The Spirit of the Dragon

by William Andrews

  “I saw Kiyo,” I said. “She’s the one who turned me over to the police.”

  “Yes, Kiyo,” Yoshiko said, shaking her head. “She was part of the resistance. Byong-woo was, too, as you know. The fact that they were here in the house put a stain on my father’s record. When Haru found out about Kiyo, he gave her the option to go to a prison camp or work in the brothel. She chose the brothel.

  “Then, about four months ago, when it became clear that they would remove my father from office, my stepmother went to Tokyo, saying she would never return to Korea. My father stayed here for a month, then he went to be with her.”

  Yoshiko set her tea bowl on the ebony table and continued. “I stayed to take care of my father’s house. We have a reduced staff now. Old Mr. Lee does the gardening work of two men. Ai, the cook, stayed, too. We hire out handiwork and anything else we need.”

  “What about Fumiko?” I asked. “Byong-woo told me she was in love with Haru.”

  “She was, but he did not love her. He treated her poorly. And, I should tell you, she cares for your son. She refused to leave after Haru left. She has been a great help.”

  I nodded. I was thankful that Young-chul had people who cared for him. I was glad I was back in this house.

  And then I asked, “What about Hisashi?”

  Yoshiko looked into her tea bowl. “He has not come home since you saw him last. As far as we know, he is still in Manchuria. He stopped writing about a year ago. I am sorry, I can tell you nothing more.”

  She looked at me again. “You should know that I love Hisashi as if he was a full-blooded brother. He and I were close growing up. He always comforted me when Mrs. Saito was cruel. He has a good heart.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “I pray that his heart isn’t broken.”

  We were quiet for a while. I thought of my own brother, Kwan-so. The rumor in the rebel camp was that the Japanese were making Korean men join the Imperial Army and putting them on the front lines. I wondered if that had happened to Kwan-so.

  Then, Yoshiko said, “We need to talk about Masaru. Kiyo volunteered to take him after you left, but I took him instead. I am his aunt. It was my duty. I have raised him as if he was my own. I must tell you that I love him, and he loves me, too.”

  “But I am his mother,” I complained.

  “Yes. I knew there was a chance you would return, but truthfully, I did not think you would. I have thought a lot about what to do if you did.”

  I was afraid Yoshiko would say that she had to be Young-chul’s mother and that I had given up that right when I escaped with Byong-woo. If she did, I wasn’t in a position to fight her. She was in charge of the household and she said she loved Young-chul.

  “What have you decided?” I asked apprehensively.

  “He knows I am his aunt. I could not pretend to be his mother for when . . . if Hisashi came back. How would it be for a child to have his parents be brother and sister?

  “But,” Yoshiko sighed, “I was raised without a mother. I know how important it is to have one. You gave him life, but I gave him a home. So we will do this. We will both raise him.”

  I wanted to argue that I was Young-chul’s only mother, but I knew Yoshiko was doing a great favor for me. She could have easily let the police take me and continued to raise Young-chul on her own. Now, she was offering to share Young-chul with me. For the first time, I saw Yoshiko clearly. Though she could sometimes be imperious, she had a good heart just like Hisashi and her father. I was certain that she’d been good to Young-chul while I was with the rebels and that she would continue to be. As much as I wanted to have Young-chul to myself, she was right. If Young-chul could not have his Japanese father, perhaps he should have his Japanese aunt.

  I bowed my head. “I would be honored to share my son with you. But may I make a request?”

  “You may,” Yoshiko replied.

  “I would like to call him Young-chul, his Korean name.”

  “That would not be wise with what is happening in Korea today,” Yoshiko replied. “And it would confuse him. No, you should not use that name.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Good,” Yoshiko said with a nod. “Tomorrow I will introduce you to Masaru. He won’t know you and will cling to me. You must accept this. For the time being, we will say you are a friend of his father’s. When he has accepted you, we will tell him you are his mother. You should spend time with him, but you must be careful not to push yourself on him. He is sensitive like his father.”

  “What have you told him about Hisashi?”

  “I have told him his father is a brave soldier and we do not know when he will return. I told him that his father loves him and thinks of him every day.”

  “Yes, that is the right thing to say,” I said. “I believe it is true.”

  We’d finished our tea and I was exhausted from the day’s ordeal. My head spun with all Yoshiko had told me. I couldn’t wait until the morning when I would start to get to know my son again.

  I went to the room where I’d been Hisashi’s wife. It was exactly as it’d been before, with its low bed and desk to the side. Fumiko had laid out nightclothes on the sleeping mat for me. I put them on, crawled under the blankets, and was soon fast asleep.

  I awoke not sure where I was. I thought I might be in prison or with the rebels or that perhaps the entire ordeal of the past few years had been a nightmare. I think I called out. Soon, a light appeared outside my room. The door slid open and Fumiko, holding a candle and looking awkward in her sleeping clothes, came in.

  “Miyoko,” she said, “are you all right?”

  I shook my head to clear it and remembered where I was. Fumiko had a look of concern on her face. “Yes, Fumiko,” I said. “I was not sure where I was. But now I remember.”

  “It is still early, Miyoko,” Fumiko said. “You should sleep some more.” She started to leave.

  “Fumiko, come. Sit with me,” I said, switching from Japanese to Korean.

  Fumiko came to my mat. She set the candle on the floor and sat alongside me.

  “Tell me about my son,” I said. “Tell me about Young-chul.”

  “Masaru. Young-chul. I forgot that is what you named him,” she said in Korean.

  “When it is just us, we will call him Young-chul. I remember your name is Jin-ee. Mine is Suk-bo.”

  “Only when we are alone,” Fumiko said. “The Japanese are very strict now.”

  “Okay. Only when we are alone. So tell me, Jin-ee, what is Young-chul like?”

  Fumiko’s face lit up. “He is a most wonderful child,” she said. “He is full of life, curious about everything. He loves boats. His favorite toy is a boat Yoshiko bought for him. He takes it everywhere. He begs to go to the pond in the city park to play with it. He loves to go to the river and watch the boats.”

  “Do the Japanese know he is half Korean?”

  “Yoshiko is careful not to let people know,” Fumiko replied. “She thinks they would treat him poorly if they knew.”

  “What about the Koreans? Do they know?”

  “Since Hisashi is his father,” Fumiko replied, “after you left, the cook’s assistant and the young gardener treated him as they did all Japanese. I think that is why Yoshiko dismissed them.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  She looked at me pleadingly. “I love him. I truly do,” she said. “It does not matter to me if he is Japanese or Korean. He is a kind and gentle boy.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We were quiet for a while. Then Fumiko asked, “You will not take Young-chul away, will you?”

  “No. I will stay here with him until Hisashi returns.”

  “Hisashi,” she said, looking down again.

  “What is it? What can you tell me about my husband?”

  Fumiko looked at her hands. “There are rumors that Doctor Ishii is doing evil things in Manchuria.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I have heard the same rumors, but I do not believe them. Hisas
hi would never do something like that.”

  “I do not believe he would, either,” she said.

  She looked up at me. “There are rumors that Japan is going to lose the war. If they do, Korea will be free again.”

  “Then we can use our real names all the time,” I said.

  Fumiko smiled, and I saw she was glad to have me back. I was someone she could talk to, and I could talk to her, too. “You need your sleep,” she said.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I am tired. Good night, Jin-ee.”

  She took the candle and went to the door. “Good night, Suk-bo,” she replied.

  The next morning, I arose early. Fumiko must have been waiting for me because she came into my room right away with a bath towel and one of my kimonos from when I’d lived there before. “It is a big day for you, Suk-bo,” she said. “You will meet your son this morning. I am here to help you prepare. I have poured a bath for you.”

  I went to the bathing room and washed in the wooden tub. It was glorious to bathe in hot water again, and I would have loved to stay and soak. But I was anxious to meet my little prince, so I scrubbed myself, washed my hair, and put on the kimono. Fumiko was waiting for me when I returned. I sat on my mat with my back to her as she combed out my tangles.

  When she finished braiding my hair, she stepped back and examined me. She reached inside her kimono. “I have something for you.” She pulled out the silver hairpin that Hisashi had given me. I bit my lower lip.

  “When you left, Kiyo took it. But when Haru sent her to the brothel, I took it from her. She was angry, but she did not dare fight me. And now, I am returning it to you.”

  “Thank you, Jin-ee,” I said. “I would like to wear it when I meet my son.”

  Fumiko nodded. She took the hairpin and put it in my hair. I asked for a hand mirror and she gave me one. It made me sad to see my reflection. While the hairpin was beautiful, I looked completely different than the last time Young-chul had seen me. My hair was coarse, and my skin was dark and rough. I looked much older.

  Fumiko must have seen the despair in my face. “You look fine, Suk-bo,” she said. “I will ask Yoshiko about getting camellia oil for your hair and aloe for your skin. The household does not have much money for luxuries, but she will agree.”

  I gave the mirror to her and said, “I want to meet my son now.”

  She smiled at me and said, “Come with me.”

  I met Young-chul in the great room. Yoshiko and I were waiting for him at the kami dana altar when Fumiko brought him in. He wore his blue kimono and they’d put his hair into a topknot. Now that I saw him close, the resemblance to Hisashi was amazing. He had his father’s sparkling eyes and feminine eyebrows. His skin was light. It was all I could do to not run to him and hug him. As we all washed ourselves, then bowed at the altar, Young-chul eyed me suspiciously.

  When we were done, Yoshiko said, “Masaru, you must bow to our guest. Her name is Miyoko. She is a friend of your father.”

  Young-chul gave me a quick bow and then sidled next to Yoshiko at the ebony table. Fumiko left to fetch our breakfast.

  I gathered my composure and said, “I like your topknot, Masaru.”

  Young-chul pressed his face into Yoshiko’s arm. Yoshiko gently pushed him away. “When someone gives you a compliment, you must say thank you.”

  “I don’t want to,” Young-chul said.

  “Masaru, you must learn to do what is right. Say thank you to Miyoko.”

  “Thank you,” Young-chul said softly.

  Fumiko and Ai brought in tea and a breakfast of rice cakes, grilled fish, and vegetables, and set them on the low table. Yoshiko bowed a thank-you to the meal, and I remembered the Shinto tradition of giving thanks. Yoshiko said, “Masaru, you must bow to say thank you to the emperor for our food. Miyoko will bow, too.”

  I bowed and Young-chul gave a quick bow with me. Yoshiko poured tea and motioned that we should eat. Young-chul watched me carefully as I took some food. Yoshiko gave him a plate of food, which he did not touch.

  “Eat your breakfast, Masaru,” Yoshiko said.

  He didn’t eat. He kept glancing at me and turning away when I looked at him. I wondered if somewhere deep inside, he recognized me. He and I had bonded, mother and child, in the short time we’d had together. I had suckled him, played with him, and held him when he cried. Did he remember? I wondered.

  “Masaru,” I said, picking up a sweet rice cake, “do you like dduk? I like them very much, although I have not had them for a long time.”

  He studied me for a moment. Then he said, “What is dduk?”

  “Oh,” I said, realizing that I’d used the Korean word for sweet rice cakes. “I mean mochi. Do you like mochi?”

  “I like the ones with honey.” He grabbed a rice cake with honey and took a bite.

  My heart was filled with happiness. I’d started to reconnect with my son. Yoshiko was right when she said it would take a long time. But it had started, and it felt like the first time I’d seen him, it felt like the day he was born. We would be mother and child again someday, and I could barely contain my joy.

  While we ate our breakfast, Young-chul behaved like toddlers do. Yoshiko had to remind him to use his chopsticks. The slightest thing distracted him. He wanted to go to the kami dana altar and play with the ivory carving there. Yoshiko gently instructed him on the proper behavior for a young boy, and he did his best to obey. I saw by her gentle way that Yoshiko was a good mother. And I saw by Young-chul’s response that he was sensitive like his father and playful and mischievous like him, too.

  As difficult as it was, I heeded Yoshiko’s advice and didn’t push Young-chul to talk to me. Though I hadn’t had a proper meal in years, I didn’t care about the rich food or the good tea. I let my heart and soul fill with the joy of being with my son, my little prince, Young-chul.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Over the next several weeks and months, I focused on rebuilding my relationship with Young-chul. Fumiko was right about him. He was bright and curious and full of life. All day he skipped around the house getting into this and that. He asked questions about everything and listened carefully to the answers. He was sensitive, too. When Yoshiko or Fumiko told him he shouldn’t do something, he would go quiet as if he was thinking over what he’d done. After a few minutes, he would bound away on another adventure.

  Though I desperately wanted Young-chul to love me, I didn’t push myself on him. We ate meals together and I’d ask him about what he’d done that day. We talked about insects he saw in the garden. He asked how the clouds stayed in the sky.

  And we talked about boats. Fumiko gave me a book on naval history from Mr. Saito’s study. I showed the book to Young-chul and read it to him on the veranda. He studied the drawings and memorized the boats’ names. He said he wanted to go to England someday to see the tall ships there. I didn’t tell him that they made today’s warships out of steel and that they had cannons that killed at great distances.

  After several months, Young-chul and I had become friends. Yoshiko was still the one he went to when he scraped a knee or when he didn’t feel well. She was still the one who put him to bed at night. Yoshiko let me have my time with my son, but it was clear that she was in charge of his upbringing. Though I wanted it to be different, I was thankful for what I had.

  During this time, my body began to recover from the difficult years with the rebels. I filled out and my hair regained its luster. The scars on my leg and head receded until I could barely see them. I had fewer nightmares. But as I grew stronger, I worried more about Hisashi. It had been so long since I’d seen him. Everything in the Saito house reminded me of him: the Zen garden where we talked for hours, the big room where we ate our meals, our bed where we made love. Every time I looked at Young-chul I thought of my husband. I missed him terribly and desperately wanted to be with him again. And Young-chul needed a father.

  I asked Yoshiko if I could write to him.

  “It would not be wise,” she answered. “T
he Kempei tai screen all letters. If they see one from you, it will keep you in their minds. When my father is no longer director-general, it will be difficult for me to keep them from arresting you.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “it will do no good to write to Hisashi. My father wrote him often, but he did not believe his letters got through. My father was a powerful man so he made inquiries. When I asked him what he had learned about Hisashi, he told me he’d learned nothing.”

  When Hisashi first left for Tokyo, I’d promised to write him every day. I wanted to keep my promise. I wanted him to know that I still loved him, even though I was angry with him for abandoning me. But I had to heed Yoshiko’s warning and I never wrote a single letter.

  For months, I didn’t leave the compound. When I first came to the household, Yoshiko said it would be unsafe for me to go to Sinuiju. “The police will look for the slightest reason to arrest you,” she’d said. “And I imagine the Koreans will not be kind to you, either.”

  So, I stayed at home. Yoshiko often took Young-chul to the city park or to the river to watch boats, leaving me with nothing to do. I looked for ways to help around the house. But despite having a skeleton staff, the household ran smoothly under Yoshiko’s leadership. One day, I went to Mr. Saito’s study. When I’d lived there before, I wouldn’t have dared to set foot inside his study. But Yoshiko had gone out with Young-chul and the house was quiet, so I went in. The room was simple and neat like the rest of the house. The floor was covered with tatami mats, and latticed shoji doors lined the walls. There was a low mahogany desk, and in a corner on a stand was the red-and-white Japanese flag. Off to the side was a full bookcase.

  I went to it. Dozens of books lined the shelves—books on philosophy history, science, politics, and literature. Several were on Asian history, religion, and Shintoism. On the bottom shelf were books I’d never seen before—books on ethics and human rights and democracy. They were written in Japanese, Chinese, French, and English. I remembered when I was growing up, Father and Mother had wanted me to learn math, philosophy, and literature even though I was a girl, and how I’d hurry through my chores so I could read my books. I remembered how I’d read alongside Hisashi when he studied his medical books. It had been years since I’d read anything. The sight of all those books rekindled my passion for reading.