by Naomi Foyle
She thought of the drawing in her junk drawer, the painting at Gold Pig bar. Was he really obsessed by her image? And was he really sorry about how he’d treated her? Good. So he should be.
“I don’t need your sorry, Jae Ho,” she said tartly. “I’m fine. Everything’s great.”
“Good, good. So you come?”
Suddenly she wanted to do it. To show Jae Ho how well she was doing, how good she looked, how she didn’t need him to be happy. And, yes, to see this painting of her that all of Seoul might be talking about one day. “Maybe,” she replied.
“Seven o’clock you come. Corner building, Gongjang Street. I meet you on step.”
“Seven? I don’t know.” She might be with Damien again then. “What about now?”
“Now, no. Now I in Insa Dong. Seven only time today.”
“Look. I said maybe, Jae Ho. I’ll see how today goes,” she declared. If she showed up, she showed up. If not, let him sweat it out.
“I hope. I wait. I very glad see Sy-duh-nee again.” Jae Ho rang off, and Sydney put the MoPho down. She had handled that well, she thought. She stood up and stretched.
Actually, it was nice to hear Jae Ho was sorry for his bad behavior. If the painting really was a masterpiece, she might possibly even forgive him. She was going to be a major celebrity in Seoul and it would be impressive to have a famous artist as part of her set. And forgiveness, Da Mi always said, was a balm for the soul.
Now, where was her Gotcha? Da Mi would probably call as soon as Damien left her office. She would need to act as though she was hanging on the end of the line for news, excited and surprised. If she and Damien went on holiday, she could tell Da Mi that she was just having a little goodbye fling with him.
37 / The King
“Mr. San-duh-man is the lover of Dr. Kim,” Older Sister announced knowledgeably. She was shelling peas in the kitchen. It was Monday, two days after Su Jin’s funeral.
So Ra scraped a long carrot peeling into a bowl. “I doubt it,” she snorted. “He’s not the kind of man who sits in the corner while his wife runs everything.”
“You know nothing about men!” Older Sister scoffed. “He couldn’t take his eyes off her.”
“I didn’t like the way he looked at her,” Chin Mee offered, shyly looking up from her own bowl of peas. “There was a mean feeling in his eyes sometimes, don’t you think, Mee Hee?”
Mee Hee stopped peeling the potato in her lap. “Not mean exactly,” she said, tentatively. Who was she to judge the feelings of Mr. Sandman?
“But upset about something, yes?” Chin Mee insisted.
“Maybe,” Mee Hee agreed. “Well, yes. In China I thought he was a happy man, but here he is quieter, withdrawn. Troubled, perhaps.”
“Exactly!” Older Sister crowed, then, with a glance at the kitchen door, lowered her voice. “He resents her power and her beauty, the way we all love her. He wants to master her, to possess her. And she lets him take control, in the bedroom only, while she dominates him in front of all of us.”
“You have an active imagination, Older Sister. I think it might be you who wants to be dominated in the bedroom,” So Ra teased. The other women laughed, and for a moment Older Sister glowered. But then, a sly grin on her face, she split a pod expertly with her thumbnail. The bright green peas pattered into the bowl between her thighs.
“Yes! It’s been far too long—where are the babies they’ve been promising us? And where are the men we get to marry in the end?”
These were the big questions that Dr. Kim had left unanswered. Everything was happening according to plan, she had said yesterday at breakfast, right before she left. Soon they would be mothers and wives, soon—but no one knew exactly when. So Ra and Chin Mee laughed as Older Sister squeezed her left breast, claiming it was full of milk for pea soup. But Mee Hee’s stomach ached, and she looked away.
That afternoon the doctors moved her yo back into her own house. After dinner she declined So Ra’s invitation to play Flower Cards and hastened down the path back to her own home. Walking into the stillness inside was like drinking a glass of warm bancha, so ordinary, but deeply reviving too.
The wildflowers in the vase on the living room shrine were wilting, so she threw them out. It was too dark to pick new ones; she would do that in the morning. She lit a candle and sat in an armchair, letting her mind drift, relishing the quiet touch of the air on her skin. She needed calmness around her, and she needed to be home, so that Tae Sun could join her again.
He knocked softly, as usual. It was late, just past ten o’clock, and he had a bunch of fat pink flowers. “To welcome you home,” he said bashfully.
For a terrifying second she thought he might kiss her, but he just handed her the bouquet, then stepped neatly into the room.
She recognized the flowers from the DVDs. “Peonies?” she gasped, then, embarrassed, buried her nose in the plump blossoms. Strangely, they had no scent. Still, no one had ever given her such a gift.
He regarded her benevolently. “When the babies come, they will be everywhere. I wanted you to have some now, to help you focus on the future.”
Of course. How stupid she could be.
“They’re Dr. Kim’s favorite flower,” she said. “I must put them with her photograph.” She ducked in a little bow and retreated into the kitchen.
She expected him to wait in the living room, but he followed her and hovered at the door. “You have to cut the stems, you know that, don’t you?” he said as she laid the flowers on the counter and carefully removed the paper wrapping.
She laughed. “Even we peasants know that.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—”
Startled by his flustered tone, she turned to look at him. His face was crimson.
“I just thought . . .”
She was mortified. He had given her such a present and already she had insulted him. “Please, Tae Sun, I was only joking!”
“You must forgive me. I can be so arrogant.” He shook his head, his eyes downcast, their delicate lashes sweeping his cheek.
“You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. These are the most beautiful flowers anyone has ever given me.” Trembling, she gathered up the peonies in her arms. Anxiously glancing over the blossoms, she saw him smile at last.
“Is this the right one?” He pointed to a large ceramic vase he had given her just after Su Jin had left. She nodded and he lifted it down and filled it with water while she took the carving knife from the drawer and sliced the six peony stems diagonally on the wooden chopping board. He set the vase on the counter between them and she carefully arranged the flowers inside it.
“Once, my husband gave me a red rose,” she said quietly. “When he was courting me. He bought it in Pyongyang. My mother showed me how to cut the stem. Otherwise, I used to pick wildflowers and grasses. I love having flowers in the home.”
“When the babies come,” Tae Sun said firmly, “you will have the best flowers here, every day. Dr. Kim will see to that—and if she doesn’t, I will.”
His hands were resting on the counter near the vase, his fingers thin, yet capable and strong. He cared for her, for her safety and her happiness. Why did she dare to want anything more? “The babies,” she said, “when are they coming? Does Dr. Kim know?”
“You mustn’t lose faith in Dr. Kim, Mee Hee. She wants everything to happen as quickly as possible. As do I.”
For a long moment, Tae Sun gently held her gaze. Something in her loosened and her body slowly flooded with warmth. Surely there was no mistaking his meaning?
“We are all ready, you know that, Tae Sun,” she murmured, her own face flushing now. Beneath her blouse, her breasts were full and glowing. She could feel his eyes absorb her, her readiness, her longing. For a moment she almost felt beautiful.
He paused. “Mee Hee, if I tell you something, can you promise to keep it a secret?”
“I would be honored to receive your trust.” Her heart was thumping now, like a wooden spoon in pajon batter. N
o, she wasn’t beautiful, just foolish and lovesick. She wondered that he didn’t rush over to take her pulse.
But he continued gravely, “Dr. Kim has found a wonderful young woman who will be the natural mother of the children, and the Queen of VirtuWorld, but she is still waiting for the chosen King to offer his . . . contribution.”
The sound of water dripping into the sink was as loud as a clock. Mee Hee nodded and lowered her eyes.
Tae Sun leaned over and tightened the tap. “It’s complicated, but in fact there are two men involved,” he continued. “The younger one will be the biological father, and the older one will act as the Queen’s consort. However, neither of them has yet firmly committed to their role. If Dr. Kim can’t convince them by the end of this week, Dr. Dong Sun and I are going to ask her to reconsider Mr. San-duh-man for the job. He was our first choice, and we know you and your sisters like him very much.”
A worried expression was tautening Tae Sun’s features now. He stared out the window at the blackness of the pine trees in the night. How selfish she was, only thinking of herself, when he had so many problems. “Mr. San-duh-man would make an excellent King,” she said, reassuringly.
“He’s a good candidate, yes, healthy and strong. Dr. Kim says he has some problems that his children might inherit, but Dr. Dong Sun thinks that we should be able to successfully treat these issues.”
“He would be a wonderful father,” Mee Hee said firmly. Then she stopped herself. How could she sound so confident? Was she the one making these difficult decisions? “I mean, we would all welcome him, if he were to agree. But I’m sure Dr. Kim has very good reasons to prefer the other men.”
“The older man is very famous; he would help bring respect to all of us at VirtuWorld. And the other man is the choice of the young Queen’s. She would have to be persuaded that Mr. San-duh-man is better for the job.”
Mee Hee tried to imagine the lives of these foreigners, offering themselves and their sons and daughters to VirtuWorld. Why? she wondered. Didn’t they want to take care of their own children? But she didn’t know how to begin to ask Tae Sun about them. She would only reveal her ignorance, her naïve assumption that everyone in the world was just like her.
“I wish I could meet her,” she said, timidly. “Do you think we could be friends?”
“You miss Su Jin, don’t you?” Tae Sun said, quietly.
For a moment it felt like the walls had moved closer in around them, as if they were listening hard for Mee Hee’s answer. An image of the grave mound in the woods rose in her mind. Su Jin was there now, resting in the soil, her body buried in a place Mee Hee could visit, bringing flowers, or stories, of babies, of doctors, of marriages. She would always keep Su Jin company, always pray that her friend’s spirit was now journeying in a place of peace and beauty. But until Mee Hee herself joined her own parents and her lost little boy, God, or Dr. Kim, had given her someone else to love.
“I have my sisters.” she quietly replied. “And you . . .”
Stepping forward, he took her hands in his.
“However you want me, you will have me always, Mee Hee,” he said.
Beside her, imperceptibly loosening their petals, the peonies drank the water he had poured for them. The blossoms, like her heart, were full and heavy and yet at the same time light and open and bold.
“Always?” she whispered.
He released her hands, stepped back. “Please be patient with me, Mee Hee. Dr. Kim is deciding everything this week. We must wait. There must be no gossip, no complications, no questions about our dedication to VirtuWorld above all else.”
“Dr. Kim has given us each other. I would do anything for her, you know that, Tae Sun.”
Fishing in his pocket he brought out a small white plastic packet. “This is food for the flowers. Sprinkle it in the water whenever you change it. Then they’ll last for weeks.”
Fingering the packet as if it were a sachet of priceless unguent, she tripped after him out into the living room. At the door, he kissed her goodbye, running his hands gently over her shoulders and letting his lips linger at the corner of her mouth.
38 / Render Unto
Her glamorous veneer couldn’t mask the shrewd look Da Mi flicked Damien as he walked in the door. She was standing in front of the desk, dressed in a black tailored jacket, a white blouse and a green skirt with black trim. This, he knew at once, was the genuine article.
“So we meet in person,” he murmured, sticking out his hand. The scientist reciprocated. Her eyes were alert, her expression one of controlled amusement, but like her ProxyBod’s, her small hand seemed devoid of animating spirit. He wondered if she would prefer to be wearing latex gloves.
“Where’s Pebbles today then?” he asked, looking round. The turtles in the tank peered back at him. Otherwise the room was eerily still. Through the window, the sky was a monotonous blanket of cloud and the mountains looked like a flat, painted backdrop. It was well time to get out of Seoul. And the sooner he sold his sperm to the nice lady doctor, the sooner he’d be off.
“She’s having her nails done.” The scientist smiled. Unlike Pebbles, she had fine lines around her eyes. “So you’ve come to help us out, Damien?”
“If everything’s fine down at Immigration, I’m ready and raring to go.”
“I spoke to them after you called. You have until Friday to leave. You can’t return for a year, but nothing will show up on your computer records in other countries.”
“And my passport?”
She flashed open her jacket, revealing its green silk lining and inside breast pocket. “They couriered it over. You can have it as soon as you’ve made your donation.”
Right. The handover. Always the edgy part of any hostage deal. The condom was in his pocket, inside a brown paper bag.
He pulled it out. “Here’s something I prepared earlier.”
Her smile was thin as a fish hook. “Thank you, Damien. I’ll take that as back-up. But we do need a fresh sample as well.”
She relieved him of the paper bag, led him to the desk and offered him a flexi-chair. He sat down, on the edge of the seat.
“This is the standard GRIP sperm donation contract.” She handed him a sheaf of papers and took the other chair. “Your agreement is with us, not with our client. Please read it carefully. Would you like some honey drink to help you concentrate?”
There was a steaming pot of that disgusting stuff on the little table beside him. He politely declined. As she poured herself a cup, he scanned the contract. It didn’t mention ProxyBods or gaming companies, but it did confirm the cash incentive, and demand confidentiality on both sides. There was a fat gold fountain pen beside the honey pot; it made a change from the chewed Biros and pencil-stubs he usually had lying around the flat. Leaning over the table, he signed the contract in glistening black ink.
“Thank you, Damien. Please come this way.” Da Mi stood up and led him to the door she’d pointed out the day before. It opened onto a short corridor. She took him down it, into an empty laboratory, then along another corridor to a small room, equipped with a leather sofa and a lamp, a couple of plants, a sink and towel and a stack of soft porn magazines. Blondes, he noticed, on the top one at least.
“Take your time.” She handed him a Ziploc plastic bag. “You can leave your sample here when you’re done.” She pointed at a sliding opening in the wall then left, shutting the door softly behind her.
This was it then: the point of no return. As if he could still change his mind, he sat down on the sofa and asked himself if this was what he really wanted to do.
Well, no, to be honest, it wasn’t. But it was the lesser of at least three evils, and the sooner it was done, the sooner he was free to start a whole new life.
He checked his MoPho, just in case, but there was nothing in his message tray. Christ, it was gone one o’clock; Jake was supposed to be on a mission, not still sleeping.
But that was a useless line of thought. He’d made his decision, signed on
the dotted line. He put away his MoPho, undid his belt, unzipped his fly and let his jeans slip down to his ankles. Now was the acid test: was there even anything left in him?
He didn’t need the porn. He just thought about Sydney and the way she totally lost it when she came. Afterward, he pulled his jeans back up, washed his hands and put the bag on the ledge.
When he re-entered her office, Dr. Kim was nowhere to be seen. Damien went over to the window and gazed out over the cold, colorless city. People in black coats were walking through the campus, hunched over against a strong wind, clutching their collars to their throats. On the streets beyond the uni walls, silver Hyundais and Kias crawled slowly to their destinations. Damien tried to identify the roof of his flat, then picked out all the places he knew in the city: Hongdae, where the site of the new skate park was still a dirty brown hole gouged out of the packed pattern of shops and offices; Namsan, stubbled with leafless trees and bristling with MoPho towers; the river, a ribbon of battleship gray. Beyond the water lay Apkuchong, Chamshil, the mountains in the South he’d meant to get to but never had. There was supposed to be a good art gallery down there. Oh well, never mind.
He looked down at the turtles. They were clustered together on the gravel slopes of a shallow pool at the bottom of the tank. Up close, they were a spooky sight, their shells and wrinkled skin weird shades of stained ivory and streaky vanilla. One of them stretched out its neck and peered up at him. It resembled a wise old monk. Or a dried gob of paint.
“They’re cloned albino snapping turtles.”
He jumped. Da Mi was standing at his shoulder. “But they won’t bite.” She smiled, displaying a row of too-perfect teeth. “Look.” She reached into the tank and scratched a turtle’s head. It stretched out its neck and she tickled its chin.
“Are they on drugs?”
“Not at all. As blastocyst embryos they were steeped in the stem cells of a particularly timid species of mouse, giving their brains a serotonin receptor that inhibits aggressive behavior. Now they make perfect pets. White animals are an ancient Korean symbol of good luck and prosperity. They’re selling very well.”
