All Woman and Springtime (41 page)

The mood shifted, however, the night that Daisy descended the stairs wearing her
Chosun-ot
. Uncle Lyong drifted right over to her, forgetting for a moment to be manly, being pulled toward her as if by the softness of his own feminine lips. This struck a nerve with Mrs. Cha, and she visibly stiffened. Daisy had, either accidently or by design, tread across a boundary that Mrs. Cha would not abide. It was one of the few times Gi ever saw real emotion on Mrs. Cha’s face. Anger. Revenge. As soon as Uncle Lyong whisked Daisy away from the brothel to take her to his private nest, Mrs. Cha descended upon the bartender, who shrank as she approached.

“I want you to give her more
hiroppong
,” she said to him in English.

“What?” he said, looking shocked. He had believed she did not know about his arrangement with Il-sun.

“Don’t play dumb with me or I’ll have your balls on a platter. I know you give it to her. I want you to give her more. A lot more.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shaking.

75

A
S
WINTER
CAME
ON
,
the rain never seemed to stop. The old building was a poor barrier against the damp and Gyong-ho was always cold. Sometimes she welcomed the extra body heat provided by her clients as they satisfied themselves on her. For a few days there was even snow, and traffic all but stopped in the brothel. It was a welcome reprieve.

Then the sun gradually returned, and for some time in the afternoons it would shine through Gi’s window, where she would soak up its rays. The days got incrementally longer, the rain stopped, and the winter slowly turned back into summer. The air was once again rich with the smell of life. She lingered by open windows to inhale the change of seasons—she had been in the brothel for an entire year.

Cho smoked and mumbled to herself almost constantly. For no apparent reason she would blurt “Where do we go from here?” and “I’m not that stupid.” It was distressing, and Gi wished she could talk to Jasmine about it. Jasmine would have had something insightful to say, she was sure—she had been a beacon of strength, and without her, since Daisy had claimed the better part of Il-sun, Gi was awash with loneliness. Gi found herself at a crossroads: Would she be pushed under and destroyed by the crush of captivity, or would she find her inner strength and continue to push against it? She could go either way. She looked inside and asked herself the question, Do I want to live? And, to her own surprise, the answer came back a resounding, Yes! She would do whatever it took to get through this.

Gyong-ho rarely spoke to Daisy. There were almost no recognizable traces left of Il-sun, though Gi was sure she still lingered there, under the surface, below the
hiroppong
and posturing
.
Il-sun had aged so rapidly that she could have passed for a rough forty, even though she had barely turned nineteen. Her eyes bulged and maintained a wide, hard stare. Her skin had lost its youthful color and sheen and hung loosely around her eyes. She picked at her face and arms constantly, and open sores wept on her sunken cheeks and her dry lips. Her teeth were a dark yellow shade, and some were even starting to turn black near the gums. Even with makeup, now, few men chose to lie with her. Mrs. Cha looked at her with smug satisfaction as Daisy sat, unaccompanied, at the bar.

For two months Daisy had been Uncle Lyong’s pet. He had come often to take her away for the evening; and as she was walking out the door on his arm, she would pass Mrs. Cha a sweet and condescending smile. Daisy’s air of superiority hit its peak at that time, and she outright refused to perform chores or work in the bar. She began ordering everyone around, like a princess; and though Mrs. Cha was immune to her commands, she did nothing to put her in her place. Then, without warning, Uncle Lyong stopped coming to the brothel. Daisy waited to be summoned by him, but the summons never came. When he finally did come back, he selected a newly arrived girl from Thailand to entertain him. Uncle Lyong was not going to save her from this life, and with that realization Daisy began to implode. She hit the pipe without restraint, and the bartender’s supply of
hiroppong
for her was limitless. In her drugged ranting, she often made references to her superior beauty and excellent
songbun.

Gi ached to soothe the deep wound that had caused Il-sun to be this way. She no longer desired Il-sun, as she once had, but she still cared for her deeply. Il-sun had nursed her back from a wretched state, and Gi wished she could do the same for her; but her friend was unapproachable and incoherent.

One evening in early August, Daisy was sitting at the bar, weaving back and forth on the stool, her eyes dull and droopy. Uncle Lyong walked in with several of his men. They had come for an evening of enjoyment after some tense business dealing. Uncle Lyong might have owned the whole world, by the look of his arrogant stride. His face was an unpleasable mask, cut in two by a sour grimace. When he came in, he ignored Daisy completely, as he had for months. If he even recognized her, it did not show. He found his favorite new consort and then went to sit for a game of cards at one of the tables. Something snapped in Daisy then, and she got up with a wild look in her eyes.

“You’re my man, Gianni,” she screamed, pointing at Uncle Lyong. The whole bar fell silent—no one ever dared to speak in a raised tone to Uncle Lyong, and it was especially inappropriate to point at him. She walked up to him, shaking her finger in his face. “You owe me, Gianni!”

Uncle Lyong stood, and everyone instinctively backed away from him. He turned to her, his eyes burning with fury, and the back of his hand made a sharp, loud sound on her face. He was a strong man, and he had cocked his arm wide, releasing it with tremendous force. Daisy spun from the impact and hit the floor. Her gums had been made soft by the
hiroppong,
and she spit two teeth into the palm of her hand. Il-sun gaped silently and then began to sob.

Uncle Lyong disappeared with his consort. Mrs. Cha stood over Il-sun, cold and triumphant. “You got what you deserve, cunt.” Il-sun looked up at her with fear and hatred. “I have no more use for you. Get out,” Mrs. Cha said with quiet command in her voice, pointing at the door. “Get out now, or I’ll have Asshole throw you out. And never come back!”

“No!” shouted Gyong-ho.

Il-sun picked herself up off the floor. The room was silent. Even the customers, who did not fully understand what was going on, knew enough to keep quiet. Il-sun walked to the door with her head down. Before pushing it open she looked into the palm of her hand at her teeth. She then turned her hand sideways and allowed her teeth to fall to the floor. The clatter they made split the dead quiet like thunder. Such small teeth, such a loud sound. She pushed the door and walked out of the brothel.

The door swung shut behind her and chatter erupted. Business went back to normal. Gi ran to follow Il-sun, but was brought up short by Mrs. Cha’s loud, raspy voice.

“Not you, Toby,” she said in English. “I like having you around.”

76

G
YONG
-
HO
WORRIED
CONSTANTLY
ABOUT
Il-sun, who was now on her own and fending for herself on the streets of an unfamiliar, foreign city. How long could she live out there? Even though they had drifted far apart during the last year, Gi felt stripped of something crucial. One thing that had been getting Gi through the numbing nights and days had been the hope that Il-sun would shed the persona of Daisy, and they would be close once again. Hope had been a distraction from the raw endlessness of this life of subservience. Dispossessed of that hope, Gi found herself on the precipice of despair—the future was a bleak promise of only more of the same. But she thought of her life, of everything she had been through, and as difficult as it was, she could not give in now. She stepped back from the brink, not with the question “Why?” but with “How?” How would she escape this life? How would she foil her captors, find Il-sun, and resuscitate her? These thoughts gave her a singular focus, a reason to live yet another day. She knew that the DMZ had been just a mental barrier, and so was her captivity: a problem to be solved, fear to be acknowledged and defused.

Cho was broken. She slouched, mumbled to herself, and smoked constantly. She saw clients—she was now a
bargain price
like Gi. She ate sparsely and looked dangerously thin, even for someone from North Korea. But still she lived. Some part of her, too, was fighting to get through it, and Gi felt proud of her for that.

Faces came and went. Girls were moved from place to place to keep them unsettled and too disoriented to escape. Gi could not explain why Mrs. Cha would not part with her or Cho; they had been at the brothel longer than any of the other girls. Maybe she needed someone familiar to care for. Her grandson had left for college, and perhaps, like everyone, she craved stability. Or maybe no one else wanted two skinny whores from North Korea.

A
S
AUTUMN
APPROACHED
,
tension began to build in the brothel. The bouncers paced nervously, and Mrs. Cha was more serious and grim than usual. Unsmiling men held meetings in a private room, after which they would leave without satisfying themselves on the girls. More bouncers fortified the brothel, and all the customers who entered were subjected to thorough body searches. Bit by bit Gi was able to piece together what was going on from scraps of conversations that she overheard. Apparently the Japanese counterpart to Blue Talon was trying to muscle in on their territory. Old agreements had been breached and now the more powerful Japanese were attempting to take over. Blue Talon expected to be attacked, but they did not know when or how. Uncle Lyong was in hiding, being an obvious target for assassination. Already two of his generals had been gunned down.

Gi caught herself thinking fearfully,
They are going to attack us!
It reminded her of the days back in
Chosun,
when there was constant fear that the Americans were going to launch an offensive. But then she had to consider whether or not she was even a part of “us.” Who was she and where did she belong? She used to be
Chosun,
living her life for the glory of the Dear Leader’s republic. Now the Dear Leader was a faint shadow in her life, powerless over her since she had crossed the DMZ.
Chosun
was no longer the mightiest of nations but an imaginary fortress across a wide, bumpy sea. But she was also not a member of Blue Talon—she was a possession. She was not any part of “us.” What did it matter if the Japanese attacked and took over ownership of her? Either way she was only a possession. To her, us was Cho, Il-sun, and Jasmine. Us was the orphanage mistress and her sister, the angel who saved her from the gulag. Us was her grandmother, mother, and father. Us was all the seamstresses, orphans, prisoners, and whores.

“And we want our lives back!” she said aloud.

“What was that?” asked Cho.

“I said, we want our lives back, Cho. This isn’t who we are.”

T
IRES
SCREECHED
ON
the street below; then came a sound like a heavy rock falling hard onto a wooden floor. Then another rock. Then a whole load of them falling in succession. Glass shattered, men shouted, and a scream pierced the afternoon. Gi had just finished dressing and her client was still lying on the bed. There was a dreamlike quiet that followed. She descended the stairs. Everyone in the bar was cowering under tables and in corners. Mrs. Cha made a frantic waving gesture at her from across the room. The door to the front room was propped open by the body of Asshole, who lay unmoving in the doorway in a red pool growing on the floor around him. Tires screeched again outside and a car sped away. Gi stepped over the body in the doorway and into the forbidden front room. The windows were shattered and men were sprawled every which way. Everywhere there were holes and shards of glass. She stood in the front room for a moment, comprehension coming to her in waves. She looked back into the brothel, and then out to the street. She knew that within a minute Mrs. Cha would recompose herself and that an opportunity would be lost. She thought of Il-sun, then she thought of Cho.

“I’ll come back for you, Cho,” she said under her breath. She stepped over the broken glass and onto the street.

PART IV