by Samuel Park
“I’ve never been there, either,” Soo-Ja said, still smiling.
Jae-Hwa placed her hand on Soo-Ja’s arm; Jae-Hwa had a warm smile on her face—the kind you reserve only for people you’ve known for a long time. “When we were in high school, Soo-Ja always wanted to travel. Before any of us did. She almost went to diplomat school in Seoul. She was going to be a diplomat, and travel to every country.”
“And did you?” asked Eun-Mee.
“No, it didn’t quite work out that way,” Soo-Ja replied.
“You must not have wanted it badly enough. You probably gave up too easily,” said Eun-Mee.
“Yes, that was probably it,” Soo-Ja said, trying to end the conversation.
Jae-Hwa started patting her hand, as if apologizing for Eun-Mee.
“See, if you want something in life, you have to go after it!” Eun-Mee exclaimed to Soo-Ja enthusiastically. Soo-Ja nodded lightly and gave her a half smile. “You can’t be tentative. That’s how I got married to my husband.”
Soo-Ja turned her head toward her. She had to hold herself back, resist the temptation to say, Go on. Tell us more.
“I’m sure he proposed on the first day he met you. A woman like you wastes no time,” said Jae-Hwa.
“I knew at once when I saw him, standing with a group of men outside Pusan University Hospital,” said Eun-Mee, smiling, glad to be holding her audience’s attention like fish in a net. “He wore a Western suit and pleated pants, so incredibly handsome and confident, and I thought, I would like to be your mother!”
“Eun-Mee!” Jae-Hwa cried out, laughing.
“I want to tuck your shirt in, and feed you soup when you’re sick, and help you with your homework!” said Eun-Mee, waving her arms in front of her. “That is when a woman knows she is ready to be a wife—when she decides to mother!”
“I would strongly disagree with that, but go on,” said Jae-Hwa. Neither of them noticed Soo-Ja’s silence.
“Anyway, I invited him to come to a pageant I was in and after that we began to date a little bit, going to music rooms where we’d sit side by side on the soft velvet chairs while we listened to Bach recordings. We didn’t do much—he was as chaste as Chunhyang in that fairy tale, and I call it a fairy tale because who would wait so long for a lover who gives no sign of returning?”
“There must’ve been somebody else. Was he courting another girl at the same time?” asked Jae-Hwa, and for a second Soo-Ja turned to her nervously, wondering if she knew about her and Yul. But she couldn’t; Soo-Ja had never told her.
“No, there was nobody else. Just a memory. He’d talk about this girl he met while he was in medical school in Daegu. He talked about her like a country he had been to once and always intended on going back to. He claimed she was just an acquaintance, but I knew better. Whenever we were together, I could feel her presence between us, no matter how gay or loud I became. She was always there.” Eun-Mee stopped, her expression uncharacteristically distant. The entire room seemed to grow silent, out of sympathy.
It was strange, for Soo-Ja, to hear her story from Eun-Mee’s perspective. She sounded so powerful, when in fact she had been so helpless all along the way. Soo-Ja would have given anything to switch roles with Eun-Mee, just so she could have Yul’s body, and be able to feel his weight against her. It was nice, thought Soo-Ja, to hear that she had had Yul’s thoughts, but his thoughts alone could not warm her on a cold night, could not fit into her. Now that she knew how extravagantly Eun-Mee had had his touch—every night, for years!—Soo-Ja felt starved for it.
“Did you get him to forget this other woman?” asked Jae-Hwa. She took a sip of her coffee, but put it down immediately. It had grown cold.
“Of course! It was hard, but I did it. It was like fighting the sun—he saw her everywhere.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jae-Hwa.
“It’s hard to explain. First love leaves a deep mark. Fortunately, I know how to medicate such wounds.”
“Did you ever meet her? The woman from Daegu?” asked Jae-Hwa.
Soo-Ja turned her face away, lest her eyes confess for her.
“No, I never met her,” said Eun-Mee. “For a long time I couldn’t look at the face of beautiful women I walked by on the street because I would always think it was her. It drove me mad. Is that her? Or is that her? I felt that any day she’d come to my house in Pusan and take Yul away from me. Pick him up like a lost piece of luggage. Can you imagine what it’s like to live like that? That’s why in the beginning I hesitated to have children. I didn’t want them to have a crazy and neurotic mother. Anyway, I forgot about her eventually, and years went by. And then one day, it was as if I had hopped on a train—things started to happen, they started moving forward fast. We had to leave Pusan suddenly. We had to leave for reasons that, well, I shall share another time—” Eun-Mee trailed off before continuing. “Anyway, I came into his office unannounced, and as soon as I came in, I saw him hide a piece of paper under a notebook on his desk. He didn’t think I saw it, but I did. It was a woman’s name and phone number. Now, my husband isn’t the cheating kind. I figured out at once who it was, and I thought, All right, it is time for us to go to Seoul. It is time for me to meet this woman.”
Then Eun-Mee turned to Soo-Ja, and Soo-Ja saw it in her eyes: she knew. She knew it was her. How had she found out? What a naive question, thought Soo-Ja. Lovers always know. Eun-Mee had not said a word, keeping Soo-Ja in the dark, maybe to enjoy that competitive advantage. But how long had she waited to drop a hint, whisper in her ear: I know who you are. Soo-Ja felt a chill run through her body—she had seen this kind of chill described before in ghost stories; Eun-Mee’s tale turned out to be just that.
Soo-Ja felt trapped in this very large, very public coffeehouse. The last three weeks, when she had practically lived with Eun-Mee, were suddenly taken away from her. Soo-Ja felt like an actor who has been reciting words from the wrong play, and realizes this only in her last line. She had been so caught up with seeing Yul again, she had not noticed Eun-Mee’s barely concealed jealous glances at her. But looking back, of course the signs had been there all along. Eun-Mee’s hostility and aggressiveness, which Soo-Ja had assumed to be simply part of her personality, were in fact a direct response to her. And yet, Eun-Mee had confided in her, maybe even tried not to hate Soo-Ja. Eun-Mee wanted Soo-Ja to disappear, but she wanted her there, too, in case her absence weighed heavier than her presence. Eun-Mee was as trapped as Soo-Ja, just in a different dark room.
“So what are you going to tell her when you finally see her?” Jae-Hwa asked.
“I will tell her that I will fight to protect what is mine. That she should not get any ideas. Men do not leave their wives to pursue old crushes. She should keep to her own husband, look to her own roof,” said Eun-Mee, looking at Soo-Ja, her voice as sharp as the end of a needle.
It was only the second time since they had sat down that Eun-Mee looked directly at Soo-Ja’s face. Soo-Ja rose and excused herself to the ladies’ room—she could no longer bear the throbbing in her head.
The small ladies’ room fit only one person at a time, and Soo-Ja locked the door behind her as she went in. She walked to the sink, ran warm water under her hands for a long time. The mirror above fogged up a little, and as she wiped it with the back of her hand, she imagined she saw Yul reflected there, standing right behind her, looking at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and he wiped them off with the tip of his finger. He held up his hand afterward, as the wetness lingered for a second, and then his skin absorbed her tears, and absorbed her.
Soo-Ja pictured Yul hugging her from behind. He buried his head in her hair, and she could feel his nose nuzzling against her neck. She turned around and let him kiss her, his tongue caressing the soft, raw parts of her underlip, then reaching deeper, stroking her tongue with his, until they could not breathe without intruding on the other. He embraced her, with every part of her body coming alive, instantly bound to his. One hand pressed against her neck; anoth
er against her waist. His mouth emerged for air and lingered over her ears, his warm breath entering her again. His solid frame melted, bending like clay, molding to her frame like a perfect pillow.
Soo-Ja heard knocking on the door. She was tempted to tell the person to go away, but then she heard Jae-Hwa’s voice asking her if she was all right, and telling her she had to go back to her husband soon. Soo-Ja was reminded, amid all this, that she had business to take care of, and that she had never gotten to ask Jae-Hwa about the loan. She didn’t have much time left. She splashed some water on her face, turned the faucet off, and told Jae-Hwa she was on her way out.
When Soo-Ja came back to the table, she found Jae-Hwa holding her purse and waiting for her, but Eun-Mee had already left. She had to take care of some business having to do with the new house she was renovating, Jae-Hwa told her. Apparently it was almost finished. Soo-Ja knew, though, the real reason she had left. Things between the two of them would always be uncomfortable from now on.
Today, with Jae-Hwa, Eun-Mee had found the perfect opportunity to confront Soo-Ja. They could never have had that conversation on their own, not if they wanted to keep up the pretense that they didn’t know about each other. Jae-Hwa had been essential, an unknowing witness, a midwife of tales, though the tale was not intended for her, but for Soo-Ja. Soo-Ja also noticed that Eun-Mee had taken great pains to draw Jae-Hwa’s sympathy. She cared what Jae-Hwa thought of her. But why?
“Jae-Hwa, before you go, I need to ask you something. You know that I don’t like to ask for things, but this is very important.” Soo-Ja told her about the loan she needed, emphasizing it was only a loan, and she’d pay her back, and that yes, Jae-Hwa was the only person she knew who could help her. When she finished, Jae-Hwa looked at her strangely.
“Did you two time it? You must’ve planned it this way. Is that why you were in the bathroom so long? To give Eun-Mee her time? So that’s why Eun-Mee left early. So you could have your turn.”
Soo-Ja looked at Jae-Hwa, a little surprised by the briskness in her voice. She was so different, this Jae-Hwa, from the diffident girl who had always been glad to be a satellite to her sun; foolish was the one who expected to touch the same river twice. “I’m a little confused,” she said. “What do you mean?”
“Eun-Mee asked me for a loan as well, and I already agreed to it. She’s a safe bet, being a doctor’s wife and all. Oh, Soo-Ja, if only you had asked me before! I can’t lend money to both of you, my husband would kill me. And I already gave her my word.”
“When did she ask you?” Soo-Ja could sense her own face turning ashen. I can’t believe I left Jae-Hwa alone with Eun-Mee.
“Just now, while you were in the bathroom. Oh, Soo-Ja, I’m sorry. It sounds like a good investment. But come here and give me a hug. It was so wonderful to see you again.”
As Jae-Hwa embraced Soo-Ja, Soo-Ja’s chin dropped and her body stiffened. It had taken less than a second for Soo-Ja to realize exactly what Eun-Mee had done to her, and what she would continue to do.
That night, the watchman Soo-Ja had hired to stay at the front desk did not show up, and when she went looking for Min in her room, she saw he was already asleep. She did not want to wake him up (she had always been partial to sleep—it was the only time they were truly free, truly without worries—how could she begrudge Min that?), and so she returned to the front desk, to watch it herself. After a couple of hours, around one in the morning, she decided to make herself some coffee. It was then that she saw Yul come to the front desk, wearing a thick dark blue robe over his pajamas. They were the only people awake in the hotel, it seemed, and it felt a bit like having it to themselves.
“You can’t sleep?” Soo-Ja asked him.
“I was hoping to catch you alone,” he said, leaning over the counter. “Eun-Mee told me what happened with your friend Jae-Hwa today.”
Soo-Ja felt her blood boil at the mention of Eun-Mee’s name.
“Why would she tell you that? To make me look bad?”
“Why didn’t you just ask me for the money?” asked Yul, reaching for a small bonsai tree sitting on the counter. “I could lend it to you.”
Soo-Ja glared at Yul, feeling as though he had just stepped on her heart. “Please don’t insult me by saying things like that. I don’t need your help.”
“There’s no reason to be proud—”
“If you don’t drop it immediately, I’m going to leave,” said Soo-Ja, taking the bonsai from his hand and putting it back on the counter. “You can stay and talk to yourself.”
Yul nodded gravely, as if to an officer of the law, and put his hand up to signal his acquiescence.
“You can’t sleep, and I can’t stay awake. Would you like a cup of something?” asked Soo-Ja, changing the subject. “Here, I’ll make you a cup of tea. It’ll lower your body temperature and help you fall asleep.” Soo-Ja led him to the kitchenette in her office. “How are the house renovations?”
“Almost done,” he said, following her into the alcove.
“Oh, I see…”
So he was about to disappear from her life for the third time. Soo-Ja wondered if this was what they were doomed to do: meet every four or five years for the rest of their lives, launching into the same cycle, like those events in nature that recur under the right atmospheric conditions. Were they like those fissures that open in the ground to release some pressure, only to close again and remain so for a few more thousand turns of the earth around the sun?
Soo-Ja placed the kettle over the gas flame and turned her head a little so Yul couldn’t see the disappointment on her face. For the last three weeks, she had enjoyed living so close to him. She saw him sometimes in the morning, as he left for work, and sometimes in the evening, as he came back. It felt normal, their version of normal, and she could forget—for a second or two—that they were not married, and he was just a guest in the hotel.
“When will it be ready?” she asked.
“Next week.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,” said Yul, looking at the floor, as awkward as a child. He might be a respected doctor during the day, but right now he was just a little boy, and Soo-Ja felt her heart swell with love for him.
“Are you happy with how it looks?” Soo-Ja asked.
“Yes. Both the contractor and the decorator stayed very close to what I wanted.”
“So Eun-Mee didn’t make the decisions?”
“No. I asked them to build the house I always wanted to live in. Well, the house I always wanted to—” he trailed off. The house I always wanted to live in with you.
“What? What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.”
Soo-Ja poured the hot water in the teacup, and as she did so, she could feel its warmth rise and caress her face, as if it were Yul’s own hands touching her.
“What is the house like?” she asked.
“The house is like you, Soo-Ja.”
He said nothing more.
“Drink your tea, Yul.”
They stood quietly for a while, Yul drinking his tea, she sipping her coffee. They drank the night, too, and all its silences.
“Would you like to go outside for a moment and have a smoke?” Yul finally asked.
“You smoke now? You’re a doctor.”
“I’m a self-destructive doctor,” said Yul, pulling out a packet of Pleasure Lights.
“You just heal other people.”
“Yes, you give those people a place to sleep, and I give them healthy bodies to sleep in.”
“Don’t you dare romanticize me, Yul. I’m doing this to keep a roof over my head. Before we go, do you want to check on Eun-Mee?”
“She’s in her room, and she’s asleep. Everyone’s asleep. The entire world. We’re the only fools who don’t get any rest.”
They walked outside and felt the night chill envelop them. They stood side by side, incongruous, Soo-Ja wearing her purple windbreaker over her housedress, and Yul in his fine robe, the legs of his flesh-colored p
ajamas visible underneath. They had lit only one cigarette, and simply passed it back and forth between them. It was past curfew, and there was nobody out. Beyond, neon lights, once flashing, now dormant, advertised coffee shops, noodle houses, music rooms, beauty parlors. Soo-Ja put his cigarette in her mouth, drew in smoke, then placed it back on his lips. When she did so, because the cigarette was so small by then, she ended up touching his lips with her fingers. But she did not move her fingers away as he inhaled. She let him take a drag, then put it back on her lips again.
“Does Eun-Mee like the house?” Soo-Ja asked.
“Yes, especially the refrigerator.”
“Yes. It’ll make her housework easier, not having to go to the farmers’ market every day.”
“We have a maid, too. A teenage girl from the countryside.”
“Oh.”
“Actually, Eun-Mee likes everything but some of the decor. She hates the ink paintings I put up on the wall. She wants Western art, full of color and drama. But I’m not going to put my paintings away.”
“Ink paintings? Who’s the artist?”
“Actually, it’s only one. It’s the painting of plum blossoms that you gave me, back in 1960.”
“You still have it?”
“You seem surprised.”
“I am.” Soo-Ja could not hide her delight. “It’s been so long. I thought something would have happened to it by now.”
“No. It’s just as it was then. Intact. Nothing’s changed.”
Soo-Ja thought of the plum blossoms. The almost tender way the long, dark leaves gave way to the small, round flowers. “The plum blossom is associated with spring, a time for hope. It celebrates perseverance.”
“If you’d like, I can give it back to you,” said Yul.
“No. Keep it,” said Soo-Ja, smiling back. She was looking at the sky, and for a moment, she thought she could see the stars linking, forming the stems, the leaves, and the circles of the flower buds. It was as if she were painting again, and her strokes could link different constellations together. When Soo-Ja glanced back at Yul, she could see him staring intently at her. She immediately guessed what he was thinking.
