The Queen of Tears

by Chris Mckinney

  Sometimes she felt like that little girl again, the one who walked from North to South Korea. But she knew she was being silly. She was no longer barefoot and ignorant. But on the other hand, she now carried two children with her whom she decided she’d live and work for. Yes, five thousand, or for that matter, a million years of history doesn’t simply vanish after war.

  The offers came after two years had passed since her husband’s death. Politicians, actors, producers, and directors. Members of the renowned Rider’s Club. On weekends the members, who included the head of the Cum Chul Jung (Korean Central Intelligence), and the heads of the two political parties (the Yau Dong and Ya Dong), would take in an early-morning ride, then eat lunch at the clubhouse. She was often invited. And subtle propositions would be given. These were powerful, married men who wanted mistresses. And on top of many of their lists was Mul Ui Yau Wang. The Queen of Tears.

  Soong did not want to be a mistress. But at the same time she knew for these men, men who could set her children up for life, there were no other options. The fact that she was a widow with two children counted against her. The fact that they were married made the situation more impossible. So she slowly convinced herself that being a mistress was not that bad a thing. She started an affair with Moon Chung Han, one of the heads of the Yau Dong party, and one of the most powerful men in South Korea.

  Between the affair and her hectic work schedule, Soong had almost no time for her children. They would come back from school and spend vacations, not with her, but the nannies that cared for them when they were babies. Sometimes, out of guilt, she’d bring them to a movie set. And while the little girl Won Ju remained quiet and watched things carefully, Chung Yun would pout, cry, and scream every time the director said, “action.” It became so bad that several directors, none of them either woman or mothers, had the small boy banned from the set. In fact, they even began to resent her little girl. “Too quiet,” they’d say. “It makes me nervous. She looks like she’s judging.”

  And Soong started hearing a lot of such things about her daughter. Even her teachers would mention it after going on a tirade about Chung Yun. “And your daughter. She shouldn’t stare so quietly. It’s not only the teachers, but the other students do not like it. They call her conceited. They say it’s because you are her mother.”

  Rubbish. Soong knew her daughter was intelligent, shy, and polite, maybe even to a fault. Maybe when people see humble goodness, it makes them uncomfortable because it makes them feel guilty. As far as Soong was concerned, the comments about her daughter were made by people insecure about their own goodness or their inability to keep their mouths shut. She didn’t know how to respond against the criticism of her son, though.

  Both children posed a difficult problem for Soong. The simple fact of the matter was that she did not have the time to be a mother. Won Ju and Chung Yun were brought up in a world of rotating nannies and schools, and each time it was time for a change, like the time Chung Yun got kicked out of the second-most-prestigious children’s boarding school (he had already been kicked out of the first) for stabbing a teacher in the leg with his scissors, the only thing his older sister said was, “Mother, send me to the same school as Chung Yun. He needs me.” Soong complied and threw her hard-earned money at the problem. And the entire time she would blame herself for the condition of her son, knowing that she didn’t even find the time to feed him grapes, like she did with her daughter, when he was growing in her womb. The fact that he’d been born with a shallow crater in the middle of his chest confirmed it for her. The guilt would be overwhelming after each incident, but she had no one to turn to. She had no friends, only employees and business associates. And Moon Chung Han, her lover, made it quite clear in the beginning that he did not want to discuss children that weren’t his own.

  It was in this condition, in the summer of 1968, after Chung Yun got kicked out of the last prestigious children’s school in South Korea that Soong met the American soldier, Captain Henry Lee. It was at a private, exclusive dinner party in Seoul, and he was the guest of the head of the Cum Chul Jung, Korean Central Intelligence. She was escorted by Moon Chung Han and had her party face on, despite her worries, when the bold American soldier of Korean ancestry introduced himself after dinner.

  He was not built like the other men attending the party. Though he was obviously older than Soong, like just about every other male in the ballroom, the soldier lacked the balding head and bulging stomach of the rest. His shiny black hair was combed back. And his tight neck worked up to a strong muscular jowl. Soong could tell that under the tuxedo, this man of about forty probably had the wiry build of a swimmer. His tanned face and clear eyes also hinted at activeness. But perhaps the biggest thing that separated him from the rest of the men was that he seemed to be the only one not picking his teeth with a toothpick, rubbing his stomach, or wearing a rolled-up sleeve so everyone could see his Rolex. When he approached her, he spoke in perhaps the worst Korean she had ever heard, and though she couldn’t see it at first, he wore the cheapest Timex watch money could buy. “Hi, woman,” he said, “I saw your movies and thought that they were awful.”

  She had heard about the captain before at the Rider’s Club. Since it had been powerful men who had spoken his name, she tried to shrug off the bold insult. “What don’t you like about my films, sir?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, my Korean’s pretty not O.K. What I meant to say was that your movies don’t do you credit or justice or whatever.”

  Soong smiled. “Thank you, sir. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Henry smiled. “Yes. I drink Scotch. Get me one.”

  Soong understood his rudeness. He was trying to learn the nuances of the Korean language, which were based on a hierarchical structure. Children and women were spoken down to by men, and there were subtle differences; however, Henry was obviously mixing them up. “So, how long have you been studying our complex language sir?”

  Henry laughed. “I still don’t have it, do I, child? The American military taught me language, but only me how to speak the Korean you speak talking to those superior to you. The formal one. When some of my new friends heard me speak to children as warlords, they laughed and tried to teach me proper way.”

  Soong nodded. “Well, sir, allow me to get your drink.”

  Henry smiled and nodded. Soong walked across the burgundy carpet of the ballroom. She looked up at the chandeliers. She was beginning to feel accustomed to Western things. It seemed ages since she had first seen the Western possessions her first husband had. The years that followed brought so many Western things into Seoul that one could not keep one’s eyes open and not see the influence. The ballroom was filled with tuxedos and gowns. Louis Armstrong, whom she had actually met a few years back, was being played by the house orchestra. She stepped in front of the Western bar and asked the bartender, who wore a white shirt, black bow tie, and black vest, for a Scotch on the rocks. Just then Moon Chung Han stepped to her side and asked, “How are you, my child?”

  She took the drink from the bartender. She looked at Chung Han. He wore the face of a hardened soldier masked with a layer of baby fat. Sometime, in the past, the face must’ve been muscled and hard, like the captain’s. But it was growing softer as the years of newfound comfort passed. A toothpick hung from his mouth. “I just met that interesting American captain. His Korean is quite terrible.”

  Chung Han laughed and ordered a Scotch. “Don’t let his ignorance fool you, child. He is a very dangerous man.”

  Soong Nan looked at Henry. “Really? What is it that he does that makes him so dangerous?”

  Chung Han sipped his drink. “You know better than to ask me.”

  Soong shrugged. “I apologize.”

  Chung Han glanced around the room. “Well, if you must know, he is a warlord in the American CIA. He deals with unhappy Communists in the North.”

  Soong, keeping a straight face, asked, “He really goes to the North?”

  Chung Han
smiled. “All of the time. I have seen the type many times before. He is an adventurer. He fears little. He probably watches too many American movies. Or too much, who was that, Daniel Boone as a child. It is often a pity to see this type of man grow old.”

  Soong looked up into Chung Han’s middle-aged face that was not growing old very gracefully. “Why so?”

  “These men cannot cope with getting older. They are not businessmen or politicians. As I said, they’re adventurers. They are better off dying young, so that they do not have to see that life in the real world is not adventure. It is monotony.”

  She wanted to ask him how he knew this so well, but knew it was inappropriate. “Well, I better be getting back to him. I have his drink.”

  As a couple of men passed him, Chung Han rubbed his stomach and checked his watch. “Do not stray far,” he said.

  Soong walked back to Henry. He took his drink and smiled. “So, what did old Moon have to say about me?”

  “That you’re an adventurer.”

  “One getting too old for the adventure. He thinks I think that I am Peter Pan.”

  “Petera Pahn?”

  “A boy in Western stories. Never grow up.”

  Soong waited for at least a rub of the stomach by the lean man. As if reading her mind, he said, “Korean men are so funny. Look. Picking teeth, rubbing stomachs. They want each other know that they had good meal. They want each other know they afford good meal. A Korean man spend two month pay to buy a watch he cannot afford. Look, they even roll up sleeve to show they watch.”

  “This is not so in America?” Soong asked.

  Henry smiled. “With some. But not like this. No one roll up sleeve of tuxedo to show off watch. Koreans, so proud. Too proud.”

  “What kind of watch do you wear?”

  Henry laughed and rolled up his sleeve. “Timex. $5.95.”

  Soong laughed back. “So what will you do after your adventure is over?”

  Henry smiled. “I thought I marry Korean actress, take her and her family to America, and make million dollars.”

  Soong, so conscious of maintaining control of her face, involuntarily blushed. This man was way too rude and presumptuous. He was way too American. She consciously decided that she’d never be one of those sad, pathetic women who fall for American soldiers. It was so unoriginal and boring. The American soldier’s dream.

  -2-

  Their very private wedding followed three months later. The courtship consisted of Korean language lessons, and the fact that Henry was such a quick learner was one of the main reasons that Soong fell in love with him. Actually, Soong knew that this was only a small part of it. Soong was learning about the dynamics of love. It seemed to her that this type of love was almost like the Big Bang. Everything, like mass, temperature, the presence of key elements, and time, had to happen exactly how it did in order for this thing to exist. It wasn’t so much that if one of these things didn’t happen, it would’ve been dead rocks floating in space. It was more like these things were the things in Henry, and every aspect of him seemed perfect to her, even his imperfections. He was unabashedly human. He was never trying to trick her into believing that he was anything more than this. Though Soong often tried to articulate this love in her head, she was constantly making amendments and retractions. So finally she came to the conclusion that when he was around she felt very happy, and when he was not around, she was miserable. Maybe it was that simple.

  Disaster followed the day of her wedding. Someone had done a close investigation of Soong’s past and found out that she was not a distant relative of the late and great film producer Park Dong Jin. The papers released a story, saying that not only was Soong a peasant girl but a peasant girl with possible Japanese ancestry. It had been discovered that her mother was a comfort woman during the Japanese occupation. The scandal was not that she was what she was, the scandal was rooted in the attempted deception. Who does not despise a person caught in a lie?

  In a more minor story that day, it was discovered that an unidentified American Army captain was running a black market. He was selling goods to the Communist North. The Korean government demanded that he leave South Korea forever.

  Soong knew that Moon Chung Han’s anger would be fierce, but she did not imagine this. That such a powerful man could act like such a child scared her, not only for herself, but also for her country. She dropped the paper in front of Henry, who was sipping his coffee and looking out of the window of her house, the same great house which was once Dong Jin’s. He seemed to be admiring the green mountain. He looked down at the paper and smiled. “It would take me hours figure out what this says.” He paused. “But I see the picture of you. You look beautiful.”

  She found his ignorance charming. She smiled despite herself. “You do not understand. We are ruined.”

  He picked up the paper and squinted at it. “What you mean?”

  She sighed. “It’s Chung Han. He has ruined us. He says you run a black market. They will make you go back to America.”

  Henry put down the paper. He wrapped his hand around his coffee mug and the wiry muscles and veins in his forearm bulged. He frowned, then smiled. The grip he had on the mug loosened. His muscles amazed Soong. Their response to stress reminded Soong of a cobra hood. He pulled her onto his lap. “So, I go back to America. Wasn’t that the plan?”

  She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but his initial reaction to the news betrayed concern. Then an unpleasant thought popped into her mind. “What will your Army do to you?”

  He smiled. But this smile was of a more wicked nature. “End my adventure.”

  At first she’d thought that the black-market accusations were either false, or his involvement was sanctioned by either the Korean or American government, or both. But now she realized that Henry had been operating illegally, and perhaps both the head of Korean Central Intelligence and Chung Han were his partners. Chung Han, out of jealousy, had blown the whistle. He had threatened her the last time she’d seen him. “You leave me for that American, and you’ll regret it. Perhaps even all of South Korea will regret it. Do you not realize the power, not I, but you possess?”

  She had left frightened, but perhaps because Henry was American, or because he was so brave, the fear faded into a bothersome worry. But now, sitting with her second husband in the kitchen, she knew what Chung Han was capable of. For the first time since she had known him, she knew now how much he actually loved her. Only pure love could bear such wild and risky jealousy. Perhaps true love mixed with the endangerment of an aging and powerful man’s pride. Henry patted her leg. “Don’t worry, we will all go America and be rid all this foolishness.”

  She thought about her children. She would have to send for them. They would leave with Henry as soon as possible. She needed to stay for a while to liquidate her assets. The thought of money led Soong’s mind to something Henry had said that first night they’d met. She brushed her fingers through his straight black hair. “And your million dollars?”

  It was a week before Soong understood what he said next. But she remembered the sound of it so that she could translate it later. He said, “Shot to hell, baby. Shot to fuckin’ hell.”

  They spent the morning packing Henry’s suitcase. The embassy called and required his presence. He knew he’d be shipped out the next day, then dishonorably discharged. He agreed that he’d take Won Ju and Chung Yun with him. He had only seen the children twice before, and Soong liked the way he was with them. When Chung Yun had thrown a tantrum at the second meeting, Henry just laughed hard. Chung Yun, embarrassed, had quickly closed his mouth. This, among many other things, had drawn Soong even closer to Henry. So while they packed, she felt sure that Henry would be able to handle her children while she caught up to them.

  The doorbell rang while Henry and Soong were finishing packing the last suitcase. Soong stood up and walked downstairs. She had already dismissed the servants, and gave them a handsome compensatory check, so she had to answer the doo
r. Passing the window, towards the door, she saw a taxi accelerate quickly on the gravel driveway. It kicked up a pebble that hit the window and made Soong jump. Before she could even say anything, the taxi was replaced by a trail of dust. The piece of gravel left a ding on the window. Annoyed, Soong walked to the door and opened it.

  Standing at the open door were two pathetic-looking children. The older one, the girl, wore a torn, dark blue schoolgirl skirt, a white shirt missing a few buttons; she stood in front of a tattered and hastily packed suitcase which was not even completely closed. Her round, prepubescent face wore drying tears. Clear mucus dripped from her nose. The boy was an even more pitiful sight. His hair had been chopped up. He had a black eye. His shirt was almost completely ripped off. The remnants of it hung from his pants. He had only one shoe on and didn’t have a suitcase. Before she could say anything, the girl asked, “Are we really Japanese, Mother?”

  Soong bit her lip. Her arms were shaking. From the looks of things, someone had tried to rape the twelve-year-old Won Ju. As for Chung Yun, he had obviously been teased, demoralized, and beaten. Soong fell to her knees and opened her arms. Won Ju approached slowly, then hugged her mother. Chung Yun, not even looking at either of them, walked through the door and headed straight for his room. Won Ju whispered in Soong’s ear. “They tried, but I didn’t let them. They tried, but I didn’t let them. They said they were going to do to me what the Japanese did to Korea. They said they were going to do to me what the Americans and Russians did to Korea. They were going to rip me in half.”