This Burns My Heart (22 page)

“We shouldn’t be together anymore,” Soo-Ja said, letting the words hang in the air. “You know what I’m asking, right?”

Min took the napkin in front of him and started folding and unfolding it. He’d then smooth it out, looking at the creases. He never set his eyes on her, but she could sense his sadness, and it was black as tar. “After everything I’ve been through, you tell me this?” he asked.

“What about what
I’ve
been through?”

“You have another man?”

“No,” she said.

“You have another man,” said Min, looking at her for the first time. He tore the napkin into pieces, and he threw them aside, like confetti. “Maybe not in your arms. But in your heart.”

“There is no one,” said Soo-Ja firmly. “That’s not the reason I want us to separate. Maybe if we didn’t live with your parents, maybe then we could have a chance, but not like this. I can’t, Min. Our time together is over.”

“Why do you want to leave me?” asked Min, staring at her sternly.

Soo-Ja knew she had to tread carefully. Wives were rarely permitted to divorce their husbands without consent, and even if a judge allowed it, the terms—especially regarding the custody of children—were always in the husbands’ favor.

“Why do you want to stay with me?” Soo-Ja retorted, though she already knew the answer. She knew how much Min needed her. She was his lifeline. She had, however reluctantly or accidentally, given him love, and because he had never known it before, he could not let go, much
like a baby who holds on tight to his mother with his strong fingers. Soo-Ja thought they were both unhappy—and they were—but she’d been naive to expect Min to want to get out of this unhappiness when for him, the other option was worse. But for a moment, as Min nodded, Soo-Ja softened, thinking perhaps this kind nod would be what she remembered him by, years later. She rose from her chair, ready to leave the restaurant, Min, and her marriage. “Good-bye.”

Suddenly, Soo-Ja felt Min grab her arm. The whistle of a kettle cut through the air, and the cook’s curses could be heard, as she swept away the boiling water overflowing onto the stovetop. “You can go, Soo-Ja. But you can’t take Hana with you,” said Min, rising slowly so he stood next to her.

Soo-Ja froze, and when she gazed into Min’s eyes, she saw a blank.

Min continued, their bodies almost glued together, the intimacy of lovers. “You know the law, don’t you?”

“The law?” Soo-Ja asked quietly. She almost couldn’t hear the words come out of her lips.

“The husband keeps the children,” said Min. He looked at her with the daunting gaze of a judge sentencing a prisoner, as if he knew he could create different destinies for her, and it was up to him to decide which one to give her.

“You have never once changed Hana’s diapers. You have never bathed her,” said Soo-Ja, trying to quiet the anger building inside her. Min still had his hands on her arm.

“My mother can raise her,” said Min casually, as if making arrangements for a weekend trip.

She fought back tears, and could feel her hands shaking slightly. “You wouldn’t do that to me,” said Soo-Ja, as her breathing grew more labored.

“I will never, ever let you keep Hana,” said Min. “You will never see her again.”

“Min, you can marry another woman. You can father another child, a boy.”

Min shook his head. “I don’t think I can do better than you. So unless you want to lose custody of Hana, you’d better stay with me.”

Soo-Ja felt as if she were falling into an abyss. “You’d really take Hana from me?” She could hear the desperation in her own voice.

“If that’s the only way I can keep you, then yes.”

Soo-Ja nodded. The pain in her stomach hurt so much, she almost doubled over. She felt a slight shudder as he put his arms around her and led her out of the restaurant. Back at their house, her in-laws would be waiting for her.

Nine Years Later

Seoul
1972

A
ll of this nothingness could be mine, thought Soo-Ja, as she walked through the empty fields in the neighborhood of Gangnam, south of the River Hangang, with Min and Hana following her. It was a cold Friday morning in early winter, and Soo-Ja was on her way to a meeting with a real estate developer who knew her father. Gi-yong Im sold plots of land in undeveloped parts of Seoul, and speculators (or
aspiring
speculators, like her) bought and sold those lands for profit. The appointment she had with Gi-yong was her first real business meeting, and though she should be nervous, Soo-Ja was in fact elated. Min was the one sweating; he had repeatedly asked if he could stay with Hana at home. Soo-Ja, too, would have liked to have gone on her own, but she knew the developer would never do business with her. She had to pretend she was simply tagging along, and that Min was really the one interested in investing.

Soo-Ja dressed Min in an elegant brown suit, with a form-fitting, flattering cut that gave him square shoulders and a slim frame. She herself wore a yellow silk blouse with ruffled trim along the buttons, and a long beaded necklace hanging down to her waist, just above her red polyester pants. She didn’t wear hanbok anymore—she thought only maids and old people stuck to it. Western fashions seemed to be all the rage, especially American and French—miniskirts, bright colors, and even things like gold spangles and folk-music-inspired patterns.

Gi-yong had them meet at the plot of land itself, a barren desert of rocks and parched soil, a sea of brown and faint yellow, as lifeless as straw, framed by the clear blue sky above and the cerulean water from the adjacent river. She spotted Gi-yong in a heavy woolen trenchcoat, wearing black leather gloves and a white mask over his mouth to keep his face warm. He looked to be in his late forties, though his hair was still a lustrous black. It was hard for her to tell a man’s age, since their faces often had few lines; she could tell much quicker a man’s status, since powerful men in Seoul never acted humble.

The land was more desolate than she expected, and the closest buildings were kilometers away. Nobody had any interest in constructing here, and so the land was worthless. All the building was being done on the other side of the river, in Gangbuk. As far as everyone knew, that’s the direction in which Seoul would continue to grow. In addition, no one knew if the city had reached capacity, or if it would grow more. The President had been very keen on stimulating the countryside, making those areas more livable, and if he succeeded, the constant move to the capital could soon stabilize. But that, of course, was the beauty of investing. In five, ten years, this land could be worth either ten thousand
won
or ten
million won
.

As Soo-Ja stepped forward to walk to Gi-yong, Min reached for her arm and stopped her. For a moment, she thought that he wanted to check her appearance, and she remembered to take her red scarf off her head and wrap it around her neck—she didn’t want to look like she was fresh off the bus from
sigol.
But Min instead flashed a stern look at her, and he shook his head softly.

“Let’s go home, Soo-Ja,” said Min. “This kind of thing is not for us.
Meoggo-salja.
”

Soo-Ja looked back at him, stifling her frustration. Min’s motto literally meant “eat and live,” or in other words, if you have enough to eat, be content, for it’s enough. It was an old saying, and many people lived and died by that notion. But just being fed wasn’t enough for Soo-Ja. She saw all around her people becoming rich overnight, like the owners and managers of the large electronic export manufacturer
chaebols.

Her country was changing. Some folks lived like peasants, toiling in rice paddies all day and coming home to huts with thatched roofs at night, while the men and women of the city (and in her own hometown of Daegu for that matter) bought into Western-style apartment buildings with—and this would have been unimaginable a decade ago—playgrounds for the children, and well-lit, air-conditioned, indoor shopping centers nearby.

“This doesn’t look like a good investment,” he continued. “Who’d want to build here? It’s too close to the river, and there’s nothing for kilometers.” Min pointed to the vast open space around them, at the fields of dried-up, barren soil.

Soo-Ja noticed Gi-yong looking in their direction, waiting for them, but she knew she had to have this conversation with Min. She stood closer to her husband and spoke quietly, so Hana would not hear. “Even if I brought someone from the future who said we’d become rich, even if I showed you a lab report saying there’s gold under the ground, you would still deny me this, and say no. Isn’t that right?”

Hana, who had been quietly watching them, pointed to someone behind them, and they realized Gi-yong was making his way down, apparently tired of waiting. Soo-Ja turned away from Min and took a deep breath. She tried to wipe the anger off her face.

“Annyeong-ha-seyo,”
Gi-yong greeted them, a crescent moon smile on his face. He bowed deeply, and then shook their hands. He also tried to pat Hana’s head, but she moved out of his reach.

“She’s not a child. She’s almost a teenager,” Soo-Ja said, smiling.

To Soo-Ja’s surprise, Gi-yong did not look offended or embarrassed. He simply laughed heartily, nodding, and Soo-Ja could tell he didn’t laugh out of some social obligation, but rather because he seemed amused by his own mistake. She liked this—she liked people who had a sense of humor about themselves.

“Mr. Lee,” said Gi-yong, looking at Min. “This is the land you are interested in buying. It is eighty percent sold. I hope to have it one hundred percent sold by the end of the month.”

Min gave him a scornful look. “Your land doesn’t look like much.”

At that moment, a young woman who looked like an assistant of sorts came to Gi-yong and spoke to him for a second. Gi-yong made some hand gestures to them—part apology, part request for them to stay and wait, and he followed the woman back to a makeshift office erected a few meters away.

“Let’s go now, let’s go before he comes back,” said Min, eager to continue with Soo-Ja the conversation Gi-yong had interrupted.

“No! Let me do this,” said Soo-Ja, pulling away from him as he tried to reach for her arm.

“You can give the money back to your brother,” said Min.

Soo-Ja walked a few steps away from Min and kept her back turned to him. She had told Min that the money to invest had been loaned to her by her younger brother, who now worked as an architect. In reality, Soo-Ja had been saving the money from her job as a hotel manager. Whenever Min asked her how much money she had made, she would show him only half. The other half she’d stuff in the pockets of her clothes in the dresser. She had managed to save 200,000
won.

“The investment is risky, yes, but I believe in this city. Everyone is moving here. I run into old acquaintances from Daegu and Pusan all the time—women with children I knew as babies. The future is in Seoul.”

“You sound like President Park. You know he tortures people,” said Min.

“Well, if you spruce up your old skills with the student revolutionaries, you can fight him back. Although I think fighting me is enough,” Soo-Ja said, turning around and facing him again, with her hands in her pockets.

“That’s very funny,” said Min, not smiling. He then turned to Hana. “You have a very funny mother. Tell that to your prospective husbands; they’ll be sure to ask for your hand.”

“I have already decided on this. We’re not going to live hand to mouth. We are going to invest, and buy some of this land,” said Soo-Ja, walking away from Min. No one could mistake the seriousness in her voice.

“‘I already decided.’ What do you think you do to your husband when you say things like that?” asked Min. “Isn’t it
my
job to decide? It’s bad enough I have to ask my wife for money.”

“And I always give it to you,” Soo-Ja calmly replied. “I have never complained or made you feel self-conscious about anything. If you have issues with that, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

This was a sensitive topic, the fact that for the last few years, Min had not had a job. It was understood that the reason wasn’t because he was lazy or unintelligent, but because of his bad back. Seven years ago, Min’s parents had decided to immigrate to the United States, and they had asked Min to come with them and bring his family, so they could work together in a factory there. Soo-Ja refused to go—unable to live with them after the way they had deceived her—and Min had to decide between obeying his parents and staying in Korea with his own family.

At the time, Min was walking by a mini–grocery store near their home in Daegu when an old woman—a distant acquaintance—asked him to help her carry boxes of apples into her store. She did not mention how heavy they were, and when Min lifted the first one, he heard a loud crack—it was his back. At this point, Min should have dropped the box on the ground, but, afraid to embarrass himself in front of the old woman—for she might think he was weak—he carried it all the way into the store, taking one long, excruciating step after another, and cracking his back even more.

Min suffered great pain for days, and his back never fully healed. He could not, he told his parents, move to America, and they left without him. By the time he could again move normally, Min also decided that the bad back would become the official reason why he couldn’t work. It had become an essential part of how they constructed their lives—it explained to Hana why, unlike other men his age, her father didn’t have a job, and it helped explain to others why Soo-Ja was the one earning their bread.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting!” Gi-yong waved his hands in front of him, animated.

“It’s no problem at all,” said Soo-Ja, after realizing that Min, now
sulking, would not reply to Gi-yong, even though he was the one being addressed. “My husband is very excited about this investment opportunity. There are those who say our country will not grow, but I disagree. I think this is all just the beginning.”

Gi-yong nodded. “There’s one thing I want to alert you to, before we move any further.” She noticed that though he kept looking at both of them, Gi-yong was now really addressing her.