by Seong-nan Ha
The officiant, whom Jason and I had never met before, spoke about the groom who was currently studying at the Victoria University of Wellington and the bride who, after having graduated from a regional pharmacy program, was now a fulltime staff member at a large pharmacy in Jongno. He exaggerated our credentials. I glanced at my father, but he nodded fervently at the end of every sentence, as though confirming what the officiant said. The speech went a little long.
Jason’s Korean name was Hyogyeong, but he seemed more used to his English name. He would drive his yellow sports car to the university in the morning and return late at night. He didn’t have to worry about making a living. His parents sent us more than enough to cover his tuition and our living expenses.
While Jason was gone, I would clean the house and take a nap, or flip through the Korean newspaper. Unlike Australia, there weren’t many Korean immigrants in New Zealand, perhaps less than a thousand altogether. My in-laws would have given me a car of my own had I asked, but because the steering wheel was on the right side of the vehicle, I needed to learn to drive all over again. Once I had nearly rammed Jason’s car into our fence.
The house was full of light because the living room ceiling was two stories high. I would lean back on the sofa and gaze out the window at the distant city skyline until sunset. When I used to sit behind the glass counter at the pharmacy, sunlight would stream into the store. Then the other pharmacists and I would nod off in the warmth as we waited for customers.
Jason’s study was at the end of the hallway from the master bedroom. After returning home late, he would hurry through dinner and then shut himself up in his study. I fell asleep alone in the master bedroom, which contained only a bed and the wardrobe. The bed was large and cushiony. When my eyes snapped open in the middle of the night, I would hear the wind. Then I’d whisper to myself the lines from the poem whose ending I couldn’t remember:
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Every morning, Jason shaved before breakfast. He used an old-fashioned straight razor, like one I had seen a long time ago when I’d followed my father to the barbershop. After lathering his face, Jason puffed his cheeks, angled the razor, and scraped it down to his chin.
“What?” He seemed annoyed that I was watching him shave.
“I was thinking about getting a dog …”
Instead of answering, he turned on the tap and rinsed the razor vigorously. I watched his face in the mirror. Was he going to say “no thanks” again? He jutted out his bluish chin, examining it in the mirror, and muttered, “Didn’t I tell you? I can’t stand dogs.”
That was the end of the discussion. This time too, I didn’t prod. I didn’t ask why he didn’t like dogs. As he changed out of his pajamas, he glanced over at me. “Just hang on until summer break. We’ll go to Lake Wakatipu then.”
It was Chang, Jason’s friend from the university, who later told me that Jason disliked dogs because they shed and got hair on his clothes.
Chang was Chinese and four years younger than Jason. He had a slight build and a bright and cheerful personality, unlike Jason. I didn’t know the details, but it seemed they were carrying out a research project together. Sometimes, over coffee, they talked about things I couldn’t understand.
Soon there were more days where it was the three of us. Chang helped with the cooking, as well as the dishes. He talked slowly, so that I’d understand. He even knew how to speak a little Korean, though he frequently stumbled over words.
Thanks to Chang, our dinners became jovial and lighthearted. I began to look forward to the days Chang would be coming. After dinner, they would disappear into Jason’s study at the end of the hall.
“Should I make coffee or cut some fruit?”
Whenever I would offer to bring in refreshments, Jason would purse his lips together and say, “No thanks.” And as if he’d just remembered, he would add, “Don’t bother waiting up. We’ve got a lot of work to do tonight.”
A few days after I’d arrived in New Zealand, Jason had said I was free to do whatever I wanted, except disturb him when he was working. Just as he’d requested, I avoided the study, even when I got up for a drink of water in the middle of the night or went out onto the balcony to listen to the wind. Light outlined the door at the end of the hallway, and the sound of low laughter drifted out.
Slowly I adjusted to my new life. When Jason spent the night at the lab, I would have an early supper and go out for a stroll. I walked among subtropical trees that kept their leaves all year round. In the evenings, the temperature tended to drop rapidly. Even if I became ill with fever, I didn’t make a fuss. The medicine cabinet was full of pills, with which I prepared a prescription for myself.
On my way back, I’d always see our house from a distance. Arched windows and linen, floral-patterned curtains I had put up myself, the wind chimes I had hung outside the window. Everything was picture perfect, exactly what I had dreamed of, but like the village I had seen from high up in the airplane, it all seemed unreal.
When I came back from my walks, I would write my friends and family back home. On one postcard a steamship cruised the waters of Lake Wakatipu, which I had yet to see in person. Another showed a panoramic view of the Auckland waterfront, crowded with hundreds of yachts. I wrote about our white, two-story wooden house. I wrote about the trees that didn’t lose their leaves all year round. I wrote about July being a winter month in New Zealand, and how you could get over two thousand hours of sunshine a year. I wrote all sorts of information I’d copied from travel brochures.
I always ended with these words: “Make sure you come for a visit. This place is heaven on earth. And don’t forget to bring your sunglasses and sunscreen—you’ll need them!”
Even after I’d written everything I wanted to say, I found myself still gripping the pen. I didn’t write that our white house felt artificial, like a dollhouse, even though it was spacious and full of light. If I did, all my friends would have no doubt said: “Count your blessings! Do you realize how many people can’t find jobs here? My husband barely makes anything and the kids are always whining. You’re lucky you get to live in a palace and don’t have to work like the rest of us. You better tough it out no matter what!”
I got to know the streets around our house. Auckland was an hour away by plane. I bought a map and learned which bus to take to the airport. One day, as soon as Jason’s car disappeared down the street, I stepped out of the house in jeans and a sweater.
Once in Auckland, I spread open my map and cut across Queen Elizabeth Square. Many of the streets were bumpy and steep. It was warm enough for short sleeves. I walked slowly between the towering trees. The sunlight couldn’t penetrate the canopy of branches and leaves high above. The forest behind my parents’ house couldn’t compare to this forest. I could tell these trees were at least a hundred years old.
Around two in the afternoon, I walked to the Victorian-style restaurants and boutiques that lined the streets of Parnell Village. After a simple meal on a patio, I was about to spread open the map to plan my next stop when someone bumped into my arm, knocking my map to the ground.
It was Chang. Not having noticed me, he ran across the street. I was about to call out to him when he ran into a side street where a man stood waiting. It was Jason.
Jason came home late next morning. Scruffy and unshaven, he looked exhausted. I didn’t mention Auckland; I didn’t ask what he and Chang had been doing there. I didn’t know everything about Jason, but I knew enough to know he’d never tell me.
When summer break came, I didn’t mention the trip to Lake Wakatipu. I no longer waited up for Jason at night. In the end, he was the one who remembered the promised trip. But it was only when we arrived at the airport that I realized the trip wasn’t meant for us alone, for there was Chang again. I handed my luggage over to him as if nothing were the matter.
Like old
friends, we strolled around the Queenstown Mall together. To my surprise, Chang and I had similar tastes. Chang watched patiently as I tried on over ten outfits, and helped me pick one out, and we even bought matching visors. We boarded a steamship called the Lady of the Lake and cruised the waters of Lake Wakatipu, which I had only seen on postcards until then. Chang told me it was the third largest lake in New Zealand. I could see why the Maori would call it Greenstone Lake. We stepped out onto the deck and stood leaning against the railing, but Jason didn’t emerge once from the cabin.
“Jason! Come join us!” I called to him. “Look at the color of this water!”
Chang poked me in the side. Speaking slowly, he explained that Jason had a fear of water. He had gotten swept up in the tide at the age of five and nearly drowned; after that he never went near water again. It was a big deal for him to set foot on the boat. In fact, Jason’s courage was to be praised.
I looked Chang straight in the eye and muttered in Korean, “Do you even know Jason’s real name? It’s Hyogyeong. Choi Hyogyeong.”
“Huigyeong?”
“No.”
“Hyegyeong?”
Chang twisted his tongue this way and that way, and burst into laughter, flashing his full and even set of teeth.
I drew my face close to Chang’s and grinned. “You idiot … you don’t even know how to say Hyogyeong …”
Unable to understand, he shrugged and asked, “What? What?”
Even at the hotel, I fell asleep alone. Chang and Jason returned from the bar late.
When we got home, I was busy for over a week, writing my family and friends. Jason, Chang, and me—everything was fine. I didn’t concern myself with them.
I bought a day pass and roamed about downtown Wellington on a trolleybus. I had lunch at a restaurant that caught my eye and went into a nursery to buy enough flower plants to nearly snap off my arms. At home, I planted them along the fence until the flood light came on at dusk.
I woke up to the sound of fighting. I opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. I heard something bounce off the floor, and Chang’s voice over Jason’s whispers. It was the first time I’d heard them argue.
I ran down the hall and shoved open the door to the study. Jason was backed into a corner, blood trickling down one cheek. Empty beer bottles rolled on the floor. Drunk, Chang staggered back and forth, holding a fruit knife. Jason saw me and yelled, “Get out!”
Chang noticed me only then. He dropped the knife and sank down to the floor. “Get out!” Jason yelled again.
I went back to the bedroom and shut the door. I heard some more fighting and a series of thuds, but soon everything grew quiet. The sound of weeping echoed into the hall.
The next morning when I stepped into the kitchen, Chang was making toast and freshly squeezed juice. Jason was in the bathroom. Chang grinned. As if reciting lines from a book, he stammered in his faltering Korean, “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.”
The three of us sat at the table and chewed on scraps of toast. Every time he chewed, the gash on Jason’s cheek opened to reveal the raw flesh underneath. I didn’t ask why they had fought. Instead, I announced I would be going on a three-day trip to Auckland. Jason suggested I book a tour, but I didn’t respond.
I didn’t need a map this time. Victoria Park, Albert Park, Auckland Art Gallery, Auckland Domain, and the streets of Parnell Village where I had seen Jason and Chang—I roamed through them all. From time to time, someone would bump into me, but I didn’t mind. All this took three hours and twenty minutes. I walked east along the Hauraki Gulf from Waitemata Harbour, and saw hundreds of anchored yachts. The billowing wind-filled sails looked like fish bellies. When night fell, I dragged my swollen feet to the hotel and fell asleep in my clothes. I slept soundly for the first time in a long while.
When I came home from my trip, the flowers I had planted along the fence had withered. I turned on the sprinklers and watered the lawn for a long time. It was cold inside the house, as if no one had been home for the past few days.
I got the luggage I’d used on my honeymoon from the storage room and opened my wardrobe. The wood still smelled new and two of the drawers were empty. I recalled the moment the princess tree had been felled. I pictured the disappointed faces of my parents.
My eyes flew open in the middle of the night; I sensed someone was home. The hands on the clock pointed to 2:10 A.M. I headed to Jason’s study to tell him I was planning to return to Korea the next day or the day after that. His light was still on. Rough, irregular breathing came from inside. I pushed open the door without knocking.
The first thing I saw was Chang bent over the desk and Jason standing directly behind him. Jason’s pants were down around his thighs. He cursed as soon as he saw me. Perhaps he was more Korean after all, because in that moment, he swore in Korean.
Of course. It was no surprise. I closed the door softly, went back to the bedroom, and waited for Jason. He came to the room right away. I’d never seen him move so fast. I stared up at him, as if he were a stranger. He was short of breath and the flush hadn’t left his face.
“Didn’t I tell you never to come in?”
In that instant, I recalled how a gust of wind would shake the trees behind my parents’ house. Whenever we heard that rustling noise, my mother would say, “Storm’s coming.”
“I want to go home.”
Jason spotted my luggage in the corner of the room. He licked his lips. He strode toward the wardrobe and took out my purse. He turned it upside down and shook. Out spilled my passport and bankbook, my lipstick and compact I hadn’t used for a long time, as well as several plane tickets to and from Auckland. He checked the dates and grimaced.
“Ah, I see. You’ve known all along. Guess I was the moron, right? It must have killed you to keep quiet this long.”
I tried to grab my passport, but Jason was faster. He ripped it in half and tucked my bankbook in his back pocket. “Who says you can leave? Maybe it was your choice to come here, but it’s up to me now. You expect me to just sit here and let you ruin everything?”
“I don’t care. I want to go home.”
I was so dizzy I had trouble standing. Jason shoved me. I must have hit my head on the corner of the bed, because the ceiling bleached out and grew distant. I heard the gust of wind and the shaking leaves—the storm was coming.
When I regained consciousness, I was inside the wardrobe. I heard Jason and Chang’s footsteps. I pushed on the doors with all my strength, but it was no use. I peered through the keyhole and saw Chang pacing the hallway beyond the open bedroom door. He looked distraught. I knew they were talking about me. I strained to hear them.
“What are you going to do with her? You’re not—you wouldn’t dare—”
“Shut up!”
Chang put a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, what are you going to do? What are you going to do?”
“We can’t let her go back to Korea. Then everything’s over.”
Chang started to cry. “I love you …”
I was more hungry than scared. I hugged my knees to my chest. I remembered I hadn’t eaten anything after coming back from Auckland. I thought long and hard about where my life had gone wrong. I couldn’t die like this. I clenched my teeth. I got up and threw myself against the doors. But they wouldn’t budge. After all, it was princess tree wood. I never thought my wardrobe would one day become my coffin.
“Help!”
I screamed as loudly as I could, but all I managed was a croak. There was no way my voice would reach the next house, which was over three hundred feet away. I scratched at the doors. My nails soon peeled back from the skin. I groped through the clothes hanging above me and found a belt. I tried to pick the lock with the buckle, but it was pointless.
Jason flung what sounded like a knife at the doors. I heard it quiver as it plunged into the wood. He prowled back and forth before the wardrobe.
“If you hadn’t opened the door, nothing would have happened! You brought
this on yourself, you know that? How about this—why don’t we pretend none of this ever happened? Let’s go back to how we were. Promise me. Then I’ll let you out.”
I wanted to swear at him, but my voice broke. I opened my mouth to try again, but I passed out instead.
When my eyes opened, my pajama pants were drenched. I had wet myself. My lips were cracked and peeling. I tried to call out to Jason, but my tongue felt as if it were coiled; it was impossible to form any words.
I lost all sense of time and place. I didn’t know how long I was trapped inside that wardrobe. Was it hours or days? After a long time, the doors opened. Jason swore, perhaps because of the smell. Chang grabbed me under the arms, and Jason my legs, and together they pulled me out of the wardrobe. I sagged like a corpse.
“Oh my God, she’s dead!” Chang stammered, terrified.
I had no energy to get up. I continued to lie there as if I were dead. Jason prodded my cheek and then put his ear up to my nose. “No, she’s still alive. Let’s move her to the car. Go open the trunk.”
Chang hurried out. Jason went to the storage room, probably to look for a sack to put me in. I crawled to the bathroom. I saw Jason’s razor on the shelf. I hid it in my pant pocket.
“Hurry!” Chang called urgently from the entrance. “I started the car!”
A sack big enough to fit a person isn’t easy to find. Jason, who had been rummaging in the storage room for a while, came back empty-handed. He covered me with one of the coats from the wardrobe. He tried to hoist me on his back, but it wasn’t easy. He grunted and dropped me onto the floor. This time, he grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me toward the living room. It hurt every time my spine went over a threshold, but I clenched my teeth and stayed quiet.
