Hana suddenly can’t swallow. She begins to choke in panic. The noise wakes the others in the compartment.
‘What’s going on?’ Morimoto demands. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
He stands and pulls Hana to face him. She continues choking, grasping her throat. He shouts again, incoherent words, and Hana merely points to SangSoo’s still body. He follows her finger and glances at the young girl. He releases Hana, his eyes on the small girl sitting still through all the commotion. He remains silent for a long while. Then the girl across from them cries out.
‘She’s dead! She, she’s dead!’ she shouts again and again. Terror animates her face and she is no longer pretty.
A clatter outside the compartment announces the approach of more soldiers. The door slides open and two questioning faces appear. Morimoto finally speaks.
‘This one’s dead. Take her to the back until we arrive at the next station. Then bury her.’
‘Bury her?’ one of the soldiers repeats.
‘Yes, bury her. Put her with the others.’
‘Of course, sir.’
The two men lift SangSoo’s body as though it is nothing but a sack of rice and carry her out of the compartment. The door slides shut and Morimoto resumes sleeping as though nothing has happened. Staring at him, incredulous, Hana recalls his words. He said others. How many more dead girls are on the train?
The thought of SangSoo’s tiny body being dumped is too much, and Hana begins to cry. She has been holding back her fear and sorrow – holding back her guilt. Now she can’t stop the sobs; it’s as though the sounds are being wrenched from her stomach by an invisible fist. No one says a word to hush her. Instead, Morimoto begins to snore.
The girl sitting across from her pats Hana’s knee from time to time, sniffling in between Hana’s mournful sobs, but nothing else in the small compartment acknowledges the loss of SangSoo’s life. Not the blackened newspaper on the windows or the swaying light shade above their heads. Not the walls heaving with the movement of the train or the soldiers fast asleep.
Somewhere beyond that train snaking through unknown lands, far across a sea, back on their small island, SangSoo’s parents, too, remain ignorant of her death. Perhaps they are asleep in their homes, dreaming of her imminent return, hoping beyond hope that they will see her one day, that time will return her to them. Hana imagines them, waiting for a daughter who will never return home, dead after only a few days away. They will wonder about her for ages and may never know how long ago she left them.
It takes two days for the train to arrive at the next station. The soldiers bury SangSoo beside the tracks in an unmarked grave with four other bodies. They make the girls watch, to see what happens to girls who do not obey orders. The dead are wrapped in sheets, but Hana knows which is SangSoo’s because it is the smallest, the most insignificant. That is how the soldiers see her, how they see all of the girls.
Morimoto says she died of an infection from a cut on her leg, but Hana knows the truth. Once Hana’s grief quietened down, she noticed the blood on the seat. It had soaked into the leather, and rivulets had streamed like veins down the sides onto the floor. SangSoo bled to death. She was too small, too young, to endure such torture. How many men raped this little girl?
Hana can’t help but compare SangSoo to her little sister, Emiko. If Hana had not gone with Morimoto, he would have taken her sister. The thought that she could have suffered the same fate as SangSoo, dying a terrible death so far from home, makes Hana’s stomach feel as though it has dropped down to the ground. But it isn’t so; she is safe.
On her island, a burial ceremony would have taken place, and the gods would have been called upon to guide SangSoo’s spirit onward to her ancestors. Hana doesn’t know who the girl’s ancestors are. She knows nothing about her except that she is from Jeju Island, and her Japanese name is Noriko. SangSoo, Noriko, Little Sister. Hana knows she will never forget her.
She closes her eyes and wishes SangSoo’s spirit a safe journey home, wishes it not to be restless from such a painful death, and especially wishes it not to haunt her dreams searching for revenge on the girl who should have been taken in her place.
Two new girls join them in their compartment, and the train soon commences its journey. Hana does her best to keep her mind off SangSoo. Instead, she thinks of her little sister, and how she is still safe at home where Hana longs to be. At least she saved one girl from the soldiers. She aimed too high in thinking she could save two.
Hana keeps Emi’s face in her mind so that she won’t see SangSoo’s pale skin. She thinks of diving in the sea so she won’t feel the chill against her fingertips. She thinks of black seaweed swaying with the currents and miles of deepest blue water, so she won’t see red, the colour of death. When Hana finally submits to the call of sleep, she dreams of her family, swimming at the bottom of a dark ocean, but at times she isn’t certain if they are swimming or merely swaying with the current, eyes lifeless and skin cold as the water swirling around them.
Emi
Seoul, December 2011
Emi’s daughter, YoonHui, lives near Ewha Womans University in Seoul. Emi helped her with the down payment to purchase the small one-bedroom apartment fifteen years ago. It seemed like a good investment, so Emi sold their family home near the tangerine grove and moved into the shack beside the road. YoonHui is a professor of Korean literature at the university, and she is doing well. She offers to pay the deposit back every time they see one another, but Emi won’t accept the money. Her needs are met by what she finds in the sea, and that is enough to sustain her. Today, YoonHui’s friend is over. She’s feeding the dog at the coffee table with chopsticks.
‘You remember Lane, don’t you? She’s an anthropology professor at the university.’
YoonHui has given the same introduction each time Emi has visited. Emi finds it peculiar that Lane is always there, always fawning over the dog, and always looking very much at home. She suspects they have been friends much longer than Emi has known of her.
‘Hello, Mother, you look well.’
‘Hello, Lane,’ Emi replies. Lane has lived in South Korea for over a decade and has adopted most of the country’s customs. No one is called by their name in Korean culture; instead they are all mothers, fathers, big and little sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, or grandmothers and grandfathers. Even strangers are given such names. If YoonHui had married and had children like most women her age, Lane would be calling Emi Grandmother instead of Mother, but there are no children in YoonHui’s home, so she is merely Mother. Even her son forgets and calls her Mother instead of Grandmother when their grandson is around. Perhaps if she visited more, made an effort to be a larger part of his life, she would have earned the title.
Lane also speaks impeccable Korean. Her city accent makes her sound sophisticated for an American. Most Americans have a heavy accent and sound dim-witted to Emi’s ear, like the tourists who visit the haenyeo on Jeju Island. They arrive in groups, taxied in from the airport, and take photos of the haenyeo with their phones and expensive digital cameras. A few of them are confident enough to try out their basic Korean on the divers, who always giggle and smile at their attempts to converse. JinHee is happiest when a tourist makes an effort, but Emi is nonplussed.
‘You should be more grateful to them,’ JinHee said once when Emi complained. ‘At least they try to speak to us.’
‘They stare at us like we are zoo animals,’ Emi replied, without looking at her friend.
‘Hush, they do not! And anyway, they help keep our way of life alive.’
Emi laughed, incredulous. ‘How do they keep our way of life alive when we are the ones who must do all the work?’
JinHee gently patted Emi’s shoulder. ‘Their excitement for our work travels with them back to their home countries. They share our way of life with their friends and tell stories about their time with us. If we are still spoken about, then we can never disappear.’
Emi stared at JinHee, marvelling
at her ability to always see the bigger picture.
Emi’s daughter interrupts her thoughts. ‘Are you hungry? I can prepare some lunch for you.’
‘Nonsense, I ate lunch on the plane. I packed some dried squid and kimbap in my bag,’ Emi answers, still thinking about her friend. How odd that she suddenly misses her, now that she has arrived at her daughter’s home.
‘Where’s Hyoung?’ her daughter asks.
‘He had to return to work. He said he’d see us at dinner. He took YoungSook to basketball practice.’ Emi misses her grandson already. ‘He’s grown so tall.’
‘YoungSook wants to be a professional basketball player in America, doesn’t he, Lane?’ her daughter says. She’s sitting beside Emi on the sofa, and they are both watching Lane expertly insert servings of rice into the dog’s awaiting mouth.
‘If that boy keeps growing at the rate he is now, he just might make it,’ Lane says. ‘He’ll be like a Korean Yao Ming.’
The dog barks, the two friends laugh, and Emi thinks she sees Lane wink at her daughter.
‘Oh, Mother, your hair,’ her daughter says, returning her attention to Emi. ‘You need another perm. Let me take you before dinner. We’re going to Jungsik, so we can get your hair done nearby.’
Her daughter touches Emi’s hair, making her laugh.
‘No, no, I don’t need a hair appointment. I’m too old for vanity.’ She laughs again.
‘Mother, you’re never too old to look good,’ Lane says as she stands to put away her lunch dishes.
The dog barks, running and leaping into Emi’s lap. It’s a toy poodle, white, with a cotton-wool ball for a tail. Emi pats the dog’s soft head. Then she reaches into her shopping bag and pulls out the plush cat she bought on the plane.
‘Can he have this?’ she asks before giving it to the dog.
‘Of course,’ Lane says. ‘Oh, how cute, look, YoonHui.’
Emi’s daughter takes the toy and tears off the tags. ‘Fetch, Snowball. Go get it.’
The dog races down the hallway and retrieves the cat, bringing it back to Emi. She tosses the cat across the room again and again, until he tires and plops down beside her feet, gnawing contentedly on the cat’s stuffed head.
The chemicals from the perm emanate in waves each time Emi moves, so she tries to sit as still as possible as they dine at the restaurant. It’s too fancy for her, and she understands why her daughter wanted to fix her up. She even suggested Emi change from her pink trousers because they were stained with the green tea. Emi only brought one other pair of trousers for her short stay in Seoul, so she put on the black pair she had planned to wear the next day. She was already wearing a black sweater, and her daughter’s expression showed her disapproval.
‘You’re not going to a funeral, Mother. Don’t you have another sweater?’ Emi looked down at her clothes. She hadn’t planned on wearing the two garments together, but suddenly she felt like she was going to a funeral. The heaviness in her heart became too much to bear, and though she didn’t want to, she started to cry.
‘Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’
‘No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s just …’
But Emi didn’t have the words to explain. She accepted the tissue YoonHui held out to her and wiped her tears away. Her daughter sat silently in front of her, looking ashamed.
‘It’s nothing you said,’ Emi told her daughter when she felt like herself again. ‘Come, let’s go and make me presentable.’ She took YoonHui’s hand and led her to her suitcase. ‘What should I wear to dinner?’
YoonHui laughed and sifted through her mother’s meagre belongings. In the end, they agreed on a cream sweater her daughter had hanging in her wardrobe. The sleeves were a little too long, so YoonHui folded the cuffs over, and Emi was reminded of her own mother. She had always thought YoonHui looked more like her husband, but sitting there in her daughter’s capable hands, Emi saw her mother’s face looking back at her. It eased her burden a little, lifting her spirits enough for her to smile when she gazed at herself in the beauty salon’s mirror with her newly permed hair.
The waiter brings the tea and sets the tray in front of Emi. He pours the hot liquid into each ceramic cup, while YoonHui passes them around the table. Emi is surrounded by the faces of her family, her daughter-in-law and Lane. The faces are older than the ones she sees in her mind when she is at home. Her son should be a grandfather already, her daughter a grandmother. Her grandson should be a great-grandson. They are all talking and laughing and ordering food. Lane is telling a story about her last publication on the rise of female genital mutilation in Western countries and how more women are speaking out because of the Internet. Her daughter-in-law is fussing with her grandson’s shirt collar. Her son is ordering whiskey after whiskey, neat. Emi is listening and not listening, until everyone is suddenly quiet and looking at her.
‘Did you hear me?’ her son asks.
She shakes her head.
‘I said what are your plans tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Emi asks, and she has suddenly forgotten why she has come. The restaurant seems unusually hushed. Her grandson blushes as though he is embarrassed for her.
‘Yes, tomorrow,’ YoonHui says, and caresses Emi’s hand. ‘Lane and I want to go with you.’
Emi feels confused. The fumes from her hair are making her light-headed. Too many eyes are studying her. She needs air. She makes a move to stand, and her daughter rises with her. Leaning on YoonHui, Emi shuffles away from the table and into the cold night air. Cars whizz by under bright city lights, flashing and buzzing on all the buildings. She is homesick for the quiet of her lonely hut, the roar of the ocean waves, and the simple laughter of her diving friends.
‘I didn’t want to fly,’ she tells YoonHui. ‘But I had to.’ She touches the bruise above her eye.
YoonHui doesn’t reply, but her arm tightens around Emi’s shoulders. Side by side, they watch the city rush by in shiny imported cars on the street and designer heels clicking against the pavement. Emi recalls the ground far beneath her as she flew in the plane. The black of the runway was surrounded by the crumpled brown stalks of winter grass, and Emi could not stop her mind from imagining what lay beneath the tarmac, buried for too many years. Who, not what. There were many faces looking up from the earth as she flew overhead. Emi doesn’t want to remember them. She pushes their vacant stares away, allowing the sounds of the city to distract her. Her mind eagerly wanders back to the twinkling lights and the comfort of her daughter’s arm.
Emi awakens in the middle of the night. There was a noise or a voice; she thinks someone shouted her name. She sits up, clutching her nightshirt around her neck. The room is black, except for the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock. It’s 3 a.m. Her daughter is gently snoring beside her. Emi slips out from beneath the blankets, careful not to wake her. Hands out in front of her, she feels her way through empty space towards the bedroom door.
In the compact kitchen, she boils water in the kettle. Snowball comes to see what she is up to and trails after her feet as she shuffles around. Emi sits at the breakfast table and the little dog hops onto her lap. She pats his fluffy head. She stares at the blankness of the kitchen wall, painted sky blue. Stroking the dog’s soft fur, she recalls the dream that woke her in the night.
A girl is swimming in the ocean, diving for seashells. She waves at Emi and shows her the starfish she has found. Emi is standing on the shore, but she isn’t wearing her wetsuit. Instead she is in a white cotton dress that falls just below her knees. The dress does little to camouflage her old woman’s fleshy folds. On her feet are shiny black shoes that she has never seen before. In the water, the girl laughs and dives again. She resembles a dolphin, rising up and diving down, again and again, with effortless elegance. Is that me in an earlier time? Emi wonders.
In the distance, a black cloud rushes towards them. It swells around them like an angry sea, building in height and strength. Emi shouts for the young girl to come ashore. She yell
s to her that a storm is coming, but the girl cannot hear her above the wind. She dives again, and then the rain and thunder and lightning crash all around. The beach is pummelled with hail, and Emi tries to find shelter beneath a rock overhang, while keeping a lookout for the girl to resurface. But she doesn’t emerge from the water.
Minutes pass, and Emi begins to fear the girl has drowned. The storm is gathering energy. Powerful waves crash into the shore. Emi knows the girl doesn’t have a chance. She removes her shoes. Then she pulls the dress over her head. Naked, she runs towards the swirling sea and dives in. As her head plunges beneath the cold water, someone screams her name.
The kettle whistles, making Snowball bark. Emi quietens the dog and quickly removes the kettle from the stove. She pours the hot water into a mug and steeps a bag of green tea. As she sits back down, the dog leaps back onto her lap. Emi warms her hands around the mug as she waits for the water to turn a dark shade of yellow green. In all her years, she has never worn a pair of shiny black shoes like the ones in her dream. She might have worn a white dress, but not the shoes.
Emi sips from her mug and wonders what new shoes mean in dreams. JinHee would know. She interprets everyone’s dreams whether they welcome it or not. And who was the young girl in the sea? Was it her younger self? Is the dream about the death of her childhood or perhaps her impending death?
You know who she is, the voice in her mind says accusatorily. Emi tries to block it out, but she thinks of the girl’s face, conjuring it back into her mind.
‘Hana,’ she whispers to the empty room. It’s a name she hasn’t said for over sixty years.
White Chrysanthemum Page 6
