This Burns My Heart (29 page)

“If you want your things back, you need to pay for your rooms,” Soo-Ja said.

“We’re not paying! The manager said we could stay for free, you dumb
gashinaya
!” Nami yelled. The curse word—
bitch
—hurt double. The word itself, of course, and the fact that it was leveled at Soo-Ja, who was so much older than they were, old enough to be a parent. You simply did not address an older person that way.

Soo-Ja tried to stay calm. “Call your parents. Or your boyfriends, if your parents don’t know that you’re here. Have them send you money.”

When she thought later about her days working as a hotel manager, she’d remember days like this the most, being yelled at by a group of guests. But it wasn’t like this all the time, nor were all the guests this bad: some left little gifts on her desk, some had children who smiled and curtsied at her, some bowed almost as low as the floor and thanked her profusely for something as small as a bar of soap.

“Are you deaf? You stupid old hag! We don’t have to pay! Now give us our things back. Or we’re going to call the police,” Nami yelled.

From somewhere down the hallway came another voice, a man’s, yelling, “What kind of a hotel is this? All this shouting all the time, keep your noise down!”

Soo-Ja looked straight into Nami’s eyes and held her gaze. “You want the police? All right, let me call them. I’ll have you all arrested for trying to skip on your bills.” Soo-Ja picked up the rotary phone and started dialing random numbers. She could feel the girls’ tough facade cracking. Soo-Ja knew how to bluff.

One time, a drunk man took a room to sleep off the alcohol, and the next morning, he told her she should let him go peacefully or else he’d beat her. At the time, another guest—a big, hulking man with almost no eyebrows—had been sitting in the front desk area waiting for his wife to come out. No Eyebrows saw her arguing with the drunk man and gave him a dirty look. Without missing a beat, Soo-Ja told the drunk man in a stage whisper that No Eyebrows was a member of the secret police and was here to protect her. He would take him to a dark room and drown him in bathwater if he didn’t settle the bill. She wasn’t sure if the drunk man believed her story, but he clearly did not want to take the chance, as he pulled his wallet out and handed her the money he owed her.

“Or would you rather just pay and go?” Soo-Ja paused for effect and put the receiver down. “I think you’d rather just pay and go.”

The girls looked defeated and seemed to debate what to do. Meanwhile Soo-Ja wondered, Was it so offensive to them, to have to pay for things? And it wasn’t just them, it was people all over the city haggling, hustling, cutting in line, and giving one another a hard time—yes, the men and women of Seoul were “on the move,” making more money, but they were so unhappy, too. It was like a virus, spreading over the crowds, every face that of someone trying to take what’s yours. They made up for it, sure, by being overly effusive to their own friends and loving to their family members, but life there did take its toll on their souls.

But the girls hadn’t used their trump card yet. Nami finally turned to Min, as if she had just noticed him. He had been quiet this entire time. “Mr. Lee, when we told you yesterday that we didn’t have money, and we were poor girls from Inchon, and we asked you, ‘Couldn’t you be nice to us,’ didn’t you smile and say, ‘Don’t worry about it, go play, and be children’? Isn’t that exactly what you said?”

Min remained silent for a while. Soo-Ja was expecting him to explain to the girls that he had misspoken, but instead Min turned to Soo-Ja and said, “Why don’t you let them have the rooms?”

That was it, thought Soo-Ja, that was their marriage right there, in those words. Min leaned closer to her, so the others couldn’t hear, though obviously they could. “The thing is, I gave them my word. I already told them something else yesterday—I can’t go back on it.”

“These girls have the money. They’re trying to pull one on us. I know the scam—teenagers with money in their hands make a bet they can get everything for free.” Soo-Ja said this for them as much as for Min. And she could tell, by their nervous shifting and glancing at one another, that it was true.

“I’ll cover for them. I’ll make up the difference,” said Min.

Why was he so eager to help them? He didn’t even have the money to do so.

“I’m trying like crazy to get enough money to buy that land by the river, and you’re here hoping to give it away,” she said.

“We don’t need to buy that land. Things are fine here,” said Min.

Oh, how she wanted to shake him! No, that wasn’t enough, thought Soo-Ja, how could that be enough, to just have enough to eat, when elsewhere there were cities in countries she longed to visit, different shades of blue in new skies and oceans, the sound of foreign tongues whistling by—a life where she could be a mother for more hours than she was a hotel manager.

“Is the price of the room worth my honor?” asked Min. “Is it worth going back on my word?”

“You should not have said anything to begin with,” Soo-Ja said.

“I don’t know of any other wives who treat their husbands like this,” said Min.

“Lucky is the wife who never had to argue with her husband about money,” she said.

“I want us to do well, too.”

“Do you? I hear the words coming out of your mouth. But I hear something else from every other part of your body. Even now, I think, you’re saying to these girls,
I tried, but she won’t let me. It’s not my fault, it’s hers, she’s the one holding me back.
When all my life I’ve waited for you to stand up and take charge. It is exhausting to me, all the fighting we have to do, just so you won’t feel bad about yourself.”

What happened after this happened so fast, Soo-Ja only fully registered it after the fact. And only later did she understand that the bottle was the same one left on the far side of the counter earlier in the day by Mr. Shim—she had been too shaken up to think to get rid of it. Later, with her eyes closed, she could slow the actions down enough to see Min reaching for the bottle and throwing it against the wall, the glass shattering and shards landing on the ground. Only later she could hear the girls shrieking and stepping back and some even putting their hands over their faces as Min was about to break the bottle. They knew what Min was about to do before she did; they had the benefit of seeing him as a stranger, while Soo-Ja’s sense of him had been dulled by their being together so long. These schoolgirls knew everything about him just by looking at him; she was used to unlearning him little by little, and she
realized she knew him less year after year. Later, also, she saw the clear liquid splashing on the wall, gushing forth from the bottle, spreading out from the center. It made her think of Miss Hong, the chambermaid, of how sure she was that she and Min made love in the afternoons, and how he had come inside her, and how foolish that was. Later, too, she heard the cry Min let out at that moment, an odd, guttural, anguished cry—though she didn’t know if the cry came before or after the bottle exploded. She wondered how much pain you had to be in to cry out like that. But when all this happened, she did not see anything, did not think any of this. She simply felt a tug in her heart and thought,
Where is Hana? I don’t want her to see this.

As Min made his way out, Soo-Ja wondered if he was going back to some sul-jib, to the arms of a barmaid. Or maybe he was going to meet Miss Hong at some agreed-upon place, where she would comfort him.

“I don’t know what time I’m going to come back,” said Min, with his back to her.

“All right,” said Soo-Ja, fighting back her tears. “Just one thing… Do whatever you want to do, with whomever you want. But don’t get any diseases and give them to me later.”

Min stood with his body very still, and Soo-Ja thought for a moment that he might turn around and strike her. Instead, he grabbed the front door with such fury she feared he’d yank it from the wall. He went out into the street, the door slamming shut behind him.

Soo-Ja remained still for a moment, collecting herself, and then she went inside the alcove, where she had been keeping the luggage of the Pearl Sisters fans. Without being urged, she brought their bags out, heavy as they were, and placed them in front of the group. She did this noiselessly, without saying anything. By the time she had come out, Nami had already reached into a red envelope in her purse and pulled out a series of 100-
won
bills. She placed the money on the counter—it was the exact amount; they knew exactly how much they owed. Soo-Ja saw Nami put the rest of the money back in her purse, silently, while the others took the bags and headed out of the hotel. She herself stayed in the front area for a while, and waited for the time to come to close for the day.

“A
ren’t the renditions beautiful? Almost like art,” said Gi-yong, pointing at the pictures on his walls. Gi-yong and Soo-Ja were in his office, in Myong-dong, a few miles from her hotel. Behind his desk, Gi-yong had put up two posters of the land south of the Hangang River: one set, marked “Now,” were photos of the land as it was in the present—empty, mere fields, grass dried out by the sun and the cold winds; the other set, labeled “The Future,” was an artist’s drawing showing the land in the way Gi-yong expected it to be eventually—an urban landscape, with gleaming glass surfaces, high-rises, and billboards advertising Coca-Cola. “You came in the nick of time. I don’t know how much longer I could have held your spot.”

“Actually, I don’t have the money yet. I came to ask if I could have more time,” Soo-Ja said, clutching her purse, looking at Gi-yong from across his desk.

“Mrs. Choi,” said Gi-yong sternly. “You know I have other investors interested in the land, with cash on hand to pay me. I’m waiting for you as a favor. I could sell the last lot tomorrow if I wanted to. Do you want to give up? Should I just go ahead and sell it to someone else?”

“No. I still have two weeks left,” said Soo-Ja. “And you gave me your word. I’ll get the money. I’ll have it for you by the time we agreed upon.”

“I don’t doubt that. I have a feeling you’re the kind of woman who always gets what she wants,” said Gi-yong.

“Actually, I hardly ever do, but I can feel my luck changing,” she said, faking a smile.

“Yes. It must be frustrating for you to have to work in that hotel. A woman with your beauty needs a man to take care of her.”

Soo-Ja did not blink. “Great. I’ll tell my husband that.”

Gi-yong laughed. “You must think I’m a pig, don’t you? I’m not, I’m just direct. Look at your hands. They’re beautiful. They’re not meant to scrub things. They should simply rest on top of beautiful, very expensive marble countertops. The kind I happen to have in my house.”

Soo-Ja shook her head. “Mr. Im, I’m not interested in being a rich man’s wife. I don’t care about marble, or onyx, or any of that. That’s not why I want the land.”

“Really? Then what
do
you want?” asked Gi-yong, leaning forward.

Soo-Ja thought for a moment. “For one thing, I would like my daughter to have her own room, in our own house, far away from all the men who stay as guests in the hotel.”

Gi-yong nodded slightly. He dropped his leer and gazed at her the way he might a sister or a mother. “I get a feeling, Mrs. Choi, that you’ll get that—and more—very soon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Im.”

After a brief silence, both of them rose from their seats, and Gi-yong and Soo-Ja shook hands. “Two weeks?” he asked.

“Two weeks,” she replied.

It seemed petty to pray for
won
, when others might be praying for food, or health, or love even, thought Soo-Ja. But every night that week she prayed, asking God to help her, and it may or may not have been a coincidence when, on the third day, she received a phone call from her old friend Jae-Hwa, asking if she could visit her at the hotel. Soo-Ja had not seen Jae-Hwa in three years, though she often thought of the night she had helped her leave her husband. Jae-Hwa had married again—miraculously, to the owner of the electric fan factory where she worked. Soo-Ja had not gone to their wedding—she did not have days off at the
hotel—but Jae-Hwa forgave her, and often sent letters talking about how Soo-Ja had saved her, and that if she had a good life now, it was only because of Soo-Ja.

Soo-Ja had no doubt that Jae-Hwa would lend her the money. In fact, she imagined them investing together, buying adjacent acres of land, calling each other with news of each year’s favorable jump in value. Jae-Hwa would never say no to her. That, in essence, was Soo-Ja’s mind-set before she saw her friend, and it may, in the end, have been the thing that got her in trouble.

“You look exactly the same! Not a day older than when we were in college.” Jae-Hwa gasped at Soo-Ja, her arms outstretched, coming into the hotel. Soo-Ja quickly moved out from behind the counter and embraced Jae-Hwa.

“You look wonderful, too!” said Soo-Ja, directing her to the chairs in the waiting area, where they sat down.

“How old are you now?” asked Jae-Hwa. “Thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”

“Jae-Hwa, you know we’re the same age—thirty-four. But thank you. You look wonderful, too.” She did: Jae-Hwa had a well-rested look on her face, pleasantly plump, with that paleness that was in fashion at the time, one that indicated not a day spent laboring under the hot sun. Jae-Hwa wore a light pink suit-jacket with an embroidered white round collar, and a white cashmere hat.

“No, I’m serious. I’m witnessing a miracle. Your skin does not have any lines. You
are
the modern woman. You work hard, you cry, you suffer, but at the end of the day, you always remember to put on Pond’s night cream over your face.”

Soo-Ja laughed, partly because she found her funny, but partly to tell her how happy she was to be with a friend. Friends seemed like such a luxury these days, to be savored like the rare pieces of chocolate smuggled into the house during the war. “You talk about my so-called beauty more than most men I’ve known.”

“Women always notice these things more than men. Because it
affects us more, I suppose,” said Jae-Hwa, sitting close to her, her knees touching Soo-Ja’s. “You’ll never know what it’s like to be me, you’ve always been the prettiest girl in the room.” Jae-Hwa said this matter-of-factly, without resentment.