The Spirit of the Dragon

by William Andrews

  My father grinned. “We still wonder sometimes,” he teased. Remembering this made me cry a little.

  One night, there was a terrible summer storm. It started with wind and lightning and thunder that shook the house as if the spirits were angry. When I was young, I always enjoyed a good summer storm. But now, without Hisashi by my side and my belly heavy with child, the storm’s tumult felt like a bad omen.

  When the rain came, the pains came, too. Lying in my bed, I wasn’t sure what they were at first. It wasn’t at all like heartburn or the baby’s kicks. I didn’t feel nauseous. It was cramping, like when I had my monthly bleeds, only much worse. The pain lasted a short while and went away. After a few minutes, the pain came back harder. And this time, the two-headed dragon came roaring with it, clawing at my insides, angry, fighting to be free.

  I limped to the door and called for Yoshiko, who came dressed in her nightclothes.

  “I think the baby is coming.”

  She nodded. “I will have Haru get the doctor. Go to your bed. I will be back with Kiyo and Fumiko.”

  A few minutes later, Yoshiko, now wearing her head housekeeper kimono and with her hair up, was at my bedside again, along with Kiyo and Fumiko. The servants laid a birthing mat on the floor and helped me onto it. They brought in towels and rags and a pitcher of water. They gave me a special tea that Yoshiko said would help with the pain.

  Yoshiko kneeled alongside me and held my hand. “Squeeze my hand when the pain comes,” she said, as if someone giving birth in her household was a common occurrence. “Do not fight the pain. Soon, you will feel water inside you let loose. Do not worry. It is normal.”

  Yoshiko knew just what to do, and her courtly demeanor made me less afraid. As I waited for the next pain to come, I realized I didn’t know much about the head housekeeper. I didn’t know if she’d had children herself, or if she was married or not. I didn’t know how she felt about politics, religion, or if she believed that Koreans like me were inferior. She was the head housekeeper and supremely skilled at her job. And now, her job was to help me deliver my baby.

  As the storm raged outside, the pains came again. Soon, as Yoshiko had predicted, there was a watery gush, as if something burst inside me. Kiyo and Fumiko cleaned the mess with towels. I thought perhaps the baby had come, and I raised myself up on my elbows and asked Yoshiko what it was. “Your water broke as I said it would,” she said. “It is what should happen. The baby will come soon. Lie down now.”

  I lay on the mat and closed my eyes. Though the room was cool, I was sweating.

  I had so wished that Hisashi would be with me when the baby came. I wanted to cry, but before I could, there was another flash of lightning and crash of thunder and with it came another pain, harder than any before it. I cried out. Yoshiko helped me onto my elbows and I pushed at the pain to make it go away. The pain eased and I lay down and tried to catch my breath. My head and heart pounded. Yoshiko wiped the sweat from my forehead with a rag.

  The door slid open and the doctor came in. The rain had soaked his coat and black leather bag. “How long between the contractions?” he asked, throwing off his coat.

  “About three minutes,” Yoshiko replied. “They are coming faster.”

  The doctor rolled up his sleeves, hurriedly washed his hands, and then squatted at my feet. He spread open my legs. “I see the head,” he said. “It is close.”

  The pain came again. It was almost unbearable, as if the baby was trying to kill me. “Push,” the doctor ordered. “Push hard.”

  As Yoshiko held my shoulders and the doctor watched between my legs, I pushed. The doctor reached inside me and grabbed something.

  “I must turn the baby,” he said.

  Something inside me moved. Then, in a gush, I felt something slippery slide out between my legs. The doctor caught it and held it in his hands.

  “What is it?” I cried, seeing a red, watery lump in the doctor’s hands. It was a baby.

  The doctor forced the baby’s mouth open with his fingers. He snapped his finger on its buttocks, but nothing happened. I started to panic, thinking the baby was dead. I began to sob.

  “Hush, Miyoko,” Yoshiko said, holding my shoulders. “Be patient.”

  The doctor snapped his finger on the baby’s bottom again, harder this time. The baby flinched and opened its mouth. It squeaked and let out a high-pitched cry.

  “Blanket,” the doctor said. Kiyo handed him a blanket, and the doctor wrapped the baby in it. He handed the bundle to me. “It is a boy,” he said. “I will have to look him over, but from what I can see, he is healthy.”

  I looked at the squirming bundle in my arms. It no longer cried. My baby’s little chest rose and dropped with each quick breath it took. He rolled his head back and forth as if he was trying to work out a kink in his neck. He blinked his eyes open and looked beseechingly at me. I ran my hands over his bald head, and he whimpered and closed his eyes.

  I immediately loved him. My son! I wanted to both cry and laugh with joy. I looked at the doctor and said, “Thank you.”

  The doctor grunted. “You may hold him while I clean up. Then I must examine him.”

  I looked at Yoshiko, and for the first time since I’d known her, I saw the corners of her mouth curl up ever so slightly. There was a glint in her eye. “It is a beautiful child,” she said. “Congratulations.”

  And then I looked beyond Yoshiko. There, standing just outside a half-open sliding door, a figure looked in. I focused on the face and locked eyes with it. It was Mrs. Saito, and her eyes were as fierce as the storm outside. I pressed my baby close to my chest and looked away.

  Haru named my baby Masaru. Customarily, Mrs. Saito should have named him. But she wasn’t interested in my baby. I secretly gave him the name Young-chul. I called him Masaru when we were with others, but when I nursed him, I whispered, “Young-chul, my nae eolin wangja, my little prince.” I loved him more than I ever thought it was possible to love anything. When I held him, my heart ached. He could make me cry just by gripping my finger with his little hand or resting his head against my chest, or simply looking up at me with his dark, questioning eyes. I thought he looked like Hisashi and I yearned to share him with my husband.

  Fumiko loved Young-chul, too. Kiyo refused to have anything to do with him, so the duty of helping me take care of my baby fell to Fumiko. She would coo at Young-chul and tell him he was handsome. She was quick to take him when I asked for help. She held him for hours at a time. I think Yoshiko liked my baby, too. Of course, she was businesslike, always concerned with making sure Young-chul had everything he needed. But once, when she thought I wasn’t looking, I saw her run her hand over Young-chul’s face and smile down at him.

  When Young-chul was four months old, I was sitting in one of the low chairs in my room nursing him when Mrs. Saito came in followed by Haru and a man I’d never seen before. I was surprised to see them. I’d rarely seen Mrs. Saito since Young-chul’s birth. She was avoiding me. I only saw Haru when I gave him my letters to Hisashi, which I still wrote every day.

  “What is it?” I said as they filed in.

  “We have come to examine the baby,” Haru said coolly.

  “Why?” I said, pulling Young-chul from my breast and covering myself.

  Mrs. Saito stood next to the door with her arms folded as Haru and the other man came to me. I pressed Young-chul close to my chest. “Tell me what you want with my baby,” I demanded.

  “As I said,” Haru replied, “we need to examine him. Do not be difficult and give him to this man.”

  I held Young-chul closer, making him squirm. “Who is he? Why does he need to examine Young-chul . . . I mean, Masaru?”

  Haru leaned over me and pulled my arm away from my baby. The other man took Young-chul and went to the bed with him. He opened his case and took out some instruments and a pad of paper. Young-chul started to kick and cry.

  I lunged for my baby. “No!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

  Haru placed
himself between me and the man. He raised his hand. “He will not hurt Masaru, but you must not interfere with the examination.”

  “Who is he? What is he looking for?”

  Haru dropped his hand. “His name is Doctor Suzuki and he is an expert from the government. Mrs. Saito brought him here all the way from Seoul.”

  “All the way from Seoul? Why? What is his expertise?” I kept a careful eye on the fat doctor as he unwrapped Young-chul from his blanket. Young-chul cried louder when the blanket came off, and it was all I could do not to push past Haru and go to him.

  “He is an expert in genetics,” Haru replied simply. “Now, let him do his work.”

  “Genetics?” I exclaimed. “But why? Do you think something is wrong with my baby?” The doctor pulled out a tape and measured Young-chul’s height, the length of his arms and legs, and the circumference of his head. With a protractor, he measured the width of Young-chul’s head, the length of his nose, and the distance between his eyes. He looked into Young-chul’s eyes with a magnifying glass. After each measurement, he wrote something on his pad. Young-chul was wailing now, the full-throated baby’s wail that only a mother can quiet. I took a step toward the bed, but Haru stopped me with his hand. I desperately tried to think of what the doctor was looking for. I looked at Mrs. Saito, who still had her arms crossed and looked on with a cold stare.

  Finally, the doctor turned to Haru and Mrs. Saito and said, “I have what I need.” Haru stepped aside and I ran to Young-chul, who was red from crying. I wrapped him in his blanket and held him close to my chest. I kissed him on the top of his head and whispered, “Shee, my little prince. Sheeee.” Soon, my baby stopped crying and fell asleep.

  Holding my baby, I faced Doctor Suzuki and Haru, who conferred with Mrs. Saito. Mrs. Saito nodded to the doctor and said, “That will do.” Haru escorted the doctor from the room and left me alone with Mrs. Saito.

  “What was the doctor looking for?” I said. I kept my voice low so I wouldn’t wake Young-chul. “What are you doing?”

  Mrs. Saito raised her chin to me. “Nothing you need to know now.” She started to leave.

  I was furious with her. This I could not let stand.

  “I do not believe you,” I exclaimed before she could leave. “I think you are up to something and I will not let you get away with it. You think I am a whore for your son, but you are wrong. You are wrong! I love Hisashi and he loves me, too. I know you are trying to force us apart. But it will not work. Do you understand? We love each other and when he comes home, we will still love each other despite your deceitful plans.”

  Mrs. Saito kept her back to me as if my rebuke was just an afternoon breeze rustling the leaves. “Oh yes, Hisashi,” she said coolly. “I forgot to tell you. He is not coming home anytime soon. He will be away for many more months. That must be a great disappointment for you.” Then she left, sliding the door closed behind her.

  SIXTEEN

  As Mrs. Saito said, Hisashi didn’t come home until months later. One morning, Yoshiko told me he was coming that afternoon. He’d been gone for a year and a half, and I was so excited to see him, I skipped the morning meal. I spent all morning bathing myself, brushing my hair, and putting it up just so with the silver hairpin. I applied just the right amount of oshiroi powder on my face. I put on my best kimono. I bathed Young-chul, who was nine months old now. I scented him with lilac water and dressed him in his finest silk clothes.

  On a glorious April day, he arrived in the back of Mr. Saito’s car, sitting alongside his father. As the car pulled up to the house, I stood on the veranda holding Young-chul, who watched the commotion with great interest. Mrs. Saito, Haru, and Yoshiko stood alongside me.

  When Hisashi climbed out of the car, I almost didn’t recognize him. He wore a tan army uniform that was a size too large. His jacket had buttons on the front, pockets on both sides of the chest, and yellow epaulets on each shoulder. Underneath his black-billed army hat, his face was thin. He had a slight bend in his back. When he saw me, he took off his hat and smiled weakly. I wanted to run to him, throw my arms around him, kiss him, and show him our beautiful son. But it would make a scene, and making a scene was not the way of a Shinto household.

  Mr. Saito came to the veranda, and all of us bowed to him. “Look who is here!” Mr. Saito said joyously. “Our son, Lieutenant Saito of the Imperial Army.” He stepped aside, and when Hisashi stepped forward, Haru and Yoshiko bowed to him. He didn’t acknowledge their bows because he was staring at me.

  Mrs. Saito smiled at Hisashi. “Welcome home, Son,” she said, reaching a hand to him. Hisashi only glanced at her before turning to me. Mrs. Saito dropped her hand, and the smile fell from her face. She flashed a look at me.

  With his hat under his arm, Hisashi came to me. He looked at Young-chul, who buried his head into my chest. “He’s beautiful,” Hisashi said.

  “He looks like you,” I said, fighting tears.

  Hisashi raised his eyes to me, and I saw that the sparkle in them—the sparkle that had melted my heart—was gone. His beautiful hair had lost its shine. He looked like a different man.

  “Come!” Mr. Saito insisted with a wave. “Hisashi is tired and hungry. He has been working much too hard and needs to put on some fat to fill out his new uniform. Haru, Yoshiko, have the household prepare a proper meal for my son. Tomorrow after he has rested, we will have a feast to celebrate his return. We will invite all of Sinuiju. We will spare no expense. Come, come!”

  We all went inside the house and bowed toward the kami dana altar. Mr. Saito told Hisashi that he should get some rest. “Then later,” he said with a hand on Hisashi’s back, “I want to hear about your work with Doctor Ishii.” He patted Hisashi’s back, and Mr. and Mrs. Saito went to their part of the house while Haru and Yoshiko went to give orders to the staff to prepare a meal and organize the feast. I gave Young-chul to Fumiko and led my husband to our room.

  I went to him. I put my arms around him and hugged him hard. I put my head against his chest. It felt so good to have him in my arms. It was as if I was holding the very thing that gave me life. “Oh, my husband,” I said. “You cannot know my joy that you are here again.”

  He didn’t return my embrace. He stood in a slight slump with his arms at his side as if I wasn’t there. I pushed away. I started to panic that he didn’t love me anymore. “Why don’t you hug me?” I pleaded. “Aren’t you happy to see me? Don’t you love me anymore?”

  He looked at the bed. “I have loved you since the day I met you,” he said feebly. “But I am tired.”

  My anxiety turned to guilt for worrying about myself and not about his well-being. He was exhausted and ill. It looked like he didn’t have enough strength to take another step. I took his hand and led him to the bed. I unbuttoned his jacket and helped him remove it. I pulled off his boots. He lay on the bed facing away and brought his knees to his chest. I slipped out of my kimono and lay next to him. I stared at his back and wanted to touch him, kiss him, make love to him. But he didn’t move. And that is how we stayed for the rest of the afternoon.

  When it was time for the evening meal, I put a hand on Hisashi’s shoulder and said we had to get ready. He didn’t respond, so I gently jostled him. “Hisashi,” I said, “we must go.” With effort, he pushed himself out of bed and dressed in his usual white shirt and black pants. His pants were too big for him, and I had to cinch the belt so they wouldn’t fall.

  I tried to talk to him as we got ready. “You will feel better when you have time to rest,” and “You can play with your son later,” and “After dinner perhaps we can take a walk and you can tell me about your work.” His response was always one word. “Yes,” “Okay,” and “Perhaps.” I wanted to tell him that I wrote letters to him every day. I wanted to know how he came to be in the army and what lay ahead for us. I wanted to tell him all about Young-chul. But it was obvious that he did not want to talk.

  The meal the staff prepared was fit for a prince. Kiyo, Fumiko, and the cook’s assistan
t spread it out, and it covered the big table edge to edge. There was vinegared rice with raw fish, vegetables in dashi broth, boiled quail eggs, grilled fish, two kinds of soups, and, to wash it down, tea and sake. I gave Young-chul to Fumiko, and, after washing our hands and faces and bowing to the kami dana altar, we sat at the table, me next to Hisashi, and Mr. and Mrs. Saito across from us. Yoshiko stood back from the table and gave quiet orders to Kiyo and the cook’s assistant.

  Mr. Saito was in a particularly good mood. “My son has returned,” he said, “and he is an Imperial Army lieutenant! I’m told he is one of the army’s youngest officers.”

  Mrs. Saito looked content. She was more animated than usual, nodding as she said, “Yes, it is good to have him back,” and “I am sure he is the most handsome officer in the army, too.”

  Hisashi picked at his food and tried to respond to his parents’ flattery. “Yes,” he replied, “it is good to be home,” and “They are making many young men officers these days,” and “I do not know about being the most handsome.” I saw that he was putting on a show for his parents. But I had seen him earlier, curled up in bed and unresponsive to me. Something was haunting him and he didn’t want his parents to know. For the most part, he was succeeding. Mr. Saito went on and on about how proud he was of his son and how he had a great future. He talked about how quickly Hisashi would climb the ranks in the army and how he would be an important medical doctor someday.

  “Son,” Mr. Saito said after a while, “you have not eaten much. And here your mother had the staff prepare all of your favorite foods.”