but instead of communing with them in work or play the rest of the afternoon she began to retire to the cottage, at first excusing herself in the late afternoon but then going off sooner and sooner until fi nally she would slip off right after lunch, sometimes for the rest of the day. Whenever she went inside, June would go with her and leave only just before eight o'clock, when Hector shut down the compound's generator and the entire orphanage went dark. There was talk that Mrs. Tanner was ill--even her usual paleness seemed diluted, as if water had been added to her blood--but she didn't complain of anything or travel to any hospital, and no doctors visited her. Of course Hector saw her differently, noticing only how she would keep scratching at her arms, her throat, how she would momentarily disappear within herself while the children or aunties were talking to her, coming back only when they raised their voices. He assumed she had a stash of vials hidden somewhere, but what would she do when she ran out? He could get her more, for sure, from the base in town, or some bar in the red-light district. Was that where she really went, when she took her weekly trips into town? Maybe she had already depleted her supply; for a while now everyone else had believed she was suffering from what appeared an intransigent head cold, her eyes rheumy, puffed; she sniffled and blew her nose constantly. She hardly seemed to eat at meals, always just sipping from the roasted barley tea the aunties made for her daily. She didn't look thinner so much as hollowed out, in certain bright morning light her skin seeming practically diaphanous, the veins of her throat run through with such a deep, dyed blue that Hector kept ready to press his hand against her neck, to warm her in case she fainted. She was paying no more or less attention to him, paying him the usual small kindnesses of a sandwich or a roll of Spam kimbap delivered by June to where he was working, or leaving a pint of bourbon or scotch by his door if she'd been into Seoul for supplies. The regular attention led him to believe she was thinking of him daily but it was still only June who came around, Sylvie no longer stopping by even to watch him work the trench or the roofs. Soon he was alternating between irritation for this surely pitiable person and a feeling as if he were completely parched inside, crackled with a web of fault lines that ran from his insides outward and showed to everyone who looked at him. He felt somehow wounded and ashamed.