The Queen of Tears

by Chris Mckinney

  Soong knew they didn’t like her in the first place. All they needed was a reason, no matter how stupid, to make her scream. To them, Won Ju was like a broken car horn. They instinctively wanted to pound it to hear the sound instead of finding out why it did not work. She pulled her daughter in front of her. “I will never let them try again. Do you hear me? I will never let them try again. We are all going to America where they cannot touch you.”

  She hugged her daughter and heard her son slam the door five times before finally leaving it shut. She took Won Ju to her bedroom and sat her on the bed while she dug in her bureau. Under her neatly folded silk slips, she pulled out a cherry-colored wooden box. She rubbed her hand over the dragons carved of mother-of-pearl. She knelt before her daughter and handed her the box. Won Ju opened it. “It was a gift from your father a long time ago. It is for protection. I cannot go with you to America yet, but this will watch over you until I can catch up. Keep it with you at all times.”

  Won Ju unsheathed the silver blade. The girl seemed disgusted by it. She quickly slid the sheath back on and put it in the box. “I could never,” she said.

  Soong shook her head. “But you must keep it on you. It will protect you.”

  “How can it protect me when I know I could never use it?”

  “Please just keep it. For me. It will make me feel better.”

  Won Ju shrugged. She stood up and walked towards the doorway. She stopped, seeming as if she wanted to say something, but then she walked out of the room. Soong despised and admired her daughter at that moment. She despised her squeamishness, but admired her morality. But then perhaps it wasn’t morality. Perhaps it was innocence. Perhaps she was like the swell that doesn’t know it must become a wave.

  -3-

  At the airport, Soong watched the American military plane take off with her new husband and two children. She prayed to God that the plane would take them to America safely. Right after she did so, she laughed. Her praying to God revealed how long she had come from 1952, the year she had walked from North to South Korea. She had been a cynical child then. Now as the huge plane climbed in the air, she wondered how something so enormous could stay in the air for so long. She smiled. Yes, she had been a cynical fourteen-year-old who would never have prayed to a god she didn’t think existed. But now, sixteen years later, she knew there was no room for cynicism for a wife and mother. As the plane shot to dangerous heights, she prayed to herself unabashedly.

  When the plane disappeared, Soong turned around to hurry back to the bank and start settling her financial affairs. A black limousine was approaching the runway. She recognized the car immediately. It was a car she had ridden in many times. When the car finally stopped in front of her, the door opened. No one stepped out. Soong shrugged and stepped through the open door.

  Moon Chung Yan was wearing a gray Western business suit with a white shirt and yellow tie. His black shoes were off, revealing thin black socks. Soong crossed her legs and smoothed out her dress as the car drove off. She then took a pin out of her purse, wrapped her hair in a bun, and pinned it up. She rolled down the window. “You know, I have a history with black cars. I was re-born when one hit me, then took me in. I am in one now. I suppose when I die, I will be put in one, too.”

  Chung Han leaned forward and sighed. “I had to do it. I had to hurt you.”

  The wind was blowing at his thin web of hair. His eyes had dark, sleepless circles under them. “Yes, men and their pride.”

  “Yes, men and their pride, and their love.”

  Soong refused to look at him, focusing on the passing landscape through the open window. She knew if she looked at him, she’d betray fear. “My daughter was almost raped. I had to take her to an American military nurse to make sure.”

  He sighed. “I am truly sorry. But I could not be the laughingstock of the entire nation. You knew that. Not a man in my position, not a man with my power.”

  It was strange how he talked about power. It was like a possession of his that people were always evidently trying to steal. Maybe at one time power had not been as important to him. But she supposed that if others are trying to just take one thing from you, that one thing becomes the most valuable thing in the world to you. “I suppose so. Where are we going?”

  “If I were to run for President... It would have been impossible.”

  “Telling them that I was a whore you threw away was not enough?”

  He laughed. “No one would believe I threw away the Queen of Tears.”

  The car seemed to be heading back to her house. She was puzzled. She thought for sure Chung Han was going to take her to some dreadful prison where she’d be raped and killed. But she always had an overactive imagination about these things. She always thought death was always trying to steal from her. Just as she had refused to show fear, she refused to show any kind of relief. “My country hates me now.”

  “It is no longer your country.”

  “I no longer have the power you claimed I possessed?”

  “Why do you love him? The great Park Dong Jin would reject this nonsense.”

  He always spoke as if he were giving a speech. Vague words with multiple meanings, or melodramatic words always concerning the past, the future, fear, and exaggerated relevance. “You did not know Dong Jin. The shame would have been greater if he saw me become someone’s mistress, rather than an American’s wife. Besides, he was more concerned about my happiness than any other person I had ever known.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “I was on my wedding day. Not so much anymore.”

  “Do you love him?”

  She turned her head towards Chung Han. His tired face waited eagerly for an answer. “He is my romantic love. Do you know what this means? Even though I know I shouldn’t, I love him more than I loved Dong Jin himself.”

  Chung Han turned his head towards the open window. Soong also looked out and saw the car approach her house. She was reminded of the first drive she had taken to the house, how the little fourteen-year-old she once was feigned unconsciousness the entire ride. But she was conscious now. When the car pulled up to the house, she did- n’t fight the tears. Somehow she knew this might be the last time she would see the house. “Why do you cry?” Chung Han asked.

  “I am saying goodbye.”

  He opened his briefcase as the car stopped in front of the house. He pulled out a folder and handed it to Soong. He cleared his throat and suddenly a colder, businesslike voice came out. “The car will take you to a hotel. You will stay in your room under an assumed name. While you are there, you will not leave the hotel for any reason. Your first-class flight for America is scheduled in two days. This car will pick you up and take you to the airport. Here,” he handed her the folder. “This is your itinerary, your copy of receipts, and the information you need to access your new bank account in America. I am buying you out. This will be my house now. But the trade is more than fair. Generous, in fact. In America, you will find your account balance at five hundred thousand dollars, American. You can start your new life comfortably.”

  The deal was indeed generous. Not only would Soong walk away with more cash than she would have selling everything herself, but now she also did not have to deal with getting all of her affairs in order, which could take weeks. The fact that Chung Han didn’t consult with her did not annoy her. He never did. She looked at him while blotting the tears on her face with a handkerchief. “Chung Han, thank you.”

  His voice turned soft again. “On one condition. If you ever need anything, if you ever need to return, you talk to me. I am just keeping this house for you. It will always be your house.”

  She thought about the garden, the fishpond, and especially the grapes in the back. Yes, it was better if she did not see them right now. Aclean break. She grabbed Chung Han’s hand, sure she would never return. “I will call only you if things do not work out.”

  He smiled and stepped out of the car. “Remember what I said about the adventurous man. But I sh
ould not remind you. You will remember soon enough. You are my romantic love.”

  The car drove off. Soong did not look back.

  When Soong arrived in Hawaii three days later after a stormy flight that scared her to death, she called Henry from the airport. Henry and the two children were in Fresno, California waiting for her arrival. After she hung up the phone, she couldn’t really remember what had just been said. She faintly remembered complaining about the flight, asking about the children, and telling Henry how much she loved and missed him, but the last several days had left her so tired and disoriented that her mind was terribly cloudy. She had to focus. She was in a foreign airport with foreign symbols she could not understand. As she aimlessly looked for the gate for her connecting flight to California, something that Henry had said over the phone suddenly popped into her head. “I have this great idea for a business,” he said. “Let’s invest in the farming industry. Food will be a great investment. Everyone has to eat, right?”

  He had also told her about all the grapes in Fresno. Grapes. If she and Henry had children, she would be glad to be around a city of grapes. Yes, investing in grapes would be a great idea. So there she was, conscious of the fact that she simply and perhaps falsely assumed, like millions before her, most of whom had been way worse off than her, so they had been more susceptible to the illusion, that life got simpler on American soil.

  TURBULENCE

  chapter seven

  -1-

  WHEN Henry and Soong had gone on their third secret date, Henry had told her about how he was in the second wave that invaded Normandy Beach. He never once described himself as brave or courageous, instead he used the word “lucky” at least a dozen times. Through the sides of his eyes, he’d seen his companions fall, each one shooting or oozing fluids where no fluids should come out. One of his friends, a Private Jonah Smiley, whom they called “Rabbit” because he was the quickest, fastest, and most athletic in the company during basic, had his head disintegrated. There were no lasers or space weapons in the 1940s, but Henry had seen it. His friend’s head disintegrated, leaving behind nothing but a shattered helmet and Army fatigues stuffed with dead flesh. Not even a mist of blood was left, or at least Henry hadn’t seen one.

  Now, thirty years after this first date, Soong thought about the story again. In fact, whenever she was not satisfied with how her life was going, she thought about poor Private Smiley, the unlucky rabbit. To make matters worse, Private Smiley had a pregnant wife waiting for him back in Idaho. Henry had shaken his head when he told the young Soong the story, and the older Soong shook her head now as she thought about it.

  Life was unfair. It was unfair to her because she had been born poor, her first husband died, she hadn’t had the time to raise her children, she was practically exiled from her country, she lost a half a million dollars in bad investments, her children, especially her daughter, suffered in her absence, her second husband died, and her children continued to suffer perhaps because of the unfairness that had plagued her life years before. Life was unfair, but not as unfair as it was to “Rabbit” and his wife and child back home. No, she knew she was luckier than that. And besides, what was fair? Everyone hopes that their lives will turn out like a fairy tale or movie, and if it falls short of that, then life is unfair. Yes, Soong thought, hope makes life unfair.

  As Soong unpacked in her new apartment, she looked out the window. Her heart went out to the Smiley family. She thought about the unborn Smiley child, who would be in his fifties now, and it made her sad. But she also missed Henry Lee; she missed her husband. He’d had a way of making her feel better with his tragic stories and his unbending refusal to take life seriously. She missed his irresponsibility. She was all about responsibility, and so she lacked balance without him.

  Things were looking bad for her family. Her son, Chung Yun, or “Donny,” as everyone else called him, was still estranged from his wife. He was drinking heavily, and sometimes he would pick her up ten minutes before their shift would start, so they would arrive at W & D late. Her crazy daughter-in-law, Crystal, was still staying with Won Ju, Kenny, and Brandon. Soong wasn’t fooled. She knew Kenny lusted for Crystal, as she knew most men would. Won Ju, also aware of this, was coming closer and closer to separating from her husband. Brandon was becoming even more quiet and distant, reminding Soong of a young, hating Chung Yun. It was ironic. The more Brandon hated his uncle, the more he was becoming like him.

  As for Darian, the girl who had once been Soong’s hope, she rarely showed up. Instead she sat around drinking coffee all day, talking about working, talking about school, talking about living, but evidently doing none of these things.

  Since her husband’s death, Soong obsessed over her own mortality, and as she thought about her legacy, she felt as if she’d failed. It could’ve all gone better. Unlike young “Rabbit,” she was given a chance, but perhaps because she had not been around when her children were young, they never grew up, especially her son.

  There was still so much to do. Stacks of brown boxes waited to be opened. Suitcases filled with clothes waited to be hung. And bags of groceries waited to be unpacked. She looked around the small, one-bedroom apartment, and was painfully reminded of that big, brown house in Korea with the garden, fishpond, and grapevines in the back, wondering if even today Chung Han waited for her return.

  She had gone back once. Just once. It had been 1973: The Year of the Ox. Her daughter Darian had just been born in a sea of green grapes. She was born in Fresno, California, where acres of grape vineyards lined up in rows. So many grapes. Too many grapes. It had been an unwise investment. So almost a half a million dollars poorer, Soong Lee returned to South Korea because it was the only place where she knew how to make money. And again, in her quest for fortune she felt was necessary, her children were left behind.

  Surprisingly, her decision to return had been met with little resistance from the dishonorably discharged ex-Army captain, Henry Lee. He didn’t want her to go, but he knew she needed to go. Henry Lee was never the type of man to keep people away from their needs. It was because he’d kill before anyone could keep his from him. Henry always had that kind of open-mindedness, that objectivity which would’ve driven lesser women crazy. But Soong loved that easy-going way about him, perhaps because it was so unfamiliar to her, and perhaps because she was confident that he’d always love her, but didn’t need to flex his jealousy muscles to show it.

  Stripping open one of the many brown boxes, Soong came across a picture of Henry. It was a black-and-white eight-by-twelve, framed with tarnished gold trimming. He was wearing his dress uniform, hat and all, and wearing that look of easy confidence. He looked completely happy with himself, but didn’t pose with an arrogant smile to prove it. Soong sighed and pulled out the photo albums beneath the picture.

  If he had known her plan, he probably would have put up more of a fight. She told him a half-truth. She’d said that she had a friend in South Korea who was going to invest in a high-class restaurant in Seoul and that friend wanted her to run it. She also planned to do some acting. This was true. However, she did not tell him who the friend was, and Henry being Henry, he didn’t ask. Maybe he knew, but didn’t want to hear it. His years in Military Intelligence had probably taught him how to put away information that would make him emotionally involved. But Soong didn’t know if he knew her friend was her ex-lover, Moon Chung Han.

  She looked in the albums. They were filled with pictures of the children when they were young. Most of the photos had been taken by someone else besides her. She closed the albums and put them back in the box. She stepped away from the boxes and walked to the small kitchen. She unloaded the groceries into the refrigerator. She thought about her grandson Brandon as she loaded wonbok kimchee, hotdogs, ketchup, dijon mustard, two Japanese pears, and a papaya into the refreshingly cold box. She would never get used to Hawaii’s humidity.

  After unpacking her groceries, Soong decided to go three floors down to see if her grandson was back fro
m school. He was a high-schooler now, attending the same high school as his father did. Punahou, the expensive private school that Won Ju hated. It was almost the end of his first year, and he didn’t talk about it much. He seemed almost suspicious of his family, like they were trying to catch him doing something wrong.

  Soong waited for the elevator. She hated elevators. In heaven, which she did not believe in, elevator doors opened as soon as you pressed the button. Her awareness that her mortality clock was ticking, and there were things to fix, gave her little patience for waiting for elevators. Just as she felt she would scream, the little orange light went off, and the doors opened.

  Soong entered the elevator and stood uncomfortably as two local teenagers, a girl wearing denim shorts and a red halter-top and a boy wearing a blue tank top and red surf shorts stood in an embrace. The colors of clothing pressed together with the bodies, but did not mix. The color purple was once again elusive for Soong. When the doors opened to her daughter’s floor, she gratefully stepped out of the elevator, and headed for the apartment, knowing that no one was home. Won Ju was at work with Crystal. Kenny was also at work. It was only two o’clock, and school didn’t get out for another half an hour, so Brandon was also not home. But she still had the key. She could wait. Donny wouldn’t pick her up for work for another two and a half hours, if he’d actually be on time. She knew her grandson avoided her too, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to make sure the child was not hungry. Food concerning her grandchild had become a fixation with her. She always felt that the tall, lanky boy was not getting enough to eat. She disliked hotdogs, ketchup, and dijon mustard, but Brandon liked these things, and they sat in the refrigerator on the unlikely chance that she’d be able to prod him up to her new apartment once in a while.

  Soong looked for the appropriate key on her key chain. So many keys. One for her new apartment, one for her daughter’s apartment, one to get into the apartment building, three for the restaurant, and one small one for her jewelry box upstairs. She found the key and opened the door.