This Burns My Heart

by Samuel Park

  “Hello?”

  “Father-in-law…” said Soo-Ja.

  “Hana’s mother,” he said, like a reprimand.

  “Is Hana there? I want to speak to her.”

  “She’s outside. In the pool. It is still morning here.”

  “Tell her to come to the phone,” said Soo-Ja, gripping the phone cord with her fingers. “And Hana’s father, too. I want to talk to him.”

  “He doesn’t want to talk to you. He’s afraid you might yell at him. Or that you’ll talk him into coming back,” said Father-in-law.

  “Are you saying you won’t let me talk to my daughter, or my husband?”

  Father-in-law sighed, as if Soo-Ja were simply too unintelligent to understand the situation. “I’m going to raise your daughter for you. The school district here is very good. Of course, once she finishes high school, she’ll have to pay me back, but she can work in my warehouse for a few years and earn back the money I spent on her.”

  “She’s not staying there, she’s coming back home with me,” said Soo-Ja, steel in her voice.

  Father-in-law did not say anything, but he did not hang up, either. Silence followed him, and Soo-Ja assumed he’d gone to fetch his son. Although, knowing her father-in-law, she figured he’d probably just leave the receiver facedown on the counter, until someone inquired about it.

  Soo-Ja felt suspended in time, each second an eternity. Finally, Soo-Ja heard Min’s voice on the line. “Soo-Ja?”

  “Considering all the things you’ve done to me, I still never imagined you’d take my daughter away from me,” said Soo-Ja, practically yelling on the phone.

  “We’re going to start fresh here, Soo-Ja,” said Min, also skipping any pleasantries. “We’re going to start over again.”

  “How could you do this? Without even asking me?”

  “I have every right to, according to the law. It is within my rights as a father.”

  “You’re coming back here with Hana,” said Soo-Ja, boiling with anger. “Right now, do you hear me?”

  “This is our chance, Soo-Ja,” said Min, his voice rising to match her intensity. “A lot of things didn’t go right for us in Korea, but America will give us a new beginning. We’ll get it right this time.”

  “No, America won’t make any difference,” snapped Soo-Ja, interrupting him. “You are still going to be you, and I’m still going to be me. Can’t you see that?”

  “It’s not just being in America. It’s being away from Korea. It’s being away from…” Min trailed off, stopping short of saying his nemesis’s name.

  So he’s trying to separate Yul and me, thought Soo-Ja.

  “It is our only hope, Soo-Ja. It is the only way our marriage can survive.”

  You’re wrong, thought Soo-Ja. Yul is not the reason our marriage is the way it is.

  “How many times do I need to tell you, Yul and I are not together,” said Soo-Ja.

  This did not seem to convince Min. “Hana and I are waiting for you here. We’ve left you money for a plane ticket. I don’t know how long it’ll take you to get a visa. Maybe a week, maybe a month,” said Min, irritation in his voice.

  “Put Hana on the phone,” said Soo-Ja.

  “No. You’re going to try to—”

  “Put her on the phone!”

  “No. I can’t. It’s for her own good.”

  Soo-Ja felt the night grab at her, and she closed her eyes, to make herself blind. She hung up the phone and slammed it on the floor. The sound of a busy signal punctured the air.

  “What do you think is going to happen when you get there?” asked Yul, looking somber. He was driving Soo-Ja to the airport in his gray Kia Brisa, making his way toward the departure lanes. He had not spoken to Soo-Ja since the Lunar New Year’s Eve celebrations.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead,” said Soo-Ja, looking out the window, her energy completely drained. A light drizzle had begun, and drops of rain hit noisily against the glass pane.

  “What did they say when you called them?”

  “I don’t want to go over it again,” said Soo-Ja. “But clearly Min thinks it’s up to the husband to decide where to raise the children.”

  “He wants to stay there?”

  “Does it matter? He won’t get to.”

  “So you’re bringing them both back?” asked Yul, skeptical.

  “Of course,” said Soo-Ja testily.

  “What if Hana doesn’t want to return? Are you going to stay in the U.S.?”

  “A child can’t dictate where her mother will live,” said Soo-Ja.

  “Well, if she’s anything like her mother…” Yul smiled kindly at Soo-Ja, but she could not muster a smile back. Yul slowed toward the curb and parked the car. He looked at the rain, the clouds, and the bad visibility. It wasn’t a good day to fly. “Will you call me when you get there?”

  “Your wife is not going to like it.”

  Yul glanced at the planes landing in the distance.

  Soo-Ja looked at him, noticed his reticence—he wanted to tell her something, but he was holding back. “What?” asked Soo-Ja, placing her hand on the door handle.

  “Nothing, I’ll tell you when you get back.”

  “How’s Eun-Mee?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get back,” Yul repeated, like a mantra. He turned off the windshield wiper and the engine. The glass pane soon became covered with rain, drops coming from all directions.

  Soo-Ja kept her hand on the door handle, without opening it. “Did she leave you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Soo-Ja sighed. “This is a wakeup call for me. To stop indulging in fantasies. Min is helping me. That’s what he’s doing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that whatever is happening between you and me has to end. Min could use it against me in a divorce. The judge would never let me keep Hana if he learned I’ve been unfaithful.”

  “You’re missing an important detail. You have not been unfaithful.”

  “Yes, but I can’t take the risk, can I? Hana is more important to me than anything else in my life, including you.”

  “So… I should drive away knowing not to keep my hopes up,” said Yul weakly.

  “I’m sorry, Yul.”

  “This is the end, then?”

  “Yes. This is the end,” said Soo-Ja, swallowing. She felt a tear run down her left cheek, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand. She kept her face away from Yul—if she did not have to look at him, she could do this.

  Color drained from Yul’s face, and he nodded slightly. “I wondered why you asked me to drive you here. This is why, isn’t it? You wanted a chance to tell me this?”

  “That’s not why I asked you, but now that I think about it, I guess I owe you that, don’t I? After all that we went through together.”

  “Do you really think the decision is yours alone to make?”

  “I’m sorry, Yul.”

  “Well, I have something to tell you, too,” said Yul. Soo-Ja could see his face rearranging itself, lines forming in odd places. He looked like a dam about to explode.

  “I don’t want to—”

  “I can’t just remain on hold forever,” said Yul, speaking over her. “I’m not an object that you can keep on a shelf and pick up only when you feel like it. You’ve said no to me many times, and this is one time too many. So think about this before you leave the car: I cannot wait for you anymore. So when you say this is the end, make sure that you know what the end means.” Yul stopped and waited for Soo-Ja’s reaction. “What do you have to say to that?”

  Soo-Ja shook her head slightly and looked away, reaching again for the door handle. The rain hit the windshield hard, and Soo-Ja felt that it lashed her own face. “Good-bye, Yul.”

  “She left with her father,” said Yul, and for a moment his voice sounded like that of a stranger speaking to another stranger on the street. “Have you considered that maybe—you might have to ac
cept that you’re not getting her back this time?”

  Soo-Ja turned back around and glanced at him, taking a deep breath. “Of course I have.”

  “Can’t you see it? Either way you lose someone—me or your daughter. Or maybe both—maybe you’ll manage to lose everyone. Amazing how much you lose when you play for high stakes, isn’t it? Your high-mindedness and your virtue sure paid off—look at all the dead bodies on the road behind you.”

  “Yul! Stop!” Soo-Ja yelled, unable to stand the weight of his words.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if maybe Min was right all along,” said Yul rapidly. He looked as if he would regret his words, but he did not seem able to contain himself. “Maybe I’ve been in love with the wrong person and not known it.”

  “That’s not fair,” said Soo-Ja.

  “What’s not fair is that I spent the last ten years of my life pining for a woman who never intended to be mine!”

  “That’s not true,” cried out Soo-Ja.

  “Get out. Get out of my car. I don’t want to see you again.”

  Soo-Ja felt the words push her out of the car, and she walked toward the terminal with her suitcase, the sliding glass doors beckoning her. She let the rain drench her clothes. It fell into her ears, her mouth, the spaces between her fingers. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the back-and-forth of the windshield wiper sliced Yul’s face into slivers. His car pulled from the curb and slowly drove away, the tires skidding on the road, water splashing. In a matter of seconds, he was gone.

  That meant Soo-Ja could stop walking, and finally let her pain show. Bending her knees, Soo-Ja rested her arms over her suitcase and let out the cry that had been bursting inside her heart. She freed a noise savage and broken, gasping madly for air, and let the raindrops pelt her body. Yul had been right. She had lost everything she could lose, an entire constellation. She watched the automated sliding doors a few yards away, smoothly opening and closing. Those glass doors led to the future, and to America.

  So this is how it ends, thought Soo-Ja. Min wins, Father-in-law wins; Yul loses, Soo-Ja loses. She had thought there was nothing more they could take from her, until she found herself with no bones, no skin to cover her. They had taken away everything—even the air inside her lungs.

  chapter eighteen

  In Seoul, it’s said that once you breathe American air, migug baram, you don’t wish to come back. Soo-Ja could see why Min and Hana, like the children in fairy tales, might have been enchanted by the sweet, clean aroma of that country. As the taxi driver drove her from the airport to her in-laws’ house in Palos Verdes, California, she, too, felt herself lulled by the wide-open spaces, the heaven-sized quiet, and the orderly merging of the cars on the road. God may not live in Los Angeles, she thought, but he must come here for vacations.

  Riding in the car, Soo-Ja was amazed by the distance between buildings—all that empty space! Such luxuries—big parking lots, generous curbs, the mere existence of walkways. As the car drove on, she had the feeling they were standing still, so smooth was the ride, and it was the buildings that glided closer to them. It was her first time out of the country, and the irony was not lost on her.

  I suppose I did, after all, get to practice diplomacy.

  When the taxi driver arrived in her in-laws’ neighborhood, Soo-Ja was astonished by the size of the homes—mansions really, full of room, with endless driveways, long enough for planes to land. Her in-laws’ house sat on a slope, surrounded by shrubbery, and to her it looked more like a park than a residential street. In Korea, only the very wealthy lived like that, but, as she found out later, this was simply middle to upper middle class. Soo-Ja glanced down at her clothes—a dark green one-piece housedress stamped with prints of white flowers—and immediately wished she had brought her pearl necklace. It was as if her daughter and her husband had been adopted by a rich couple, and the couple just happened to be her in-laws.

  As Soo-Ja had expected, her first encounter in years with Min’s parents was tense, with long, bleeding silences. Fortunately, Soo-Ja had no time to dwell on this, as relatives began to swarm over her. Soo-Ja arrived, it turned out, on the day of Mother-in-law’s sixtieth birthday, and the house teemed with family and friends. Her brothers-in-law and her sister-in-law greeted her effusively, with all the fervor of Christian missionaries meeting a native, telling her how wonderful Hana looked, and how she was all grown up. Nobody mentioned why Soo-Ja was really there, though she could tell by the nervousness of their smiles that they were well aware of the circumstances under which Min and Hana had come.

  Soo-Ja found Hana outside, in the backyard, emerging wet from the glistening swimming pool. Soo-Ja ran to hug her daughter, and when she saw Hana’s grown body, in her borrowed swimsuit, wrapped in a huge yellow towel, Soo-Ja knew she had already lost. She fought back a tear as she held Hana against her, and let her daughter lead her to a recently painted swing set, where they sat down.

  Hana was eager to tell her everything about her grandparents’ house, and to show her around the garden. She treated her mother like a latecomer to some party whose pleasures and secrets she’d already sampled, and she would share them with her only if she promised to appreciate them. Soo-Ja had lost her authority over her daughter, lost her to this bright, three o’clock sunshine, and this giant backyard pulsating with wildflowers, and the reclining deck chairs that promised long, lazy afternoons where you could sip the world through a straw.

  Not too long after, Min came to them and stood by Soo-Ja awkwardly. If they had been business partners, they would have shaken hands. If they had been boyfriend and girlfriend, maybe they would have kissed. If they had been relatives, they would have hugged. But they were husband and wife, and did not know how to greet each other. Soo-Ja was keenly aware, however, that they were being watched. There were three dozen people milling around—nephews and nieces of all ages, all the wives who’d married into this clan, the select friends from church—but they moved around with the expediency of background extras.

  “You always told me you were afraid to fly. Did that fear just go away overnight?” Soo-Ja asked Min quietly.

  “Hana, go take a shower and wash the chlorine off your body,” said Min.

  Hana pecked her mother on the cheeks and left, a tearful expression on her face. Min took her spot, sitting on the swing next to Soo-Ja. They spoke quietly, watching the others gather by the barbecue grill, on the other side of the pool.

  “Dad offered you and me jobs in his warehouse. They sell wholesale unisex sportswear. He said you could work the front area, and me in the back, but you’d have to learn Spanish. Most of our customers are from Mexico.”

  “He’s very eager to boss me around, isn’t he?” Soo-Ja looked toward the house, where she knew Father-in-law was sitting on his plush white leather couch, probably watching them. “Why would I work for him when I could just start my own business in Seoul?”

  Min bit his lower lip, an old habit of his when he was nervous.

  “Dad wants to keep our money for us. He said it’s so we can contribute to the expenses here. He said we can’t expect to live here for free.”

  Soo-Ja could not help letting out a small, rueful laugh.

  “Look at this big pool, Min, this nice house. Who do you think is paying for all this? Do you really think your father would welcome you with open arms if you didn’t have the money with you?”

  “Don’t talk like that. He’s my father,” said Min.

  “The only reason that what I say bothers you is because you’ve wondered it yourself. Fine, keep the money, but give my daughter back. And by the way, I will never, ever forgive you for this.”

  Min looked at her with a bit of a start, and the look on his face confirmed it—he had felt no guilt about taking the money from selling the land she herself had originally bought; he thought of that money as his, the same way he thought of Hana as his, and her future, too—all his.

  “Can we talk about this later?” asked Min. “It’s Mother’s
birthday.”

  Soo-Ja closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the palm of her hand. An elder’s sixtieth birthday represented a momentous occasion, with a number of ceremonial gestures. At which point, Soo-Ja wondered, should she confront her in-laws? Maybe after the “offering of the flowers,” but before the “song of congratulations”—maybe that would be a good moment to ask them why ten years ago they had abandoned Soo-Ja, penniless, while they started a new life in America with her father’s money. Or maybe after the “offering of the ceremonial liquor” but before the “congratulatory address”—maybe that would be the right moment to demand why they hadn’t sent back their son and granddaughter to Korea, when they knew very well that Min had brought Hana there without Soo-Ja’s consent.

  “No, we can’t talk about this later. I want everyone gathered here to know exactly what kind of people your parents are,” said Soo-Ja, preparing to get up. She saw, not far from her, the banquet table covered in white and laid out with the traditional sixtieth birthday dishes: sliced rice cakes stacked almost four feet in the air, and shiny pears sitting on different rungs of a three-story silver platter.

  Min’s parents had taken their place on the other side of the banquet table, and in a moment, the ceremony would start. Each of their five children—along with their wives, or in the case of Na-yeong, her husband—were expected to bow to Soo-Ja’s in-laws and offer them a gourd filled with red wine. By living to age sixty, Mother-in-law had reached a milestone. She’d completed the sexagenarian cycle of the zodiac, and, for the first time in her life, her animal element, the monkey, had finally aligned with her yin-yang heavenly stem, metal. The already revered matriarch would be even more so, and given more power and respect than ever.

  “If you make a scene, no one will sympathize with you. Everyone here is on Mother and Father’s side,” said Min. “And as far as knowing what kind of people they are… we all know already. We’re their children, remember?”

  Soo-Ja took a deep breath, frustration running through her veins like water boiling in a cauldron. “Don’t speak to me. I don’t want to hear another word from you.”