The Korean Word For Butterfly

by James Zerndt

  “Yes. It okay.”

  “Did you ever cheat on your wife?”

  Moon isn’t familiar with the word. “Cheat?”

  “Sorry. Did you ever, um, go to bed with other women while...?”

  Moon waves his hand in the air, laughing. “No, no, no. Never-uh.”

  “No,” Joe says. “I didn’t think so. You love her very much, don’t you.”

  Moon draws a big circle in the air and says, “World.”

  “She’s your world. Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Hyo?”

  Moon draws a bigger circle in the air. He doesn’t know the English word for universe.

  “Yeah,” Joe says, nodding and rubbing his temples. “I think I understand. Jesus.”

  Moon can tell something other than drink is eating away at his friend. But what, exactly, he doesn’t know. He decides he’ll ask about the recording session later. There was no real hurry after all.

  In the meantime, he’d make some more Juk for Joe to take home with him.

  Yun-ji

  Sweaters. Baggy jeans. Sweatshirts.

  Yun-ji was getting tired of wearing them.

  So what if it was Chuseok? It’s not like there was ever going to be a good time to tell her parents she was knocked up. And wasn’t Chuseok supposed to be all about family? Wasn’t that why they’d spent a whole day traveling to her grandmother’s in the first place?

  Yun-ji was alone in the guest bedroom, changing into her hanbok for the family photo, when her mother walked in. She used to enjoy getting dressed up in the traditional clothing and posing for photos with her family, but now none of it seemed right. It was all a lie. Why did she have to feel such shame? Didn’t women in other countries have babies out of wedlock all the time? At the sight of her mother, she turned her back.

  “Is something the matter, Yun-ji?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Yun-ji said and sat down on the bed, letting the sash she’d been trying to tie fall to the floor. “I have something to tell you.”

  Her mother sat down beside her, ran her hand over the silk of the hanbok. “Don’t you like the dress?”

  The funny thing about the hanbok was that with its high waistline, it was perfect for hiding a pregnant belly.

  “I love it, Mother. It’s something else. Something I think Father should be here to hear, too. Would you mind asking him to come in.”

  Her mother seemed puzzled, if not completely alarmed by the request, but did as her daughter asked. Yun-ji knew her father would be sober. It was only the afternoon, but he never drank as much when he was around his mother. Grandfather never tolerated it and neither did she. Yun-ji was hoping it might be a safe place to break the news to him.

  “Let me guess,” her father said, entering the room with his usual gruffness. “You’re getting too old to take photos with us?”

  “No, Appa. I’m afraid it’s something much more serious.”

  “Well, then?”

  She knew her father wouldn’t sit down. That would mean he’d have to risk getting close to Yun-ji, risk the two of them actually touching.

  So she stood.

  Yun-ji considered simply hiking the hanbok over her belly, but there were far too many layers to it. It would take too long.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  It took everything Yun-ji had to hold the gaze of her father, but somehow she managed it. She could almost see all the horrible words he was thinking lined up in a queue behind his eyes. Whore. Slut. Bitch...

  But nothing like that came out of his mouth.

  Instead, quietly, he muttered, “No.”

  Yun-ji didn’t know what to say to this. Was he forbidding her to be pregnant? It was almost too ridiculous.

  “No?” Yun-ji said, studying her father.

  Suddenly he looked small to her. And brittle.

  Almost like he was shrinking right before her eyes.

  “No,” her father said again, quieter this time, and then walked out of the room.

  Out of all the reactions Yun-ji had played out in her head, this wasn’t one of them.

  She sat down on the bed.

  She should have waited.

  Until after the photos were taken.

  Until after Chuseok.

  “Who is the father?” her mother asked from across the room, her back to Yun-ji. She was staring at ceramic bowl on the dresser, something her grandfather had made. Yun-ji had almost forgotten she was there.

  “What does it matter? We’re not together.”

  “Who is he?”

  Yun-ji clutched the bedspread beneath her. She didn’t like what she was hearing in her mother’s voice. It was almost colder than her father’s.

  “He’s an American. A soldier.”

  Silence.

  Yun-ji waited.

  She knew what was coming.

  The only thing that would surprise her at this point is if her mother walked over and gave her a hug like they did in the American movies.

  “You will have an abortion.”

  Yun-ji laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  “It’s too late for that now. Besides, I already tried.”

  “What do you mean you tried?”

  Yun-ji laid back on the bed, resting both hands on her belly. “I’m having the baby. God wants me to.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  “Fine. But you will put it up for adoption then.”

  “Him. Put him up for adoption. And no. I can’t do that.”

  “You can. Or you’ll lose your father.”

  “And you? Will I lose you, too?”

  Her mother finally turned to look at Yun-ji. But it wasn’t just her mother standing there anymore. It felt like her entire country was staring at her.

  “No, Yun-ji. You are my daughter. No matter what you decide.”

  “I decide to be his mother. Like you decided to be my mother. What good is having a father around anyway? All they do is get drunk and ignore their children.”

  “Your father works hard, Yun-ji. And he loves you. It’s just that...he worries about you.”

  “Worries? You always say that after he gets angry. Why can’t he just tell me he’s worried about me? Why is that so hard for them?”

  Her mother takes a step toward Yun-ji, like she’s going to sit beside her, but stops short. “It isn’t easy for him. You’ll understand that soon enough.”

  “No,” Yun-ji said. “I’ll never understand. And I’ll never treat my child like that. He’ll grow up learning what real love is.”

  Yun-ji placed a pillow over her head and waited for the click of the door. It seemed to take ages, but eventually her mother left the room.

  The quiet before the storm.

  Yun-ji knew that’s exactly what the silence was.

  She wished she had her magic remote.

  She’d keep them on mute for at least a year.

  But there was no remote and the yelling soon started.

  Through the pillow her parents sounded like angry turtle-doves. Or how Yun-ji imagined angry turtle-doves to sound. While she waited for the inevitable confrontation with her father, Yun-ji wondered what Shaun was doing right then. Was he bungee-jumping? Going for a “dip” in the lake again? Or was he with another Korean girl? Maybe he went there every weekend and picked up girls and got them pregnant.

  She had no idea.

  Or maybe he was in one of those tanks, hunting girls.

  Yun-ji turned on her side, pressed the pillow tight around her ears. No, she told herself for the thousandth time, Shaun wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be.

  Outside the room, the yelling got louder.

  All she could hear was her father’s voice now.

  She wondered if he’d grabbed a bottle yet.

  Probably already polished a whole one off.

  Then, just as Yun-ji was picturing Shaun stumbling through the streets with a bottle in his hands just like her father, Yun-ji felt somethi
ng move inside her.

  She sat up in bed, her hands circling her belly.

  “There you are, Squirmy Toad. Don’t worry. It’s just a little noisy right now. Things will quiet down soon, I promise.”

  It was the first time she’d felt him kick.

  And all she wanted was for him to do it again.

  “Come on,” she whispered, the tears coating her belly. “Kick mamma again. She deserves it.”

  The moment didn’t last long though as Yun-ji’s father burst into the room, slamming the door behind him. There was a half-empty bottle in his hand just as Yun-ji expected.

  Again, she felt her baby kick.

  Maybe he wasn’t aiming for Yun-ji.

  Maybe he was aiming for the real threat.

  “You’ve ruined us,” her father said, the bottle dangling by his side.

  “Yes,” Yun-ji said, wiping the tears away. She didn’t want her father to think they were because of him. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll be lepers.”

  “You mean I’ll be a leper.”

  “No. All of us. The restaurant, too. Everything will be ruined because of you.”

  Yun-ji knew he was right. They’d be castigated. Shut out from the community, the church. It made no sense to Yun-ji, but it was true nevertheless.

  “I felt him kick,” Yun-ji said, standing up. “You’re going to be a grandfather. How you choose to handle that is up to you.”

  It surprised her, this courage she found to stand up to her father, but he no longer frightened her for some reason. She was stronger than him. She knew that now.

  She’d just forgotten it at some point.

  “No,” her father said again and took a drink.

  He looked silly to Yun-ji. Small and silly.

  “Yes,” Yun-ji said, softly, like she was talking to a baby.

  They stared at each other in silence, father and daughter, and Yun-ji saw her father’s hand tighten around the neck of the bottle. He was staring at her stomach, his face twitching and suddenly she knew what he was thinking, the horrible thing he wanted to do.

  Yun-ji took a small step, jutting her belly forward so that she and her baby were nearly touching him.

  “Go ahead. I already tried to get rid of him myself. It won’t matter what you do to me. He’ll survive. We’ll survive. It’s what God wants.”

  “No,” her father said again, only this time it was a different kind of no. It was filled with defeat.

  Yun-ji watched the bottle drop to the floor and her father, the man who had been missing all these years from her life, fall to his knees and begin to weep.

  She had never seen her father cry before.

  It was beautiful.

  Possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  Billie

  Outside the vegetable man and his cart have arrived.

  The human alarm clock.

  The vendor of headaches and buh-nah-nuhs.

  I like it when he says that though.

  And lemon.

  He says it lay-mon.

  They’re the only two words I can make out. The rest is a litany of Korean, all prerecorded, listing the specials of the day. I swear he parks his cart outside my window just to antagonize me. It’s the perfect soundtrack to the miserable drama being played out inside this apartment. It definitely needed something Korean and hellish to accent it. Why does the caged bird sing again? I can’t remember. All I know is that this bird is going to peck its eyes out if something doesn’t change soon.

  And it’s not fair. I don’t go blaring English outside his window. Then again, he’s not the genius who decided to move to another country. Funny how I always forget that part. I still can’t believe they haven’t sent us home yet. I thought for sure they’d have found out by now.

  And we’re actually making some bank. Joe was right about that part. I’ve already saved about four grand which is the main reason neither of us have gone home yet. The main reason we’re still trying to make things work between us. Pretty sad, but there it is.

  I’m really starting to miss home though. My mom, friends, the food. Even my evil, little cat. You wouldn’t believe how they treat cats here. They live outside, all underfed and dirty. They’re terrified of humans, too. They won’t come near me even if I have tuna. I guess the idea of a dog as a pet took some time before it caught on here, so cats will just have to wait their turn.

  Joe just left.

  I still haven’t told him all of what happened that night with Jean-Paul. I can see he’s deteriorating right before my eyes, but I don’t have the patience for it. We just had another fight. I threw some boxes around the apartment and now the place is littered with packing peanuts. I’m so tired of all of it. My fingers are even tired. Sometimes I think I can hear them snoring.

  When I look at Joe these days, I don’t know him.

  We’re not friends anymore. And that really sucks.

  It’s the one thing Joe and I have always been. Friends.

  It’s what made us so good together.

  I can remember watching him from afar back in the day, too nervous and shy to approach. I’d always been drawn to him. I think I liked how he always seemed to be in on some big joke the rest of us didn’t get. And there was this calmness to him that made you feel like everything would be okay. When we used to talk, he would listen and wait until just the right moment to add something to the conversation.

  Now he just waits and says nothing.

  Like he’s keeping it all to himself.

  I guess I’m responsible for that.

  God, I must sound horrible. I’m having a hard time feeling much of anything right now. I feel outside of things. Like this is all happening to somebody else. And I know I should be concerned about him right now, but I just can’t seem to feel the necessary pity for it. He’s tried in his own way to deal with this whole mess, but it just hasn’t been what I’ve needed.

  Joe was part of the problem.

  And the last thing I wanted was to be reminded of what I’d done. I wanted to forget. To move. To blur and make illegible. That’s where Jean-Paul came in. He told me stories. He distracted me. He was a giant well from which I could pull endless conversations.

  Whereas Joe shut down after the abortion.

  Retreated into himself.

  Which was fine. For Joe. But not for me.

  Silence was the enemy. Like some frightening cliff I was always heading for. And Jean-Paul was the detour. Nothing more.

  There are some mountains, the Seoraksan mountains I think they’re called, about an hour from here that I’m going to hike today. I need to do things like this more often. It’s hard going alone, but I’m getting used to it. Maybe there will be a cliff there I can throw myself off of.

  Anything will be better than sitting in here.

  *

  Still no sign of Joe.

  I can’t tell if he’s been here or not.

  My legs are sore.

  I almost didn’t find the mountain. You’d think it would be hard to miss a mountain, right? Once I got started climbing, though, I just wanted to keep going up and up. Everyone I met on the trail had their hiking outfits on: knee high socks, canes, and these large-brimmed hats with visors that came down past their chins.

  These people really come prepared.

  After a while, my body got kind of numb. And numb is good. At the viewpoint, about three miles up, my eyes swallowed whole valleys of yellows and gold. It’s the start of fall here, so all the trees are dressed up to the nines.

  When I got back to the apartment, a man was standing out front smoking a cigarette. He had a mud-mask slathered on his face. I should have taken his picture. He was so serious looking. Not a hint of irony about him. These are wealthy Koreans. The upper upper-crust. I think mud masks might be a status symbol or something.

  Like a mafia boss going in for a pedicure.

  Anyway, Joe’s skateboard is gone. Not a surprise. He hardly ever took it out before, always
said he liked to walk. For months all he did was drink and smoke in the TV room. I could hear him sobbing in there at night sometimes. And this is horrible of me, but sometimes I swear he embellished just so I would hear him. I wanted to scream when he got like that. It felt like he was pulling something out of me. Stealing something from me. Little by little.

  But the joke’s on him.

  There’s nothing left to take.

  Like yesterday. I was sitting outside the ma-and-pa shop having an innocent beer with my eye patch when Joe went skateboarding by. He gave me a sarcastic smile, nodded his head, and just kept on going. I’m not sure what about it made me so angry. I think it’s the fact that now, suddenly, he’s turned into Joe skateboarder. Why couldn’t he have gone skateboarding with me after the abortion? Why couldn’t he have done something other than take naps all the time? Why couldn’t he have gone to the World Cup with me?

  That’s what pisses me off.

  Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

  Seven.

  That’s how many months we have left out here.

  I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

  I’d hoped that with Jean-Paul I could just pretend nothing ever happened and we could be friends. But, no, he wants more than that.

  They always want more.

  *

  There’s been a shift in the climate here. Now I find myself waxing nostalgic for the days when all I got were dirty looks. At least back then they didn’t come right out and voice their dislike of foreigners.

  There is, however, a legitimate reason for this change.

  The tank accident.

  It happened during the World Cup, so it didn’t get a lot of press at the time. Even when I searched the internet for news about it back in the States, there was nothing.

  So here’s what happened as far as I understand it...

  Two Korean school girls, I think they were both fourteen years old, were out walking down a country road near their homes when they were run over by a U.S. army tank. The Army says they were doing training exercises in the area and didn’t see them.

  The Army says it was a mistake.

  An accident.

  I don’t understand how you can miss two girls walking down the side of a dirt road in broad daylight, but our military found a way. So now whatever camaraderie the World Cup might have once created is long gone and anti-American sentiment seems to be running rampant. I don’t completely get it though. I mean, didn’t we help them out during the Korean War? And don’t we still have troops here so North Korea and China don’t blow them up? Somehow I doubt our troops being here is completely altruistic though.