The Spirit of the Dragon

by William Andrews

  She was right, I was larger then. Over the previous several weeks, I had lost weight from working for my uncle and on the Pak farm. I hoped she wouldn’t also notice my dark skin and rough hands.

  “We will have to take in the chest and waist,” Yoshiko said. “The shoulders should be smaller, too. But we do not have time for it. Kiyo, Fumiko,” she said to the assistants. “An inch in the chest and two in the waist. Go now.”

  The women helped me out of the kimono and left with it. Yoshiko examined me as I stood in front of her wearing just my undergarments. “You have been in the sun,” she said, shaking her head. “You are dark like a plum and I’m afraid that the makeup you have on does not hide it. Also, the sun has bleached your hair and your hands are rough. Tomorrow we will use oshiroi powder on your face and camellia oil for your hair. Tonight, as you sleep, you will wear gloves soaked in coconut oil for your hands. We will give you the appropriate undergarments, too. You will look fine for your wedding.”

  The door slid open and Mrs. Saito stepped in. Yoshiko nodded to her, but I was too shocked and didn’t think to bow.

  “Leave us, Yoshiko,” Mrs. Saito said. Yoshiko nodded again and I was surprised she didn’t bow to the lady of the house. Then I was alone with Mrs. Saito.

  She wore the same black-and-white kimono she had on when I first saw her weeks earlier. She had her hair pinned up the same way Yoshiko did so that it framed her face. She was expressionless as she glided over to the chair and sat. Still in my undergarments, I reached down and picked up my gray dress.

  “Leave it on the floor,” Mrs. Saito said. “It is appropriate for you to be in your undergarments given what I am about to say.”

  I dropped the dress and stood in front of Mrs. Saito like a child. She examined me from my head to my toes. She did not reveal if she approved of what she saw or if she was disgusted with me. “Tomorrow you will marry my son,” she finally said, her voice cool and controlled. “You should know that I do not approve of this union. Hisashi is . . . sensitive, and he needs a strong Japanese wife, not a weak Korean girl like you. But my husband is a patriot, and he believes we should do what the emperor says, no matter how foolish it is. So he has given our son to the empire to support the idea that Koreans should be Japanese. I do not think it is wise for us to mix. It will dilute Japanese blood.”

  She lifted her chin. “But as the wife of an important man, I am expected to follow my husband without question. And that is what I will do. However, you should know this.” She leveled her eyes on me, sending a shiver through my body. “You will be Hisashi’s Korean wife,” she said, as if the word “Korean” was dirty. “When the time is right, he will have a proper Japanese wife. Of this, I am sure. It does not matter what my husband believes. And when that time comes, you will go your separate way along with any bastard children you have.”

  She kept her eyes on me and let her words sink in. It seemed like time had stopped. I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her correctly. The words “Korean wife” kept ringing in my head. I think I started to shake. I’d thought Mr. and Mrs. Saito would treat me well. That’s what Mr. Saito had promised. But according to her, I would be nothing more than a mistress for Hisashi. I wouldn’t be a respectable wife at all. And I wouldn’t be able to love him as I had dreamed I would. Right then I thought I’d made a mistake.

  Mrs. Saito stood from the chair and went to the door. She slid it open. Before she left, she said, “I expect our time together, however short, will be . . . cordial. As long as we understand each other, there is no need for hostility. Goodbye, Miyoko.”

  She went out the door, and I quickly put on my gray dress.

  I stayed in the room with the low bed all day. Haru and Yoshiko came in shortly after Mrs. Saito left and drilled me on what I was to say and do in the wedding ceremony. Haru was strict and scolded me when I got something wrong. He often flicked his finger on my head to emphasize a point. Yoshiko encouraged me to try again and praised me when I got it right. They told me that the wedding would take place midafternoon the next day and that only the immediate family would attend.

  The pretty servant girl named Kiyo brought me a supper of miso soup, rice, vegetables, and strips of grilled beef in a bento box. It was the first time I’d had beef in many years and it was delicious. When Kiyo came to take away the bento box, I thought I saw a look of disapproval on her face the same as Isamu had given me earlier in the car.

  The next day as Yoshiko looked on and instructed them what to do, Kiyo and Fumiko bathed me, put camellia oil in my hair, and applied oshiroi powder on my face and hands. They put me in the wedding kimono, which now fit perfectly, and then put on the tsunokakushi headpiece. Yoshiko tugged and pulled on the kimono and headpiece until they were just right. Finally, she declared that I was ready.

  We went to the entrance of the large main room where I had first met Mr. and Mrs. Saito. Under the large headpiece, I had to turn completely to look around and see anything. I saw a man wearing a black cylindrical hat and a blue priest’s garment. Mr. and Mrs. Saito were there. He wore a smart Western-style black suit with a white shirt and gray tie. Mrs. Saito looked stylish in an elaborate red kimono. She held herself straight and without expression.

  It was only after I looked closely that I recognized my parents, who wore kimonos. I had never seen them in kimonos before. I was sure they didn’t own them so I assumed the Saitos had provided them. Mother looked lovely in her blue kimono. She held her shoulders back and smiled at me when our eyes met. Father, on the other hand, looked as if he was a prisoner and his kimono was prison garb. He stared at his feet and never looked up.

  Then Hisashi came in. He was strikingly handsome in a black kimono with a black-and-white striped pleated skirt. He smiled at me and my heart skipped a beat. He came to me, took my hand, and led me to the priest who stood in front of the kami dana, the miniature Shinto altar.

  The priest washed our hands. He said a prayer to Shinto gods as he asked for a blessing on our marriage from the kami—the emperor and the spirits of nature. We said our vows and sipped sake three times, representing heaven, earth, and man. Mr. and Mrs. Saito and Mother and Father sipped sake, too, and everyone toasted us saying “Kampai! Drink up!” Everyone, that is, except Father, who continued to stare at his feet.

  And when it was done, I looked at Hisashi, my new husband, who seemed genuinely pleased to have me as his wife. I looked at Mother and Father, and sweet sorrow filled me that my life with them was over. I saw Mr. Saito in his suit and tie. He looked the very picture of a proud Japanese patriot. I looked at Mrs. Saito, who held her chin and eyes level.

  I took my husband’s hand. At that moment, I could have been happy. But now that I was the wife of a Japanese man, I saw the two-headed dragon from my aunt’s comb. Its eyes were afire and its claws raked the air. It was talking to me. “Korea!” I thought I heard it say. “Dare not forsake your people!”

  ELEVEN

  Mother had said that if I loved Hisashi and he loved me, our wedding night would be beautiful. I didn’t know if I loved him. I didn’t even know what love between a man and a woman was. All I knew was that my heart beat fast when he was near. He had been kind to me and called me by my Korean name. My hand tingled when he took it to lead me to the priest. I willingly gave my vows to him.

  I didn’t know if he loved me either. He always seemed excited to see me. He’d said his vows, too. But his mother had said I would only be his mistress, and I worried that he felt the same way.

  After the wedding reception—a brief gathering with tea and a variety of vinegared rice and raw fish served with silver chopsticks and on gold-rimmed porcelain plates—I said goodbye to my parents, and Isamu took them home in Mr. Saito’s car. I felt scared and alone as I watched the car drive down the road with Mother and Father looking awkward in the back seat. I wondered when I would see them again.

  When the servants cleared away the food from the reception, Hisashi and I went to his room on the other side of the house from where I
had spent the previous night. He told me we were on the men’s side of the house, but since we were now married, I would live with him there. The room was much larger than the one I had stayed in. There was a low table and chairs without legs, the seats resting on the floor like cushions. Off to one side was a low bed on a frame like the one I’d had in my room, only this bed was much larger. Against a wall was a desk and a shelf with books. A scroll with a watercolor painting of the sea and a snowcapped conical mountain hung next to the desk. A tansu clothing chest sat against another wall. Someone had lit incense in a bowl on the table, and the room smelled spicy and sweet.

  I still wore my wedding dress. After the reception, Yoshiko had said I could take off the cumbersome headpiece, and Kiyo and Fumiko had taken it away. Hisashi still wore his black kimono with a white-and-black striped skirt.

  He faced me. His eyes were nervous and his breathing was a little fast. “We are husband and wife now,” he said. He grinned shyly.

  From inside my kimono, I took the silver kanzashi hairpin that I had hidden there before the wedding. I showed it to him. “I wanted to wear this for our wedding, but Yoshiko said it would be inappropriate. I do not think it would be inappropriate for me to wear it now, do you?”

  Hisashi smiled at me, and this time, his smile was not so shy. “I would be honored if you would wear it,” he said with a nod.

  I gave him the hairpin and turned my back to him. I lifted my hair off my neck and twisted it on top of my head. He didn’t do anything. After a few seconds, he said, “I . . . I don’t know how it should go.”

  With my back to my husband and holding my hair up, I smiled to myself. I said, “Just push it in so my hair will not fall.”

  He put a hand on my hair and I felt the metal tines gently slide against my scalp. I faced him. “It looks nice,” he said.

  He took my hand and led me to the bed. My hand tingled where he held it. It was like I’d forgotten how to breathe. I dropped his hand and stepped back. I untied the obi of my kimono. I slipped the kimono from my shoulders and let it fall to the floor around my feet. I unbuttoned my silk undergarment and opened it. Hisashi’s mouth was open as I stood in front of him. He came to me. He put his hand on the side of my face and I leaned into it. He slipped his other hand underneath my undergarment and around to my bare back. He pulled me into him.

  As he came close to kiss me, I heard the words his mother had said the day before. You will be Hisashi’s Korean wife. When the time is right, he will have a proper Japanese wife. Suddenly, I felt unclean and Hisashi’s touch was cold. I pulled away.

  Hisashi looked hurt and confused. “What is it?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry.”

  He stood in front of me for a moment. Then he closed my undergarment around me. He sat on the bed and invited me to sit with him. As I sat next to him, I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say.

  Finally, he said, “I think I understand. But please know this, Miyoko . . . Suk-bo. I will never hurt you.”

  I believed him. Though I had only seen him a few times and didn’t really know him well, in my heart, I knew he was true. I was ashamed for rejecting him. “It is not you,” I said.

  “Please tell me, what is it?”

  I hesitated. Then I blurted out, “Will you take a Japanese wife someday?”

  He looked shocked at my question and I saw I had hurt him again. “Whatever makes you think that?” he asked, as if I had just accused him of cheating on me.

  I wanted to tell him what his mother had said, but I knew I shouldn’t. He might get angry with her and confront her about it. Then there would be no peace for me in the Saito household. So I said, “I am just a poor Korean girl. Everything here is so different, so grand. I cannot imagine that you would have me and not a Japanese wife.”

  Hisashi took my hand. He peered into my face with his liquid eyes. “Listen to me, Suk-bo,” he said softly. “I think you are beautiful. I have thought so since I saw you in the forest that day. You made me laugh when you got angry at me for making you spill your strawberries. I saw in you the kind of woman I could love, and I knew that I wanted to marry you. It does not matter that you are Korean. I know in my heart that you will be a fine wife.”

  Relief washed over me and I wanted to cry. In that moment, I no longer cared what his mother had said. This man—this handsome, kind, and gentle man—was saying in his way that he loved me. And now, I knew what love was and I knew that I loved him, too.

  I leaned into him and we kissed. His lips were warm and tender. My heart raced. He put his arms around me and pulled me in close. He opened my undergarment and pressed his hands against my back. His touch was soft and gentle. And there, on the low bed in Hisashi’s room, surrounded by the sweet, spicy smell of incense, we made love.

  And it was, as Mother had said, a most beautiful thing.

  Before the wedding, I didn’t know what I would do when I lived at the Saito household. I had worried that I wouldn’t be able to continue my studies and that I would be bored with nothing to do. But as it turned out, I didn’t need to worry. Mr. Saito allowed me to continue my education, although with a strong emphasis on Kokugaku—Japanese learning. Kokugaku loyalists believed the Japanese were naturally pure and destined to rule all of Asia. They believed in strict adherence to “the way”—discipline, order, and purification—and that Emperor Hirohito was divine. In the afternoon, I received instruction from Yoshiko on how to be a Shinto wife. She taught me the proper way to conduct a tea ceremony, how to greet people—a level chin and a firm eye to those in positions below me; a bow of the head and diverted eyes to those in positions above. She taught me how a Shinto household ran—everything on a strict schedule and perfectly organized. Haru taught me that they did everything with the utmost respect for the emperor and Japan. I studied the Kodō taii, The True Meaning of the Ancient Way that Mr. Saito had given me. Every morning we washed ourselves in front of the kami dana altar and said prayers. Every night we bowed to the emperor and prayed for his health. Instead of the strict routine boring me, over time I grew to appreciate the serenity of it.

  Even so, I knew my place. I wasn’t invited to receptions with Japanese officials or to Shinto services outside the house, even though Hisashi always went. I stood behind Hisashi when we were with others. I wasn’t allowed out of my room during my monthly bleed.

  I didn’t mind. Although Haru could be harsh, it was comforting to have him and Yoshiko tell me what to say and how to act. I never had to do any chores like I’d done when I lived with my parents. The servants did everything. Kiyo and Fumiko were always only a step or two away, ready to provide anything anyone might need. An old Korean cook named Ai never left the kitchen. Her young assistant served the meals. One gardener took care of the grounds and Zen garden, while another looked after the vegetable garden and orchard. A handyman was always working on the house, although it seemed to me that the house was perfect and didn’t need any work. Except for Haru and Yoshiko, all the servants were Korean with Japanese names. It was strange to have them bow to me. Some of them were much older than I was, and Haru scolded me to stop bowing to them. It made me a little sad to stay upright when I should have bowed to my elders. It was as if I was no longer one of them. And I saw, by the way they looked at me, that they felt the same about me.

  Once I got used to life in the Saito house, I was happy. Even so, I missed my parents terribly. I hadn’t seen or heard from them in many months. I wanted to know how they were. I wanted to visit them, but I thought asking for permission would imply I didn’t like being with Hisashi. So I never asked.

  Hisashi told me he wanted to be a medical doctor, so he spent hours every day with private tutors. He always had his nose in a book about medicine. Sometimes he went away for days at a time with his father on official government business. I missed him when he was away and was never comfortable while he was gone. But he always returned, and his joy in seeing me told me he missed me, too
. When he could, he spent time with me. He was always tender and kind. We made love often. He smiled whenever he looked at me. I loved him so much it hurt.

  One day a year and a half after we were married, Hisashi announced that he was tired of his studies and asked if I wanted to go with him for a bicycle ride in Sinuiju. I’d gone out on my own only a few times since our wedding day, but never far from the house. I eagerly accepted.

  It was midafternoon on a warm day in early fall when Isamu got the bicycles from the garage and had them ready for us at the road. My brother had taught me how to ride a bicycle—he had an old rusty one that he had found on the side of the road and fixed up—but I hadn’t ridden one in a long time and I was afraid that I’d forgotten how. I wore a plain kimono, and Hisashi wore his usual white shirt and black trousers. The bicycles were nothing at all like my brother’s. They were shiny and new and had chrome wheels and handlebars. Hisashi held my hand as I hiked my kimono over the bicycle frame and found the pedals with my feet. I pushed on the pedals, and soon I was gliding along as if it was only yesterday that I had ridden my brother’s rusty bicycle. I felt light and free with the wind in my face. Hisashi mounted his bicycle and quickly caught up to me. His strides were long and I had to practically push myself to keep up. As he pedaled, his shirt billowed out. He held his chin high and he looked pleased. It made me happy that my husband was so contented. It didn’t seem that I needed to worry that someday he would take a Japanese wife, although truthfully, I still did.

  As we rode past blocks of houses into the city center, Hisashi told me about Sinuiju. “It is an important port,” he said. “They bring logs down the Yalu River to mill and ship to Japan. Dandong, China, is just across the river, and a bridge connects the two cities.”

  We entered the heart of the city and came to a park bordered by a street on one side and a railroad line on the other. I saw the open area of the Yalu River beyond the end of the park. Street vendors sold fish and rice cakes to people strolling along the tree-lined path. We got off our bicycles and steered them as we walked. An elderly woman held out a red scarf embroidered with a crane with a red head. I stopped for a moment and admired it. Hisashi came alongside me.