Bloody Seoul

by Sonia Patel

  Plus Younger Uncle’s the ace up my sleeve. Dad has no idea he’s in Seoul.

  Younger Uncle gives me a chin up. “Ready?”

  “Always.” My hand settles on my knife.

  We enter the passageway, heading for the lobby. The silence screams. It’s the kind of movie-scene-quiet right before you get stabbed in the back. And suddenly I’m chilled to the bone.

  A spa attendant carrying towels skids to a halt when he sees us. Pivots on his heels, then shrinks into a large closet.

  Younger Uncle shrugs.

  We keep going. It’s so odd that there aren’t any other customers sashaying within these posh walls—just how my dad likes it. Yeah, that’s right: what my dad wants, my dad gets.

  Like everyone in Seoul, the spa owners know that. So without fail they’ve shut the place down for “a private event” every Sunday afternoon since my parents started coming. I wonder what Mom thought about that.

  We take a right into a wide corridor. Though we’re treading lightly, the stillness of everything amplifies the sound of our footsteps on the marble floor.

  We turn left into a narrower hallway.

  Oh shit! Do-hyun and Hak-kun.

  My breath gets caught in my chest.

  “He’s going to have his most trusted men on guard,” Younger Uncle says. “We’ve got to be ready.”

  I nod. “What do you have in mind?”

  Younger Uncle smiles. “Pressure points. It’s actually quite an intricate method, you should study it sometime. But for our purposes, I’ll teach you a simple combination with proper direction and angle. We’ll knock them out but not kill them. That’ll give us enough time.”

  I take a quick look at Younger Uncle. He gives me a do-what-we-discussed nod. I clear the static in my brain and rapid review the plan.

  “Strike the chin, center of the thorax, and the center of the abdomen,” Younger Uncle says, placing a finger on each respective body part. “It’s all in the speed, force, and accuracy.” Then he raises his fists. “When I say ‘a family reunion,’ do it like this…”

  Younger Uncle starts the show. He grins and waves. “Hello, boys!” he calls out.

  Do-hyun and Hak-kun exchange glances, but don’t greet us back. Instead they show force by standing with crossed arms on their pushed-out chests. They stare at us, unblinking.

  I thought I was ready to fight, but now I want to flee. I have to force myself to keep walking in their direction.

  We reach them. Younger Uncle stands tall in front of Do-hyun. I’m close to Hak-kun.

  Younger Uncle holds his hand out for a shake. Do-hyun doesn’t reciprocate.

  “Well, then,” Younger Uncle says, smoothing his hair with the hand Do-hyun left hanging. He looks back and forth between Do-hyun and Hak-kun. “You’re not happy to see the youngest star?” he asks as he lowers his hand.

  Do-hyun and Hak-kun still don’t say anything.

  I realize it’s the first time I’ve been in the company of TSP members without my Dad. I’m playing with the big boys now, Dad. I smile inside as my apprehension melts into excitement.

  Finally Do-hyun opens his mouth. “The boss isn’t expecting you,” he says in a taut voice. He squints at Younger Uncle.

  “Oh, I know,” Younger Uncle replies patting Do-hyun on the shoulder. “We wanted to surprise him. A family reunion…”

  Younger Uncle and I move in perfect rhythm. Four fists in sync deliver fast jabs to the pressure points.

  It’s all in the speed, force, and accuracy.

  Indeed.

  Do-hyun and Hak-kun drop like torn sky dancers.

  I’m stuck for a second with my fists up, stunned at the effectiveness of the technique.

  Younger Uncle gives me a half smile. “Let’s go,” he says.

  I nod. My hands relax and fall to my side.

  We turn left into a room that reminds me of Gyeongbokgung’s throne room at the peak of the Joseon dynasty. Rich reds, greens, yellows, and blues burst in traditional designs on the walls, pillars, and ceiling. Shimmery gold cloth chairs, like royal thrones. I picture my dad sitting in one. The tyrannical king of Seoul who thinks he killed the queen. But she’s not dead. I guess that makes me the angry prince hellbent on revenge.

  I scowl inside.

  I don’t want that kind of revenge. I don’t want to kill the king because I’m not a murderous maniac like him. I want out of the king’s bloody reign. I want reunification with the queen in the faraway land she’s fled to.

  We pass by the outdoor heated pool. The massage and facial rooms. He’s not there.

  We head to the sauna rooms. Forest room. Jade room. Hot stone room. He’s not in any of those.

  A biting shiver in my spine comes like on the night when my boys and I were kids and we dared each other to walk alone through a cemetery. The thick air sucks my shallow breath into an invisible graveyard.

  We’re deep in the guts of the spa now. Ice room. Flower room. No luck.

  Get to the salt room. I transform into a guard dog on high alert. I touch my brow, it’s slick.

  My body feels it—my father’s presence.

  “He’s here,” I say.

  Younger Uncle nods. Then he puts his hand on my shoulder. “You ok?” he asks.

  I lean forward and press my hand on my chest. Nod. Take deeper, slower breaths. Three exactly. Grip my knife.

  But then In-su and Chul-moo, black suits with red pocket squares, step out of the shadows.

  He had his men on you. Even at school.

  Even at the Han. Even here, even there. Everywhere? My clammy hand slips off the knife handle.

  Younger Uncle clasps his hands behind his body. He saunters up to them, head lifted, chest out. Then he lays his hand on his heart. “It’s been awhile,” he says, looking at each of them in turn.

  In-su draws his gun and holds it in front of his body. Chul-moo does the same with his.

  Younger Uncle chuckles. “So it’s like that?” He pauses, then adds, “After all we’ve been through?”

  I’m numb. I let Younger Uncle lead the show while I try not to cower in front of these men who’ve protected my dad and helped him take TSP to the highest of heights.

  He had his men keep an eye on me so Mom or Younger Uncle couldn’t get to me. They helped my dad keep me away from the truth…

  Younger Uncle’s talking.

  In-su and Chul-moo haven’t spoken yet.

  Then Younger Uncle examines his fingernails. “Anyway, we’re here to surprise my brother. A family—”

  A loud creak. The door of the salt room opens, interrupting Younger Uncle’s attack phrase. We all look up to see Dad in nothing but his tats and gold chain and medallion.

  “I thought I heard a familiar voice,” he says, looking straight at Younger Uncle. “It’s nice to see you, Man-sik.” He quick looks at me, then steps to the side. “Come in, come in,” he says waving at us.

  We enter the room.

  Before Dad closes the heavy wooden door he tells In-su and Chul-moo not to let anyone interrupt his “family time, no matter what.”

  I scoff inside.

  The room is temperature and stylistically cool. Its walls glow pink-orange from the Himalayan salt blocks. Dad sprawls out on a chaise. The three stars on his chest rise as he takes a big breath of the dry salt air. “This is my favorite room,” he says. He glances at his gun on the salt floor.

  Younger Uncle’s looking at it too. “You won’t need that,” he says. “We’re family, right?”

  Dad eyes are still on the gun, but now his jaw is clenched.

  “Besides,” Younger Uncle says, “I’ve got a friend out there who will email a certain letter to three Seoul police superintendents if I don’t call him by seven p.m. with the assurance that Rocky and I are alright.” He pauses to smile. “I took my time with it. The letter, that is. I had to make sure I got it right. Didn’t want to leave out any of TSP’s illegal activities or any of the names of the police on your payroll.” He taps his chi
n. “I wonder what would happen if my friend pressed send…”

  Tiny muscles on Dad’s flushed face twitch.

  “But there’s nothing to worry about, is there, Older Brother? No emails need to be sent to anyone, right? We’ll just have a little talk, and then Rocky and I will be on our way.” He throws a towel on Dad. It lands strategically. “We were close, but not that close,” he says, then laughs.

  Dad loosens up and laughs too.

  Younger Uncle sits in the chair next to Dad. He points to the third chair on the other side of Dad. “Sit,” he tells me with a smile.

  I do.

  Dad grins. Leans forward to slap his younger brother on the back. “It’s great to see you. How’ve you been?”

  Younger Uncle goes with it. “Good. Island life is peaceful now that I’ve learned to ignore the continuous reminders of living on the front line.”

  Dad nods.

  Awkward silence.

  Younger Uncle breaks it. “Look,” he says to my dad, “Rocky and I have some questions.”

  “Rocky AND you?” Dad asks in a sarcastic voice. He smirks as he laces his fingers behind his head. His tats pop on the flexed muscles of his arms and chest. “Questions? About what?” He holds up his finger. “Wait. Let me guess. You want back in TSP? And Rocky wants in. That’s it, isn’t it?” He wags his finger at me. “You’re a smart one, dragging your uncle all the way here to get your way. I told you we’ll see about all that after you finish university. Anyway you know your mother would say no.” He gives Younger Uncle a sly glance. “Although she might not say no to your younger uncle here.”

  Younger Uncle ignores Dad’s insinuation. “I’ll get right to it. Was Bo-young using meth?” he asks brushing some lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  “Why do you want to know?” Dad asks with a slight head tilt.

  Younger Uncle squares his leg over his knee and leans forward. “Because I think Rocky deserves to know the truth about his mother.”

  “Stop right there,” Dad says putting his palms up. “Rocky’s my son. I think I know what’s best for him.”

  That’s the funniest and saddest thing my dad’s ever said. My insides don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Both?

  “What a shame if that email goes out…” Younger Uncle shrugs.

  Dad huffs, then mumbles, “She was using.”

  My body stiffens.

  “Why?” Younger Uncle asks.

  Dad circles a shoulder. “You really want to know?” he asks, his tone biting.

  Younger Uncle nods.

  “Because of you!” Dad shouts.

  Younger Uncle draws back. “Me? What?”

  I applaud Younger Uncle’s theatrical skills in my head.

  Dad looks at me. “Did you know your younger uncle over here was having an affair with your mother?” There’s desperation in his voice. “Did you know that, Rocky?”

  I don’t respond.

  Dad sits back and looks at Younger Uncle. His eyebrows form a V. “What is this? What’s really going on?”

  “Tell us why Bo-young started using,” Younger Uncle demands.

  Dad’s face turns lava red. “Because she was weak,” he snarls.

  “No, she wasn’t!” I blurt, but then I seal my lips because I’m not supposed to say anything yet. That’s not part of our plan.

  Younger Uncle isn’t thrown off a bit. “Weak?” he asks. “You mean she couldn’t resist partying or something?”

  Dad snickers. “Bo-young certainly liked to party, but that wasn’t it. She never would’ve gotten into the stuff on her own. That was all me. She was in one of her lows, and I had some G.I. contacts slip her the crystal. I had a feeling she’d try it because she was drinking more anyway and talking about how her life was ‘nothing but getting through Dae-sung’s hell on earth.’ I’ll give her credit, though, because she loved the first crystal high, ‘the flash’ as she called it, but she didn’t want to keep using—see I had the G.I.s keep giving her the stuff. She asked me to get them to stop. Consider it done, I told her.” He smiles all wicked. “But, one night I brought some of it home. Maybe we can get high together, honey? I only watched her use, I never touched the stuff myself. TSP code, right? Anyway, the rest is history, I was her husband and dealer.” His face changes. “She deserved everything she got,” he mutters under his breath. “She…”

  But I’m done listening to him because I’m listening to the orders my head is shouting. Lunge! Choke him! I tell my head to shut up and stick to the plan. Dad has to believe we think he killed Mom—which he pretty much did, killed her from my life anyway—so that when I move out he won’t bother me ever again. He’ll get that I don’t want anything to do with him since he murdered my mom. Even a psycho killer can understand that. And respect it.

  I force myself to transform into a true thespian in an improv theater because I’m up. I follow Dad’s lead but know that my goal is to steer him to admit everything. “So you got her hooked,” I say with fake confusion in my voice and a perfect frown on my face. I’m betting that Dad’s arrogance won’t let him not keep going with the “truth” as he sees it.

  And I’m right.

  Dad keeps his eyes fixed on Younger Uncle when he says, “A woman like that—so beautiful, so many men wanting her—has to be put in her place now and then with a slap or a punch. But if she starts sneaking around, it takes more extreme measures to keep her in line. Especially when she’s sneaking off with your younger brother—”

  Younger Uncle interrupts. “That’s not true, you know—”

  Dad interrupts back. “And so I had to beat her lying, adulterous ass harder, and more often. I had to keep her strung out to keep her away from you. Revenge never felt so good as when I saw her crashing off the stuff…all alone…a complete mess.” He brandishes his fist. “How dare she cheat on me! How dare you try to steal her away from me!”

  He turns to me, and his eyes douse me in his hate. “A couple of times she tried to take you and leave me. I promised that if she ever tried to leave again—or even spoke about leaving—I’d kill her.” He looks away, his eyes soften for a second, glisten even, but then he rubs them and scowls. “And maybe her beloved Rocky, too.”

  My fingers wrap around my knife. I’m this close to pulling it out, I’m not acting anymore.

  Dad’s eyes don’t hesitate, they throw daggers at Younger Uncle. “It’s a good thing you decided to leave Seoul when you did,” Dad says. He smiles a creepy half smile. “She was so, so weak,” he says.

  I break. My knife’s out, and I’m standing over Dad. “She wasn’t weak! She wasn’t! She—”

  Dad jumps up and gets in my face. “Do it, Rocky,” he dares. “Come on! Let me see what you’re made of,” he roars.

  I don’t move. I stand there, clutching my knife next to my head, sweating like we’re in the hottest sauna room.

  My dad smiles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re weak. Just like your mother. Sit your ass down,” he commands.

  Younger Uncle’s voice is gentle as he goes off script. “It’s ok, Rocky, please put the knife away. Please sit down.”

  I do what he says.

  Dad lowers himself down too.

  “Listen, Dae-sung, we know she didn’t leave. We know you killed her. Why?” Younger Uncle asks, sticking to our rehearsed lines.

  Dad doesn’t respond. He clenches his forearms with his opposite hands and digs into his own flesh.

  Younger Uncle asks again.

  “I…I…” Dad begins but can’t finish. His curled upper lip quivers.

  Suddenly he pounces on Younger Uncle, fists flying. Before I have a chance to do anything, Younger Uncle gets Dad into a stranglehold. Dad writhes and slaps one palm on Younger Uncle’s arm and the other on the chair. Younger Uncle loosens his hold just enough that Dad can get some air but can’t do anything else.

  I’m poised over Dad again, this time my fists are up.

  Younger Uncle keeps one arm around Dad’s neck and motions for
me to sit with his free hand.

  I do.

  Then Younger Uncle chokes dad. “You calm?” he asks. He releases the pressure a little so Dad can answer.

  “Yes,” Dad says, frowning.

  Younger Uncle lets go.

  Dad clutches his neck, breathing hard.

  Younger Uncles asks again. “Why did you kill her?”

  Dad finishes catching his breath. “I kept my promise. She insisted she was leaving with Rocky, and that this time nothing would stop her.” Then he stares into space and touches his neck. “So I stopped her,” he says in a robotic voice. “There was terror in her eyes as I squeezed.” He holds his hands up, flips them to inspect the front and back. His lips curve up into a menacing smile. Then he fixes Younger Uncle in a stare that could freeze the Yellow Sea. “How did you know?”

  “You’re not the only one good at digging up dirt,” Younger Uncle says.

  My dad looks past Younger Uncle. “If only you two had stayed away from each other, then none of this would’ve happened,” he mumbles. He cranks his gaze back to Younger Uncle and yells, “Then she wouldn’t be dead!”

  Dad keeps talking. But I can’t hear him. All I hear is my mom’s voice.

  “I love you more than anything.”

  “Mom! Mom!”

  Ghost hands slide over my ears, mouth, and nose. Clamp down. My heart goes into overdrive, beating wildly. Another ghost squeezes my ribs with its invisible lead arms. I can’t breathe. Younger Uncle’s lips move on his worried face.

  Everything is far away. Everything gets fuzzy. Goes gray. Dark. Darker…

  30.

  On this cool, windy evening, the soles of my Oxfords smack all the cracks, not to mention all the splotches of gum and dead leaves. I keep tripping on sidewalk bumps. My heart thuds and spasms in an erratic rhythm. I cram my hands in my pockets and hunch over. I count the restaurants on this block, then lose count. I try the trees instead. One, two, three, four, four, four… Get stuck on four. My heart freaks out, my breath gets shallow. The sweat on my brow and in my pits broadcasts my fear.

  I tap, I trace, but the city I’ve walked my entire life has turned its back on me. And then it closes in, angry. The skyscrapers, the cars, the street lamps, the signs—they chase me. My feet lift higher, faster, and soon I’m not walking at all. My pumping arms and rhythmic breathing in hot spurts match my long strides.