77
G
YONG
-
HO
HAD
NOT
WORN
shoes for over a year, and her feet were cold on the wet sidewalk. She ran blindly from the brothel, not bothering to look back. She did not know where she was going, and she did not care, as long is it was far away. She found a quiet boulevard and followed it in a straight line. After eleven blocks, she slowed to a brisk walk.
At first glance Seattle was the same as Seoul, full of cars and random noise. She had never been on her own in a foreign city, and the adrenaline of leaving the brothel gave way to fear. People stared at her when she walked by, and she realized that she must look as strange to them as they looked to her. She was not dressed for the autumn chill in the air, wearing only a thigh-length skirt and thin, short-sleeved top, and it must have seemed odd that she was walking down the street barefoot. She was afraid that her Blue Talon tattoo was too conspicuous, and she did her best to conceal it against the buildings she passed. She wanted to find some way to cover it as soon as possible, but her first priority was to get as far as she could from Mrs. Cha and Blue Talon.
After a while the skyline of the core of the city came into view, a jagged crop of tall buildings huddled in the distance. The city seemed to funnel in that direction, and she needed a goal to keep her walking, so she headed toward downtown. Her feet began to hurt from the impact on the sidewalk and from the cold, but she did not dare slow down. She crossed a bridge and then found herself walking around a lake; and in spite of her desperate situation she had to admire Seattle for its beauty. Downtown was nestled between several low hills that were covered with houses and trees. The lake seemed to give the city a still center around which all its activity spun. The late-afternoon sun all but disappeared and the air became crisp, and she worried that she would not be able to find shelter. If not, she did not think she could live through the night.
Finally she found herself among the high-rises, and she could no longer believe that America was a desolate place. Exhausted, she stopped on a busy corner and watched the throbbing of the city. Such an assortment of people wearing a variety of styles, going in every direction and at different speeds. It was a wonderful kind of chaos. She had nowhere to go and no plan for what to do next. She thought about her decision to bolt, and wondered if she had made the right choice—at least at the brothel there was food and shelter. Would they punish her if she went back? But then she thought about that life and her impulse to leave it, and she realized that she would rather die taking control of her own life than suffer endless, anesthetic indignity at the hands of others. She stood on the corner, shivering, counting the people walking by.
I might die here,
she thought to herself.
Maybe that will be okay
.
A man shuffled along, pushing a wire mesh cart that was overflowing with random items. He almost walked past her, but then stopped and took a closer look. He was wearing a filthy yellow jacket and fingerless gloves.
“Your lips are blue,” he said to her in a rough voice. He had a white beard and greasy hair. His eyes held the compassion of one who has suffered greatly over a long period of time. He looked down and saw that her feet were bare. “You don’t have any shoes on.” He said it as if he were filling in an equation: blue lips plus no shoes equals . . . He began rummaging in his cart and withdrew an old pair of sneakers and handed them to her. It was a generous offering, and she was thankful. The shoes were fetid, and many sizes too large, but none of that mattered. At that moment they were better than anything she could have wanted from the imperialist magazines she had looked through so long ago.
“Thank you,” she tried to say in English. It was the first thing she had ever said aloud in the foreign language. It came out sounding more like “sank oo.” The man understood anyway, and nodded.
“Follow me,” he said.
Gyong-ho put the sneakers on her feet and walked behind him. She was grateful for the cushioned soles of the shoes, and the warmth they provided. As she walked, she noticed that the well dressed never looked at the wretched. It was like two parallel worlds coinciding but never intersecting. She followed the man for several blocks to an area of town that looked considerably older, with redbrick buildings and narrower streets. There was a line of people down one of the alleys, and the man joined the queue. “This is the food line,” he said. “They serve a cup of soup to the homeless every night. They also have a women’s shelter. They don’t let men stay here. It’s downright sexist, if you ask me, but I guess they don’t want no fornicatin’, it bein’ a church and all. Anyway, I’ll introduce you. They know me here.” The line moved quickly and soon they were at the door of the building. A man with a clipboard was writing names down as people entered. “They’ll want to talk at you while we eat; nonsense about God and stuff like that. Nothin’ comes for free, I guess,” he said in a whisper as they approached. “Hey, Rick!” he called to the man at the door.
“God be with you, Sam.”
“Hey, Rick, this is my good frien’, uh . . . what’s your name?”
“Daisy.” It was the first name that came to mind, and Gi immediately regretted saying it.
“Daisy what?” asked the man with the clipboard.
“Daisy Smith, if it’s all the same to you,” said Sam hotly. “Nosy prat,” he added under his breath.
“Right,” said the man, writing the name on his clipboard.
“She’ll be need’n a place to stay tonight, too, I imagine.”
“She will have to speak to Donna after the sermon, then. Let’s keep the line moving.”
Sam and Gi received foam cups full of soup and a dry roll each, and sat down at a long table. A man was droning on in the background about a man named Jesus Christ. The food was not very flavorful, but the room was warm. Gi scanned about, hoping to see Il-sun, but she knew it was unlikely she’d find her so soon—it had been about two months since Il-sun had been cast out, and there was no telling how far she had gone in that time. After the lecture was finished, Sam brought her to a tired-looking woman with droopy eyes.
“Donna, this is my good frien’ Daisy Smith. She needs a place to stay.”
“We’re pretty full up, Sam.”
“She doesn’t have a place to go. I’m sure you can find some room for her.”
“Well, where did she stay last night? Maybe she can go back there?”
“She can’t go back there! Boyfrien’ on drugs, waving his gun around! Termites eating her bones! No, she can’t go back there.”
“Has she tried Central?”
“No, she hasn’t tried frickin’ Central. That’s fifteen blocks from here. She’s here now, and she doesn’t have no clothes. She has shoes cuz I give ’em to her. Where’s your Jesus fucking Christ spirit?”
“Calm down, Sam, or I’ll throw you out. It’s routine. I have to ask. We don’t have a lot of room, but I’ll see what I can do.” She disappeared behind a door for several minutes, then poked her head out. “Okay, Daisy, follow me. I’ll show you to a bed.”
“Sank oo, Sam,” said Gyong-ho, and she bowed.
“Yer welcome. See ya around, Daisy.”
Gi followed Donna through the door and into a small waiting room. Donna handed her a clipboard and a pen.
“Fill out this form the best you can. You can read, can’t you?” asked Donna.
Gi nodded.
“You’re not allowed to bring any possessions inside with you. If you have anything, we will keep it for you in the safe. We’ve had a problem with people spreading vermin, so you’ll have to hand over your clothes for washing, and we’ll give you something to wear until morning. You’re allowed five minutes in the shower. You won’t want more than that because it ain’t exactly hot. We’ll give you a pillow and a blanket, and feminine products if you need ’em. Wake-up is at seven, and you’re expected to be out of here by eight. We’ll give you a warm biscuit to eat on the way out. Once you’re inside, you’re not allowed to leave until morning. All the doors have alarms. Got it?”
Got it
must mean “do you understand,” Gi thought. She nodded. She began filling in the form, using Daisy Smith as her name. She had to think hard about what letter combination made the
th
sound, but then remembered the blue elephant on television singing a song about the friendship between the letters
T
and
H
. After handing the form back to Donna, she was led behind a locked metal door. As soon as she heard it click shut behind her, she heard every door that had ever clicked shut behind her and she regretted her decision to stay. She was paralyzed by fear. What if this had been an elaborate trick to get her into the imperialist gulag? She was now locked in and being asked to strip. The walls were sterile and lit by anemic fluorescent lights. There were no windows, and now that she was inside, she would not be allowed to leave. The
Chosun
gulag was bad enough—the American gulag must be even worse. What horrible labor would they force her into? She could not take another step forward.
“Don’t take all night, now. I have things to do,” said Donna. “Don’t be afraid, I won’t bite ya. Give us those clothes of yours. Shoes too. They look like they need a good washing. Here, you can wrap yourself in a towel and head to the shower, just inside that door. I’ll give you some pj’s when you get out.”
Reluctantly Gi removed her clothes and wrapped herself in the thin towel Donna had handed her. Donna stuffed the clothes into a mesh bag with a number printed on the side, then handed Gi a small plastic chip with the same number on it.
“You’ll get these back in the morning,” said Donna, indicating the clothes. “Show your chip at the counter tomorrow, and you’ll get these back, fresh and clean. Now you have five minutes in the shower, then it’s lights out.”
Gi stepped into the shower room and stood under the water. The best she could say for it was that it was not cold, exactly. It was still better than any bathing experience she ever had in North Korea, using icy water and a small bucket. The soap smelled strong and antiseptic, and it burned her skin a little. Once she’d finished in the shower, Donna gave her a set of maroon pajamas and a pair of cardboard slippers. The cloth of the pajamas was surprisingly rough for being so thin. If this was the American gulag, at least it was clean.
Donna led her into a large room full of single beds. It reminded Gi of the orphanage, the way the women slept side by side in rows, and she scanned the room hopefully for Il-sun. The lights were dimmed but never fully extinguished for the night; and although the women were not allowed to talk after nine o’clock, there was constant noise. Women belched and farted, tossed and turned on noisy spring mattresses, one woman hummed to herself incessantly, and at least two could not keep themselves from bursting out with meaningless babble. Even with all this, and with her fear that she had just landed herself in a gulag, Gi fell into a fitful sleep.
78
“
A
LRIGHT
LADIES
,
RISE
AND
shine! Up and at ’em; it’s seven o’clock,” a woman shouted into the dormitory. “Turn in your blankets and your pj’s and pick up your clothes.” Women groaned, and chatter picked up where it had left off the night before. Gyong-ho opened her eyes and blinked a couple of times to clear them. The woman in the bed next to her was staring at the foot of Gi’s bed. Gi looked down and saw that her foot and ankle were sticking out from under her blanket, her Blue Talon tattoo in plain view.
“I’d keep that hidden if I was you,” she said. She was a blonde woman in her midthirties with dark bruises for eyes.
Gi said nothing and pulled her foot back beneath the blanket.
“Don’t worry. I won’t say nothin’,” said the woman.
Gyong-ho watched the routine of the shelter unfold, and then joined the line of women waiting to receive their laundered clothes. Gi gave her numbered plastic chip to a woman behind a counter, and the woman handed over the mesh bag with her clothes in it. Gi noticed a strong disinfectant smell coming from the bag; they apparently did not use the same fragrant detergent that was used at the brothel. Noticing that Gi’s bag was particularly light, the woman said, “We have a free box, you know.”
“A what?” asked Gi. She was glad that those words were easy to say. She was still timid to use the language.
“A free box. We have a box full of clothes from Goodwill. You might find some warmer clothes to wear. It’s in that corner, over there,” the woman said, pointing.
Gi went to the box and was happy to find an assortment of trousers, shirts, and sweaters. She found some things that looked like they would fit, including a pair of socks that would cover her tattoo. None of the shoes in the box were better than the ones Sam had given to her, but she was grateful to have shoes at all. The socks, anyway, would help her feet fit better in them. Without a second thought, she dumped her brothel clothes into the free box, and then went to the restroom to change out of her pajamas.
Once she was dressed, the tide of women at the shelter pulled her toward the exit. Just before leaving she was given a plain biscuit that was still warm from the oven. She bowed in gratitude, and walked out into the sunlight. It was a relief to find that she had not been tricked into the gulag.