The rumble of the hot water pipes in the building complemented the sounds of her husband’s snoring. He always snored when he had been drinking. At least she had been able to calm the girls. From the bedroll next to theirs, she heard an occasional whimper.
It took all her willpower not to touch her eye to check the swelling or rub her tender scalp, both consequences of his actions. Earlier, Pak had dragged his wife by her hair and slammed her against the wall. Right now, she lay perfectly still.
She smelled the alcohol on his breath, even with her back turned from him. She wasn’t concerned by the fragrance of another woman’s perfume; the more his needs were satisfied by another, the better for her. Just thinking of such physical contact with him repulsed her.
She wasn’t sure why he had come home so enraged, but she thought about what her mother had told her—those with a bad conscience have a difficult time fighting off demons. She could withstand the beatings, but she was concerned for her daughters’ feelings. They watched every time he beat her. It was impossible not to see in their small apartment.
She waited until she was sure that he would not awaken from his alcoholic stupor. When she was positive she would not disturb him, she rolled off the bedroll onto the floor. As she pushed herself up, she grimaced and realized her wrist must have been cracked when he attacked her. But she pushed through the pain and on toward her goal.
Apart from getting beaten, she looked forward to these nights when Pak came home drunk and passed out. They were the only times she dared to look through his belongings. It was her job; that and her daughters gave her reason to live. She had already withstood many years of beatings, when one day a woman approached her outside the market. It did not take her long to accept the woman’s offer to pay her to spy on her husband. The hope that one day these people would rescue her and her daughters and help them escape to the South sealed the deal.
She quickly and quietly rifled through his pants pockets and was disappointed to find nothing. She found a matchbook in one pocket of his suit jacket. She carefully opened it and found nothing except matches. It was probably from one of his nightclubs.
She jumped back when Pak snorted and turned over. She froze in place, wondering if she should continue her search or crawl back onto the bedroll.
His rhythmic breathing resumed, and she continued her search. In the front breast pocket of his jacket, she found a piece of paper, pulled it out, and unfolded it. She held it to the light coming through the hallway door and read: Aerosolization works perfectly. No new pregnancies. Work completed. Please advise.
She had no idea what it meant, but let the writing and the words burn into her memory so she could reproduce them exactly for her handler in the morning.