This Burns My Heart (27 page)

Still, Soo-Ja was no saint, and for a moment she felt the urge to tell everyone about Eun-Mee’s deeds, just for the sake of shaming her. For a second she fantasized leaving an anonymous note under Yul’s door:
“Know your wife!” Soo-Ja pictured Yul throwing Eun-Mee out, his right arm stretched out, pointing to the door. Eun-Mee, her coat on, her bags under her arms, walking to the exit. But the fantasy died as quickly as it arose. The only thing that lasted was a smile on her face, which Eun-Mee must have seen and misread, for she hugged Soo-Ja tightly and whispered, “So we
are
sisters, after all! Thank you, eonni.”

Soo-Ja had gained her trust. She didn’t mean to win it. Eun-Mee’s trust seemed superfluous, or even, frankly, disposable, and if it were a gift, she’d have returned it unopened—an empty box full of air.

In the end, neither of the women won. Nobody knew Eun-Mee well enough to vote for her, and she received only three votes. Soo-Ja, much to her surprise, received five (which did not include her own—she thought it would be tacky to vote for herself). The person who won the pot, with twenty votes, was the person she had voted for—Mrs. Lim, the woman whose shop had caught fire. Mrs. Lim immediately began weeping and praying, in gratitude, as seemingly countless hands touched her to congratulate her.

Soo-Ja did not feel bad that she did not get the money; she was too busy enjoying the fact that Eun-Mee hadn’t, either. If it seemed petty on her part, fine, thought Soo-Ja, but this was the woman Yul had married, and in that choice lay a thousand questions. For Soo-Ja, Eun-Mee was as fascinating as some old religion, and that was the reason she hadn’t exposed Eun-Mee: it was to keep her own self cloaked, as she lay exploring her love’s truth, in this stranger’s face.

T
he next day, Soo-Ja could not concentrate at work. It hit her then that she hadn’t won the money at the gye, and was still 300,000
won
short of what she needed to invest in the land. To make matters worse, construction workers had begun work across the street on a new building. It was to be a new electronics shopping mart—the first of its kind—and for the next few months, it would mean constant dust, drilling, and hammering.

She tried to speak to Min about her worries, but he waved her away as he went out to a bar for some lunch and
sul.
She knew he was still terrified at the idea of investing, though she wasn’t sure which outcome scared him more: losing the money or doubling it.

Distracted, Soo-Ja did not notice that her most recent group of guests, teenage girls from Inchon, had managed to evade their hotel bills. They were here to see a pop concert by the Pearl Sisters, who were not twins but always wore the exact same matching hairstyle and clothing on their shows and album covers—a recipe for disaster, in Soo-Ja’s opinion. Their fans were like a cult, dressing like they did, memorizing their songs, and following them on their tours.

The girls—three squeezed in one room, two in another—had checked in two nights earlier, but showed no intention of paying. So when Soo-Ja saw them emerge that afternoon (to go to lunch, she overheard them say, though it was two o’clock already, and they still looked sleepy) she told them they had to take care of their bills. They looked at her annoyed and
one of them—a seventeen-year-old wearing a psychedelic shirt, a short skirt, and long boots—began to attack Soo-Ja.

“You need to coordinate better with the manager! He already told us we didn’t have to pay,” the girl snapped. She was the one who had signed for the room, and Soo-Ja remembered her name as Nami.

“
I’m
the manager, and I didn’t tell you my rooms were free,” said Soo-Ja.

“You’re not the manager, you’re just the attendant at the front desk. We spoke to Mr. Lee, the handsome guy with the little girl, Hana, is that her name?” Nami continued.

Min
, thought Soo-Ja,
what did you tell them?

One of the girl’s friends, a round-faced bulldog with giant fake eyelashes and harsh bangs, piped in, thrusting her face in between them like a child playing peekaboo: “We told him we didn’t have the money, and he said don’t worry about it! He has a handsome smile, that man! It’s good to know there are still good people out there like him.”

“We’re just here to have fun,” said Nami, looking at Soo-Ja incredulously. “Now be a good sport and follow the boss’s orders.”

Before Soo-Ja could reply, the girls swiftly disappeared out the door, giggling. But they were not the ones Soo-Ja was really mad at. She picked up the phone and called the sul-jib Min always went to. The bar manager, who knew her by now, had no trouble finding Min. Soo-Ja soon had him on the other end of the line.

“Why are you calling me here?” Min asked.

“Did you tell a group of teenage girls yesterday that they could skip on their bills?” Soo-Ja could tell she sounded like a machine gun, the words snapping out rat-tat-tat-tat.

“They’re just children, Soo-Ja, and they don’t have the money. What are we going to do, send them to jail?” asked Min.

Soo-Ja pictured him looking around the half-empty bar, eager to return to his leatherette booth. “You had no right to do that! I’m trying very hard to earn money here, and at the same time, here you are, giving rooms away. The least you could do is ask me before doing that.”

Min seemed offended. “Ask my wife for permission? That’s a new low you want me to go to, isn’t it?”

“I hope it made you feel good, letting them stay without paying, because that good
gibun
cost us three hundred
won.
”

“I’m a very generous man,” he said, and his voice sounded to Soo-Ja a bit distant, as if he had moved his head away from the receiver and said this to someone else, at the bar.

“Yes, that’s what these girls think. You are so nice to them, giving them things for free. I don’t see you offering any generosity or niceness toward me, though. I could use your help around here.”

“A hotel is woman’s work. And what’s so hard about standing around, saying ‘Welcome to the Hotel Seine’?”

Soo-Ja sensed a bit of cruelty in his voice that had not been there in a while, but she bit her tongue. “I have to go now, there’s something I need to do before the girls return.”

Soo-Ja bade Min good-bye and hung up the phone. She moved fast, lest she change her mind. She rushed to the girls’ rooms and, after glancing down the hallway for a moment, she went inside.

Clothes were strewn everywhere, creating spots of bright pink, orange, and green on the floor. Their silver-hued suitcases, featuring labels like Chanel and Hermès, looked like impressive knock-offs, with shiny fasteners and hard rough black coating. On their beds sat all kinds of expensive Pearl Sisters–related paraphernalia, including LP records still in the original wrapping, smelling like freshly minted vinyl. Soo-Ja glanced at the price tags and saw that they all added up to a pretty penny; if they hadn’t spent so much money on souvenirs, they could easily have paid for the rooms.

Soo-Ja opened their bags and began stuffing them with their belongings. When all the suitcases were full, she dragged them to her office and locked them in there. She did notice that the bags looked a bit lonely and sad, left on their own in the cold, blue room, but she stayed strong and told herself that if the girls really valued their things, they’d pay up and
earn
the return of their precious records and clothes.

When Soo-Ja finally came out of the alcove she used as an office, she saw there was someone at the front desk, and though she did not recognize him at first, she realized it was a guest who had checked in earlier
that day. Mr. Shim? Or was it Mr. Yoo? And even though it was not even five in the afternoon, the man was clearly drunk. He had a bottle of
maegju
in one hand, and with the other he was undoing his tie. Soo-Ja couldn’t tell how drunk he was, as men in Seoul often tended to exaggerate their drunkenness.

They were like drunks in movies, stumbling around, heads spinning, eyes rolling to the back of their heads. Most people in real life, when they were drunk, didn’t actually look or act like that (Soo-Ja herself, on the few occasions she drank with her friends, would never have trouble standing up; she’d simply glow, red and happy, enjoying the buzz in her body). But men in Seoul
did
in fact do all those things you saw on-screen, not because their tolerance was any less, but because they enjoyed putting on a show—they were the real
kiesang
geisha girls, singing, dancing, and making spectacles of themselves.

Soo-Ja came back to her station behind the counter and gave Mr. Shim a discouraging look, hoping that he’d go up to his room. Mr. Shim was a short, obese man in his early forties, wearing a gray office shirt and a black blazer with small white dots. He had a large receding hairline, and combed his few hairs to the front, giving the impression that a skinned cat had landed on his head. But the thing she noticed the most was that he could not stop smiling a certain maniacal smile, like someone who had read that people liked to be smiled at, and thus ordered one and slapped it on his face like a prosthesis.

“You’re a very pretty agassi,” he said, calling her miss and staring at her from the other side of the counter.

“It’s not agassi, it’s ajumma. I’m a married woman,” Soo-Ja sharply replied.

“That can’t be the truth. If you had a husband, he wouldn’t let you work as a hotel hostess, and let men steal looks at you all day.” He frowned at her sternly, in an almost professorial way, as if he had caught her in a lie.

“Don’t call me hostess,” said Soo-Ja, scowling at him. “I prefer the French term
concierge
, which can refer to either a man or a woman.”

“I was right the first time then, agassi, you’re a single girl, which means you can go on a date with me.”

“Did you see the twelve-year-old girl who was here when you checked in? She is my daughter.”

“I don’t see her now. And I don’t see a husband, either. Is he hiding under the table?” Mr. Shim asked, mocking her. “Should I close my eyes for a second, while you make him magically appear?” He was leaning on the counter now, his head only inches away from her.

“Please go back to your room,” said Soo-Ja, very seriously.

“I’ll go back, but only if you pour me some maegju first,” said Mr. Shim, pointing to the bottle of beer he had placed on the counter.

“This is not a bar, and I’m not a barmaid. I can’t pour you a drink.”

“Be nice, pour me a drink,” he repeated, pointing to the tea set she kept at the end of the counter for her guests. There were three empty celadon cups there, as well as an empty kettle.

“Mr. Shim, why don’t you go back to the sul-jib you came from?”

Mr. Shim walked to the end of the counter and picked up the tea set, bringing it closer to them. He placed two cups in front of her, as well as the beer bottle. He pointed at it and waited for her to pour him the drink. When he saw that she would not, he suddenly raised his hand and threw the teacups onto the ground, smashing them into pieces. Soo-Ja was stunned at how quickly his flirtation had turned to anger.

Soo-Ja said nothing at first, startled by the suddenness of his gesture. Her mouth felt dry, ashen, barely able to mouth the words “Go back to your room.” Mr. Shim ignored her and remained standing there. Feeling trapped, and wanting to get out from behind the counter, Soo-Ja moved to the left, but Mr. Shim followed suit. Soo-Ja then moved to the right, and Mr. Shim blocked her way once again.

“Let me go,” said Soo-Ja.

“All right, I will.”

Soo-Ja watched as Mr. Shim stepped back, letting her pass. But when she was about to make her way out, Mr. Shim suddenly ran to the other side of the front desk area and knocked down an oak chair and a plant. Soo-Ja stood back, shocked to see her place of work—her own home, in fact—being vandalized in front of her eyes. She expected some guests to appear, brought out by the noise, but no one did, and she realized, for
one very long, sharp moment, that she was all alone with him in the front area, and that the seconds ahead could stretch into minutes. She could feel her heart beating fast, alarms ringing through her body. She needed to get out. But as soon as she made her way to the front door, Mr. Shim rushed toward her and began to grab her, reaching for her arm and pulling at her clothes. Soo-Ja started to yell for help.

A few seconds later, a guest—a white-haired woman wearing a robe—appeared and tried to help Soo-Ja. Mr. Shim pushed her away, and the woman fell to the floor. As soon as she managed with difficulty to get up, the woman rushed to the back and started knocking on people’s doors.

Soo-Ja struggled to keep her clothes on, as Mr. Shim tried to overpower her. “Help me!” Soo-Ja yelled. “Help me!”

A male guest rushed out—a thin reed of a man dressed in a white undershirt and nighttime long johns. He tried to come to Soo-Ja’s aid, but Mr. Shim lunged drunkenly at him, forcing him to step back. The man appeared afraid of getting hit, and couldn’t seem to figure out how to stop Mr. Shim.

“Let go of me!” Soo-Ja yelled when Mr. Shim ripped her shirt, revealing the strap of her white bra underneath. Her hand flew over her exposed shoulder, and she held her arms crossed in front of her chest. Soo-Ja felt the tears form in her eyes.

Suddenly, just as she had given up hope that anyone would be able to help, Soo-Ja felt Mr. Shim being yanked away from her, his body pulled outward as though by powerful suction. She stood confused for a second, until she realized someone had grabbed Mr. Shim and thrown him to the floor. When Soo-Ja looked again she realized it was Yul, still wearing his doctor’s green scrubs. Yul started punching Mr. Shim until blood gushed out of the man’s face. When Mr. Shim tried to get up, Yul lifted him with his hands and knocked him against the wall.

Yul began yelling at him: “
I-sae-kki! I-sae-kki!
You goddamn son of a bitch!”

As Yul kept punching Mr. Shim, his scrubs became stained with red, and he looked as if he had just emerged from surgery. Mr. Shim kept
spitting blood, as Yul hit his face over and over again. Soo-Ja heard the gasps from the guests watching. Knowing that she had to do something, Soo-Ja tried to stop Yul. “Let go of him, Yul. You’re killing him!” she yelled.