Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story

by William Andrews

  I went to a table of soldiers and took their drink orders. As I brought the orders to the bar, I glanced at the Colonel. He sat alone, drinking his Old Fitzgerald Kentucky bourbon, looking out the window that I had cleaned for him.

  T HIRTY-THREE

  It was very late at night when I hauled a sack full of dirty linens toward the laundry at the far end of the kijichon. The cheap cafés had switched off their outside lights hours earlier and light shone from inside only one bar. Here and there, a drunken soldier staggered toward Camp Humphreys or slumped against a wall in a stupor.

  On the other side of the street, the bartender of the last open bar shoved three drunken soldiers out to the street. One stumbled to the ground. His companions pointed at him and laughed. As the soldier climbed to his feet, the bartender closed the door and switched off the lights.

  “What the fuck?” said the soldier who had fallen. He carried a bottle in one hand and clung to his companion with the other. “Ain’t there nothin’ open in this goddamn place?”

  “All shut down with nothin’ to do,” his companion said. I kept walking toward the laundry trying not to be seen.

  “Well, look-e there,” a soldier said, pointing at me. “It’s a juicy girl.”

  One shouted, “Hey, you. Wanna make some money?”

  I quickened my pace in spite of the heavy load. The three crossed the street toward me.

  “Hey, don’t go away,” a soldier said. “I’m talking to you.”

  They caught up to me and surrounded me. I dropped the laundry sack and faced them.

  “I’ll be damned,” one said. “It’s Ja-hee from the Cat Club. She don’t screw anyone. Not even Crawford.” He took a step closer. “Why don’t you fuck, girl? You too good for an American?”

  “Let me be,” I said.

  “Shit, you talk like an American. You should be willing to fuck one.”

  “Yeah,” another said, “I need someone new.”

  The three pressed in close and I could smell beer on their breaths. “I am friends with Colonel Crawford,” I said quickly. “You don’t want to get in trouble. Now leave me alone!”

  One of the soldiers laughed. “Colonel Crawford? He ain’t the colonel here no more. He shipped out.”

  “Yeah,” another said. “Won’t be much help to you now.”

  A soldier reached for me and I punched him hard.

  He rubbed his nose and said, “You bitch!” And then all three jumped on me. I fought as hard as I could, but I couldn’t fight off all three of them. I tried to scream for help but they covered my mouth. One of them straddled me and started to unbutton his pants.

  “Get off of her!” shouted a voice from behind the soldiers. I saw a hand reach in, grab a soldier and throw him to the ground. One of the two others wheeled around and a fist slammed into his stomach. He collapsed to his knees.

  The third soldier backed away. “What’re you doin’?” he said.

  “Leave her the fuck alone!”

  “Jesus, Alan!” the third soldier said cowering. “Don’t hit me.”

  Alan Smith stood a few feet away, his fists clenched and pure rage in his eyes.

  “Take these other two assholes and go back to your barracks!” Alan ordered. “And if you pricks ever touch her again, I’ll fuckin’ tear your heads off and shit down your throats. Understand?”

  “We’re just havin’ fun,” the soldier said, helping his friends to their feet.

  “Get outta here!” Alan roared. They scurried away keeping a wary eye on Alan as they stumbled down the street toward Camp Humphreys.

  Alan helped me to my feet. “You all right?”

  “Yes, I think so,” I said. “They were going to rape me.”

  “Ah, they’re just drunk,” Alan said. “Probably couldn’ta done it if you let them.”

  I blinked at Alan. “What are you doing here?”

  “Came to get you. Colonel wants to talk to you. He’s in a car outside the club.”

  “The Colonel?”

  “Yeah. Wouldn’t tell me what it’s about. I’ll take the laundry. You go.”

  “Alan,” I said, “thank you.”

  “Better hurry,” Alan replied, hoisting the sack of laundry. “He said he didn’t have a lotta time.”

  *

  A big black Cadillac sat underneath a streetlight outside the Hometown Cat Club. A sergeant leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. “Are you Hong Ja-hee?” he asked as I approached.

  “Yes sir,” I replied.

  The sergeant dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the toe of his boot. He opened the car door. “Get in,” he ordered.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  “Nowhere. The General wants to talk to you.”

  I climbed in and sat next to Colonel Crawford. In the darkness, I could see that he was wearing a traveling uniform with several rows of service bars and medals above his breast pocket. He held his dress cap in his lap.

  “Hello, Ja-hee,” he said. His soft southern accent made my heart beat a little faster.

  “The driver said a general wanted to talk to me.”

  “A general is talking to you. They’ve made me a general, Ja-hee. I’ll be one of the army’s youngest. I’m heading to the Pentagon now. I don’t have much time.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I was going to tell you last night, but you cut our conversation short.”

  “Yes, I did. I’m sorry.”

  A beam of light from a street lamp shone through the car window and fell across the Colonel’s face as he analyzed me. “Hong Ja-hee,” he said. “There’s more to you than you let people know. I’ve done some research.”

  “Research?”

  “You grew up on your family farm outside Sinuiju. You had a sister named Soo-hee who was in China during World War II. I wasn’t able to find out what she did there, but I have an idea. I didn’t find out what you did either.”

  “I worked on my family farm,” I said quickly.

  “No you didn’t,” he said. “You were in China, too.”

  My heart sank that he knew about China. I wanted to jump out of the car and let him leave and take my secret to Washington. But for some reason, I stayed in the car with him.

  He looked out the window. “The goddamn Japanese. It was reprehensible what they did to Korea. And I fear that we all let them get away with it.”

  He turned back to me. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “I’m trying not to,” I said.

  “Good,” he said.

  Then the Colonel continued. “After World War II you worked as a translator in the North and eventually, you escaped to the South. A few months after the Korean War, you showed up here. I presume it was because you had worked for the communists.”

  “It was because Soo-bo was starving,” I said.

  “Yes,” the Colonel said with a shake of his head. “War is cruel.”

  “More for some than others,” I replied.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Then the Colonel asked, “Do you think we could have fallen in love, you and me?”

  The Colonel’s bluntness surprised me. “I… I don’t know,” I said.

  “I’d be a damn liar if I said I didn’t think about it. You’re a beautiful woman. Intelligent. Graceful. And you have something… something special. Maybe in a different time and place.”

  I kept my eyes low. “A different time and place,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” the Colonel said with a wave. “I don’t mean to embarrass you. I guess I’m just saying I’ll miss our talks.” He smiled tenderly and I realized I would miss him very much.

  “By the way,” he said, “I talked to Alan about your debt. I told him to forgive it and let you go. He agreed.”

  “He did?”

  “I didn’t give him a choice,” the Colonel said with a glint in his eye.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I said.

  “It’s done. Oh, and I have something els
e for you.” The Colonel reached inside a briefcase at his feet, took out an envelope and handed it to me. “Inside is the name and address of the head attorney of a construction company in Seoul. They need a translator. Tell them I referred you.” He pointed at the envelope. “There’s also a few hundred dollars in there to get you started. It’s all I could get my hands on with such a short notice.”

  “I can’t take this,” I said.

  “Don’t let your pride hold you back, Ja-hee. The money is nothing to me. Just take it and leave the kijichon. You don’t belong here.”

  I looked at the envelope for a few seconds. The Colonel was right, I had always been too proud. And I didn’t belong here. I tucked the envelope into my pocket. “Thank you,” I said.

  The Colonel let out a sigh. “I wish we could’ve danced just one more time. I don’t imagine I’ll get to do it much with my new responsibilities.”

  I looked into his handsome face and his jade-blue eyes. Then I took his hand and said, “Come with me.” I opened the car door and we got out. I led him to a place under the streetlight. I faced him and put my hands on his shoulders. “Show me again,” I said.

  He smiled broadly as he wrapped his arm around my waist. “It’s a three-step, remember? One, two, three. One, two, three.” He moved his feet and I moved with him as I had done when we first met. He pulled me in and swung me around. I quickly remembered the steps and soon we were moving as one. The sergeant, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the car, grinned at us.

  The Colonel beamed. “Good,” he said. “This is good.”

  We danced for a while and then he said, “I have to go.” We stopped dancing, but held on to each other for a moment longer. “Thank you,” he said finally, stepping away. He gave me a Southern gentleman’s bow. “Goodbye, Ja-hee,” he said and went back inside the car.

  The driver flicked away his cigarette and took his place behind the wheel. The Cadillac pulled onto the road next to the kijichon. And as the car’s taillights disappeared into the blackness, I whispered, “Goodbye, Frank.”

  *

  “You’re leavin’?” Alan Smith asked me, standing in my doorway the next morning. Soo-bo clung to my side as I shoved my belongings inside my rucksack. It was morning and downstairs, the barroom was quiet. “But we made a lotta money, you and me,” he said.

  “No, you made a lot of money, Alan. I did all the work, you did nothing. It’s like Karl Marx said in The Communist Manifesto: ‘The bourgeoisie, veiled by political illusions, control the means of production and instinctively, brutally, exploits the proletariat.’”

  Alan cocked his head. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

  I shook my head. “You should read more, Alan.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’ll double your wages. And you’ll never have to be a juicy girl. You’re a real capitalist, Ja-hee.”

  “I want you to let Dae-ee go, too,” I said.

  “Why in the hell would I do that?” Alan asked with a twist of the scar on his face.

  “Because I’m telling you to.”

  “You’re nuts,” Alan said.

  I finished stuffing my belongings into my rucksack. “I’m leaving my dress. Give it to your next girl.” I took Soo-bo’s hand and turned to leave.

  “Wait! Okay, look. You can live here for free.” Alan said. “I’ll even give you a percent of the profits. You’re right. I need you.”

  I tugged at Soo-bo to follow me. I pushed past Alan out the door. “Please stay, Ja-hee,” he said.

  I went to Dae-ee’s door and knocked. After a few seconds, she answered. Her black hair was a mess and there were dark circles around her eyes. “Do you need me to take Soo-bo?” she asked sleepily.

  “I’m leaving,” I said.

  Dae-ee ran a hand through her hair. “What? You can’t leave.”

  “Yes I can and you should, too. Don’t worry about your debt to Alan. Just leave. Today.” I pushed a twenty-dollar bill at her. “Here, this is enough for bus fare to Chonan. There is one this afternoon.”

  Dae-ee looked puzzled. “But I can’t pay you back.”

  “You don’t have to. Go back to your family, Dae-ee. It will be hard, but they will take you back. Go home and never fall in love with an American again. Now take the money.”

  Dae-ee stood in the doorway looking from me to the twenty-dollar bill and back at me again. She took the money. “Thank you, Onni.”

  “Go home,” I said.

  I took Soo-bo’s hand and went down stairs. I walked out of the Hometown Cat Club into the morning light. Without looking back, I walked down the dirt street to the bus idling at the gate of Camp Humphreys military base.

  T HIRTY-FOUR

  Seoul. It was my first time in South Korea’s capital city. I was thrilled to finally see it. But I was scared, too. As the bus—a wobbly antique filled with poor farmers and American enlisted soldiers on R and R—weaved through the city under the April sky, there were signs that South Korea was rebuilding from the rubble left by the Korean War. On the sides of buildings, workers carrying bricks and mortar crawled on scaffolding. Cranes lifted building materials high in the sky. But in the dark spaces between the construction sites, I saw ragged, homeless people staring vacantly from the shadows. They looked like I did only a year before.

  It was mid-afternoon when the bus came to a stop outside the Yongsan U. S. Military Garrison in the Itaewon district of Seoul. I lifted Soo-bo to my hip and my rucksack to my shoulder. I followed the line of soldiers off the bus. A swarm of filthy children and women dressed in rags confronted us. They reached out to us with grimy hands and begged for our spare change.

  I pushed into the crowd. The beggars took one look at Soo-hee on my hip and let me pass. A half dozen taxis waited nearby. I approached a taxi driver. He asked me what I wanted.

  I took the address of the construction firm from my pocket and read it to him. I asked if he could take me there. The taxi driver looked past me at the American soldiers trying to escape the beggars and told me to go away.

  I put Soo-bo on the ground, reached inside my rucksack and pulled out a five-dollar bill. I showed it to the taxi driver. “I can pay just as well as they can,” I said.

  The driver looked at the money, then at me. He grinned and told me to get in.

  Less than ten minutes later, we stopped in front of a two-story concrete building on a wide boulevard not far from Itaewon. Above the door was a new sign that read ‘Gongson Construction’. After Soo-bo and I got out, I asked the driver how much I owed.

  “Five dollars American,” he answered.

  “That’s too much,” I said.

  “That’s your fare,” he answered firmly.

  I sighed and gave him the five-dollar bill. I took Soo-bo by the hand and we went inside the building.

  Inside, painters on upside-down v-shaped bamboo ladders brushed paint on the walls. A handful of workers scurried from desk to desk. I approached a middle-aged woman at a makeshift reception desk and told her who I wanted to meet. She said that Mr. Han was on the second floor and pointed at Soo-bo. “You shouldn’t take your child up there. Can you leave her with someone and come back?”

  “No ma’am,” I answered. “This is my first time in Seoul. I don’t know anyone here.”

  The woman looked around the office. “Well, I don’t have much to do right now. I can watch her for a while.”

  I sized up the woman and decided I had to trust her. “Thank you,” I said.

  The woman came from behind the reception desk. “My name is Mrs. Min. What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Her name is Soo-bo. I am Hong Ja-hee.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. Come with me, Soo-bo,” Mrs. Min said extending a hand.

  “Anyahasayo,” Soo-bo said as she took Mrs. Min’s hand.

  Mrs. Min pointed at my rucksack. “You should leave your pack with me, too. You can wash in the bathroom before you see Mr. Han.”

  I swung my rucksack off my shoulder and put it on
the floor behind the reception desk. Inside was everything I owned—my clothes, the money Colonel Crawford had given me and the comb with the two-headed dragon. Mrs. Min sat Soo-bo at a desk behind her and gave her some paper and a pencil. Soo-bo went to work on a drawing and Mrs. Min watched with obvious delight and I could see Soo-bo was in good hands. I headed off to the bathroom to wash and then to the second floor to meet Mr. Han.

  I approached a man at a desk. When I told him what I wanted, he scoffed. “You want to work as a translator for our firm?” he asked. He wore thick glasses, a white shirt, a dark blue tie and a worn suit coat.

  “Yes sir,” I said. “I read, write, and speak several languages. I was referred here by Colonel Crawford of the American Eighth Army.”

  He cocked his head, then shook it. “I don’t know him.”

  “Aren’t you Mr. Han?” I asked.

  “No, I am Mr. Park, Mr. Han’s assistant. Which languages do you know?”

  “English, Chinese and Japanese. I learned Japanese and Chinese as a young girl and when the Americans came, I learned English, too. I also know some Russian.”

  Mr. Park raised an eyebrow. “All of them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fluently?”

  “English and Japanese, yes. Colonel Crawford said I should see Mr. Han.”

  Mr. Park leaned back and eyed me. “Mr. Han is not here,” he said in English. “Where have you worked before?”

  Mr. Park’s English was dreadful. His grammar was wrong and his accent was so bad, I could barely understand him. “I worked as a translator for the government,” I responded in my best English. “I worked for a negotiator during the talks between the North and South.”

  I could see that my excellent English intimidated Mr. Park. He switched back to Korean. “Did you work for the North or the South?” he asked.

  “The South, of course,” I said.

  “Okay. We need a translator, so let’s find out how fluent you really are.” He reached inside his desk and took out some papers and a pencil and handed them to me. He gave me a contract. He pointed to a wooden table in a corner and told me to do my best at translating it into English. “You have one hour,” he said.