Seoul Survivors

by Naomi Foyle

  Lying on her yo in the darkness, Mee Hee clasped her hands to her breasts. She also wanted to kiss Che Tae Sun.

  Across the room, Su Jin shifted on her own yo. Mee Hee let out a long, quiet breath and lowered her hands. There was a footfall on the floor. Su Jin must be going to the toilet. But instead Su Jin patted her way along the wall to the wardrobe, carefully opened the door.

  “What are you doing?” Mee Hee whispered, sitting up.

  Su Jin froze, her profile a gray outline in the moonlight creeping through the window. She was holding her day-bag. It was full. “I thought you were asleep!” she hissed.

  It was like a dream, shocking and strange. “Su Jin? Where are you going? Why have you packed your bag?”

  Su Jin knelt down beside her and fixed her eyes on Mee Hee’s face. She was silent for a minute, then at last she said, “I didn’t know if I should tell you.”

  “Tell me what? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m leaving,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to have babies for Dr. Kim. I want to live my own life.”

  “But Su Jin—!” Mee Hee sat bolt upright and gripped her friend’s arm. “You didn’t have to come—she said you could stay behind in China. It will be very dishonorable to run off in the middle of the night, Su Jin!”

  “I don’t want to live in China,” Su Jin retorted. “I want to live in Korea. Dr. Che—Dong Sun—is helping me. He told me a place to go in Pusan where I can get work sewing and he gave me money for a bus. It leaves at five o’ clock in the morning from a village down the road.”

  “Pusan?” Mee Hee was trembling now. She let go of Su Jin’s arm. “That’s a big city. Why do you want to go there?”

  “It’s a nice place, with beaches and mountains. I can work and save money, meet a man of my own. I don’t want to be a farm animal here, breeding a litter of children for the Americans to profit from! We weren’t even allowed to watch the World Cup, the cooks don’t tell us anything—we have no idea what’s going on in the world.”

  “But that’s not—Su Jin, this is our home now. The doctors, Dr. Kim, they’ve done so much for us—look at our houses, and the food they give us. They just don’t want anything to upset us, that’s what they said—”

  “No,” Su Jin hissed, “we’re being drip-fed, like when we got off the trucks. We’re being hooked up to a big fairy tale, all sugar and milk, and if we stay here we’ll be like children forever; we’ll never grow up—don’t you see that, Mee Hee?”

  “But Su Jin, what’s wrong with a fairy tale?” Mee Hee pleaded. “You’ve seen what the real world is like. Inchon was terrible, so dirty and busy; Pusan will be horrible too. You’ll be exploited by capitalists. They won’t care about you like Dr. Kim does. It’s—” She tried to think of the right word. “It’s unusual, I know, what she wants from us, but her heart is pure, anyone can see that!”

  “My mind is made up,” Su Jin said firmly. “I want my own hard life, my own challenges. I don’t want to be a mouse in Dr. Kim’s laboratory, giving birth to children who will never love me most of all.”

  “You’re wrong, Su Jin—they will love us. And we’ll love them. It will be a big family, and we’ll all take care of each other.”

  Suddenly, swiftly, Su Jin kissed Mee Hee on the cheek. “Shhh. Maybe everything is perfect here, Mee Hee, but I’m not—I’m like a weed, I grow better when no one is looking after me.”

  Mee Hee pulled her friend into her arms and held her close. “I would miss you too much, Su Jin. You can’t go.”

  But Su Jin’s body was unyielding in her arms. “If you’re lonely, ask Younger Sister to move in here,” she instructed. “She’s always praying and annoying Older Sister. But you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Oh, Su Jin, please—” As she realized Su Jin was not going to change her mind, Mee Hee loosened her embrace. “What shall I say to everyone?” she whispered.

  “Tell them I wasn’t here when you woke up. That’s true. And please, whatever happens, don’t say anything about Dr. Dong Sun. Especially to his brother. Promise?”

  “I promise,” Mee Hee said doubtfully as Su Jin stood up. The gray light in the room was seeping into her heart. How could she ever be happy again without her sister Su Jin?

  Bag in hand, Su Jin quietly left the house.

  Mee Hee lay awake all night, terrified that Su Jin would be dragged back to the village by the husband of the head cook. Whenever the women joked about running away to the big city, they all agreed there was no point because he would surely stop them, being paid, as far as they could see, to do very little except sit around and smoke and watch them all. But rain pattered on the roof, the cock crowed, the sun rose, and no one came back to the house.

  “I’m sorry,” Mee Hee whispered to her photograph of Dr. Kim. “I tried my best.” The photo looked serenely back at her, but Mee Hee could no longer return its gaze. Feeling pale and weak as tubu milk, she got up and went outside.

  The Buddhist sisters were sitting in a circle in the courtyard, meditating. Younger Sister, she could see, had slid open her maru door and was praying beneath her crucifix. The rains had cooled the air and there was a breeze coming up from the lake in the valley. Avoiding the others, Mee Hee wandered to the edge of the plateau on which the village stood. She stopped at the three Spirit Posts and leaned against the friendly one with the tall black hat. Beneath her, emerald green rice fronds were poking up through the paddies. Against the horizon, the tender rays of the sun caressed the bristling cheeks of the mountains. Each tree radiated its own halo of light.

  Her heart trembled like a dewdrop at the thought of her shameful inadequacies. She had let Su Jin go; she had failed Dr. Kim. But no matter how little she deserved to be here, Mee Hee knew she would never want to leave the village. Every day it greeted her with the sparkling tapestry of birdsong, the bracing scent of pine, the glowing promise of another dawn. The village was her entire world.

  25 / Oasis Boy

  “Hey, Day! Long time no see!”

  Jake flicked Damien’s shoulder with a tea towel. Sam, standing by the cash register, nodded greetings. He had a new haircut, a number one round the sides, and it suited him.

  Jake, though: he looked like some backwoods Canadian-Asian wild man. He’d started a few dreads, and a bear’s claw stuck out of his left ear.

  Damien slid onto a barstool, feeling a bit of a crap mate. He should have seen Jake before now. They’d talked, of course, but they had opposite schedules, and the last thing Damien felt like after one of his epic teaching days was dragging himself to Azitoo and immersing himself in the hysterical aftermath of catastrophe. He’d much preferred being fussed over by the mothers of his private students, who fed him cake every lesson and showered him with presents: socks, cologne and fancy soaps he’d sold on eBay. But most hagwons closed the last week in August, and with three envelopes of cash steadily getting fatter in his wardrobe, he’d finally felt he should come out to play. “It’s nothing personal, mate,” he said. “I’ve been working my bollocks off, that’s all.”

  “I hear ya, buddy.” Jake shook his head. “I guess Canada’s looking even better than ever right now.”

  “No shit.”

  “Man, it’s still freaking me out—I mean, snukes, floods, the four Brides of the Apocalypse . . . What didn’t you guys get?”

  “What Jake mean,” Sam interjected, “is we hope everyone you know okay.”

  Even though he had no ties with anyone in England now, Damien was touched by Sam’s sympathy. “My mum was in Scotland, thanks,” he said. “And Brighton’s still just outside the evacuation zone.”

  “At least the third bomb didn’t go off.” Jake rested his elbow on the bar and began polishing a pint glass. “I still can’t quite believe security was that lax—okay, so maybe MI5 didn’t organize the whole thing, but there must have been someone on the inside helping those gals, doncha think?”

  Damien shrugged. “I dunno. They didn’t even have to enter the stadium to vaporize it. And i
f women want to strap nuclear bombs under their skirts, I don’t know what you can do to stop them.”

  “True, too true,” Jake conceded. “I could never get my ex to quit.”

  “Jake! Is not joking matter,” Sam said sharply. “Damien, we very sorry for your city.”

  “Sam loves disasters,” Jake told him. “He gets all misty-eyed, can’t tear himself away.”

  “Time of many heroes,” Sam said solemnly. “Korean athletes and fans told: go home, but no, stayed, helped evacuate, tend to survivors. We have World Cup Spirit of Dunkirk too.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Damien, buddy, what can I get you?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. Seeing as it’s my birthday, I’ll take a cocktail.”

  “Your birthday? You dark horse, Dames.” Jake snapped his fingers. “But perfect timing. Tonight we launch our Disgusting Drinks menu—here, first one’s on the house.”

  Damien perused the list. The Bloody Anus—Vodka, V8, Tabasco, chili pepper and brown M&Ms.: Hurts more coming out than it does going in—sounded too much like smuggling drugs. He lingered over the STD: soju, tomato juice and crushed Doritos, You won’t believe how fast it’s catching on. But in the end, only one appealed.

  “Make it a ‘Miracle on the Han,’ boys,” he ordered dryly.

  Jake double-checked the ingredients. “Coffee, Baileys, spare tire, rubber boot, cigarette butt and gummy octopi. Do we got it all, Sam?”

  “We all out of spare tires.” Sam lit a cigarette. “Jake sell them to recycle man for personal profit.”

  “These are lean times.” Jake shook his head in sorrow.

  Damien put the menu down. “I’ll just stick with a G&T.”

  “No, no.” Jake rummaged in a drawer. “I know what to make you. Sam, where’s that Oasis CD?”

  Sam found the disk and as the hoary old classic spun out into the bar, Jake mixed him a champagne cocktail. Damien watched the lump of sugar dissolve in a starburst at the bottom of the flute. Happy Birthday, Jess. He raised the glass to his mates and took a sip. The hit rushed to his brain, a brandy, bitters and fizz supernova. He was on the verge of humming along to the song when Sam stopped the CD. “Jake, this song very bad taste,” he complained. “No one want hear about explosions in sky.”

  “Sure they do!” Jake objected. “Mama Gold’s ‘Clouds of Change’ is a massive YouTube hit right now.”

  As the cousins squabbled, the bar began filling with people, a few Damien knew slightly, others strangers, but all directed by Jake to buy him birthday drinks and offer 27/7 commiserations. Gradually, Damien started to have fun; it was good to be out again on a Saturday night, especially one that ended with a “disgusting drinks Olympics.” An Aussie bloke imbibed a glass of spit mixed with scrapings of mud and hair off the dance floor, only to come in second to a self-proclaimed hoser from Toronto, who downed a shot of female urine donated by one of the staff. It was two o’clock when Jake and Sam locked up. Damien floated after them into the alley. He’d had a toke for the first time in yonks, and while he might be another year older, the night was still young.

  “You guys want to head into Hongdae?” he asked.

  It felt like everyone left broiling in Seoul for the last weekend in August had gone to Gongjang with a brutal determination to make the night out-sweat the day. So where was Damien Meadows? Sydney, dancing with Jin Sok, kept flicking her eyes back to the steel door. Da Mi had called that day, anxious about the King. If they didn’t find Damien soon she’d have to use some blond sperm she had hanging around in the fridge. Sydney was on the lookout for Jae Ho too; she had bumped into him three days ago in Apkuchong, and he’d hinted he would be out dancing again soon.

  “Strawberry Soda! You like?” Jin Sok rolled a cold can down the nape of her neck.

  “You’re frisky tonight,” she teased. He had been incredibly flirtatious on the dance floor. “What happened?”

  “Today I make self-therapy.” He giggled. “Today I happy-cry!”

  “You what?”

  “I cry for happiness. For world peace. For five hours I cry!”

  “Jin Sok, I love you—you’re crazier than me!”

  The rhythms of the music fizzed and foamed around and through them and they danced again and got parted in the madness and when she finally washed up in the corner by the bar, Jae Ho was sitting on the stool by the white teddy and Damien Meadows was standing with his friends behind the tree.

  He couldn’t believe it—and yet somehow he had made it happen: he had summoned her up for his birthday, the slender candle on his cake.

  No, that was ridiculous—but still, there she was, dancing ten feet away from him, and he felt . . . well, lovely. Serene, even. At one. Everything was in motion, like it always was. The universe was bringing people together, pulling them apart, destroying all hope, then creating life anew . . .

  “Day.” Jake stuck a bottle of beer in his hand, then returned to his conversation with a Korean Elvis impersonator.

  Damien sidled round the edge of the dance floor, past the painting on the wall. Under the influence of two Champagne Supernovas, four G&Ts, a joint and one blonde dancer, the canvas looked almost good. But not as good as the model, who was dancing right up to him, beautiful, radiant, smiling . . .

  His body was throbbing, his spirits soaring. Go for it, a voice said in his head, and he stepped onto the dance floor. It was easy to half-smile, move closer and closer to her, until they were laughing hello like old mates and stepping back by the sofa to talk.

  “I haven’t seen you for ages,” she said into his ear, her breath a soft caress on his neck. “I was worried—I thought you might be back in England.”

  “Nah, just working too hard.” He shrugged modestly. This international pity business had really been working for him tonight. She pressed against him, her insistent hip unexpected, but far from unwelcome. “Yeah? I’ve got an easy job for you, if you like. A scientist I know needs someone, a guy, for a project she’s working on. It pays great.”

  Ah, the old, “I got an angle on a job” chat-up line. “Sounds interesting. Tell me more.”

  She put her hand on his forearm. “It’s a bit complicated to explain. We could meet up tomorrow? Go for tea in Insa Dong?”

  Her accent was definitely Canadian, and so was the way she exaggerated her questions, with that little uplift at the end. Couldn’t hurt to get to know more Canadians, could it? And Jake said Insa Dong was nice: a leafy downtown strip of traditional tea-houses, art galleries and antique shops: touristy, but quaint, and a must-see before you left the country.

  “Sounds good,” he heard himself say.

  “Great! I’ll meet you on Chongno, at the Park entrance, at three. You can call me Sydney, by the way. Coz that’s my name.” She stuck out her hand.

  “I’m Damien,” he replied lamely as her slim fingers slithered out of his.

  He was about to ask if he could buy her a drink when the DJ threw on some wailing Sephardic drum and bass concoction and her face lit up. “Oh fuck, I love this track,” she declared as she wiggled back onto the dance floor, giving him a little bye bye wave.

  It wouldn’t be cool to follow her. No.

  “You all right, Day?” Jake poked him in the ribs.

  “Ye, ye.”

  “We’re going now. Do you want to stay?”

  Yes. But always scram while you’re ahead. “Nah, I’ll hop in the cab with you.”

  He glanced around for Sydney as they left. She was laughing with her Korean geezers at the bar, but she gave him another wave and smartly tapped her watch. He replied with a discreet thumbs-up and headed out the door.

  “Does Birthday Day got a new friend?” Jake grabbed him round the ribs as they exited onto the street.

  Damien pushed him away, grinning. “More like a job interview.”

  “She’s gonna pay ya for it? Sounds good to me, buddy!” Jake whooped.

  At six-thirty, the DJ brought the sparse crowd back down to earth, spinning Bob Marley’s “No W
oman, No Cry.” A broad-shouldered, dirty-blonde guy in a Tibetan T-shirt requested a waltz and Sydney turned lightly in his arms as he hummed along to the song. Jae Ho and Jin Sok sat smoking at the bar, Jae Ho’s eyes following her every move.

  The stranger bowed to her as the last notes faded. The night was over. The dozen people left in the club broke into applause.

  “So long she dance, Superwoman!” Jin Sok teased as she tumbled back to the bar.

  “I old!” Jae Ho laughed. “I go home sleep!”

  She felt her smile freeze. What else is he going to say? she urged herself, and forced a polite response. He left as she and Jin Sok were gathering up their belongings and was nowhere in sight when they emerged into the light of the new day. Jin Sok rode her home on his new motorbike, kissed her on both cheeks and left to shower before church.

  Sydney wandered around her apartment, still wide awake. Everything was so still and pretty, all her things touched gently by the dawn, but all she felt inside was a dull, empty ache.

  Don’t be stupid, she told herself ruthlessly, putting the kettle on to boil. Of course he’s got to go home to his wife. He can’t stay out every weekend. Besides, she had get up soon to call Da Mi and head down to Insa Dong. She should put on her sleep-mask and get some sleep.

  The doorman buzzed.

  She hurtled down the hallway.

  Three minutes later Jae Ho strode in off the elevator and pressed her up against the wall.

  26 / The Bluebird

  “Where’s Su Jin?” Dr. Tae Sun cast an anxious look down the table to the empty place beside Mee Hee. “It’s not like her to be late for breakfast.”