Miss Im’s leaving had Sonju thinking more and more about the women of The Hall. Sonju had depended on them, and they had stood by her. Soon, The Hall would close and they would scatter. She would be alone again like the time after Kungu’s death.
She had not visited his grave again since that cold December day almost ten years earlier. The thought of him in a box under the ground was too removed from her image of him alive. It disturbed her. Over the years, she came to conclude that being truthful to one’s conscience was the essence of being human and that Kungu had to do what he did. She had told herself many times that she must be at peace with it and she had been for the most part. Yet recently, the old ghost of his death returned with undefined unease tinged with whispered fear. She was becoming more impatient too as the time for the reunification with her daughter neared, and that didn’t make any sense at all.
Saturday, before leaving The Hall, Sonju told Lady Cho, “I will be going to the cottage tomorrow. It will be good to see you there.”
Lady Cho nodded.
Sonju quickened her steps, crossed the grounds of G-62, and passed by the gardener and his wife who were moving flowerpots around their front porch. They bowed and waved at her. Sonju waved back.
When she reached the cottage, the door swung open, and Lady Cho stepped out. Closing the door behind her, she said, “Let’s enjoy this beautiful weather. Let’s take a stroll.” Under the flawless September sky, they walked the grounds side by side.
Sonju said, “Even though I miss her daily, it was best that Miss Im married Roger. She can leave her past behind and lead a less stifled life in America.” And here she was, she thought, getting all impatient and nervous at the same time waiting and waiting some more to see her daughter.
Lady Cho nodded and said, “Roger is a good, dependable man.”
They walked on quietly, passing the scraggly blackberry bushes and patches of yellowing kusa grass that came to Sonju’s shoulders. Along the street side, long gone was the dizzying fragrance of the acacia flowers that used to dangle from the branches and the unrelenting shrill song of the cicadas. Everything that was once robust was working its way to an end.
They followed the property line, and before turning the corner in the direction of the cottage, Sonju said, “Have you noticed how dirty Seoul has become, or is it just my perception?” Sonju frowned. “Last Sunday, I went to a market along the Chonggechon stream. Ugh, the stench and refuse in the water. I felt sorry for the poor merchants and laborers working there, breathing those fumes. And,” her voice jumped an octave unintentionally, “that isn’t all. Downtown, I passed a young boy of maybe twelve or thirteen, hustling in English, asking every foreigner passing by ‘You wanna pretty gul, boy?’ The boy said it aloud with no hint of embarrassment and laughed if a foreigner ignored him. What happens to a boy like that?”
Sonju couldn’t stop talking. “Did I tell you what happened the time Yunghee and I went to a movie a few months ago? After the movie, we were walking toward the restaurant I used to go to with my friend Misu, you know, the famous one in the Chinese ghetto. The cobblestone back alley that led to it was saturated with urine. A drunk staggered toward us, swearing. We quickly veered away and came to a narrow, shabby dark street where we ran into a vagrant crumpled in a heap sleeping with scant fabric barely covering him. Young hoodlums laughed at us until we ran out to a large avenue.
“Then,” she swallowed. “All those photographs and articles in the newspaper. Ramshackle houses sliding down a bare hill, and those tin and cardboard houses under the Han River Bridge being swept away by the swollen river. This happens year after year. This city is such a harsh place for the poor.”
One year, she and Miss Im had packed a large boxful of bento boxes and took them under the bridge to hand out to those people. Every time the people opened their mouths to thank them, a sour stench rose from their empty stomachs. The next day, they were at the same spots just as hungry as before. Sonju and Miss Im both stopped going. They didn’t have to talk about not going. It was hopeless.
She halted her steps. “And I can’t do anything about it. It’s too much. It’s just too much.” A sudden sob rose from deep inside her. More and more sobs came stabbing her chest on the way out. When her sobbing tapered, she was depleted. She leaned on Lady Cho’ shoulder, Lady Cho gently patted her back. After her tears had dried, she looked up at the sky and saw a white cloud that drifted, carrying its filaments across the expanse of blue space.
When she returned home that afternoon, she wrote:
1962 September 23
My daughter,
I wish I were in Maari with you. I want to thank your grandparents. They were good to me until the day I left.
When I left Maari, you were soon to be three years old. I can’t wait to see you. It is hard for me for some reason to wait out the last four and a half years. I feel powerless about this separation more now than the past nine years. I wonder, too, how I am going to explain myself to you when the moment comes. I guess I start by admitting my many flaws. Some of my decisions made other people suffer, especially you.
I used to be certain about things, but things seem less obvious and less certain to me as I get older. Still, I try to have some clear ideas about myself and the world around me. Jinju, leaving you is my greatest sorrow. I beg you to forgive me for the years you had to grow up without a mother.
I love you.
Sonju re-read the letter, opened the bureau drawer, and placed it in the box. Next to it were nine boxes that held over five hundred and twenty letters she had written. She stared at the stack wondering if her daughter would ever forgive her.
Sonju was alone reading the newspaper in the back room when Yunghee came and sat next to her. She smiled a tentative smile and folded her hands before she said, “Lady Yu, the barber wants to marry me.”
“Do you want to marry him?”
“He is twenty-five, four years younger than I am. He is handsome and clever. Why does he want to marry me?”
“I can give you a long list of reasons why a man would want to marry you, but whatever decision you make, you are never alone.”
“I know.” Yunghee fidgeted, then a smile bloomed like a morning flower opening its petals. “His dream is to have his own barber shop. He said he will teach me to cut hair so we can work side by side.”
The following day, Yunghee told Sonju, “I asked Lady Cho to find my replacement. She told me she wasn’t going to look for one, so I decided to stay until the business closes next year even if I get married before that.”
On Sonju’s advice, Yunghee bought a small house south of the Han River before she married the barber. Her wedding was a small affair at G-62 with just the new couple, Lady Cho, Gija, the cook, Sonju, Assemblyman Kim and Professor Shin present. Yunghee, in her white Western wedding dress with lace trim much like Miss Im’s, beamed at her new husband while he, in a tight fitting shiny grey Western suit and with shiny hair, bowed to the guests.
After the wedding, Gija said, “Lady Yu, it’s Lady Cho, you, and me who aren’t paired. It’s a strange feeling to be left out.”
Sonju wondered what was in that wistful expression from this person who normally kept her emotions in check. She said, “But you said you’ll never marry. Are you changing your mind? It’s all right if you do. You’ll not lose face.”
Gija shook her head once. “I’m sticking with my original plan. Do you plan to marry?”
“I am waiting for my daughter.”
“What about Lady Cho?”
“I don’t know,” Sonju said and hooked her arm in Gija’s and was surprised that there was no resistance. “Today, I feel like sleeping at The Hall, just you and me.”
Shortly after her wedding, Yunghee told Sonju she discussed with Lady Cho about her husband’s desire to open a high-end barber shop near the National Assembly building. “Lady Cho told me Chairman Bae owns a building near the Assembly and she will ask him.”
Every day, after her husband’s barbershop opened, Yunghee repeated to anyone who would listen what her husband had told her—who came to the barbershop, what his clients said in praise of his skill, and how busy he was. After some time, instead of her usual cursory nodding, Gija hurried to the kitchen as soon as Yunghee smiled and opened her mouth. She went to another room if Yunghee followed her. After several days, Yunghee gave up.
Miss Im’s letters arrived about once a month now. In her latest letter, she wrote that she and Roger bought a house and she received her driver’s license. She missed the fall colors and the snow.
Four months into her marriage, Yunghee was often seen staring at the wall, pacing in circles, mumbling, and wringing her hands. She took to bursting out for no discernable reason. Then one day, Sonju saw Yunghee standing in a quiet corner in the courtyard with her head down. Sonju walked up to her. “Something has been bothering you.…”
Instantly, tears poured out from Yunghee’s eyes. She wiped the wetness with the back of her hand, and with the look of a defeated, discouraged child said, “My husband kept putting off teaching me how to cut hair. Now he says it’s better for the business if he hires younger, more beautiful women.” Her face crumpled. “Sometimes he doesn’t come home. I haven’t seen him for four days.”
Sonju held Yunghee’s wet hand. “Have you talked to Lady Cho? Maybe she can find out what’s going on.”
Two days later, after the clients had left, Lady Cho came to Sonju. “I need you at the back room.” She didn’t speak until they passed the long corridor and reached the back room. “I inquired about Yunghee’s husband. His business is booming, but he owes a great deal of money in unpaid rent and bills in addition to personal loans. He is indulging in gambling, women, and alcohol. He hasn’t come to work and has been in hiding to avoid the creditors.”
“When will you tell Yunghee?”
“I will talk to her alone. You can wait here until you hear her scream,” Lady Cho said. Shortly, Yunghee’s howl reached the back room. Sonju rushed to the living room. Gija and the cook had already come in from the kitchen and stood watching Yunghee cry while Lady Cho sat by her, holding her hand.
Yunghee, her face red and wet, her lips twitching, said aloud, “That son of a dog. All the money on girls and gambling instead of paying bills. I’m ruined. That idiot, that bastard.” She cried again, calling her husband more names until her voice grew hoarse. Her cry trailed into a trickle. Then she took a deep breath and started all over again.
Gija stood staring at Yunghee with her arms crossed and said, “This is not helping your situation. What are you going to do?” Yunghee shook her head and cried harder.
Sonju sat down, rested her hand on Yunghee’s arm. “Yunghee, Gija is right. I think you have to do something quickly before things get worse.”
Yunghee stopped crying, her eyes blinking, and with sudden keen concentration, asked, “What do you mean, get worse?”
Gija said, “Your husband’s creditors may take the things in the shop that you paid for.”
Lady Cho and the cook nodded.
Early the next morning, Yunghee and Gija and two hired men cleared out the contents of the shop and packed them into the storage room off the kitchen. Yunghee shut down the barbershop. She sold what she could at less than half of what she had paid and divorced her husband of four months.
For several days afterwards, Yunghee cursed the barber under her breath, sniveling and wiping her tears. Sonju knew, no matter how kind everyone had been, Yunghee was alone in her pain. She told Yunghee, “I don’t have any wise words to say that will make you feel better other than all of us have already survived our pasts and we have each other.”
When Yunghee’s whimpering and verbal reviling eased, Gija said, “Why don’t you rent out your house just as I have done and move back to The Hall? You can save some money.”
“But I have to move again when The Hall closes, which is soon.”
“You can move in with me.”
All heads turned to Gija at the same time. Life still had a way of surprising Sonju. Who would have thought, of all people, Gija would be the one to live with Yunghee?
Yunghee kept staring at Gija, her eyes wide, mouth half-open.
Lady Cho grinned. “This is the first time I have ever seen Yunghee lost for words.”
Yunghee moved back to The Hall, but nothing changed between her and Gija as far as Sonju could tell. Gija still shot back at Yunghee with sharp retorts.
Gija had said that she preferred the company of her books over men, and after seeing Yunghee’s marriage fall apart so quickly, she said, “I can handle a lot of things in life but I can’t handle betrayal by men. All that emotional turmoil. Who needs it?” Gija must have been wounded by a man or more than one man, Sonju thought. She said, “Not all men are like that.”
After that debacle, the women were glad when Yunghee announced, “Everyone, a letter from Miss Im. Come to the living room.”
1963 March 12
Dear all,
I’m sorry to learn about what you had to go through, Yunghee. If I were there, I would have gouged out his eyes for you.
I often think about what you said, Lady Yu, how much you had wanted to go to university and to accomplish something. I am lucky to live in America where one can go to college at any age. This year, I plan to take some courses and eventually I will have a career. My poor English worries me, but it will get better.
I still find Americans interesting. They are very polite people. They say “Thank you” for every little thing. They’re very good at standing in line too. I like this country so far.
I miss all of you. You are my family.
Im Nari
“Oh, the things I had wanted!” Sonju placed her hand over her heart. “This letter brightened my day.”
Lady Cho smiled. “Lady Yu, there is still time for you to do something for yourself.”