Maureen moved closer to the door, waving off everyone who came to sit next to her or talk to her. The courtiers were dismissed.
As everyone settled back into their usual activities, the quad quieted. The television clicked on. Groups broke and reformed in a semi-circle around the high cart on which sat a nineteen-inch black and white TV. They were allowed a treat, one hour of television, probably something the guards wanted to see since they lined up at the console in the guard station to watch.
Maureen got up and peered through the window in the door, tossing words over her shoulder. “She looked like she was in pain.”
“Pardon.”
“That new one. Looked like she’s hurt.”
She nodded her head and hovered over Pearl. “Good thing I didn’t wait to kill that man or I would’ve missed this.” She went over and looked through the door.
Missed what, someone in pain? Sometimes Maureen made no sense at all. Pearl decided the safest path was to nod and excuse herself.
One of the guards called, “Lights out in fifteen,” over the mike and the television shut off.
Betty gathered her things and sauntered down the steps to her cell. Everyone took their time leaving the quad, trickling away like waves past rocks and around tide pools, slowly, inexorably moving away from the shores and into the deeps. Pearl glanced toward the quad door. Maureen stared through the window. When Pearl finished dressing and shut the cell door, Maureen ambled toward the second tier stairs, walking backward, eyes on the door until she stepped up onto the first stair, waited a couple minutes, turned and disappeared from Pearl’s sight.
Sometime during the night, voices in the corridor and the metallic thud of the door to the next cell roused Pearl from a deep sleep. She rolled over to and strained to hear. Boot heels thumped across the quad and the door opened and shut, the clang of the electronic bolt echoing in the darkness. The faint light glowing across the quad floor blinked out. Pearl shifted on her bunk and drifted off to sleep only to wake later feeling achy and bruised.
Roll call.
She got up, brushed her teeth with her eyes closed and went to sleep on the toilet, catapulted into awareness when she nearly fell off. The skin of thighs and buttocks stuck to the icy seat when she tried to stand up. She plumped down and shifted from side to side, working her thighs loose. Rubbing her scraped haunches, she joined the line of bleary-eyed women in the corridor. Evidently, Pearl was not the only one who had had a rough night.
She glanced to her right where Joo-Eun tottered, heels perched on the stiff backs of the pink sneakers. Couldn’t they find something else by now? She walked gingerly toward the stairs and up, an awkward ballerina in stiff and unfamiliar shoes, tripping and grabbing the banister to keep from falling backward. She shuffled across the quad and through the food line, settling into her usual place by the door. Blue-nailed fingers curled around a steaming bowl of grits held close to her face, eyes closed while she breathed in the steam. When the steam no longer rose from the bowl, the bowl was cradled close to her chest and she huddled around it to soak up any remaining heat. She did not eat anything. She had no spoon.
Maureen walked over to Joo-Eun, leaned against the wall, slid down to sit next to her and offered her a spoon. “You should eat.”
Joo-Eun looked up at her, clutching the bowl. “Thank you.” She spooned up a small bite, swallowed, grimaced and put the bowl down.
“No, you should eat.” Maureen urged the bowl into her hands. “You’ll get sick if you don’t.” Her voice was soft and gentle and her eyes filled with earnest concern so unlike the brash and brazen Amazon queen whose frown made so many others cower in fear.
The woman nodded and reluctantly spooned up a few more bites, bowing her head over the bowl, eating methodically and grimacing with each bite. She put down the bowl half finished, head bowed.
When Maureen picked up the bowl and spoon, motioned for someone to take it and put in on the tray, unaware when Joo-Eun got up and shuffled toward the toilets.
“Where did she go?” Maureen looked around. “Where did she go?” Her eyes darted everywhere, her body tensed to spring into action, one hand behind her braced on the wall as if to launch herself into action when the target was acquired.
Betty nodded toward the toilets and Maureen stopped and dropped to the floor, sliding down the wall, the balloon of energy and near panic deflated.
“Someone fainted in the toilets.” One of the women, a mere shadow of a girl—dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin—barely eighteen who usually sat at the picnic tables, ran to the guard station and pounded on the glass. The deputies waved her away. She ran to the quad door and pounded on the glass. “That Japanese girl fainted. Get help.”
Maureen sprang to her feet and ran toward the showers, appearing moments later cradling Joo-Eun in her arms like a broken doll. “Bang on the door again and do not stop until someone comes.” The girl blanched, milk suffusing the coffee sheen of her skin. “I said bang on the door and don’t stop.” The girl banged with both fists. “Kick the door.” The reed-thin girl turned away from the door and drummed one heel against the metal until it thundered and she didn’t stop until shoved out of the way when the lieutenant threw open the door. Before she could demand an explanation, Maureen rushed past carrying Joo-Eun.
“What the …?” The lieutenant stared open-mouthed at the pair until she realized all the inmates were gathering closer. She pulled the door shut and disappeared into the hallway.
Maureen didn’t return, neither did Joo-Eun, and Pearl couldn’t see anyone in the room between the quad and hallway.
At lunchtime, two guards escorted Maureen through the door. She rubbed her wrists and sat down next to the door. She did not move again until lights out. By then, the whole story had made the rounds. Maureen had refused to put Joo-Eun down and demanded the guards take them both to Charity Hospital. She was finally persuaded to place Joo-Eun on a gurney and the lieutenant took Maureen to see the captain to answer for her actions. A visit to the captain was something few survived. Maureen not only survived, she was still present and not in solitary or worse.
“How is she?” Pearl asked Maureen.
“I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything.”
“Do you know what happened to her? Did they tell you that much?”
“Guards don’t know anything, but I did find out her name. She told me before they took her to Charity. Her name is Joo-Eun. Jew-Yoon,” she said carefully. “Jew-Yoon. It means Silver Pearl. Such a pretty name.” Maureen rolled the words carefully over her tongue, “Joo-Eun,” she said, eyes focused on the distance.
Pearl decided not to mention that she already knew Joo-Eun’s name and what it meant. Maureen would be hurt if she wasn’t the first. “How is she?”
“She’ll be fine. A Bartholin’s cyst broke open. It’s painful. I don’t know how she stood the pain for so long. I had one. Hurt like the devil’s pitchfork stuck in my cat. Cat swelled fit to burst and nearly did one time.”
“Bartholin’s cyst?”
“You know. Down there.” She pointed at her crotch.
“Is that why she fainted?”
“The pain is intense, but she’ll be all right. They’ll do surgery today and bring her back tomorrow. They promised.” Her voice faded away. “They promised.”
Maureen got up for dinner, ate very little and returned her own tray. Her courtiers buzzed briefly but went away when she ignored them. They knew better than to press the issue. The afternoon and evening drifted lazily toward lights out, but that night there were no metallic clangs or muffled whispers in the corridor outside Pearl’s cell. She didn’t hear the snores and snorts that usually punctuated the darkness or the hushed moans. There were none, only a profound silence.
Next day, not long after breakfast, the quad door opened. Maureen shouldered two girls out of the way as Joo-Eun was helped through the door. Joo-Eun was pale and washed out, her movements jerky and slowed. A hefty guard glared at Maureen as she reached f
or Joo-Eun’s hand and Maureen glared right back. The guard backed down. A slender wraith of a guard shoved a small bag at Maureen; she ignored it and guided Joo-Eun across the quad and down the stairs. She nodded at the pale-skinned blonde who usually sat at Maureen’s feet, “Get the bag,” she ordered as she led Joo-Eun down the stairs and towards her cell.
Through the bars, Pearl saw Maureen fold back the blanket and sheet and help Joo-Eun onto the bed, kneeling down to take off the tiny tennis shoes that barely fit. She tucked the laces in the shoes and slid them neatly under the bed before fluffing the pillow and settling the petite woman into the bed, tucking blankets and sheets around her as though caring for a beloved child.
Maria, the burly girl who had the bunk in that cell, saw Maureen co-opt her bunk and ran downstairs to set things right. “Look, I know she’s sick, but you best get her out of my bunk.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot.
A crowd had gathered and Pearl found it difficult to see exactly what happened from her seat. A few moments later, Maria came back upstairs and, with a quick backward glance, settled in at the far picnic table.
Down below, Maureen stroked Joo-Eun’s forehead, smoothing the hair off her face and leaned down to whisper something.
The pale blonde girl, with cornrows like pale twisted worms against the pink scalp, coiling from brow to the nape of her neck, stood outside Joo-Eun’s cell shifting the bag in her arms while she leaned against the wall for support. Maureen took the bag and placed it on the desk, backed out of the cell, turned and strode down the hall to her cell, the blonde following on her heels, hop-skipping to keep up. They disappeared into Maureen’s cell, but the blonde reappeared a moment later, rubbing her arms. Maureen didn’t come back down. The rest of the women drifted away in ones and twos and settled in for the night. Betty packed up the dominoes and cards, tucked her pen behind her ear and took the paper plates to the big wastepaper basket next to the quad door before scooping up her games and heading for the stairs.
When Pearl passed Joo-Eun’s cell, Maria was grumbling. She beat the pillow with her first, shifting and cursing as she tried to find a comfortable spot. Pearl passed by and got ready for bed.
The lights blinked out and the bolts clanged home.
The next morning when Joo-Eun emerged from her cell and tottered up the stairs, Maureen rushed to her side and slipped an arm around the smaller woman’s waist. “Thank you, but I sit here.” Pearl pulled out a chair. Maureen pulled her closer and Joo-Eun waved her off. “There is fine.” Maureen guided her to the chair and waited until she was comfortable before moving away, eyes fastened on Betty’s bowed head, waiting for an invitation that did not come. Joo-Eun turned around, thanked Maureen and faced Pearl. “Thank you for letting me sit at your table.”
“It’s not my table. It’s Betty’s.”
Before Joo-Eun could offer her gratitude, Betty waved her off. “Yo welcome. Do you play cards or dominos?”
“Not really, but I am willing to learn.”
“Once you be well, Pearl show you how.”
“I will be most grateful.” She faced Pearl and touched her hand. Joo-Eun’s fingertips were hot and feverish.
“Are you all right, Joo-Eun? Maybe they should have kept you a couple more days. Your fingers are hot.” She curled her hand around Joo-Eun’s feverish hand and squeezed. Joo-Eun squeezed back and then folded her hands and put them in her lap, she nodded once. “No, I am fine. I do not like to stay in hospital. It makes me feel . . .”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Just so. I will be all right, but I wish to beg a favor.”
“How may I help you?”
“I see how you watch and listen. You are not like the others. I think it will help if I talk to someone and say what happened. May I tell you?”
“Of course.” Pearl’s fingers itched for a pen and paper, something to take notes. To keep her fingers from twitching as they had when she first learned to type when every word spoken was tapped out on tabletops and thighs, she folded her hands on the table and faced Joo-Eun. “I’d be glad to hear your story.”
“I have done nothing wrong. My brother put me here.”
“Is he with the police?”
“No. Businessman. He wants control of my shop. I have video store for adults.”
“You rent porn?”
She tilted her head and nodded once, eyes closed. “For adults. Very clean place and no sex in store. My brother lied to police to put me in here. Two nights ago, he came. Kwan Tomeo is head of family; he is not head of me.” A fiery spark of certainty glinted in her deep brown eyes. Joo-Eun’s whole demeanor changed from shy victim to determined warrior, a force to be reckoned with.
Thirteen: JOO-EUN
Kwan Joo-Eun grasped the hem of her tailored linen jacket to still the trembling in her hands. Her brother, Kwan Tomeo, held out a ballpoint. “Sign.”
His sister stood ramrod straight, teeth clenched, straining against the monsoon of hot emotion speeding through her veins.
“Sign.”
Joo-Eun took the pen and laid it carefully on the counter between them. She turned and walked over to a box of video tapes, picked up the pricing gun and attached labels to the videos before placing them carefully on the rack. Kwan Tomeo picked up his briefcase, pocketed the platinum Cross pen he always carried as a symbol of his wealth and power, and walked out the door. The bell jangled wildly. Joo-Eun continued pricing and placing videos until the box was empty, and took a box cutter from her trouser pocket. She slashed the tape, deftly broke down the box and laid it on top of a stack near the end of the rack, her precise movements a cover for the wild throbbing of her anger. She would not give up her share of the business or marry the man her brother chose. They were no longer in Korea and she was not a child.
Working quickly, she emptied the remaining two boxes, broke them down and laid them on the stack before locking the door and counting out the register. She checked her watch. It was past 2 a.m. Joo-Eun put on her coat and dragged the pile of cardboard out the alley door, locked it and leaned the pile against the dumpster. Shivering in her sable coat, Joo-Eun quickly unlocked her car and got in. The drive home in the teeth of an icy wind threatened to force her off the road. She fought the wheel, grateful for the few stoplights still working at that hour. Her hands trembled when she pulled into the driveway forty minutes later, fighting icy roads and howling head winds all the way. The commute usually took fifteen minutes. She was glad to be home as she thumbed the garage door opener and drove inside.
Once the door was down and she was inside, she let go the iron grasp on the steering wheel, unlocked the door to the laundry room and crumpled bonelessly to the floor. Wrapping her trembling arms around her knees, she rocked to and fro. She swung between anger at her brother’s demands and fear of what he would do if she continued to defy him.
This was not Korea. She had rights. Tomeo had not built up the store. She had done it alone, turning the least of the family’s holdings into a profitable business. She had earned the right to choose her own path and was not about to relinquish control of her life to Tomeo or whomever he chose to foist on her. It did not matter that the man Tomeo selected was wealthy and the alliance would satisfy her brother’s lust for control and power. She would not give in, especially not to marry a man thirty-five years her senior. Even had the man been ten years older she would not have agreed, not if it meant giving up control of her life or what she had earned the hard way. The family would gain much prestige. “Life is not just prestige,” she said to the walls. There had to be some pleasure, some happiness and, yes, some choice to be worth the sacrifice. “I do not do sacrifice.” She got off the floor and kicked off her high heels, slipping her feet into house shoes.
Some traditions were worth keeping. Arranged marriages and the life of a silent, biddable wife were traditions not worth perpetuating, not when those traditions demeaned her. And not if she must give up her freedom. A man so much older would not countenance an independent
wife. He was too much a slave of tradition. When he died—and he would die long before her—she would be left with very little. All his money would go to his family because she was unable to bear children. A woman without sons had no status in Korea and there would be no sons. Had Tomeo even told him she was barren?
He must have. Such a delicate matter left out of the negotiations, if it came to light later, would end in her being sent back to her family in shame and without her dowry. “I will not submit. Not this time.
“Cut me out if you dare, Tomeo. You cannot take away my pride or my life.” As long as he did not cut her out of the business she had built, Tomeo could follow all the traditions he liked. She would make her own traditions.
Joo-Eun knew she had been meant to fail. The bookstore had been meant to drag her down by throwing her into the deep end. She had been rebellious and Tomeo and her mother were determined to make things as difficult as possible. “You are too American,” her mother said. “You must be more feminine. An older husband will quiet the demons and remind you of your place. Do not get too comfortable in your business. You only mind it for the family.”
She had not failed, but prospered, bringing more money into the family than her three elder brothers. Her success had nearly cost Tomeo his standing, especially since one of the businesses he backed was now bankrupt. He still earned more than Joo-Eun, but only by a mere forty thousand a quarter. That was, as the Americans said—“as I would say”—small potatoes.
Among Women Page 12