The Colonel laughed. His face was red and his eyes swam. The wind outside blew hard making the window bump against the wall. He swayed as if the wind were blowing him, too. “Of course you don’t care. You are a stupid Korean! Let us drink a toast. Let’s drink to Korea! Big drink this time.” He raised his glass to me and together, we drank.
He grabbed his glass and the bottle and came to the bed. He loomed over me. “Here, more sake for you,” he said, and poured more of it in my glass.
The room was starting to move and I was getting nauseous. I wasn’t thinking clearly. “I do not want any more of your sake, sir,” I said.
He took a step toward me and struck me with the back of his hand. I fell to the floor, spilling the sake on his Chinese rug. The blow hurt, but in a strange, dull way. I tasted blood in my mouth.
The Colonel picked up my glass and filled it to the top. “I said drink!” he roared. “I will drink to Korea and you will drink to Japan.” I lifted myself onto the bed and he handed me the glass. I brought it to my mouth and took a drink. The sake no longer burned.
The Colonel leaned toward me unsteadily. He unbuttoned his collar. “Lieutenant Tanaka. Kempei,” he said, slurring the word. “His job was to turn you into good Japanese subjects. He did not do a very good job, did he?”
“Yes sir. I mean, no sir,” I said.
“Ha, ha, ha!” the Colonel laughed again. He swayed in front of me. Or perhaps it was me who was swaying. He slid into a chair. “It is unfortunate for him. And for you and for Japan. Take another drink,” he ordered.
We drank together, the Colonel emptying his glass.
“Korea had things Japan needed,” he said. “Minerals, protection from the Chinese and mongrel Russians! You are ignorant peasants and needed us, too. If you had done what we asked, it would have worked. It would have worked!” He pointed a finger at me. “It’s your fault, you whore. You and your damned comb.”
I wasn’t sure I had heard him right. “My comb, sir?” I heard myself say. “Maybe I should go back to the comfort station.”
“You cannot go there,” he said. “You must stay here tonight. Do you hear me?”
I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t want to be there with him anymore and I didn’t care if my impudence got me shot “Sir, I am going back to the comfort station now.” I tried to stand.
He stumbled toward me with the sake bottle and a scowl on his face. He grabbed my cheeks with his thumb and fingers. He pushed me down and opened my mouth. He shoved the bottle in. “Shut up and drink with me, girl!” He emptied the sake down my throat. I swallowed what I could and choked on the rest. He pulled the bottle away and I coughed and sputtered. Sake dribbled down my chin and onto my yukata.
“Please sir,” I heard myself say, “let me go.”
“No! Didn’t you hear me? Don’t you understand what I’m doing? I am saving you.”
“I don’t want to be saved,” I said.
He threw the bottle aside, and it shattered against the wall. He struck me in the face with his fist. The pain was dull like something hard had hit me softly, or something soft had hit me hard. I wasn’t sure. “You whore,” I heard him say. “It’s your fault! You made us do it! You made me do it.” He hit me again and the room spun.
I thought I should say I was sorry—sorry for being a stupid Korean whore, sorry for not being a good Japanese subject, sorry for not being strong enough—but I really didn’t care.
Outside, the trees swayed in the wind. I felt another blow against my face. There were stars in my head and then everything went dark.
*
I heard rain falling on the street outside the window. I opened my eyes and turned to the side. It was daylight. My head pounded and my mouth was dry. I pressed a finger against my lip. It was tender and puffy. I couldn’t see well out of my left eye.
I lifted my head and looked around. I couldn’t tell if I was alone. A strong wind blew in from the window behind the Colonel’s desk. I stood unsteadily and wrapped my yukata around me. It stunk like sake. I tried to focus on the door, but the room moved. My stomach convulsed and I fell to my knees next to the bed and retched. Green bile spewed from me onto the Chinese rug. I retched three times more. My head pounded so hard with each one, I was afraid I would pass out again. I spit sour bile from my mouth. Eventually I caught my breath and the room stopped moving.
I looked up and thought I saw something on the bed. I forced my eyes to focus on it. On the white linen, where I couldn’t miss it, was the comb with the two-headed dragon.
I stood uneasily and looked around the room. I thought I might be dreaming. The desk chair was on its side. Empty drawers were scattered around the room. The military flag of Japan lay on the floor, ripped in half.
The pounding in my head eased a little. I looked again at the comb. The gold spine glistened and the dragon reached for me like it did the day I left home. I picked it up and slid it inside my yukata. I stumbled to the door. I slipped my feet in my zori and went out into the rain. The shower of cold rain brought me out of my fog a little and I saw that the entire village was on the move. Military trucks rumbled slowly along the narrow streets. Lines of soldiers walked alongside the trucks with their heads down and rain dripping from their helmets. They were all marching east.
I dragged myself through the muddy streets toward the comfort station. I smelled something burning as I came to the back of the latrine. I peered around the corner at the comfort station. One of the barracks was on fire and Private Ishida was setting fire to another. Lieutenant Tanaka paced in the middle of the courtyard. The Korean girls stood in a line, facing the back end of a green, canvas-covered truck. The rain made their hair and clothes cling to their bodies.
“Where is Namiko Iwata!” the lieutenant shouted above the rain. “Where is Ja-hee? I want to know!”
Jin-sook stepped forward and bowed. “She did not come back last night, sir.”
Lieutenant Tanaka took a step toward Jin-sook. He lifted her head with the tip of his shinai. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you girl?”
“No, sir,” she answered. “Not me.”
The kempei lowered his shinai. “Ja-hee was with the Colonel last night,” he said. “Well, well. I think our leader has gone soft. I had better see about that. Carry on, Private,” he said to Private Ishida. As he walked away, he threw his shinai in the burning barracks.
Private Ishida went to the truck and lifted the canvas flap. He stepped away and from inside the darkness, a machine gun opened fire.
S IXTEEN
They killed five of my ianfu sisters immediately. Three girls froze in fright and soon, the thundering, heavy-caliber gun found them and put them down like the first five. Jin-sook fell to her knees. “No!” she cried. “Why me?” The gunner put several bullets in her, throwing her body into the mud with her legs twisted underneath her. Mee-su ran screaming toward the latrine with her hands over her ears. Private Ishida lifted his rifle and shot her square in the back. She flopped to the mud, arms out, limp like a rag doll. Then the machine gun was silent and there was only the smell of gunpowder and the splatter of rain falling on mud.
Private Ishida lowered his rifle and stared at the lifeless body of Mee-su. His mouth was open and his head cocked to the side as if he was trying to understand what he had just done. He stared for several seconds. Then he looked directly at me. I held his eyes, stepped out from behind the latrine, and faced him without fear. He raised his rifle but he did not shoot. I reached inside my yukata and pulled out the comb. I held it in my hand. As I looked down the barrel of Private Ishida’s rifle, I saw all the women in my family who like me, had once held the comb in their hands, too. I saw them all the way back to my great-great grandmother, the yangban who’d had the comb made. And they told me to run.
So I ran. As fast as my sore legs could carry me, I ran behind the latrine toward the village. To my left was the laundry and in front of me the white walls of the infirmary. I slipped in the mud, pushed myself u
p and ran inside the infirmary. I ran up the stairs to the ward. It was empty except for Soo-hee. I went to her and grabbed her arm. “Soo-hee,” I panted. “They’re shooting us! We have to run!”
Soo-hee’s eyes were sunken and her skin was as pale as snow. “I can’t,” she said weakly.
I tugged harder. “You have to. They will kill us!” Soo-hee winced in pain and I let go of her arm.
I stood over Soo-hee with the comb in my hand and saw that she was too weak to move. And then I knew it was over. I lay on the cold tile floor next to my onni. “Okay,” I said. “We will die together.”
Soo-hee lifted her head off the mat and took in a pained breath. “Ja-hee,” she said. “You must go without me.”
I shook my head. “No Soo-hee. I cannot.” I was finally at peace. I was ready to die.
With effort, Soo-hee rolled toward me. “Yes you can, Ja-hee. You have the comb with the dragon, there in your hand. You were born in the year of the dragon. You can survive this. The comb will protect you.”
I opened my hand and looked at the comb. “I do not believe in the comb,” I said. “It didn’t help Ummah and it did not save us from this.”
“You can still be saved,” Soo-hee said, “and then you can tell them what happened here.”
“I don’t want anyone to know what happened here,” I said.
“Then,” Soo-hee said, “they will get away with it.”
I heard footsteps from the stairway at the other end of the ward. Men were talking in clipped voices. Soo-hee touched my arm. “You must go,” she whispered. “Please do this for me. Do it for all of us.”
I glanced down the long corridor, then back at my onni. Her eyes were sunken and sad. I so wanted to stay with Soo-hee, to let it all be over. The footsteps grew louder. “Oh, Soo-hee,” I said.
“Goodbye little sister,” Soo-hee said weakly. “Go now. Hurry!”
I reached over and stroked Soo-hee’s hair. I gave my onni one last look and pushed down another cry. Then, with the comb in my hand, I ran for the door. My legs no longer hurt and my head didn’t pound. I ran down the stairs and out into the street. The rain was falling hard among the colorless procession of soldiers. I didn’t see Private Ishida or Lieutenant Tanaka. I cut between two buildings and the roofs dripped rainwater on me. I ran through a courtyard and between two more buildings. I came to a grass strip separating the village from a wheat field. I looked to my left, then to my right and ran for the field.
From somewhere behind me, Lieutenant Tanaka shouted, “There she is! Shoot! SHOOT HER!” A rifle shot rang out and mud splattered a circle near my feet. I ran as fast as I could and reached the wheat field as another shot rang out. The bullet snapped through the stalks alongside me. I ran into the field. Mud grabbed at my zori, so I let them slip off. I ran and ran but the stiff, sharp wheat stalks cut my feet. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled, gripping the comb as I went. Boots splashed in the mud behind me. I crawled with all my strength, but I kept slipping in the mud. The footsteps came closer. Over my shoulder, I saw Private Ishida scanning the wheat field for me, his rifle in both hands. He spotted me and ran up to me. I rolled over on my back. The private aimed his rifle at me.
I held the comb in front of me. Rain struck my face and ran in my eyes. I blinked it away and met the eyes of Private Ishida. “Private,” I said, “your people have already killed me many times. Let me live this once.”
He held his aim. Rain dripped off the rifle barrel and the bill of his cap. He held nervous eyes on me for several seconds. Then he whispered, “They’ll shoot me if they find out. Stay here until we leave.” He pulled the rifle barrel a few inches to the left and fired twice into the ground making mud splatter on my face. He ran back to the village.
I couldn’t breathe. My ears rang from the rifle shots and I wondered if I was still alive. Eventually, the ringing went away and all I heard was rain patting on the ground next to me. I pulled my arms and legs to my chest. I wanted to cry but I hadn’t allowed myself to cry for so long I didn’t know how, so tears never came.
*
Darkness. The rain had stopped and the air was still. I lay on my side, my knees to my chest, shivering in the cold, sticky mud. Inky clouds slid away revealing bright stars in a moonless sky. The only sound I heard was a dog barking from somewhere in the village.
I pushed myself to my knees, and then unsteadily to my feet. There was no movement in the village and no lights. I held the comb with the two-headed dragon tight in my fist.
I walked barefoot through the wheat field, across the grass to the village. The pain in my thighs from Lieutenant Tanaka’s beating had come back making it difficult to walk. The bruises on my face from Colonel Matsumoto’s blows had turned into a sharp ache. I stumbled down an abandoned street to the infirmary. I pulled myself up the dark stairs to the ward and went to where Soo-hee had been. I pulled aside the white sheet. My onni wasn’t there.
I left the infirmary and went to the comfort station. They had burned the barracks to the ground. A few lonely flames danced among the smoldering remains. And there I saw the bodies of the eleven girls lying in a jagged line, lifeless, like mounds of dirt.
I stood in the courtyard and all the cries I had pushed down for so long roiled and raged inside me. I felt the stone in my stomach crack. I closed my eyes, fell to my knees, threw back my head, and opened my throat. And all my cries burst out.
I kneeled on the muddy ground with my face to the sky and a thousand cries met a thousand stars in the moonless Manchurian night. I cried for my innocence and for each time they called me a whore. I cried for the dead girls who had been my sisters. I cried for my mother and father. And I cried for Soo-hee. The cries ripped out my stomach, my lungs, and my heart until there was nothing left inside and I collapsed, empty, to the mud.
*
Daylight. The smell of burned wood. The sticky wet of mud underneath me. A crow cawed nearby. I could feel stillness of death.
I drew a breath and opened my eyes. The sun was at its mid-morning angle. The air was calm. Here and there, thin lines of smoke drifted up from the barracks’ charred remains. A crow perched on the dead body of Mee-su pecking at her eyes.
I heard the sound of a truck behind me. A truck door opened and I heard footsteps in the mud. The crow cawed and slapped its wings in flight. I heard voices in a strange language.
A boot like I had never seen before—dirty and well used—kicked me. A voice said something in a language I didn’t understand. The boot kicked again sending pain into my ribs. I lifted my head and looked to where the voice had come from. I saw a man’s face.
His eyes were blue.
S EVENTEEN
August 2008. Seoul, South Korea
Mrs. Hong is giving me an “I-told-you-so” stare. I look inside my empty teacup. I tell her I didn’t know anything about the comfort women. After I say it, I realize I sound incredibly lame.
“I am telling you,” she replies, “because you must know.”
“To fulfill your promise to your sister,” I say. “To tell what happened to you.”
“Yes, but you must also know because you are a Korean. You should know what happened to your country. You need to know your people. Anyway, you have only heard part of my story. There is more, much more I have to tell you.”
There’s more? She’s still dressed in her yellow hanbok, sitting upright in her chair, ready to go on. Me? I need to stop. I’m tired and confused. I now have more questions than when I got here. It just doesn’t make sense—the gold comb in the hands of this poor woman, her incredible story. I need time to process this.
A breeze blows through the window and clouds are forming outside. It smells like it does before it rains. I look down at the street. I check my watch. It’s 12:45. The cab won’t be here for over two hours and I have no other way to get back to the hotel. I have to stay.
“Ma’am,” I say, “I’ll listen to the rest of your story. But what is it about this comb? I mean, it’s just an
heirloom right?”
Mrs. Hong shakes her head. “It is important that you take the time to understand what it is so you know what it means for you.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know if I should take it,” I say. “I don’t want to break any laws.”
Suddenly there’s a loud knock on the door. A man’s voice shouts something in Korean. My eyes snap to Mrs. Hong. “The police,” she whispers. Her weird smile rattles me as much as the knocking at the door. “They’re here for the comb!”
I look at the table where Mrs. Hong set the package with the comb. It isn’t there. The knocking turns into pounding. My heart starts racing. “Anna,” Mrs. Hong says, “listen carefully. Tell them that you went to an address that came with the comb and gave it back to the person who gave it to you. Then you came to visit me. Do you understand?”
“Why?” I ask.
“They cannot have the comb,” she says.
Mrs. Hong goes to the door and opens it. In the hallway are two men. Mrs. Hong bows, but the men push past her into the apartment. The taller one is dressed in a smooth suit and looks like a government man you see on TV. The other guy is bald and looks like an Asian version of Bruce Willis. He’s wearing a sports coat a size too small that shows off his impressive biceps. Two policemen follow them in. I quickly stand as Government Man comes up to me.
“Are you Anna Carlson?” Government Man asks. His English is well practiced with only a slight trace of an accent.
I shoot a nervous look at Mrs. Hong. “Yes,” I say.
“And this is your grandmother, Hong Ja-hee?” Government Man asks pointing at Mrs. Hong.
“Yes it is? Who are you?”
“My name is Mr. Kwan,” he answers. “I’m here for the comb you showed Mr. Kim yesterday. It might be a valuable Korean artifact. I wanted to talk to you at the hotel this morning, but your father said you were sick and had to stay in bed. But now we find you here. You lied. So, where is the comb?”
Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story Page 9
