The Queen of Tears

by Chris Mckinney

  Soong thought about this. “Maybe your father and I earned your right to dwell for you. Maybe it is a right that’s inherited and doesn’t need to be earned.”

  Darian shook her head. “It’s like meeting Kaipo tonight. You know, Crystal’s brother.”

  How could she have forgotten that man, his neck, and his absurd red hair? His bravado reminded her of her second husband, but it wasn’t a childlike arrogance and will that motivated this huge man; Soong knew it was anger. She’d seen that anger in some of the poor faces in Korea years before. Ex-soldiers missing limbs or women missing innocence. It was horrible. But didn’t you have to get over the anger? “He’s trash like his sister.”

  Darian frowned. “No, they’re not. You know, back at school there’s this girl from Hawaii. She writes papers on being Hawaiian, being local. But she’s never done drugs, never stolen a car, never been in a fight. She’s never been abused by a parent, never had to buy food with food stamps. How can she write about being Hawaiian or local without these experiences? She has no right to represent people whose lives are much different than hers. It’d be like Kenny writing a book on the contemporary Hawaiian experience. This girl, like Kenny, is local, but only a certain kind of local. I’m Korean, but only a certain kind of Korean.”

  Soong laughed. “You cannot always pity those who refuse any attempts to better their position. A lot of these Hawaiians don’t even try. That’s why I sometimes hate this place. They’re like the blacks in New York, the Mexicans in Fresno. Complain, complain, but don’t do. I walked over a hundred miles for a better life when I was fourteen.”

  Darian smiled. “That’s true, Mom, and I respect you for it. But you know what? Crystal just may be you, if you didn’t get hit by that fancy car in Seoul that day. Crystal could be you.”

  Was it dumb luck that changed Soong’s life? She’d asked this before, and sometimes she believed it, and sometimes not. Tonight, she decided not to believe it. “No way. There’s a difference. I was starving. People don’t starve in America.”

  Darian shook her head as she walked to the door. “Think about it, Mom, you could have been Crystal.”

  The door shut. Education. The highly educated always looked at others as if they were waiting for the people around them to discover some archaic punchline so that they could finally pat them on the head. Maybe Darian was right; her education was a waste of time. Soong sighed and made her way to the bathroom, where she began to disassemble herself.

  Soong meticulously wiped off her make-up and dressed for bed. She brushed her teeth. Looking in the mirror, she thought, what is it that make-up manages to conceal? When she’d been young, it was used to accentuate features. Redder lips, whiter skin, more luscious eyelashes, sharper, cleaner eyebrows. But now it was for repair. Not as many wrinkles, not those dark bags under the eyes, not as tired-looking. These were two very different types of masks. She missed the first one immensely.

  She thought about her children. She thought about the money. She was almost sixty years old, and her children still cost her money. When did the duty end? The tightness of her second dead husband made it more difficult for her children to get money, but now she was facing them unarmed. She couldn’t say no to any of them. She should’ve stayed in Long Island, but without Henry, it seemed stupid. Long Island was their life together, but now that life was over. She spat out toothpaste and sighed. When did a mother stop being a mother?

  She turned off the light. She walked to the bed and carefully slid under the covers. The air conditioning was blasting away. When her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, she laughed. It never used to take that long for her eyes to adjust. She thought about the money again. If only she had more. Once she gave, not loaned, gave her son the twenty thousand, she would be down to her last twenty. If her older daughter’s business failed—and considering the poor state of the tourist industry, it eventually would—her daughter would need help again. If her younger daughter went back to school, a year of tuition would be more than she would be able to afford. And she knew her son’s business would fail. He was a failure. Considering that the price of gold was down, her jewelry would not be much help either. Now, if she died, it would be a different story. She had a one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy that the kids would split in three. Now there’s a solution, she thought. If only I were to die. In a split second her life flashed before her eyes. She told her mind to do it. It was a good life, an exciting life. Yes, perhaps it is best to die penniless, she thought. That’s maybe how I’ll know I’m finished with life. It will be done when I no longer have anything to give my children but my death. She smiled. Then why spend twenty thousand on my thirty-eight-year-old son? Because she knew she would. But that was O.K. She was afraid of many things: heights, flying, the ocean, going over sixty in a car. She was afraid of pain for her children. But she was not afraid of death. In fact, this night, as she closed her eyes, the thought that they might not open again soothed her. Her breathing slowed and her thoughts became misty. That night she dreamt of how nice it would be to live until she saw her grandson happily married, then die. She wanted to see her grandson in an elegant tuxedo eagerly waiting to enter the Institution. That would be when he would begin the most interesting journey this life has to offer. Yes, she thought, I’ll wait for my grandson to find his mate, then die.

  -4-

  Like every other morning, including weekends, Won Ju opened her shop in the Pacific Beach Hotel at six o’clock A.M. When she had first signed the lease for the twenty-by-thirty-foot shop ten years ago, she felt as if she had a sure thing. The Pacific Beach Hotel had a large Japanese clientele, who as everyone knew spent the most money in Hawaii. And this particular hotel had an attraction that was hard for the tourist mind to resist. In the middle of the hotel, serving as a backdrop to two of its restaurants, the Oceanarium and the Neptune, stood a two-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-gallon salt-water fish tank. Almost a thousand fish of about one hundred and twenty-five species swam behind this twenty-six-foot wall of glass. Most of these fish were indigenous, like the stingray, the ulua, and the uhu, or parrotfish. Others were imported, like the Florida native, the tiger-striped jack. But all could only be seen swimming together in this florescent lighted tank. It was artificial. Deep-sea fish swam in the same water as reef fish. Sand dwellers, like the stingray, fed with the nocturnal red menpachi. They were all forced together under the white lights that made the fish glow unnaturally. And Won Ju had put her faith in this ecological experiment. She’d believed that the tourists would never stop coming to see it.

  And they hadn’t. They’d just stopped spending money in the shops like hers. At first it had been great. The Japanese had the money to spend on the expensive goods she sold. The Bally leather belts, the Louis Vuitton purses, the Ray Ban sunglasses. She’d once sold thousands of dollars of goods a day. She’d made more than her husband did when she’d first opened. But much of this money went into expanding her inventory. She bought more and more expensive watches, more and more gold jewelry. She knew, like every other shop-owner, that Asians, especially the Japanese, could get this stuff much cheaper in Hawaii than in Japan.

  Then Asia took a financial hit. The tourists kept coming, but slowly stopped buying. Won Ju’s shop was overstocked, and just as suddenly over-employed. Her business, which had once employed six girls, was now down to one. She opened her shop at six A.M. and closed it at eleven P.M. At least four days a week, she would stay all seventeen hours. Her last girl was forced to work sixty-hour weeks. She knew if she closed down and dumped her inventory now, she’d have just enough, with her savings, to pay off the rest of the lease and pay her mother back the fifteen thousand she owed her. But after that, she’d have to rely on Kenny. Kenny the Tightwad. Kenny who would give her a bad time with every twenty-dollar bill she would take. She’d also have to stop giving her son money. And she loved giving him money, because even though she knew she might be wrong, she felt it made her a good mother. With every twenty s
he gave him, she felt like she was giving her son choices. No, he did not have to paddle a canoe at the Hawaiian Canoe Club, he could go to the movies. No, he did not have to surf, he could go to the arcade. No, he did not have to come home and scrounge for food, he could buy a meal anywhere. She wanted to give her son choices. She did not want him to become like his father if he didn’t want to.

  So when she opened her shop at six A.M. the day after her brother’s wedding, she did so with a pounding headache. Her hangover from the champagne the night before combined with the stress of money made her head hurt. She slid open the glass door and turned on the lights. She grabbed a pink feather duster and brushed it against the rack of belts, purses, and the glass cases that held the jewelry and watches. She turned on the cash register and sat on her stool. She thought about the fish tank and cursed it. Then she wondered if, since her mother seemed to be staying in Hawaii, she would want a job, or maybe even a partnership. She chided herself for the thought. Her mother had enough trouble already. She pretended to dust for most of the next eight hours.

  At one o’clock Donny walked in. He was dressed nicely as usual; black slacks, a tucked in blue Polo shirt. His face wore the look of a healthy-sized hangover. He walked up to the counter and leaned against it. He smiled, took off his sunglasses, and started the conversation in English. “I just talked to Mom. She’s going to give me the money.”

  “You better not blow this one,” Won Ju said, thinking about how her brother dared her to continue this conversation in English. “I’m pretty sure she’s running out of money.”

  “Don’t worry. The restaurant will be a hit.”

  Won Ju didn’t believe him. That was what he’d said when he decided to open the photo studio, before he’d met Crystal. It went belly-up in a little over a year. He hadn’t known anything about photography. Won Ju rearranged some jewelry in the glass case in front of her. “What do you know about restaurants?”

  “Hey, I know how to cook,” he said. “It’ll just be cheap Korean food. Like a plate-lunch place. The property is in Kailua. You know a lot of hungry Hawaiians and surfers will come to my place.”

  Won Ju was worried. She’d heard that about eighty percent of restaurants go under. She resisted the urge to start in Korean. She thought before she said, “What’s going to draw them away from the places that they eat at now?”

  “Good food, Sis. Good food.”

  She couldn’t imagine her brother slaving over a grill for ten hours a day. Hard work never took with him. Worse, she couldn’t imagine Crystal doing the same. She wasn’t the grease-under-the-long-lavender-fingernails type. “So when’s the grand opening?”

  “I’ll get the money this week and sign a lease next week. I’ll renovate for a couple of weeks, then open. Crystal put in her two weeks at Club Mirage.”

  Won Ju smiled. “Does Mom know what she does?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure she suspects something. Maybe prostitution, who knows? I don’t care.”

  “Well, at least Crystal will be a draw with all those hungry Hawaiians and surfers. Maybe she should wear a bikini?”

  Donny laughed. “You might be on to something. Big boobs and kalbi. Like a combination plate.”

  “And you could name it ‘Silicon Inn.’”

  “Hey, that’s my blushing bride you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, the day I see her blush.”

  Donny laughed. “Stop, stop.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  Donny sighed. “I came for a business proposition.”

  “What?”

  “Come in with me and Crystal at the restaurant. Dump this place already.” He lifted his hands and looked around. Then he said in Korean, “There’s nobody here.”

  He was right. She hadn’t sold over a hundred dollars’ worth of stuff in two weeks. What if the entire family got into the restaurant? This idea caused her to think about the fish tank again. All those different fish swimming together. In a way, it reminded her of her own family. Darian, the imported tiger-striped jack. Kenny, the indigenous kala, horned, brown, and not great eating. Crystal, the kahala, big and bold. Her son the menpachi, meek, vulnerable, but beautiful. And Donny the stingray. The bottom feeder. She didn’t know who her mother was. Then it dawned on her. She was the girl with the scuba tank who fed the fish. It never occurred to her that she didn’t think about who she was in the tank. “I don’t know, Donny,” she said in English. “I’m not like you. I have a child to think about. I can’t afford failure.”

  “You know, you sound like somebody I know,” he returned in English.

  He was talking about their mother. “In some ways, she was right about how she raised us.”

  Donny grinned. “She didn’t raise us. I’ll tell you something. More than financial support, your son needs you there. I mean think of the options. He could work with us on weekends.”

  Won Ju had resolved her ill feelings towards her mother long ago. Donny hadn’t. She thought about her own son. He was beyond the age of needing an affectionate love-giving mother. In fact, as a teenager, this love embarrassed him. Won Ju disagreed with Donny. Brandon needed a mother who could provide him with money. One who could buy him a car when he turned sixteen. One who could help pay for his college tuition. She had given her son affection, in fact made sure of it, because of the lack of affection she and her brother lived through as children. But a new type of parent was now needed. One who wouldn’t close down and reopen businesses on a whim. “Donny, I can’t. Brandon needs stability backing him.”

  Donny sighed. “Stability? Is this what you call this shop?” He looked around. “I think the word you are looking for is stagnation. In fact, it’s worse. Listen, in the restaurant, Brandon could learn about work. He could make his own money.” He smiled. “Look at me. I’m living proof of what happens when a person doesn’t learn work ethic early.”

  Won Ju was surprised. His command of English was still growing. Words like “stagnation” were beyond her spoken vocabulary. He’d always been a better English speaker. She knew what the word meant, but she would’ve been afraid to try to say it. She felt a current of pride and envy. “You win,” she said in Korean. “Do you remember Las Vegas?”

  Donny smiled. “I’ll never forget how you took me with you.”

  The memory of Vegas haunted her. Donny didn’t know. He didn’t see the sacrifice their mother had made. She switched her concentration to the early, good memories of Sin City. “Remember how we refused to speak to each other in Korean so that we would learn English faster?”

  “I remember.”

  “I don’t know about this restaurant idea.”

  “It’s my turn, Won Ju. You did it in Vegas. Now it’s my turn to take the lead. I will not fail.”

  “What about Mom and everyone else?”

  “I send the open invitation for anyone who wants in.”

  A new beginning, Won Ju thought. If it worked, she would not have to depend on Kenny. If it worked, Brandon would get the things every American teenager craves. If it didn’t work... Life would get hard fast. She thought about her mother. Her mother knew hard. The story of how she had ended up in Seoul at fourteen was awe-inspiring. Courage won over better judgment, and Won Ju said, “O.K., Donny. But if it doesn’t work, I’ll kill you.”

  Donny hugged his sister. It was an odd move by her brother. Though she knew he loved her, he almost never showed affection, except when he was drunk. Her son was the same, though not as bad. Instead of thinking about the turmoil that the restaurant’s failure could bring, she tried to enjoy the moment. Hugging was such an American gesture. How people hugged strangers, acquaintances, and enemies was beyond her. But it felt good sometimes. She squeezed back hard.

  -5-

  So Mom and Dad really had it out last night. It was about money again. While I was playing Everquest, and my druid was about to level up to twenty and I was about to go to Lake of Ill Omen, and while I was enjoying my apple, I heard Mom slam the door and s
tart screaming. It was kinda weird. She’s usually pretty quiet, even when they argue. But not last night. Then Dad started yelling. Man, talk about ruining the moment. My druid about to level up and all. He kicks ass.

  So here I am at school. IPS. Making NaCl. Sodium Chloride. Why is “Na” the chemical symbol for salt? I don’t know, they never seem to tell you the interesting stuff at school. Even this sodium chloride stuff. Is this stuff even used for anything? I guess it’s supposed to show us that some things mix and some don’t. Or that if you have something mixed, and you heat it, well one of those things will evaporate. Mom and Dad are probably going to get a divorce. Some of the kids in this class have divorced parents.

  Brian Kelsey. Thinks he’s hot shit because he’s a freshman and he plays varsity football. I don’t know what the big deal is. I mean, Punahou has a decent team, but everybody knows Saint Louis is going to be state champs yet again. Well, maybe it’s not only because he plays varsity. He’s also one of the only freshman with a car, a Mercedes to boot. His dad bought it for him. His dad’s a member of the Club, too. Brian’s parents got a divorce last year. But you should see his dad’s new wife. She’s pretty killer. I think she was a student at UH right before they got married. I think she dropped out of school when they got engaged. Sometimes I hear some of the old people at the Club talking smack about it.

  Mary Keller. Cool girl. Hot. She’s lighting the Bunsen burner right now, acting all scared, like the room will blow up when the sparks from the clicking thing hits the gas. I wonder how girls learn to get that scared look and look all cute and all. Do they practice in the mirror? I mean, it’s obvious that she’s not really scared. It’s like, just ask Brian to light your Bunsen burner for you. I think her mom was married three times. Her mother’s a Club member, too. It’s like you have to have parents who are members of the Hawaiian Canoe Club to go to this school or something. Mom screamed something about her paying my tuition last night, when Dad yelled something about paying the lease and utilities. I don’t even know what a lease is. I don’t want to know.