The Last Story of Mina Lee (Nancy Jooyoun Kim)

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AbouttheBook
MargotLee’smotherisignoringhercalls.Margotcannotunderstandwhy,untilshemakesasurprisetriphometoKoreatown,LA.Whatshefindstheremakesherrealisehowlittlesheknowsabouthermother,Mina.
Thirtyyearsearlier,MinaLeestepsoffaplanetotakeachanceonanewlifeinAmerica.StackingshelvesataKoreangrocerystore,thelastthingsheexpectsistofallinlove.ButthatmomentwillhaveshatteringconsequencesforMina,andeverythingsheleftbehindinSeoul.
Throughtheintimatelensofamotheranddaughterwhohavestruggledalltheirlivestounderstandeachother,MargotandMina’sstoryunravelstheunspokensecretsthatcandrivetwopeopleapart–orperhapsbindthemclosertogether.
AbouttheAuthor
?AndriaLo
BornandraisedinLosAngeles,NancyJooyounKimisagraduateofUCLAandtheUniversityofWashington,Seattle.HeressaysandshortfictionhaveappearedintheLosAngelesReviewofBooks,Guernica,NPR/PRI’sSelectedShorts,TheRumpus,ElectricLiterature,AsianAmericanWriters’Workshop’sTheMargins,TheOffingandelsewhere.
Contents
TitlePage
CopyrightPage
AbouttheBook
AbouttheAuthor
Dedication
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Fall1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Fall1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Fall1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Winter1987—1988
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Winter1988
Margot:Winter2014
Mina:Spring2014
Margot:Winter2014
Mina:Summer2014
Margot:Winter2014
Mina:Fall2014
Margot:Winter2014—2015
Acknowledgments
Formymother
Margot
Fall2014
MARGOT’SFINALCONVERSATIONWITHHERMOTHERhadseemedsouneventful,soordinary—anotherchoppybilingualplod.Half-understandable.
Businesswasslowagaintoday.EvenalltheKoreanbusinessesdowntownareclosing.
Whatdidyoueatfordinner?
EveryoneisgoingtoTargetnow,thebigstores.Itcoststhesameandit’scleaner.
MargotimaginedherbrainlikeafishingnetwiththeloosestofweavesasshewatchedtheKoreanwordsswimthrough.Shehadtriedtotightenthenetbefore,butlearninganotherlanguage,especiallyhermother’stongue,frustratedher.Whydidn’thermotherlearntospeakEnglish?
Butthatlastconversationwastwoweeksago.Andforthepastfewdays,Margothadonlyonequestiononhermind:Whydidn’thermotherpickupthephone?
SinceMargotandMiguelhadleftPortland,therainhadbeenrelentlessandwild.Throughthewindshieldwipersandfoggedglass,theyonlycaughtglimpsesoffastfoodandgas,motelsandbillboards,premiumoutletsand“familyfuncenters.”Margotgrippedthewheel,handscramping,dampwithfear.Therainhadstartedanhourago,rightaftertheyhadmadeapitstopinnorthPortlandtoseethefamousthirty-one-foot-tallPaulBunyansculpturewithhiscartoonishsmile,red-and-whitecheckeredshirtonhisbarrelchest,hishandsrestingontopofanuprightax.
EarlierthatmorninginSeattle,Margothadstuffedabackpackandaduffelwithaweek’sworthofclothes,pickedupMiguelfromhisapartmentwithtwolargesuitcasesandthreehouseplants,andmergedontothefreeway,drivingMigueldownforhisbigmovetoLosAngeles.They’dstopinDalyCitytospendthenightatMiguel’sfamily’shouse,whichwouldtakeabouttenhourstogetto.
Atthestartofthedrive,Miguelhadbeenlively,singingalongto“Don’tStopBelievin’”andjokingaboutallthemenhewouldmeetinLA.Butnow,almostfourhoursintotheroadtrip,Miguelwassilentwithhisforeheadinhispalm,takingdeepbreathsasiftryinghardnottothinkaboutanythingatall.
“Everythingokay?”Margotasked.“I’mjustthinkingaboutmyparents.”
“Whataboutyourparents?”Sheloweredherfootonthegas.
“Lyingtothem,”hesaid.“Aboutwhyyou’rereallymovingdowntoLA?”Miguelhadtakenajobofferatanaccountingfirminalocationmoreconducivetohisdreamsofworkingintheater.Forthelasttwoyears,theyhadworkedtogetheratanonprofitforpeoplewithdisabilities.Shewasanadministrativeassistant;hecrunchednumbersinFinance.Shewouldmisshim,butshewashappyforhim,too.“Thetheaterclasses?Theplaysthatyouwrite?TheGrindraccount?”
“Aboutitall.”
“Doyoueverthinkabouttellingthem?”
“Allthetime.”Hesighed.“Butit’seasierthisway.”
“Doyouthinktheyknow?”
“Ofcoursetheydo.But…”Hebrushedhishandthroughhishair.“Sometimes,agreeingtothesamelieiswhatmakesafamilyfamily,Margot.”
“Ha.Thenwhatdoyoucallpeoplewhoagreetothesametruth?”
“Well,Idon’tknowanyofthesepeoplepersonally,but—scientists?”
Shelaughed,havingexpectedhimtosayfriends.Graspingthewheel,shecaughtthesignforSalem.Herhandswerestiff.
“Doyouneedtousethebathroom?”sheasked.
“I’mokay.We’regonnastopinEugene,right?”
“Yeah,shouldbeanotherhourorso.”
“I’mkindahungry.”Rustlinginhispackonthefloorofthebackseat,hefoundanapple,whichherubbedcleanwiththeedgeofhisshirt.“Wantabite?”
“Notnow,thanks.”
Histeethcrunchedintotheflesh,thescentcrackingthroughtheodorofwetfloormatsandwarmvents.
Margotwasstruckbytheimageofhermother’ssereneface—thedowncasteyesabovethehighcheekbones,therelaxedmouth—asshepeeledanapplewithaparingknife,conjuringacontinuousribbonofskin.Theresultingspiralheldtheshapeofitsformerlife.Asachild,Margotwoulddelicatelyholdthispeellikeasmallanimalinthepalmofherhand,thisproofthathermothercouldbeakindofmagician,anartistwhotoldanoriginstorythroughscraps—thisistheskinofafruit,thisisitssmell,thisisitscolor
“Ihopetheweatherclearsupsoon,”Miguelsaid,interruptinghermemory.“Itgetsprettynarrowandwindyforawhile.There’sascarypointrightatthetopofCaliforniawheretheroadisjustzigzaggingwhileyou’relookingdowncliffs.It’slikeatesttoseeifyoucanstayontheroad.”
“Oh,God,”Margotsaid.“Let’snottalkaboutitanymore.”
Assherefocusedontherain-slickedroad,theblurredlights,theyellowandwhitelineslikeyarnunspooling,Margotthoughtabouthermotherwhohateddrivingonthefreeway,hermotherwhonolongeransweredthephone.Wherewashermother?
Thewindshieldwiperssqueaked,clearingsheetsofrain.
“Whataboutyou?”Miguelasked.“Lookingforwardtoseeingyourmom?”
Margot’sstomachdropped.“Actually,I’vebeentryingtocallherforthepastfewdaystoletherknow,toletherknowthatwewouldbecomingdown.”Clenchingthewheel,shesighed.“Ididn’treallywanttotellherbecauseIwantedthistobeafuntrip,butthenIfeltbad,so…”
“Iseverythingokay?”
“Shehasn’tbeenansweringthephone.”
“Hmm.”Heshiftedinhisseat.“Maybeherphonebatterydied?”
“It’salandline.Bothlandlines—atworkandathome.”
“Maybeshe’sonvacation?”
“Shenevergoesonvacation.”Thewindshieldfogged,revealingsmudgesandstreaks,pastattemptstowipeitclean.Shecrankeduptheairinside.
“Hasn’tsheeverwantedtogosomewhere?”
“YosemiteandtheGrandCanyon.Idon’tknowwhy,butshe’salwayswantedtogothere.”
“It’sabigol’crackintheground,Margot.Whywouldn’tshewanttoseeit?It’sGod’scrack.”
“It’ssomekindofKoreanimmigrantriteofpassage.Nationalparks,reasonstowearhatsandkhaki,stufflikethat.It’slikeAmericaAmerica.”
“Ibetshe’sokay,”Miguelsaid.“Whendidyouseeherlast?”
“LastChristmas,”shesaid.
“Maybeshe’sjustbeenbusierthanusual.We’llbetheresoon.”
“You’reprobablyright.I’llcallheragainwhenwestop.”
Aheavinessexpandedinsideherchest.Shefidgetedwiththeradiodialbutcaughtonlystaticwithanoccasionalblipofacommercialorradioannouncer’svoice.
Hermotherwasfine.Theywouldallbefine.
WithMiguelinLA,she’dhavemorereasonstovisitnow.
Theroadlaybeforethemlikethepeelofafruit.Thewindshieldwipershackedawaywaterfallingfromthesky.
InRedding,California,shroudedbymountainsanddensenationalforests,MargotandMiguelstoppedatthefirstplacetheycouldfind—agreasyspoonwithredvinylbooths,ajukebox,awaitressinwhiteuniform.Thehostess,ablondponytailedcollegestudent,ledthemtoatableandhandedthemplasticmenus.Anoldmaninatruckerhatsatatthecounterbyhimself.Inaneighboringbooth,twogirlscoloredpaperplacematswhiletheirparentsobserved.
BeingfromLA,inparticularKoreatown,whereKoreanfoodandMexicanjointshadbeenthenorm,Margotalwaysthoughtoftheclassicdineras“charming”and“novel,”alocationofunspokenheroismoutofamovieorashortstoryaboutdecent,hardworkingwhiteAmericanstryingtocatchabreak.MargotrememberedwhenshehadmovedtoSeattleeightyearsagoandmadeherfirstwhitefriends—peoplewhoseemedtonavigatetheiridentities,theirskintones,theirappearancessoeasily,insuchaninvisibleway,asiftheworldhadbeencreatedforthem,which,inasense,ithad.Manyofthem—withtheirblueeyesandtallnoses—appearedintrinsicallyattractivebecauseevenwhitepeoplewhoweren’tsupermodelswereatleastwhite.
Shedidn’twanttothinkthatwaysince,theoretically,itmadenosense.Beautyisaconstruct,buttheoryisnottherealitywelive,shethought.Theorydidn’tliveinthebones.Theorydidn’terasetheyearsofself-scrutinyinamirrorandnotseeinganyoneatall,notaprotagonistorabeauty,onlyatelevisionsidekick,aspeechlesscreature,whoatbestwas“exotic,”desirablebutsimpleandforeign.Growingup,shehadoftenwondered,IfonlyIhadbiggereyesorbrownhairinsteadofblack.Ifonly…
Thefoodarrived,interruptingherthoughts.MargotandMigueldevouredtheirmeals—acheeseburgerandfries,atunameltonrye,andtomatosoup—likeanimals.Margottriedtoslowdown,buteverythingtastedtoogood,perfect,American.Allshecouldhearwasmutualchewing,sips,andgulps—anorchestraoffulfillment.Shewantedtosithereforever,forgetaboutherproblems,LA,hermother.
“Weshouldhittheroad,no?”Miguelasked.“Wannaswitch?”
Theypaidthebillandwentoutside,wherecloudshadclearedoutforaneveningskythatpromisedstars.Themoonglowedsilverywhitelikeadoor’semptyfisheye.Margotregrettednotpackingawintercoat,onlyawindbreakerandafewsweatersforthewarmerweatherinLA.
AboutfiveinchestallerthanMargot,Migueladjustedthemirrors,thentheseattogivehislegsmoreroom.Thetopofhispomadedhairbrushedupagainstthefabricoftheroof.
Hemergedontothefreeway,drivinghardandfast.Whistlingaroundslow-movingcars,healwayssignaled,nevercuttinganyoneoff.Margothadneverimaginedhowquickandnimblehercarcouldbe,howsuchconfidenceandfearlessnesscouldbothimpressandterrifyher.Shehadbecomesousedtogoingatherown,orhermother’s,speed.
Hermotherneverlikedtheideaoftravelinganywherefar.Sherarelyspokeofthepast,butshehadoncetoldMargotthatattheageoffour,shehadfledwithherfamilyfromthenorthduringtheKoreanWar.Somehow,shehadbeenseparatedfromherparentspermanentlyinthatbloodytime.MovementforhermotherwasessentiallyanexperienceoflossthatMargot,American-born,couldneverimagine.AndyetMargotherselfhadinheritedthesameanxietyaboutdrivingfast,particularlyonfreeways.Shethoughttoomuchabouttheexperienceofspeeditself,itsdanger,ratherthangettingsomewhereatlast.
Hittingflatstraighthighwaywithouttrafficthroughfarmsandfields,Margotuntiedherponytail.Shecouldfeelherselfrelax,hershouldersandgriploosening.Thesky—aninkyombréofblueandblack—stretchedwidetorevealafieldofstars,twinklingatthemfromvastdistances.
Once,twentyyearsagowhenMargotwassix,hermotherhadpackeduptheirOldsmobileforaweekendtriptoVegas—theonlyroadtripshehadevertakenwithhermother,whonevertookmorethanadayoffwork.Onthewaythere,shehaddrivenbelowthespeedlimitintheslowlanetheentiretime,stretchingwhatshould’vebeenafour-hourtripintoanentireday.Carsandtruckszoomedby,honking.Throughopenwindows,adrybreezecarriedanodorofpetroleum,mesquite,andsage.DustpowderedMargot’sfaceandarmsassheslumpedlowinherseat.
“Wherearewegoing?”Margothadasked.
“Somewhereveryspecial,”hermothersaid.
“Willtherebeicecream?”
Herbrowneyes,hardascabochonstheentiredrive,softenedintherearviewmirror.“Yes.”
DrivingdowntheStrip,Margothadmarveledattheseductivelights,awonderlandofdistractionandpleasure.Heretheycouldhaveanything—icecream,games,stuffedanimals,cheeseburgersforbreakfast,wallsmadefromhardcandythattheycouldlick.ButinsteadtheyspentmostoftheironefulldayinashabbymoteloutsideofVegas,waitingforwhat—orforwhom—Margotneverknew.
Afterhoursofwaiting,theyleftthenextmorning.Onthedriveback,hermotherhadseemedsoutterlydeflatedthatMargotdidn’thavethecouragetoaskwhytheyhaddrivensofar.Shealwaysassumedthathermotherdidn’twanttotalkaboutthethingsthathurther.ButmaybeMargotwaswrongaboutthat.Maybenowasanadult,shewasgrowingintoawomanwhocouldunderstandandsupporthermother,despitethedifferentlanguagestheyknew.
AlighteverynowandthenwinkedfromdistantpointsintheblackskyandfieldsaroundMargotandMiguel.Drivingwiththeroadilluminatedbythestretchoftheirheadlightsmadeherfeelasifshewasonarocketship,blastingintounknowndepths,aninfinitesprayofstarsandplanets,tinygalaxiesinthevoid.
Sheclosedhereyes.Whydidn’thermotherpickupthephone?
THENEXTMORNINGAFTERSPENDINGTHENIGHTATMiguel’sparents’house,theywereonInterstate5,listeningtoastoryonthelocalNPRstationaboutthedevastationofthedrought.Sheneverknewhowmuchshelovedthesun—LosAngeles’sinterminablelight—untilshehadmovedtoSeattlewherethecoldandrainstretchedforgraydaysonend.Growingup,shehadoftenfoundthelight-filledskyoppressiveinitsceaselessness,thedoldrumsofwearingshortsalmosteveryday.Thatheat,thoseclothescouldbegloriousonadayoff,butMargotandhermother,whoworkedlonghoursatherstoresixdaysaweek,neverhadanytimeforvacation.Butnowasshecontemplatedthegoldennessofthesun-scorchedearthagainstabackdropofcloudlessbluesky,shecouldappreciatethewarmthandlightasifshehadescapedaprison.
HourslaterasMargotmergedontothe101South,thesunbeganitslongdescent,transformingtheskyintoawashofmutedbluethatblendedintobrightstreaksofhotpink,theglowoftangerineinthewest.Aftercrawlingalongforthirtyminuteswithotherdrivers,possessingthatquintessentialLA—boredandspirituallydeceased—lookintheeyes,MargotandMiguelexitedatNormandieAvenueanddrovedownthebustlingstreetsofherneighborhood,Koreatown—clustersofsignsinKorean,shoppingplazas,parentsholdingbagsofgroceriesandthehandsofchildren,theelderlyinsunhatshunchedoverandhobblingacrossstreets,teenagerswithbaggypantsandbackpacks.
“Idon’tknowifI’veeverbeentoKoreatownbefore,”Miguelsaid,staringoutthewindow.
“HaveyouspentmuchtimeinLA?You’vebeenafewtimes,right?”
“Yeah,I’vedonethetouristystuff.SantaMonica,Venice,BeverlyHills,downtown.”
“There’snotalotofreasontobeinKoreatown,Iguess,unlessyou’reintothefood.It’schangingnow,though.”Margotexplainedhowinrecentyears,developerswerecarvingplaygroundsforthefashionableandmoneyed,buildingcondos,hotels,andrestaurantsintheneighborhood.“It’ssostrangetome,”shecontinued.“Whywouldanyonewanttocomehere?”
“It’sjustdifferentforpeople,that’sall,”Miguelsaid.“Peoplewanttogoplacesthataredifferent.It’sslumming,whatrichpeopledoforshitsandgiggles.”
Margotshookherhead.“Forme,beingdifferentwasn’tagoodthing.AllIwantedgrowingupwaseverythingontelevision—dishwashersandwindowsthatshutproperlyandayard.”
“Youdidn’thaveayard?Evenpoorpeoplehaveyards,Margot.With,youknow,likeclotheslinesandroostersandlimpingdogs…”Hesmiled,andMargotlaughed.
“Welivedinanapartment,thesameonemymomlivesinnow,”shesaid.“Weneverhadahouse.”
Theypulleduptothefrontofthebuildingthatsheandhermotherhadlivedinforaslongasshecouldremember—anondescript,graystuccothree-storycomplex.Thewindowsonthebottomfloorhadsecuritybarsoverthem.Thelargeagavesplantedoutfrontresembledtiredsentinelsthatbadlyneededadayoff.Margotandhermotherlivedonthemiddlefloorinatwo-bedroomunitwithasmallnorth-facingbalconythatlookedpartiallyoutontoanother,almost-identicalbuildingandbackalley.
“Let’ssithereforabit?”sheasked.Theoldembarrassmentrosefromthepitofherstomach,theshameshefeltwhenshebroughtclassmateshomefromschooltoworkongroupprojects.Margotandhermotherneverentertainedorinvitedanyoneinsideforfun.Nomatterhowcleanhermothertriedtokeepthings,thespacealwaysseemedshabbyanddisorganized—aclosetforstorageandsleepingandfightingratherthanahome.Butwhatelsecouldhermotherafford?
Itwaseasytoseenowhowaplacelikethis,sodifferentfromherSeattleneighborhoodofgreentreesandcleanskyandopenwindowswithoutbars,couldmakeherfeelembarrassmentandshameaboutherhome.NotthatlifewaslessconfusinginSeattle,butitwasmuchlessinherfaceallthetime—thecrowdofemotions,thestruggletoputfoodonthetable,thefearofbeingfolloweddownthestreetatnight,kidnappedorstabbed.Alwayslookingbehindher.Maybethiswaswhyshecouldn’tleavethepastbehind—everythingaboutherlifehadtrainedhertolookback.Byneverlookingforward,shewasalwaystripping,fallingoverthings.
Migueltouchedherarm.“Doyouwanttocallyourmomagain?Doesshehaveacellphone?”
Margottookadeepbreathandunbuckledherseatbelt.“Shehasonethatsheusesforemergencies,butit’sneveron.It’saflipphone,andshedoesn’tknowhowtocheckvoicemail.”
“Sacrilège,”hesaidinabadFrenchaccent.
“She’stechnologicallyintheStoneAge,”Margotwenton.“Shecan’treallyreadEnglisheither,andhereyesarekindofbad.MyKoreanisn’tgoodenoughtohelpher.Italwaysendsinafight.”
Howmanyhourshadshespent,wordsstumblinglikestonesoutofhermouth,tryingtoexplainsomethinginKoreantohermother?Autilitiesbill.Howtoworktheremotecontrol.Acarinsurancepolicy.Andinthosehours,Margotwouldalwaysslip,somehowyellingathermother,ashermotherhadoftendonetoherasachildwhenshehadmisbehavedbyoversleeping,bymissingchurch,evenbyfallingillandneedingtogotothehospital.
Hermotherhadoncescreamed,“HowamIgoingtopayforthis?Whydon’tyoutakebettercareofyourself?”Hermotherdidn’thavetimeforempathy.Shealwayshadtokeepmoving.Ifshestopped,shemightdrown.
“Wouldyoumindwaitinginthecar?”Margotasked.Thebrokensecuritygateshrieked,thenslammedbehindher.Holdingherbreath,sheclimbedthedark,dankstaircase,whichsmelledofwetsocksandoldpaintfumes,tothesecondfloor,wheresheknockedontheapartmentdoor.Thefisheyewasemptyanddark.
Thiswasnolongerherhome.Yetwithamemorythatlivednotinherheadbutinherhands,sheturnedthekeyforthedeadbolt,whichwasalreadyunlocked,andthenthedoorknob.Shehadspentmostofherlife,herchildhood,dreadingtheinsideofthatapartment,notoutoffearbutoutofhatredandspite.Hatredforhermother.Hatredforthemoneytheydidn’thave.Hatredforherfather,missing,gone,acoward.Hatredforhermother’saccent.Hatredforthefurniture,stained,fallingapart.Hatredforherself,herlife.Shehateditall.Shewantedthisworldtodisappear,toburnitalldown.
Assheopenedthedoor,adarkodorofdecayedfruit,putridandsharp,swelledaroundherheadlikeatidalwave.Acideruptedfromhermouthontothearmthatshieldedherface.Sheflippedonthelight.TherewasabrokenceramicsculptureoftheVirginMaryonthefloor,tourbrochuresontheircoffeetable,andinthisintimatechaos,hermotherfacedownonthecarpetwithherrightarmextended,theleftonebyherside,herfeetinsheernudesocks.
Later,Margotwouldrememberthescreamsandwouldrealizethattheywerecomingfromher.
Shefelltoherknees.Thehallway’samberglowwassoftlikefeathers.Facetingling,shelayherforeheadonthecarpetwheretheheadofatinynailpressedagainstherskin.Miguel’shandsabruptlygrippedhershouldersfrombehind,easinghertoherfeet.Theywobbled,weak,downthestairsintotheopenair,thestreet.
Asthesundisappearedbelowthehorizon,theskybecamethelongestbruise—purpleandblue.Thecruellightleftitsmark.
Sherestedontheunevencurb,headinherarmsfoldedonherknees,Miguelnexttoher.Hiccupingthroughtears,shestruggledtobreathe.
Maybesheshouldhavecheckedhermother’spulse,maybesheshouldn’thavecalledthepolice.Whatifhermotherwasonlyhurtbadly,ordrunk?No,sheneverdrankandapersonthatwashurtwouldnotlieonthefloorfacedownlikethat.Andshecouldn’tbearthethoughtofbeingnearthatsmell,thatbody,thefirsttimeshehadseenhermotherinalmostayear.
Thatwasherumma.Thatwasherhead.Thosewereherfeet.
Sirensblaredfromadistance,gettinglouderastheyarrived.ShedirectedtwopoliceofficersandanEMTtohermother’sapartment.Anothertwoofficersaskedherquestions.Shewasappalledathowlittleshecouldanswer.Butshedidtellthemmiscellaneousthingsabouthermother—thatsheworkedalldayatthisstoreandthatshewenttochurch
AwiryKoreanmaninhissixties,perhapsthelandlordorevenajanitor,spoketotheofficersforabouttenminutes.Afterward,hestoodonthesidewalk,smokingwithafewcasualobserverswhohademergedoutofthesurroundingbuildings,curiousaboutthelightsandthenoise.
Theytookherbodyawayinablackbagonastretcher.
HernamewasMina.MinaLee.
Yes,thatwashermother.
Mina
Summer1987
MINASTEPPEDOFFTHEPLANEINTOAFLASHOFHEAT,thinkingshehadmadeagravemistake.Butitwastoolate.Theworldopeneduplikeahotmouthdevouringher.Yethadn’titbeenthatwayherwholelifealready?Sheremindedherselfthatthisairport,LAX,wasactuallyeasier,muchmoreorganizedthanSeoul,oranyothergreatcity,muchsafereventhanherownchildhood.
Shefoughtbackthememoryofthescreaming,stampedingcrowdinwhichshehadbeenseparatedfromherparentswhilefleeingthenorthduringthewar.Herfour-year-oldhandsgropingtograbthem.Therushofbodies.Themomentshelostsightofhermotherandfather.Surroundedbythedistress,thepainetchedintostrangers.Thedeadalongtheroad,theelderlywhohadfallen,andthoseshuddering,hungrypeoplewhodidnothaveanythinglefttoprotect.
Andintheairportnow,herheartthrobbedasshewadedthroughthecrowdtogetout.Shewasdoingthisagain,andagainshewasdoingitalone.
Asteadystreamofpeoplejostledinthesamedirection—friendsandfamilies,smiling,reunited,businessmeningrayandnavysuitstravelingbythemselves.Shewasinanothercountry,foreign,alone.Thebreathrushedinandoutofherlungs.Herunderarmswereclammyandcold.Whatifshefaintednowbeforeshecouldevenmakeitoutthedoor?
Onpaper,shewasonvacation,visitingafriendfromwork.ShehadalwayswantedtovisitAmerica.Shewouldbehereforamonthtoseethesights—Disneyland,thebeaches,Yosemite.Onpaper,shewouldrelax,enjoyherself,andreturntoherlifeinSeoul,herjobasadesignerofwomen’scasualclothes.
Thepapersdidnotsaythatshewasgoingtofindajobhere,thatshewasgoingtostartalife,thatshehopedtofindanemployertosponsorher,andifshecouldnotdothat,shewouldstayanyway—invisible,unofficial,undocumented.Thepapersdidnotsaythatshehadnothingtoreturnto,nothingthatshewantedorcouldlivewithanylonger.Thepapersdidnotsaythatshedidnotknowhowtositstillanymore,thatshedidnotknowhowtostayinherapartmentbyherself,thatshecouldnotbearthegnawingfamiliarityofthathauntedplace,thoseruinedstreets,thatruinedhome.Thepapersdidnotsaythateverythinginhersuitcaseswasnowallthatshehad.Everysingleoneofherbelongingshadbeenstuffedcompactlyinsideofthem.Sellingandgivingawaymostofherlifehadbeenanactofself-immolation,whittlingherselfdownenoughtostayaliveuntilGodtookherhome,whereverthatmeant.
Awaveofreliefwashedoverherasshesteppedoutsideoftheairportintotheblastofhotairandsunshine.Afterlooseningthehand-dyedsilkscarf,sienna-and-ocher-colored,aroundherneck,shereachedinsideherpurseforanapkintowipeherforehead.
Shehadalreadysecuredaplacetostay—asmallbedroominahouseownedbyanahjummawholivedbyherselfinKoreatown.HerfriendMrs.Shin,aformercoworkerinSeoul,hadrecommendedtheplaceaftershe,herhusband,andtwochildrenhadimmigratedandstayedthereforafewmonthsthemselvesthreeyearsprior.
Ontheedgeofthesidewalk,Minaraisedherhand,hailingacab.Thedriver,atallSikhman,helpedherwithherluggage,heavinghertwolargesuitcasesintothetrunk.SherealizedthatshehadneverseenapersonwhowasSikhbefore.Sweatstreameddownherfaceandneckinsidethesauna-likecardespitethewindowsbeingopen.Shereachedforward,showinghimtheaddressshehadwritteninEnglishonaslipoflinedpaper.Theshakinessoftheletters,theseismographicscriptrevealedtoherhownervousshehadbeenwritingdownthataddress,asifsigningacontractfortherestofherlife.
“Firsttime?”heasked,hiseyessmilingintherearviewmirror.Hisdarkturbanskimmedtheroofofthecar.
“Ex-cuseme?”
“Firsttime?”
“Oh.”ShescouredhermindforEnglishwordslikeadresserwithtoomanydrawers.
“English?”
“No.”Sheshookherhead.
“Chinese?”
“Korea.”
Thedriveracceleratedontothefreeway,weavinginandoutofabrashsymphonyoftraffic.Ahornsectionofbigrigs.Brakesscreeching.Achorusofroadrage.Synthesizedpopmusic,alllegwarmersandbighair,blastedfromanopenwindow,whilerecordsscratchedinto“TheBatterram”onelaneover.Amanshouted,“Gofuckyourself,”likecymbalscrashing.
Dampclothesclungtoherbody.Shewipedherface,tryingnottoruinhermakeup,andgrippedthedoorhandle.
AstheypassedpedestriansinthestreetsofLA,MinawonderedwheretheKoreanswere.Occasionally,anotherAsianfaceappearedinaneighboringcar.Buthereinthiscacophonousworldofconcrete,metal,andglass,inthissmellofgasolineandrubber,shecouldnotseeherself.Shefeltdisembodiedinthisnewplace,whereshedidnotknowthelanguage,wherethesigns,thebillboardsallblaredsomethinginEnglish,gibberish.
Sherummagedinsideherpurseforthephotographthatshehadalwayskeptwithher,oneofher,herhusbandanddaughter,bothnowdead.Handsshaking,sherubbedtheedgesofhisfacewithherthumbandthenthefaceofherdaughter,softandsereneafteradayofhikinginthewoods.Shewantedtokissthephotograph.Shethoughtofthelasttimeshehadseenherdaughter,andhowshehadscoldedher,fornothing,somethingsostupid—droppingadishandchippingitontheground.
Hadsheknownthatwouldbetheirfinalmomenttogether,wouldshehaveyelled?No,shewould’veheldher.Shewould’vekissedher.Shewould’veconfessedthatshewasterrifiedofeverythingherdaughterdid,thingsbreaking,objectsindisarray,becauseshecouldnotaffordtoloseanotherthingthatshelovedinherlife.Shedidn’thavethestrengthtorebuildherself.
Thenithappened.Shelosteverythingagain.
“Hereweare.”
Shehadbeencrying.Intherearviewmirror,thedriverfrowned,furrowinghisbrow.
Hecarriedhersuitcasesuptheconcretedriveway,whichslopedgentlytowardtheentranceofthehome.Thehouseappearedbroken,too,withcracksalongthebeigestucco,windowsheldtogetherwithtape.Orangeandlemontreesandweedsgrewwildly.Shinglespeeledawayfromtherooforlayaskew.Sheplacedthephotographinherpurseandwipedthetearsawayfromherface,carefully,beforeknockingonthedoor.
Thedriverstoodbesideher,waitingtomakesuresomeoneanswered.Shefeltself-consciousstandingwiththisman,notknowingexactlyhowtothankhim,becausehissilence,hiswordlessness,calmedhernerves.Sheknockedagain.Thedooropenedtorevealawomaninherfiftieswithashortbrownbob,grayattheroots.ShebowedherheadandgreetedMinainKorean.
“Mrs.Lee?”
“Yes.”Minaturnedtothedriver.“Thankyou.How…much?”
“Oh,that’sokay.Nexttime.”Hehandedherabusinesscard.“Youcanpaymenexttime.”
“No,no.”Shereachedintoherpurse.
Heloweredthebagsinsidethehouseandwalkedaway,butatthebottomofthedrivewayhestoppedandsaid,“Goodluck.You’regoingtobeokay.”
Shewavedinresponse,speechless.
“Here,letmetakeyourbags,”thewomansaid.“Youmustbetired.”
“No,I’vegotit.”
Theyeachtookoneoftheheavysuitcasesdeeperinsidethehome,darkandcoollikeacave.Asinglefanrotatedinthecorner,kickingupthecurtainswithitsdraft.Thehousehaddirtywalls,noartworkexceptsomeportraitsofJesusandaceramicsculptureofMary.
“Letmeshowyouyourroom.”
MINALAYINHERTWIN-SIZEBED,EAGERTOBEDOINGsomething—shoppingforfood,findingwork,callingMrs.Shin—anything.Butshedidn’thaveatelephoneinherroomyet.AndthesprawlingmapofLosAngelesthatshehadbrought,gearedtowardtourists,confusedher—majorattractions,suchastheHollywoodWalkofFame,BeverlyHills,andDisneyland,strungtogetherbymilesandmilesoffreeway.Shestaredatthecottagecheeseceiling,immobilizedbythedreadofhavingtodecideonwhattodonext.Thereseemedtobetoomuchinformationtolearn.
Sheclosedhereyes,takingdeepbreaths.Shedidn’twanttopanic,tofeelanything.Shewastiredoffeeling.
SheaskedGodtohelpher,totellherwhattodo.
Shehadalreadysoldallherbelongings,quitherjobinSeoul.Withoutherhusbandanddaughter,therewasnothingleftforherthereinthatcountry,onthosestreets,innarrowalleywaysechoingtheirfootsteps.Whatelsecouldshedonowbutsurrendertoherfate,tothemultitudeofdecisionsthatbroughtherrighthereinthisroomalonewiththewindowsopen,feelingdampfromherownsweatinastranger’scleansheets,staringatastranger’sceiling?
Knucklestappedonherbedroomdoor.
“Yes?”sheaskedinKorean,sittingup,carefulnottocrushthemapbyherside.
“Hello.”Anunfamiliarwoman’svoice,huskyyetclear.Minasmoothedherhairdownwithherhandsandopenedthedoor,whereawoman,perhapsafewyearsolderthanher,withalongface,curlyhair,andhighcheekbones,smiledgenerously.
“Ilivenextdoor.”Shepointeddownthehall.“Youjustcametoday?”
“Yes.”
“Youmustbetired.”
“Yes,very.”
“I’mcookingdinner.Doyouwanttojoinme?”
“Oh,no.”Herstomachgrowled.“That’sokay.”
“Pleasejoinme.Ihavesomericeandsoup.”
Mina’sheadthrobbedbetweenherbrowsandonthesidesofherskull.Shewantedtojumpbackintobed,butsheknewthatthefoodwouldhelpher,andshehadnothingofherowntoeat.Shedidn’tknowhowtogettothegrocerystoreeither.
“Ihaveplentytoshare,”thewomansaid.
Minafollowedthewomantothegalleykitchenwhereinasmalldiningnook,shehadsetoutbanchan—kimchiandseasonedspinachandsoybeansprouts—aswellastwosetsofpapernapkins,chopsticks,andspoons.Staringattheobjectsneatlyarranged,Minarealizedhowlittleshepossessed,andhowvulnerable,howsmallthatmadeherfeel.She’dhavetobuyallthosethings—utensils,bowls,atleastonepotandpan.
“Pleasehaveaseat.”
Slidingherselfontothediningnookbench,shecouldseehowthekitchenhadn’tbeenrenovatedorrepairedinyears.Thegreasywallpaper,apatternoftinyperiwinkleflowers,peeledoffthewalls.Severalofthecabinetdoorsdidn’tclosecompletely,orhungaskew,asifontheedgeoffalling.
Thewomansaid,“It’sveryhot,”whileplacingtwobowlsofriceandkimchijjigaewithtofuandmushroomsonthetable.Withthesteamfromthedishrisinginfrontofher,Minarealizedithadbeenclosetotwenty-fourhourssinceherlastfullmeal.Shewantedtodiveintothefoodbutwaitedoutofpolitenessinfrontofthestranger.
“Whereareyoufrom?Pleasegoahead.”ThewomangesturedtowardthebowlinfrontofMina.
Minablewonthesoupbeforetastingwhatwasthemosttremendousthingonearth.Thebrininessofthedoenjangonhertonguereplenishedherbodywhilespringtimebloomedlikepurplewildflowersinherhead.Itremindedherofthefeelingofthatfirstbiteoffoodafterlosingherparents,whenshehadbeenfoundonthesideofadirtroadbyanolderman,avillager,whohadtakenhertohishouseandfedherasinglemealofdoenjangjjigaebeforehehadtolethergoonherown.Sherememberedhowshehadcriedforhermotherassheate,tearsfallingintothesoup,andhowthemanwithhalfofhisteethmissingtriedtocomforther,pattingherontheback.Ofcourse,heprobablywantedtohelpher,butwhatcouldanyonedoduringawar,whenachildhadbeenanothermouthtofeed,aliability,whenchildrenlosingtheirparentsorparentswatchingtheirchildrenblowntobitshadbeenthenorm?
“I’mfromSeoul,”Minasaid.
“Me,too.Well,nottoofarfromthere.”
“Oh.”
Theyateinsilencefortherestofthemeal.Outside,cricketssang.
Theyweretwowomenbythemselves,livinginthishousewithouthusbands,andapparentlywithoutchildren,too.Boarders.Toomanyquestionsmightleadtotoomuchinformation,toomuchincommon,toomuchpain.
Shedreamedofnothingthatnight.Apurplesurrender,thebestsleepshehadhadinmonthswithoutpills,withoutdrinking,withoutevenprayer.
Inthemorning,shewenttothebathroomthatshenowsharedwiththewomandownthehall.Sheunpackedhertoiletrybag,layingouthertoothpasteandsoapatacornerofthevanitywithoutdisturbingtheotherwoman’sbelongings—afoldedpinkwashcloth,aslimybarofsoap,atoothbrushinabrightgreenplasticcup.Inthemirror,herblackhairfelltohershouldersinatangledbird’snest.Shecouldn’tfindherbrush,sosheusedherfingerstorakethroughthemess,discardingstrayhairsinthewastebasket.
Afteralongshower,shelaydowninbedagain,cleanandrelaxed,ontheedgeofforgettingtheworldforafewmorehours.Asweetbirdchirpedclosetoherwindowwhileaweedwhacker,afewhousesdown,shreddedandwhirred.
Aknockonthedoorstartledher.Sherosetoanswerit.
“Doyouneedanything?”thelandladyasked.Herfacewassoftandgentle,withahintofpinklipstick.
“Oh.”Minaproppedupthetowel,slippingfromherwethair.
“I’mgoingtothestore.Doyouwanttogetsomegrocerieswithme?”
“Yes,yes.Letmegetdressed.”Despitetheheat,shepickedoutalongpin-stripedskirt,atanblouse.Sheappliedliquideyelinerandrose-coloredlipstickcarefully,asifpaintingherlipslikeart.Worriedaboutthewadofcashhiddeninasockunderthemattress,shelockedthedoorwithapadlockbehindher.
Inthelandlady’scarwiththewindowsdownandthefanventsblastingairintheirfaces,theydroveforaboutfiveminutesthroughadustywhitelight,eyessquinting.Theneighborhoodwasmostlyconcreteandtreelessexceptforthebattered-lookingpalmswiththornyribs,thetiredandcurled-leafcitrustrees,andhibiscusplants,withtheirplatesizebloomsandashyjungle-coloredfoliageinthedrysummerheat.
“DidyourfriendMrs.Shintellyouaboutrent?”thelandladyasked.
“Yes,$200,right?Icanpayyouwhenwegethome.”
“Doyouknowwhereyou’regoingtoworkyet?”
“No,notyet.”Minascannedthestorefronts,thebrightlycoloredsignsinKorean—Drugstore,Books,PianoLessons.“Myfriendmentionedsomepeoplesheknowsatarestaurant.ShethoughtIcouldwaittablesorcook.Whatdoyoudo?”
“Iownaclothingstore.It’ssmall,butIgetby.”
“Clothing?Whatkind?”
“Women’s.”
“Iusedtodesignclothing.”
“Oh,really?”
“Yes,IworkedforasmallclothingcompanyinSeoul.”
“Hmm.”Shespedup,changinglanes.“IwishIcouldhireyoutohelpme.Ineedsomehelp.Butbusinesshasbeenprettybad.”
“Oh.”
“Yes,eversincemyhusbandleft,I’vebeenstruggling.”ShepulledintoalargelotoutsideofafreestandingKoreansupermarketbuzzingwiththemovementsofordinarylife,akaleidoscopeofsocialstatuses(shinyMercedesBenzes,beat-upBuicks,Fordtrucks),motherswithchildrenintowloadingbagsofgroceriesintotheircars,workingmenonbreak,smokingcigarettesinsilence.
“Idiot,”thelandladyyelledatacarbeatinghertoaspot.
Oncetheyhadfinallyparked,Minafollowedthelandlady,who,inanautomaticgesture,grabbedashoppingcart.TheentireplacehadsignsinKorean,too,whichcomfortedher.EverythingwasKorean,thebrands,thelanguageonboxesandpackaging.
Shepickedoutsomeproduceforherself—asmallwatermelon,twooranges,spinach,andabagofonions—andwentdowntheaislesforstaples—rice,ramen,doenjang,andgochujang.Everythingseemedsurprisinglyaffordable,evenmoreaffordableinsomeinstancesthaninSeoul.
Atthecheckout,Minapulled$20fromherwalletuncertainly,newtotheforeigncurrency.Thecashier—wholookedinhismidthirties,youngerthanMina,withabitofgrayatthetemplesofhisthickblackhair—loweredhiseyesasiftoprotectherfromanysenseofscrutinythatmightarouseembarrassment.Hisarmsweresmoothandlean.Shebecameawareofherchestrisingandfalling,afireinthepitofherstomach.
Afterthebaggerhadloadedtheircart,Minaandthelandladypassedalargecorkbulletinboardbytheslidingdoors.Amongariotofadvertisementsforvarioushomeandcarrepairservices,banksandchurches,apinkflyerspelledinlargeKoreanletters:helpwanted.
Shelookedbacktowardthecheckoutwherethesamemanwhohadrunguphergroceriesmethereyesthistimeandsmiled.Shefelthisgazeonherassheturnedtoleave.Shethoughtofthecoldhardcoins,thechangehehaddroppedintoherhand.Wasittheveryedgesofhisfingertips,aflowerunfurling,thatgrazedheropenpalm?Orhadsheimaginedthatdetail,thatfeeling?
Herheartraced.Shereplayedinhermindtheunmistakablecurveofhislip,hissoftbrowngaze,unblinking.
Margot
Fall2014
AFTERSHECOLLECTEDTHEDEATHCERTIFICATEdowntown,Margotdrovebeneaththegunmetalmorninglightandweepingpalmtreestothebrand-newpolicestation.Shehadneverbeentoapolicestationbefore,andforwhateverreasonhadimaginedthemtobeasgrubbyasherelementaryschool,whichsmelledofchemicalcleaners,chalkdust,andrubber.Inthewaitingarea,peopleofallagesappearedanxiousortired.Agrandfather,redpoloshirtandgoldbracelets,crossedhisarmsinfrontofhischest,eyesdowncast.Amother,strandsrisingfromcopperyhairtiedinabun,observedtwochildrenthumbwrestling.
Bleary-eyedandweak,Margothadnotsleptthepasttwonights—hauntedbyvisionsofhermother,thatcarefulbobofhair,thatsoftextensionofheronearmasifreachingforsomething,orperhapsjustanattempttobreakherfall,theinstincttocreatesomefinalgrace,somefinalcomfortforherself.
Aftershehaddiscoveredhermother’sbody,sheandMiguelhadfoundahotelontheoutskirtsofHollywoodnearVermontAvenue—anondescript,three-storybeigestructure—oneofmanyhotelsintheareaofquestionablecleanlinessandornatebedspreadsthatwouldnotshowstains.
Shespentmostofthenextdaywiththemaroon-coloredcurtainsclosed.Herchestachedlikeabowlmadeofstone,amortarinwhichthepestleofhermindgrounddowntheimagesofhermotherinthatlivingroom,theirlivingroom,atableauofordinarylifegoneawry,theobjectsthatwitnessedherfinalbreath—abrokenone-foot-tallfigurineoftheVirginMary,abowlofnutsknockedover,tourbrochuresforexcursionstonationalparks(Yellowstone,Yosemite,theGrandCanyon)onthecoffeetable.Thesmell,thatputridsmell,therot.
Whenwasthelasttimeshehadseenhermother?Wasitayearago,lastChristmas?Thedaysspentathermother’sstore,fullofholidaystringlights.Margothungclothesonroundersandracksthatglidedintoplaceoncasters,swepttheindustrialgraycarpet,rangupandbaggedpurchasesatthecounter,orhelpedcustomerschoosetheperfectgifts—acrimsonsweaterembroideredwithbells,apairofbootcutjeans,aslinkydressforNewYear’sEve.
Everynight,exceptonChristmaswhenthey’dtreatthemselvesatthelocalsoonduburestaurant,Margotandhermotherhaddinnerathome—theusualstews,avarietyofbanchan,grilledmackerelorgulbi.They’dsittogetherinsilenceunderneaththedust-filledoverheadlight,eatingfromthejumbleofplatesandbowlsaccumulatedovertheyears—romanticandrose-bordered,pastelblue-and-white-checkered,stampedwith1970sbrownbutterfliesandflowers.Theirapartmentwasatestamenttotheaccretionthatcouldhappeninafamily’slife—notthroughintentionbutnecessity.Objectswereacquiredwhileonsaleorinthriftstoresorasgifts,likeflotsamandjetsamasiftheyhadbeenstrandedonanisland.Nothingcouldbethrownawayordenied.
ButMargotwouldincinerateitallifshecould.ShedecoratedherlifeinSeattlewithausterityandcare,leaningtowardneutralcolorsandpatternlessdesignsperhapsasarebellionagainsthermother,againstallthathermotherrepresentedtoher—poverty,tastelessness,foreignness,uncleanliness,alackofcontrol.
“AreyougoingtostayinSeattle?”hermotherhadasked.Thetidybob,grayingatthetemples,hadbeentuckedbehindherpinkears,revealingthetwogoldhoopsthatglintedlikemetallures.Hereyesremaineddowncastasshebitthemakkimchi,tartandscarlet,thatshealwaysmadeathome.
“Yes,Ilikeitthere,”MargotsaidinEnglish.Shesippedthelastofthemiyeokguk—anchovy-flavoredandlightlybriny,beadedwithsesameoil—fromherspoon.
“Butitrainsallthetime.”
“It’snotsobad.I’musedtoit.”Thatwasalie.Shehatedtherain.ShemissedLosAngelesbutdidn’tknowhowshe’dlivethere.ShealreadyhadadecentjobinSeattleandcouldaffordherownapartmentinaquietresidentialneighborhoodthatsmelledyear-roundofspruceandpine.(Theonlyneedlesshehadeverfounddroppedfromtrees.)InLA,shewouldhavetomovebackinwithhermotheratleasttemporarily.Butshedidn’tknowhowtoexplainthistoher,notinKorean,notinEnglish,notinanylanguage.
“Doyouhaveaboyfriendthere?”ItwasaquestionthathermotherhadaskedmorefrequentlythanMargothadliked.Sometimestheinquiryseemedcasual,hopeful;herdaughtermightmeetsomeoneresponsibleandkind,settledown,startafamily.Butothertimesthequestionwascarvedbyafearthatherdaughterwoulddotheexactopposite—drinklateintothenight,meetmenwhowouldberecklesswithherfeelings,herfuture,herlife,enduppregnantandalone—whichinawaycould’vehappenedatthattime.
IthadbeenamonthsinceMargothadbegunseeingJonathan,amucholdercoworker,ajobcounselorforpeoplewithdisabilities.Thefirsttimetheyhadkissed,theirmouthstouchedgently,narrowcolumnsofsunlightpressingontheofficewallsaroundthem.Thewetearthfromhisafternooncigar,entangledwithsomethingelse,acleancitrus—abrightdecay.Hissonorousvintageradiovoicesayinghername:Margot.
Butshecouldn’ttellhermotheraboutanyofthis.HowcouldhermotherunderstandarelationshipthatmadenosensetoMargotnorherfriends?Theonlyexplanationwasonethatshecouldneverarticulateoutloud—thatshewaslonelyandboredandshefoundhimtobethrilling.Hewasacoworker.Hewasovertwentyyearsolderthanher.Hewasblind.Hewasawidower.Hislifewasripewithsomuchexperience,andshecouldgetlostinbeingaroundhim.Heshrankher.Hewhittledherdown.Hemadehersmall,sosmallthatsheandwhatshewanted—amorecreativelife,amoreindividualsenseofaccomplishment,ofmeaning—couldevaporate,disappear.
Butshecouldn’texplainthistohermother.EvenifshespokeenoughKorean,howwouldhermotherunderstandthis—hunger?Itwasn’tadesiretodie,butaneedtohide,todeleteherself.Shewantedtobeanartist,andthatwasdangerous.Howcouldsheaffordthetimeandmoneytohavemoreartinherlife?Howcouldsheeverbeanartistifshehadtoworryaboutnotonlytakingcareofherselfbutalsohermotheroneday?Alltheyhadwaseachotherintheend.Andsinceshedeniedherselfsomuch,whynotdiveintobeingwithJonathan,whoalwaystoldherwhatawonderfulpersonshewas,howsmart,howthoughtful,howkind?Jonathanmadeherfeellikethemostimportantpersonintheworldbecausesheerasedherselfwithhim.Shelistened.Shesupported.Sheapproved.Shewaslikethemothershehadalwayswanted.
Soagain,shelied.“No,Idon’thaveaboyfriend.I’mtoobusywithwork.”
Hermotherstoodtocleartheiremptybowlsandplates.Notagrainofriceremained.
“Iwishyouwouldlivenearme,”shesaidsoftly,beforeturningawaytowardthekitchensinkwheresheblastedthehotwatertosoaktheemptypotsandpans.
Margotexperiencedasenseoflightness,reliefthattopicofconversationhadbeenextinguishedfornow,yetshecouldfeeltheburnofregretforherlies,heringratitudetowardamotherwhohadsacrificedsomuchfortheirsurvival,herlackofcommitmenttowardlearningKorean,evenifonlytospeaktohermother—rising,risingtowardhertongueandeyes.Theyweretears,onesshehadhiddenfromhermother.
Thatwasalmostayearago.Intheend,herrelationshipwithJonathanwasonlytwomonthslong,culminatinginthemostpredictableanduneventfulheartbreak.Andnowhermotherwasdead.
Shehadalwayscountedononemorehour,onemoreday,onemoreyeartoexplainherselftohermother,totellherthatshelovedhermorethananyoneintheworldbutcouldneverlivearoundher,neverliveunderthesameroofwithheragain.
NowMargotwouldneverhavethechancetohelpherunderstand.Tohelpthembothunderstand.
“Margot?”Someonewascallinghername.Inthewaitingroom,shelookedupatOfficerChoiwhohadbeenattheapartmenttwodaysagowhenMargothadfoundhermother’sbody.Hewasyoung,perhapsinhislatetwentiesorearlythirtiesatmost.Hishairglistenedlikeblackenamelasifhehadrecentlyshoweredorleftthegymforwork.Buttheheavygunanduniformmadehernervous,uptight.Shecouldn’tquitemeethiseyes.Awhitemugsteamedinhishand.“Wouldyoulikesomecoffeeorwater?”
“No,”shesaid,standingtofollowhim.
Theypassedcloseddoorsdownabrightlongcorridorthatsmelledoffloorwaxtoreachasharedoffice,whichhadatallbookshelffilledwithlegalbooksandmanuals.Anopenfilerestedonthedeskwithmutedmulticoloredsheetsofpaperandalinednotepad.
Margotseatedherselfacrossfromhim.Behindhishead,theverticalblindswerehalf-closedandtiltedinawaysothatshecouldstillseehisface—diamond-shapedwithheavyeyebrowsandhighcheekbones.Sherealizedthenthathewashandsome,whichmadeherevenmoreanxious,herthoughtspacinglikeananimalinacage.
“DoIknowyoufromsomewhere?”OfficerChoiasked.
“NotthatIknowof,”Margotsaid.“Ihaven’tlivedinLAforyears.”
“Where’dyougotohighschool?”
“Fairfax.”
“Ah,that’sit.”
“Really?”Hewasn’tfamiliaratall.Actually,shehardlyrememberedanyKoreankidsthereexceptherself.MostofherfriendshadbeenMexican,Salvadoran,Filipino.
“Yeah.Ithinkyouwereafewyearsbeforeme.”Hesmiled.“Smallworld.”
Wasshethatoutofitinhighschool?Shehadbeentoobusyexperimentingwithdrugs,ahalftabofacidonhertongue,spendingherfreetimecharcoalingstilllifesoffruitorhidinginthemutedredglowofadarkroom.Shewasartisticandantisocial.Hehadprobablybeenpopular,ajock.
OfficerChoiclearedhisthroatandleanedforward,bracinghisarmsonthedesk.“I’msorryaboutyourmom.Iknowthis…mustbealotrightnow…”
Tinydropsofsweatformedonherface.Sherubbedbetweenherbrows,pressingthepainthatthrobbedinsideherhead.ShespottedthedeathcertificateonhisdeskandrememberedtheblackboxtickedbesidethewordAccidental.
Margotclosedhereyes,inhalingthroughhermouthasiftoprotectherselffromthememoryofthescentofhermother’sbody.Theputridsmelloftherottenfruit—sweet,foul,andgaseous.Acidsouredhermouth.Shecouldfeelhisgazelingeringonherface.Whensheglancedupathim,hiseyesdropped,scanninghisnotes.
“DiedlastSaturdayorSunday.Hematoma,”hesaid,scrunchinghisbrow.“FoundonWednesday.Allherpossessionsseemedtobeintact,herkeys,herCorolla.Cashinherpurse.Noforcedentry.Shoes,slippersbythedoor.”
Theoutstretchedarm.Thefeetinthenudesocks.Howtinysheappearedtobeontheground.
Atrip.Afall.Ahorriblewaytodie.Tohavesurvivedallthosetraumas,thosehardships—awar,anorphanage,immigration,beingasinglemotherinaforeigncountry—onlytodiebysomethingasmundaneasaslipperorashoe.Itwasterrible.Itwasallsoveryterrible.
“Areyousureyoudon’twantanywater?”heasked,sittingupinhischair.
“No.No,that’sokay.”
“Iknowthatthisisalot.It’salottoprocess.”Hiseyessoftened.“Itnevermakessensetolosepeople—especiallylikethis.”
Therewouldbenogoodbye,nofarewell.Hermother’sbodywasinamortuary,awaitingcremation.Therewerenoplansforafuneral.Therewasnowill.Theyneverdiscussedhermother’swishesafterdeath.Theyrarelydiscussedhermother’sdesiresatall.MargotonlyknewthathermotherwantedMargottobeclosertoher.Iwishyouwouldlivenearme.
Therewouldonlybeash—silentandheavyinabox.Whatwouldshedowithhermothernow?
“Eventhoughthisisaclosedcase…Iwantedtomakesurethatyoudon’tsuspectanything?Thatnothingsuspiciouswasgoingon,orthatthereisn’tsomethingyouwanttotellmeabout.”
Findinghermother’sbodywasonenightmare,butsittinginthisroomwithapoliceofficerwasanother.Whatgoodcouldthepolicedoforherandhermothernow?Whatgoodhadtheyeverdone?Thereweresomanyinstancesgrowingupwhensheandhermotherneededhelp—whentheyhadbeenrobbedatgunpointonce,orwhenathiefhadbrokenintotheirapartment—butnooneeverthoughtofcallingthepolice.Nooneeverknewwhattheywoulddoorwhosesidetheywereon,iftheycouldgethermotherdeportedsomehow.Whatdidhecare?WhocaredifhewasKorean,too,orwenttoherhighschool?
“Shewenttowork.Shehadasimplelife.Sheworkedhard.Shewas…boring.”
Margotbelievedallthesestatementstobetrue.Butcouldsheconvinceherselfthatsheknewhermother?Becauseshedidn’t.Herworldwasdesignedtoerasehermother.Hermotherwasjustanothernobody,anothercasualtyofthiscity,ofthiscountrythatluredyouwithascintillatinglie.
Shehadbeenaninconvenience.Acasualtyofmoreimportantthings.Ofmoreimportantpeople.
“Whenhadyouspokentoherlast?”
“Afewweeksago?Somethinglikethat.”Businesswasslowagaintoday.EvenalltheKoreanbusinessesdowntownareclosing.“She…shementionedthatshewasstrugglingatwork.Shewasstrugglingfinancially,butnoneofthatisnew.”Hadshebeenaskingforhelp?Hadsheneededmoney?
“Andyousaidherbusinesswasinaswapmeetdownsouth.NearBell.”
“HuntingtonPark.”
Sheimaginedhermothercominghomethatnight,exhausted,takingoffherleatherankleboots.Butwhywasthelightswitchedoff?Wasitearlierintheday?Wastherestilllightoutsidestreaminginthroughthewindow?InMargot’smind,hermotherremovedhershoesandtrippedontheslippersshealwayskeptbythedoor.Therewerealwaystwopairs.OneforMargot.Ormaybehermotherwasgoingsomewhere.Maybeshewasheadingoutthedoorandrealizingthatsheforgotsomething,turnedaroundandtrippedinthedark.Howterrible.Howinfuriating.Shewantedtoscream,Whydidn’tyoutakebettercareofyourself?Buttherewasnoonetohearhernow.
“Didshehaveanyemployees?”
“No,justher.”
“Wasshefriendswithanyoftheneighboringstoreowners?”
“Yes.Well,there’sthiswoman…Shehasachildren’sclothingstoreacrosstheaislefrommymom.”
Hispenscratchedonthepad.“Didtheygetalong?Didyourmomgetalongwitheveryone?”
“Ithinkso.WhenIwasgrowingup,shehadsometroublewithbeingoneofthefewKoreanstoreownersthere.ShethoughtthecustomersandtheotherstoreownersmightnotlikehersinceherSpanishwasbad.”
Margotrememberedhowhermotherwouldyell,Amiga,amiga,topotentialcustomersastheywalkedawayonthegreen-paintedpathwaysbetweenthestores.Sometimestheywouldstopandwavegoodbye.Othertimestheywouldsimplyignoreher.OccasionallytheywouldpinchtheirnosesaroundtheKoreanfoodthatshebroughtfromhome.Hermotherhadtheprofoundcapacitytobrushtheinsultsoff,butMargotcouldnot.Theywouldhauntherforherlife.Shehadlovedhermothermorethananyonebutwasalsodeeplyashamedofher—herpoverty,herforeignness,herlanguage,thelackofagencyinherlife.Shedidnotknowhowtoloveanyone,includingherself,withoutshame.
Tearsleakedoutofhereyes.Shegrabbedatissuefromaboxonhisdesk.
“Iwantedyoutoknowthatyoucancallmeifyouneedanything,”OfficerChoisaidkindly.“Youhavemycard?”
“IjustwishIknewwhattodowithhernow.Withherashes.”
“Didshegotochurch?”
“Yes.”TheclaySpanishtileroof.Thetallcreamywhitebuilding.Thebelltower.
“Couldtheyhelpyou?Couldtheyhelpyoufigureoutwhatshewould’veliked?”
“Yes,ofcourse.Idon’tthinkI’mquitereadyyetforthat.”
“Yourdad?”Hefurrowedhisbrow.“Ishestillaround?Canhehelpyousomehow?”
Thewordsyourdadbitatherquick,likeaneelhidinginseagrass.
“Idon’t…Ididn’tknowhim.”Shehadoftenbeenjudgedbypeopleatchurch,atschool,whodidn’tunderstandhowshecouldsurvivewithoutafather.Don’tyouwonderwhoheis?Doyouthinkhe’devercomeback?Shehadbeenpitied,too.Butmostofall,shehadbeenexcluded,unabletorelatetothestructureoffamily,bothinAmericaandinwhatsheknewofKoreanlife.Themessagehadalwaysbeenthatwomenwithoutmenlackedshape,womenwithoutmenwerealwayswaitingforthemtoappearlikeimagesinadarkroombath.
WHATWOULDMARGOTDOWITHALLTHEMUNDANEobjectsthatmadeuphermother’slife?Atangleofrosariesinadustyceramicdish.FadedschoolportraitsofMargotwithhergappedteethandthehorriblebangsthathermothercutstraightacross.Anoldsingle-CDboomboxcoveredinafurofdust.Adingywhiteteddybear,glossycrookednose,grippingastuffedredsatinheart.AframedphotoofherandhermotheronthedayofMargot’shighschoolgraduation.Aboxofalbumsthathadgottensoold,mostoftheimagesslippedout,nolongerheldbytheancientadhesives.Closetsanddrawersfullofclothes.Shedidn’tunderstandwhyhermotherneededsomanysweatersandpajamapantsandblankets.ItwasSouthernCaliforniaafterall.
Ithadbeenaboutaweeksincehermotherhaddiedandafewdayssincediscoveringhermother’sbody.ApartofherwantedtoleaveeverythingandgobacktoSeattle,letthelandlorddealwithit.
Butthenherownchildhoodpossessions—heroldclothes,schoolwork,photos,immunizationrecords,notebooks—whichshedidn’tevenhavethecourage,theenergytoconfrontintheotherbedroom,wouldbeabandonedaswell.
Eventuallyshe’dhavetogothroughheroldroom,whichhermotherhadusedmostlyforstorage,keepingthetwin-sizebedforMargot’svisitsaroundtheholidays.Asateenager,Margotwouldretreatthereafterdinner,disappearwithanotebookandpen,crankuphermoodymusic—PJHarvey,FionaApple,Portishead—todrownoutthesoundofhermotherwatchingtheKoreanchannelinthelivingroom.Sometimesshe’dexitherroomandcatchaglimpseofhermothernoddingherheadasifinconversationwiththescreen.Itmust’vebeenareliefafteralongdayinaforeigncountrytobeimmersedinimageswhereyoubelongedjustbysoundandgestureandface.Howmuchlanguageitselfwasahome,ashelter,aswellasawayofnavigatingthelargerworld.AndperhapsthatwaswhyMargotneverputmucheffortintolearningKorean.Shehadn’tbeenabletostandbeingunderthesameroofashermom.
ButnowMargotcouldseethat,despitemovingtoSeattle,shewaseverywhereinsideofthisapartment.Itwasn’tjusthermother’sobjectscoveredindust,butherown—thephotographsofMargotasagap-toothedlittlegirl,thecertificatesofMargot’sgrade-schoolaccomplishmentsframedandhungonthewalls,whichmeantnothingtoMargotbutclearlywereasourceofprideforhermother.
Itwasobviousnowhowmuchtheydependedoneachother—forfood,shelter,asenseofidentityinthisworld—andhowmuchMargothadresentedthat.Shedidn’twanttoneedorbeneededbyher.Hermotherwastooheavywithhistory,withsadness,unspokenandunexplained.Sherarelymentionedherchildhoodandhadonlysometimesvaguelyreferencedthevarietyofjobs—acook,atextilecutter,aseamstress—thatshehadbeenforcedtoworkasateenagertosurvive.
Margotknewthatatsomepointhermotherhadmovedfromtheorphanageintoaboardinghousewhereshehadsharedaroomwiththreeotheryoungwomen,eitherorphansorexiles,withoutfamiliesforshelter—aparticularlythrillingtimewhenMinahadfinallybeenfreetoliveherownlife,freefromthescrutinyofadults.
Margotneverfeltstrongorsturdyenoughforthedetailsofhermother’struth.Shecouldbarelyhandleherown.GrowingupAmericanwasallabouterasingthepast—lightlyacknowledgingitbutthenforgettingandmovingon.
Buthistoryalwaysrosetothesurface.Amongthewreckage,thedeadfloatedtothetop.
Andherenow—therosaries,thedingywhiteteddybear,thephotoalbums.
Howcouldsheevenbegintoseparateherbelongingsfromhermother’s?WhyhadshealwayscountedonhermothertobeheresothatMargotwouldn’thavetomakeanydecisions,placeanyvalueontheitemsthatweretheevidenceoftheirlives—notjustoftheirdailyactivities,butofwhattheysimplycouldn’tbeartogetridof,whattheysimplycouldn’tbeartolose?
Howmuchhadhermotherbeencarrying?Howmuchhadshebeencarryingforthemboth?
AndnowMargotwouldhavetobearitallbyherself.
Downinthegarage—coolanddimandsoundlessexceptforthegentleknockingofpipes—Margotbackedoutofthespotbehindhermother’scar.Atallfigureappearedinherrearviewmirror.Shegaspedandslammedonthebrakes,themanscurryingoutoftheway.Asshepulledupbesidehim,sheloweredthewindowonherside.
“Sorry,”shesaid.“Youcameoutofnowhere.”
“That’sokay.”Hestoodholdingabroomanddustpaninhand.Sherecognizedhimasthelandlordormaybethejanitor—shecouldn’ttellwhichone—whohadbeentherethedayshefoundhermother’sbody.Hewaswearingthesamegraypulloversweater,pillingandrubbedthinontheelbows.Wrinkledandtanned,hehadboththeeaseandtheawkwardnessofsomeonewhohadimmigrateddecadesago—afluentEnglishspeakerwhohadprobablygrownuponAmericanpopculturebutforwhateverreasonneverleftKoreatown.Heseemedabitlost,outofplace.Margotcouldcertainlyrelate.
“Hey,I’msosorryaboutyourmom,”hesaidwithaslightNewYorkaccent.“Shewasagoodtenant.Alwayspaidrentontime.”Hecoughedandturnedtospitontheground.
“Thankyou,”Margotsaid.Itstruckherthathemighthaveknownhermother,seenhermorethanMargothadthispastyear.Takingadeepbreathtosteadyherself,sheasked,“Doyourememberthelasttimeyousawher?Whatsheseemedlike?”
“Hmm.”Hepaused.“It’shardtosay.Shedroppedoffherrentcheckacoupledaysearly.LastFriday,Ithink?”
“Wasthere—Idon’tknow—anythingoddgoingon?Anythingaroundtheapartmentor…?”
Scrunchinghisbrows,heranhisfingersthroughwavyhair,brightwhiteatthetemples.“Well,lastweekend,Imight’veheardyourmomyelling,”hesaid,bitinghislowerlip.“Atnight.Butalotofpeoplefight.Alotoffamiliesfight,youknow.”
“Yelling?”sheasked,shocked.
“Idon’tknow.Maybeitwassomeoneelseinthebuilding.AKoreanwoman.”
Heartpounding,Margotasked,“Doyourememberwhichdaythatwas?”
“Notreally.SaturdayorSunday.”Hescratchedhishead,avoidinghereyes.“It’sprobablyamistake.Whoknows?Myapartmentisn’tdirectlybelowhers.Butmywindowwasopen,andIthoughtIcouldhearawomanyelling.”Heshrugged.“Iwentbacktosleep.”
“Wasitjustmymotheryelling?Wasthereanyoneelsewithher?”
Heshookhishead.“I’mprobablymixedup,youknow?IheardKoreanandthere’snotalotofusleftinthebuilding,so—Ifigureditwasyourmother.ButIdon’tknow.”
“Didyoutellanyone?Thepolice?”
“No,no,Ididn’t.Honestly,Ididn’tevenrememberthisuntilnow.Notabigdeal.Itcould’vebeenanyone.Imean,noneedtogettheminvolvedwiththat.Peoplefight.Peoplegetmad.”
“Wasmymotherusuallynoisy?”
“No,no.Verynicelady.Thishasalwaysbeenasafebuilding.Verysafe.Noproblems.”HeduginhisbackpocketandproducedaMarlboroLightspackethalf-wrappedinplastic.Slippingacigarettebehindhisear,hesaid,“Itcouldhappentoanyone,youknow?”
Washebeingcageyorwasitjustherimagination?Margotasked,“Areyounew?”
“Excuseme?”
“Iusedtolivehere,”shesaid.“Idon’trecognizeyou.”
“Mywifeownedthisbuilding.ShediedafewyearsagoandI’vebeentryingtokeepittogethersincethen.Youhavenoideahowexpensiveitistoownabuildingthesedays.Weusedtobethebadguys,youknow?Nowit’slikewecan’tevenmakeadecentbuck,youknow,withallthebigcompaniesbuyingeverything.Theelectricbillissoexpensivethesedays.Thenyouhavetenantscomplainingallthetimeaboutthenoise.There’scrime.Isitmyfault?Itrymybest.Ifixthesecuritydoor.Thenextstepistobuyacamera,buthowmuchmorecanIputintothisbuilding?Howmuch?It’snevergoodenough.Everyonehatesthelandlord.”
“Well,youownsomething,right?”
“Whatisthatsupposedtomean?”
“Atleastnowthatmymom’sdeadyoucanraisetherent.”Hervoicecracked.“Wouldthathelppayforyourcamera?”
“Whatareyoutryingtosay?Iwasn’tcomplainingaboutyourmom.Yourmomwasgood.Shewasquiet.Shehadsomevisitorssometimes…Amanusedtocomearoundhere.Aboyfriend,Iguess.Richguy.Whoknows?Shehadfriends.Shewasfine.”
“Aboyfriend?”Margot’smotherhadnevermentionedorexpressedromanticinterestinanyone,eventheoccasionalshopkeeperattheswapmeetwhocourtedher.
“Yeah,someguy,Idon’tknow.Idon’tgetinanyone’sbusinessexceptwhenthey’reparkedtooclosetothedrivewayorwhatnot.Someman.Nicecar.Mercedes.Ialwayswantedacarlikethat.”
“Fuck,”shesaidtoherself.“Wasitthepersonshewasyellingatthatnight?”
“Ionlyheardonevoicethatnight.Theboyfriend,hehasn’tbeenaroundforawhile.Monthsmaybe.Whoknows?Itwasinthesummer.Idon’tliketogetinvolved.It’sasafebuilding.Noproblemshere.Idon’tliketogetinvolved,okay?”
“Youcould’vetoldthepolice,”Margotsaid.“Abouttheyelling.”
“Whatfor?Iwastiredanditcould’vebeenanyone.Idon’tneedthemsnoopingaroundhere.Doyou?Doyouthinktheneighborslikethat?Whatdoyouthinkthepolicearegoingtodoforyou?Doyouthinktheycareaboutyourmother?Doyouknowhowmanydie,getrobbed,getkilledinthiscity?Idon’tneedanymoreproblemsaroundhere.Youngladieslikeyoushouldfocusongettingmarried,meetinganiceguy,havingafamily.”
Shealmosttoldhimtogotohellbutinsteadrolledherwindowup.Yes,hewasright;hermother,andwomenlikeher,wereaninconvenience.
Butifsheallowedthatstorytocontinuetobetold,overandoveragain—thathermotherwasanobody,anonymous,animmigrantwhocouldn’tspeakthelanguage,anotherimmigrantwhoworkedajobthatnooneelsewanted,anothercasualtyofmoreimportantthings,acasualtyofmoreimportantpeople—shewouldbelettingthemwin,wouldn’tshe?Shewouldbeallowingthemtosweephermotherawaylikedirtanddust.
Sheandhermotherdeservedbetterthanthis.Buthowwouldshefigureoutwhatexactlyhappenedtohermom?
IfonlyshehadleftSeattleearlier,boughtaplaneticket,shecouldhavepreventedhermother’sdeath,oratleastfoundhersoonafterdying,ratherthanallowingherbodytoremainaloneinthatapartment.Whydidn’tshetrytogetthereearlier?Whydidshebrushoffthefactthatsomethingwasweirdwhenhermotherwasnotansweringthephone?
Assoonasshegotbackhome,she’dleaveOfficerChoiamessageaboutthelandlordandtheyellingfromhermother’sapartment,thepossiblefightlastweekend.She’dscourthroughhermother’sbelongings.Theremightbesomeclueofwhohermothermight’vebeenwithlastweekend.Whovisitedher?Andwhowasthisboyfriendinthesummer?Aboyfriend.Thatcouldn’tberight.Hermotherhadasingle-mindedfocus—workandtheirsurvival.
Butcouldtheboyfriendhavereturned?Couldtheyhavegottenintoafight?She’dhavetofindhimnow.
Asthemetalgateofthegarageopened,chainsqueakingandrattling,sherealizedwithanoverwhelming,envelopingsadnessthatasmallpartofheralwayswantedhermothertodisappear.Nottodie,buttoleaveheralone.Shehadimaginedthatkindoflonelinessasfreedom,butinstead,hereshewas,treadingwater,withoutanswers,withoutanylandoranyreliefinsight.
Mina
Summer1987
ONTHELOCALBUSTHATGRUNTEDDOWNTHELONGroads,Minatraveledtoworkamongamixofpeople,mostlyLatino,Asian,Black,andanoccasionalwhiteperson,usuallyelderly.MinahadimaginedAmericatobefilledwithwhitepeopleasitwasinthemovies—allJohnWayne,ClarkGable,andCaryGrant.Shehadneverseensuchahodgepodgeofindividualsinonespace.Whoknewpeoplecouldexistinquitethisway,andcouldthisproject,America,evenlast?
Stillunsureofherself,thelanguages,thegesturesaroundher,sheprayedthatnoonewouldspeaktoher.Shetriednottomakeeyecontactbutwatchedperipherally,observing.ALatinamotherescortedhertwochildren,agirlandboyofabouteightornine,toschool.ABlackmechanic,jumpsuitgreasyfromwork,restedhiseyes,hisarmsfoldedintohisbodylikeacocoon.Anelderlywomanwithawalker,whoalwaysworelongdresseslikealadygoingtochurch,noddedatMina.Smilingsoftly,Minabowedherheadinreturn.
Afterthepasttwoweeksofstockingshelvesatthesupermarket,shelearnedthatshepreferredthedrygoodsaisles,whichwerenotasbusyastheproducesectionwherecustomerszigzaggedaroundwithcarts,askingquestionsonwheretofindthisorthat.
Thesamecashierfromthatfirsttimeshehadshoppedatthesupermarketwouldpass,bowinghishead,facesquare,eyessoftandbrown.Intheaisles,shewouldseehimonceortwiceperday.Andsomethingaboutthefactthathewouldwalkby,limbslithe,acknowledgingherwithoutaskingforanything,comfortedher,putheratease,unlikethecustomersortheowner,Mr.Park,whoalwayswantedtochat.Perhapsshesimplyenjoyedlookingathim—handsome,energetic—rushingpast,butalwaysstoppingbrieflytomeethereyesandsmile.Shestilldidn’tknowhisname.
Onherfirstdayofwork,shehadshowedupinawhiteshort-sleevedblousetuckedintoafloralskirtofbluesandgreensandpinksthatremindedherofMonet’swaterlilies,whichseemedinappropriateforbreakingdownboxesandstockingproduceandshelvesofdrygoodsallday.Butshedidn’tcare.Shedidn’thavemuchtowearandwantedtolookgood.Meetingstrangersalwaysmadehernervous.Dressingupalittleandputtingonsomemakeupboostedthescantamountofconfidenceshehad.
Aftercheckinginwithoneofthecashiersherfirstday,shehadmettheowner,Mr.Park,whowasonlyafewyearsolderthanherandincandescentlikeamanwhoenjoyedthefinerthingsinlife—beachvacations,importedcars,golf.Accentuatinghistan,heworeapoloshirtofstripedpastelcolors,alargegoldwatch.
“Yousureyoucandothis?”heasked,grinninginacondescendingwayasifobservingasmallanimalwhosuddenlydidsomethinghuman,likeamousewalkingonrearlegs.
“Yes,Ithinkso,”shesaid.
“Alotoflifting.”Hesuckedbetweenhisteeth.
“Icandoit,”shesaidwithresolve,unabletohideherannoyance.
ShespenthalfofherfirstdayintheproducesectionalongsideamaninhisearlythirtiesnamedHector.WearinganoldblackT-shirt,sneakers,andjeans,hewalkedwithasmalllimp,whichdidn’tslowhimdownashedemonstratedhowtostackthefruitsothattheywouldn’tfall.Hecartedouttheboxesfromtheback,andsheemptiedthemout,appleafterapple,pearafterpear—asimplesystemthatworkeddespitedifferentlanguagesandbackgrounds.
Atfirst,thejobhadn’tseemedsobadinitsmindlessness,almostmeditative.Butafteraboutfourhours,exhaustedanddrinkinga7-Upinthebackofthestore,sitting,waitingforhernexttask,shefeltutterlydismantled,asifshehadbeenoneofthosecardboardboxes,unloadedandbrokendown.Herwhiteblousehadbecomedirtyandwrinkled.Shetriednottothinkatall,tiltingherheadbackandfeelingthefizzydrinkfillhermouth.Butapartofher,nomatterhowhardshetried,wantedtocry.Shefeltlikeanidiotforabandoninghercomfortabledeskjobwhereshespentmostofherhourssketchinganddesigning—yes,boring,butatleastaccessible—clothes.Shemissedthecoffeeandteabreaksandluncheswithhercoworkers.
Butitwasonlydayone.Shehadtokeeptrying.Shecouldn’tgobacknow.Sheclosedhereyesandprayedsilently,Please,God.Pleasehelpme.Pleaseletmeknowthatitwillbeokay.Please.
Afterherten-minutebreak,shestockedshelveswithinstantnoodles,ramen,andmovedontocondiments,soupbases,soysauce,anddoenjang.Shesweatasshegotupanddownonherkneestoreplenishthebottomshelves.Herskirtbecamefilthy,streakedwithdirtovertheonce-prettypastels.Shefeltlikeafoolnowforcaringsomuchabouthowshelooked.Whatdiditmatterwhenallshesawwerebottlesofsauce,vegetables?
Sheshouldgetusedtothenothingness.ItwassomuchbetterthanbeingathomeinSeoul,heremptyapartment,allthoseremindersofthepast.Shewasfreenow.Shewasfree.
Mr.Parkmentionedthateventuallyshecouldmovetothecashregistersupfront.Butshepreferredthelackofsocialinteraction,theinvisibilityofworkinginthebackorstockingshelves.Intheaisles,shecouldhide,blurintoawallofdoenjang.Shecoulddisappearinavacuumofcondiments,bottles,andjars.OnlytheoccasionalglanceofthehandsomeKoreanmanmattered.Thefactthatheappearedyoungerthanher,inaway,madeherattractionfeelsafe.Itwassillyandharmless.
Yetshealsoknewthatshecouldnotdothisworkforever.Howmanyyearscouldshespendliftingandkneeling?Shewasonlyforty-one,butstillshefeltdaybydayherbodygettingolder,hurtingmicroscopicallymoreandmore.
Herbodyhadchangeddramaticallyinherthirtiesfromcaringforherdaughter.Shehadbecomestrong,butnowallshehadwerefooditemstolift,toraise.Nowallshehadwasfood.Ifshethoughtaboutittoomuchwhileworking,shestartedtocry.Sosheworkedharderandfastertokillthepain,thethoughts.
Once,inthebackofthestore,shehadbeenliftingboxesofsoysauceoffthegroundontoarollingcart.Adoorsqueakedopen,aslantoflightonthefloor.Adjustinghiswaistband,Mr.Parkemergedfromhisofficewithalargeblackcanvasbaginhand.Thewoodengripofapistolgleamedathisbelt.
“Areyousureyoucandothis?”Hewinkedalmostimperceptiblyasifhehaddustinhiseye.
“Yes,I’mfine.Thankyou.”Shetriednottolookathim.
“HowareyoulikingAmerica?”
“It’sokay.I’mgettingby.”
“Tough,ha?”Hedroppedthebagwithadullthudbyhisfeet.Minahadtheimpressionthatitwasfilledwithcash.Hewasonhiswaytothebank.Thegun.
Bendinghisknees,heloadedoneofherboxesontothecart.“Well,nomatterhowharditis,yougottokeepgoing.Keeptrying.”
“Yeah.”
“Iworkedhard,veryhard.Andnow,I’mtheowner.Iownallofthis.”Hegesturedtowardtheentirebuilding,theentireuniverseasifitallbelongedtohim,too.Hegrinnedsowidelyshecouldseethegoldtoothinhismouth.
Awareofthegunathisside,shesteppedback.“That’snice.”
“Yeah,I’vebeenherefor—what,letmethink…1962.”
“That’salongtime.”
“Yeah,butyouseewhathappenswhenyouworkhard?”
“Sure,Iguess.”
“Itpaysoff.”Heliftedhisbrowsandbentdowntopickthebagofftheground.
Shewantedtosay,Really?Shedidn’tbuyanyofthat.Notexactly.Itwasimpossibletobelieveinameritocracywheneveryonearoundher,thewomenshelivedwithandthepeoplesheworkedwithatthestore,couldneverownasupermarketnomatterhowhardtheyworked.They’dbeluckyenoughtoownanythingever.Likeher,they’dberentingroomsinhouses.Everythingintheirliveswouldbehand-me-downs.Whodidthissmarmymanthinkhewas?Heprobablythoughtshewassomelonelywomanhecouldteaseandwouldbegratefulforhisattention,anyattention.
Sherememberedherhusbandalwayshadsomuchfaithinher.Hewouldneverspeaktoanyonethisway.Hetreatedherlikeanequal.Thatmayhavebeenunconventional,butthatwaswhyshelovedhimsomuch.
“Yes,workhard,makemoney.Allgoessomewhere.Notawasteatall.”
“Okay,”shesaid,tryingnottorollhereyes.Bendingherknees,shepickedupaboxfromthefloor.Hegrabbedthecart,stabilizingit.
Usingherfoot,shepulledthecartbackfromhisgrip.“Igotit.”Shehauledtheboxontopandpusheditthroughthestripdooroutintotheaisles,relievedtogetawayfromhim.
MINADIDN’TKNOWTHEOTHERRENTER’SNAME,BUTthatdidn’tmattermuch.ShereferredtoherasfemalefriendsdoinKorea—unnie,“oldersister.”TheotherrenterspokeEnglishwell,withevenabitofaSouthernaccent,atwangthatsoundedoutoftheWesternsMina’shusbandhadwatched.UnniehelpedhersetupherfirstphoneaccountandsharedallhermapsandbusinformationsothatMinacouldgetaroundtownmoreeasily.
UnnielovedAsianpearsandtangerinessoMinawouldcarryhomeafewofthose,aswellassomethingrefreshingandcold,suchassikhye—amaltedricedrink—whichhappenedtohavebeenherdaughter’sfavorite,too.Onahotnight,Minacoulddrinkagallonofsikhyeinasinglesitting,butsherestrictedherselftoaglassafterdinnerwhenshe’drestsometimesinthediningnook,dampwithsweat,listeningtothecricketsthroughtheopenwindowsandthelandladywatchingtheKoreannews.
Becauseunnieoftenworkedatnight,onlyiftheirschedulespermitted,sheandMinasatdowntoeattogether,onceortwiceperweek.Theywouldtalkaboutthedayusually,orAmericaingeneral,orunniewouldtranslateadocument,abillingstatementforher,andthatwasit.Theywouldnevergointoeachother’sroomswhereunniereadlargeEnglishnovelsorlistenedtoclassicalmusicthat,evenmuffledthroughherdoor,elevatedtheentirehouse—notesconnectedandsmooth.
OnenightinlateJulyaboutamonthaftershehadarrivedinLosAngeles,Minawentintothekitchen,whichsmelledofonionsanddoenjangjjigae,topreparesomethingsimplefordinner,enoughtofillherstomachsoshecouldgobacktobedandfallasleeptothesoundofthecricketsplayingtheirwings.Atthestove,unniestirredalargestainlesssteelpot.
“How’swork?”sheasked.
Minaopenedtheirrefrigerator.“Oh,itwasokay.It’snotsobad—couldbeworse,Iguess.How’sworkattherestaurant?”
“Eh,everything’sthesame.”SheglancedattheegginMina’shandandsmiled.“I’mmakingsomemorejjigae.Wouldyoulikesome?”
“That’sokay,you’vebeentoonicetomealready.”
“Don’tworryaboutit.Youlooktired.Let’seattogether.”ShegrabbedtheeggfromMina’shandbeforeopeningthefridgeandplacingitbackinitscarton.“Justhaveaseat.I’lltakecareofthis.”
Minaarrangedpapernapkinsonthevinylplacematsalongwithspoonsandchopsticks.Whodidthiswomanremindherof?Maybeoneofthenunsattheorphanage?Somanyofthoseyears,andthepeoplewithinthem,hadallbeenablurthatshehadblockedoutofhermind—firstthroughwork,thenthroughmarriageandfamily.
Aftereatingtogetherforseveralminutesinsilence,Minaasked,“Howlonghaveyoubeenlivinghere?”
“Acoupleyears.”
“InAmerica?”
Unnielaughed.“No,justinthishouse.I’vebeeninAmericalongerthanthat.IusedtoliveinTexas.DoyouknowTexas?”
“I’veheardofit.Yes.”
Unniewipedhermouth.“WhydidyoucometoLA?”
“Myfriend,acoworkerfromSeoul,livesherenow.Ihaven’tbeenabletomeetupwithheryet.She’salwaysatherdry-cleaningshop.”Shetriedtosmile.“ButI’llseeherthisSundayatchurch.She’sgoingtopickmeup.”TheprospectofreunitingsoonwithMrs.Shin,whomshehadn’tseeninyears,hadbeenabrightspotinherlife.
“Isee.That’sgoodyouhaveachurch.”
“Whataboutyou?Doyougotochurch?”
“No.”
ThesilenceengulfedthemagainuntiltheendoftheirmealwhenMinastoodtowashthedishes,eagertosurrendertoherbed.
Andastheweekspassed,Minacouldunderstandwhyunnieavoidedchurch.
Althoughmostlywell-meaning,thewomenthereaskedMinaaboutwhetherornotshehadahusband,kids,asiftheyhadforgottenhervagueresponsefromtheweekbefore.Shewantedtolieandsaythatsheneverhadeither,justtoavoidtalkingwiththem,butthewomen,withoutbeingexplicit,lookeddownuponthosewhocouldn’tmarry.HowcouldanattractivewomanwhohadlivedallherlifeinKorea,acountryfullofKoreanmen,notmeetanyone?Somethingmustbewrongwithher.Butwhat?
OneSunday,MinaandherfriendMrs.Shinsatwiththeotherwomeninthedimdownstairsdiningareaofthechurchafterserviceforalunchofgimbap,room-temperaturejapchae,andkimchi.Afterbearingtheirusualproddingquestions,Minafinallybecamefedupwithtryingtoavoidthestigma.Shetoldthemthetruth.
“They’redead,”shesaid.Shesaiditagain,louder.“They’redead.”
Thewomenfroze,somewiththeirchopsticksraisedmidair.
“Allofthem?”thenosiestoneasked,foodstuckinherteeth.
“Yes,allofthem.”Minapaused.“Alltwohundredofthem.”Shesmiled.“Anentirecult.Theywereallmine.”
Thewomengasped.Besideher,Mrs.Shinchokedonalaugh.Thenosyoneshotheradirtylookandraisedhereyebrowsattheotherwomen,whofidgetedintheirplasticfoldingchairs.
Mrs.Shinsaid,“Herdaughterandhusbandaredead.Areallofyouhappynow?Really?”
Afterthatday,thewomenavoidedher.Perhapstheydidn’tknowhowtoidentifywithMina,arelativelyyoungwomanwithoutafamily,ortheydidn’tlikethatjokeaboutthecult.SheatleaststillhadMrs.Shin,whohadbeeninAmericaforafewyearsalready.Shewasalwaysbusywithwork,adry-cleaningbusinessonVermontAvenue,butafterservice,theywouldhavelunchatchurch,orshewouldinviteMinaovertoherhousewhereMinawouldadmireherfamily,herlife.Shelivedinalargetwo-bedroomapartmentinKoreatownwithafunnyandkindhusbandandtwoawkwardteenagekids.
WhentheysattogethereatinglunchonSundays,Minawantedtotellherallaboutworkbutdidn’t.Shewantedtotellherhowtiredshewas,howshehatedtheboss,butshedidn’t.Instead,theyatemostlyinsilence.Sheaskedquestionsaboutthekids.ButtheyalwaysavoidedtalkingaboutMina’slife.
Mrs.Shinhadn’tknownMina’shusbandanddaughterwell,butenoughtoimaginewhatithadbeenliketolosethem.Yetnooneknewhowtotalkaboutdeath.Asacultureandcountry,theyhadsomanytragediesfromwarsalreadythattheypersistedinakindofsilentpragmatismthatreflectedbothgratitudeforwhattheyhadnowandanunquenchable,persistentsadnessthatmanifesteditselfdifferentlyineachperson.Somehadbecomedrunks,survivingoffthetenacityoftheirfamiliesindenial.Somehadbecomeobsessedwithstatussymbols—luxurycars,designerclothes,andwatches.Othersworkeddiligently,aformofnumbingthepainthatatleasthadsomekindofproductiveoutcome—moneyinthebank,aroofovertheirheads,foodonthetable.
Mrs.Shintriedtofillthesilencebetweenthemwithgossipaboutpeoplewholivedinherbuilding,aboutwomenatchurch.ShetoldMinaaboutawomaninherfortieswhocheatedonherhusbandwithayoungerman.
“She’snuts,”Mrs.Shinsaid.“He’s,what,tenyearsyoungerthanher?”
“Tenyears?”
“Andshe’ssavingupmoneytorunawaywithhim.”
Theylaughed.
“She’scrazy,”Mrs.Shincontinued.“She’llenduppregnant.Andthenwhat?”
Margot
Fall2014
THEFOLLOWINGEVENING,MARGOTHADRETURNEDtotheapartmentaloneaftertouringapartmentsforMiguel,closeenoughtohisnewjobinBurbank,whichhe’dbeginnextMonday.HehadgoneoutforadrinkwithamanthathehadmetonlineafterMargotassuredhimshewouldbeokaybyherself.Hepromisedtomeetherbackatthehoteltonight,thesamehotelwheretheyhadbeenatsincefindinghermother.
TheyconsideredmovingtoMargot’smother’sapartmentinthenextcoupledaystosavemoney.OnceMiguelfoundapermanentplacethisweek,Margotwouldthenstayathermother’saloneuntilshecouldfinishcleaningandpackingordonatingtheirbelongings.Hermotherhadalreadycoveredthemonth’srent,andMargot’ssupervisorinSeattlehadapprovedextendedtimeoff—unpaid.
Accordingtothelandlord,hermotherhadaboyfriend,amanwhovisitedheroftenduringthesummer.Couldhebethesamepersonthatshehadbeenyellingatlastweekend,thesameweekendthatshehaddied?AlthoughMargotcouldn’tquitetrustthelandlord,hehadnoreasontolie.Sheneededtofigureoutwhohermotherwaswith,ifanyone,thatnight.OfficerChoihadyettoreturnherphonecall,butshedidn’thaveanymoretime.Shecouldn’twaitforhimoranyoneanymore.Hermother’sbodywasproofthatsometimestherewasnotonemorehour,onemoreday,onemoreweekinthislife.Sometimes,allyouhadleftwasrightnow—thesecondstickingaway.
Margotswitchedontheoverheadlightinsidehermother’sbedroom.Despitethesharpnessoftheeveningair,shehadleftallthewindowsopenforthepastfourdaystoreleasethesmellofdeaththatlingeredinhermother’sapartment,theirapartment,theonetheyhadsharedforaslongasMargotcouldremember.Shepausedtoparsethroughwhatshecouldsenseoutside—arichredporkpozolenextdoor,askateboardrattlingovercracksinthesidewalk,awomanspeakingrapidlyonthephone,theexhaustfromachokingdieselcar—bothfamiliarandstrange.Thisneighborhoodhadbothchangedandstayedthesame.
ManyoftheKoreansthatshehadknownasachildhadmovedoutforhomesinthesuburbsoncetheyhadsavedenough,andnowmostoftheneighborswereLatino.Yettheyalllivedheretosurvive,whilelongingtobesomewhereelse.Howdidtheworldbecomeaplacewherejobsandwealthweresoconcentrated?Whydidbordersdefineopportunity?WasitthatbadforhermotherinKorea?Wasshemoretrappedtherethanhere?
Partingthewhitecurtains,Margotlookeddownatthealleywiththegarbagebinswheretheneighborhoodkidsplayedsoccerandhandballupagainstthesideofthebuildingafterschoolandatnight.Shethenlookedinsidetheclosetwherehermother’sclotheshungneatly,unlikeMargot’sownbackinSeattlewhereeverysweaterorpairofpantsseemedtoalreadybeonthefloor.Hermotherhadaccumulatedandsavedsomuchthroughtheyears—nothingofrealvaluebuthadstillmeantsomethingtoher—adatedleatherjacketfromthe’80s,acobaltbluedresswithlargeshoulderpads,asimpleblacksheath,someknee-lengthskirtsfromKoreathathadn’tfitherforyears.Margotdugthroughthepocketsofthepantsandjackets,findingcoins,fadedreceipts,alipstick,smallbills.
Apairofblacktennisshoes,coveredinafinerust-coloreddust,smelledofmineralandsage.
MargotwasagainremindedofthatlongdrivetoVegasonceyearsago,morevividlythistime.Howthehotairwhippedherskinthroughtheopenwindows,cakingherfaceandarmswithafinepowderlikekonggaruontteok,whichshecouldtasteinsidehermouth,dryandgrainy.Bigwhitecloudshoveredaboveastheworld—clayandocher,brittleandburnt—streakedby.Hermother’seyes,hardasstones,focusedontheroad.Sweatstreameddownthesidesofherfaceandneck.
“Wherearewegoing?”Margothadaskedfromtheback.
“Somewhereveryspecial,”hermothersaid.
“Willtherebeicecream?”
“Ihopeso,”shesaid,eyessoftening.“Yes.”
“Whyarewedrivingsofarforicecream?”MargotaskedinEnglish.Shelaughed.
“It’snotjustforicecream,”hermothersaidinKorean.
“Itmustbethebesticecreamintheworld.Thebiggesticecream.”
Hermotheradjustedhercollar,clearedherthroat.Shefidgetedwiththeradiodialforaminute,frustratedwiththeshrillsounds,thewavesofstatic,anewsreporter’svoice,snippetsofclassicalmusic.
“Ifyoubehavewell,I’llbuyyouicecream.Anyflavoryouwant.”Hermotherglancedatherintherearviewmirror.Acarbehindthemhonked.Ashepassedontheleft,thedriveryelled,“GobacktoChinatown,bitch.”
Margotflinchedasifastrangerhadthrownarockatthem.Shecouldseehermother’shandsgrippingthewheel,knuckleswhitening.Butshedroveon,stilldippingbelowthespeedlimit.
“Doyouwantsomewater?”hermotheraskedanhourortwolater.Margothadfallenasleep.
Shewasthirsty,butsheresponded,“No.I’mfine.”
“Wemight…wemightmeetsomeonespecialinLasVegas.”Hervoicecracked.“SomeoneIhaven’tseeninalongwhile.”
Hermotherwastryinghardnottocry.Daytimehadturnedtodusk,awashofhot-pinkstreaksandapurplehorizon.
“Iwonderifthisistherightthingtodo—bringingyouhere,onthistrip.ButIhadnoonetowatchyou.”Itwasasifhermotherwastalkingtoherselforanotheradult,ratherthanattemptingtoreasonwithasix-year-old,butonlylaterdidMargotrealizethatasmuchassheresentedhermotherforleaningonMargot,hermotherwasdeeplyandunimaginablyalone.
TheonlypeoplewhodidnotjudgeherwereGodandperhapsMargotasachild.
Astheyapproachedthecitylimits,theystoppedatafast-foodrestaurantfordinnerwheretheydevouredcheeseburgersandfries,muchtoMargot’sdelight.Whentheyreachedthehotel,hermothercollapsedonthebedandfellasleep.ItwasMargot’sfirsttimeinahotel,andshestayedawakeallnightasiftoguardhermother,takinginthenewsightsandsmells.Thesheetshadachemicalfloralscentthatwasforeigntoher.Thecarpetwasextranubbyunderhertoes.Thetelevisionappearedhugecomparedtotheonetheyhadathome.
Afterwaitingforanentiredayintheirhotelroom,hermotherhadseemedsodefeated,deflatedthenextnight.Herfaceandthroatwereflushedwithhumiliation.TheyorderedChinesefoodandategreasynoodlesandfriedrice,barbecueporkoutofthetakeoutboxesinsilence.Afterward,hermotherleftthebathroomdoorajarandranthehottestwaterinthetubthatshecouldbear,steamingallthewindows,mirrors,glass.Shedroppedherclothesontothefloor,submergedherselfinthetub,herbobtiedintoatinytail,andsweat,glowingredasifpreparingherselfforascrub.Shelayback,tiltedherhead,exposingherneck,andclosedhereyes.
Margothadbeentoofrightenedtoapproachhermother.Sheyearnedtoaskforwhomtheywerewaiting,whyshewassosad,ifshewantedMargottoscratchherback.Margotwonderedwhatshehaddonewrong,andwherewastheicecreamhermotherhadpromisedher?
InsteadsheperchedontheedgeofthecouchandwatchedaPBSshowonpainting,abeardedmanwithcurlybrownhair,dome-shaped,swiftlyconjuringthecurvesandshadowsofadramaticalpinemountain,sublimeandwhite.Howforeign,howoddthatthislandscape,sounliketheoneoutsidetheirhotel—dryandarid,flame-likeonthefleshduringthedaywhilesizzlingwithelectriclightsatnight—couldexistononeplanet.Shefellasleeponthecouch,dreamingofthesnow,whichshehadneverexperiencedinreallife,splashingherfacewiththeicywaterintheclearlakethatreflectedthepeaksabove.
Thenextday,hermother,whoworesunglassesbecausehereyeswereswollenfromcrying,packedupthecaranddroveMargottoaBaskin-Robbins,thefirsttimeshehadeverbeentoanice-creamshop.Afterperusingthemarvelofcreamycolors—chocolatesandpecansandswirlsofcaramel—sheselectedonescoopofcookiesandcreamthatdrippeddowntheconeontoherhands,whilehermotherorderedthestrawberryflavorforherself.ShehadsmiledatMargot’sdelight.
Now,withhermother’sdust-coveredtennisshoesinhand,MargotwenttothelivingroomandpickeduponeofthetravelbrochureswithaphotoofabreathtakingduskyGrandCanyon—allrustystriatedpeaksanddramaticshadows—thatremainedonthecoffeetable.Thedustontheshoesmatchedthespecificcolorofthatlandscape.CouldshehavewornthesesameshoesattheGrandCanyonoranationalpark?Buthermotherneverwouldhavegonebyherself.
Margotwouldleaveavoicemailforthetourcompany.Shedidn’texpectanyonetopickuponaSundaynight.
Butayoungwomananswered.Hervoicewastiredandgravelly.
“Mymommighthavecontactedyouaboutatour?”Margotasked.“AndIwantedtoseeifyouhadanyinformationonwhethershewaswithanyoneor,Idon’tknow,ifshewenttoyouroffice?”
“Uh,I’mnotsurewecandothat,”thewomansaid,clearingherthroat.
“Couldyoupleaselookintoyourrecords?HernamewasMina,MinaLee.”Margotclosedhereyes.“She’sdeadnow.”Hervoicecracked.“AndIwanttoknow—”
“Oh,God,I’msosorry…Holdon.”Thewomanputheronholdforaminutebeforecomingbackontheline.
“So,itlookslikeshetookatourwithusonSeptember12totheGrandCanyon.”
Shocked,Margotasked,“Howmanydayswasshethere?”
“Threedaysandtwonights.”
“Wasshe…alone?”
“No.Shehadaguest.”
“Aguest?”
“Wedon’thavearegisteredname.Shebookedadoubleoccupancyroom.”
“Isthereanyway—Idon’tknow—isthereanywayIcouldtalktothetourguideaboutthis?Maybesomeonehadseenher?”
“HowaboutItakeyournumber?Isitokayifhecallsyouback?”
HermothermusthaveworntheseblackshoesattheGrandCanyon.Butwithwhomhadhermotherbeentraveling?Wasitamanorawoman?Whyhadn’thermothertoldher?Hadshegottenintoafightofsomesortbeforeshedied?Whyhadshebeenyelling?
Margotfeltabandonedanddeceivedbyhermotherlikeneverbefore.Whatelsewashermotherhiding?Onherhandsandknees,Margotsearchedunderhermother’sbed,pushingasideshoeboxesfullofbuttonsandspoolsofthread.Inthecorner,somethingshinyflashed.Shepulledthewheeledmattressawayfromthewall,climbedontop,andrecognizedacondomwrapper.Shejumpedandshovedthebedback.
Sittingonthefloor,sheburiedherheadinherarmscrossedoverherknees.Withanurgetoscour,topurgeeverything,shestoodup,wantingtoscream.Thetackyteddybear,whitebutdingywithage,pawssewnintoholdingaredheart,restedonhermother’sbed.Shecouldtearhisheadoff.
Gatheringherresolve,shecontinuedtosearchtheapartment.Insideaslouchybrownleatherbag,Margotfoundsticksofgum,churchhandouts,asmalllime-greennotebookwithsomeaddresseswritteninsideofit.MostofthenameswerewritteninKoreananditwouldtaketoomuchefforttoreadthroughandtrytorecognizeanyofthem.
Sheenteredthesecondbedroom,oncehers,wherehermotherkeptbills,paperwork,storereceipts,andrecords.Margot’soldclothesremainedinthesingledresserupagainstthewall.Sheneededpaperandapen.Sheneededsomehowtoorganizenow.
Inherworndeskthatshehadpurchasedinhighschoolatathriftstore,shefoundaplastictrayfullofpencils,colorandcharcoal,fancyGermanerasers,sharpenersthatMargothadcollectedandsaved,unused,forwhateverreason.Itwasasifshehadaccumulatedallthesesuppliesforthesakeofknowingthatshewouldonedayusethemratherthanenjoythematthetime.Butwhatkindoffuturehadshebeensavingfor—thefuturethatshewaslivinginnowwithoutanyart?Shehadsomanyideasthatshehadneverpursued,somanysketchesshehadmadebutabandonedthroughouttheyears.Sherealizedthepartofherthatdreamedhaddiedsomewhere,too,snuffedbyaneedforpracticality,stability,asenseofvalueinthisworld,whichalwaysseemedtomeasureyouwithfixednumbersthathadbeencreatedforwhom,bywhom?Nother.Nothermother.
Shepulledthetrayoutofthedrawer,stuckhalf-open,forabetterlookatwhatsheshouldtake.
Underneaththetraywasabusiness-sizeenvelopewithablack-and-whiteobituarydatedinOctober,cutfromthelocalKoreannewspaperinside.TheinkoftheKorean,whichMargotcouldsomewhatreadbutnotunderstand,rubbedoffontoherhands.Shestruggled,hermindlikethefishingnet,tocatchanywordthatshecouldfind:cancer,supermarket,wife,Calabasas,church
Eventhoughshehadnevermethim,sheknewhiminherownface—thesquarenessofthejaw,maybeevenabitofherownnoseandcheekbones.Itwaslikecatchingaglimpseofherselfinamirror.
KimChang-hee.
Herehewasfinally.Tinyinablack-and-whitephoto,astrangershecould’vepassedonthestreet.
Thestrangerwasnowdead.CouldhehavebeenMargot’sfather?
Shescreamed,shockingherselfwiththesoundthatburstfromherthroat.
Mina
Summer1987
AFTERAMONTHANDAHALFOFSTOCKINGSHELVESandcarryingproduceatthesupermarket,Minafeltstrongagain,thestrongestshehadbeensincelosingherhusbandanddaughterinSeoul.Shefeltalmostpowerful.Shedidn’tnecessarilylikethewayshelooked,butshedidn’tmind.Shedidn’tneedaboyfriend.Allsheneededwerethethingsshehad,enoughmoneytogetbyandsaveforthefutureandherhealth,untilitwastimeforhertodieandriseuptomeetherfamilyagain.That’swhatheavenwas,shethought:thepresenceofherhusbandanddaughter,thefewnunswhohadbeenkindtoherattheorphanage,herparentsfromwhomshehadbeenseparatedinthewar.
Sherememberedvaguelyherparents’faces,hermother’ssmile.Thewayshewouldchaseafterheraroundthehousewhereshe’dhidebehindthelargedarkpillars.Theelegantcurvedroofline.Thewarmthoftheondol,theheatedfloorsinthewinter.Thegardenswherehermothertendedtothecabbageandmu.Sherememberedthesmellofdoenjangjjigae,anchovystockboiling,thehappinessofasweetredbeanporridge.Sherememberedhermother’svoicesingingalongwithmusic,somethingvaguelyoperatic,old.Butshehadneverbeenabletofindthatsongagain.Sometimesshewouldstopandlistentotheradio,waitingagaintohearthatsong,butsheneverdid.
Atthesupermarket,shehadmadeafewfriends,bothmenandwomen,mostlyLatinoswithwhomshecouldhardlyholdaconversation.ButshelearnedsomeSpanishfromthem,whichmadeherhappy.Shelaughedwiththematherinabilitytopronounceandremembersomeofthemostbasicthings.Shehadn’tfeltthatsillysinceherhusbandanddaughterhaddiedlastOctober.
Hector,whohadbeenhelpinghersincedayone,andConsuela,astoutwomanwithathinponytail,wouldask,“?Cómoestás,amiga?”toMina,andshewouldrespond,“?Bueno,ytú?”
“Bien,”theywouldcorrecther.Andthey’dalllaugh.
Theytaughtherthenamesofproduce—naranja,limón,lasuvas.
Shehadtroublewiththeletterslandv.Butsherecitedthesewordsasshedisplayedthefruit,carefulnottoletthembruise.Itfeltgoodtonottakeherselftooseriously,toseeherselfthroughtheeyesofsomeoneelse.
ShetriedtoreciprocatebyteachingthemKorean,buttheyalreadyknewmostofthewordsthatwouldbeusefultotheirwork.Theyknewhowtosayhelloandthankyou.Theyknewallthenumbers(hana,dul,set…),allthenamesofdifferentproduce,thefood.Shecouldn’tgetoverthesightofseeingsomeonewhowasn’tAsianspeakingherlanguage.
Shecouldn’tgetoverAmerica.
OnaFridaymorning,twomonthsaftershehadarrivedinLosAngeles,shestoodatacart,wipingsweatfromherfacebeforestockingshelvesofsoftdrinks—7-Up,Pepsi,Coca-Cola,fruit-flavoredbeveragesinobscenecolorsthatdidnotexistinnature.Shecouldn’tbelievehowmuchsodapeopledrankinAmerica.Sheoccasionallyhada7-Upwhenshehadastomachache,butbythelooksofit,Americansdranktheliquidasfrequentlyaswater.
Thesupermarketowner,Mr.Park,wearinghisusualwhitepoloshirtandkhakis,approachedherslowlywithasmileasifhehadalittlesecrettoshare.Herspinetingledwithfearasshefrozeinplace,resistingtheurgetorunaway.Hehadneverdoneanythinguntoward,butshehatedhowhelookedatherashadetoolong—asifheownedher,too.
“Howareyoudoing?”heasked.
“Fine.”Thewallsofaluminumcansglistenedlikeroundsofammunition,thebottleslikemissileshells.
“Makingfriends?”
“Kindof,”shesaid.
“Iheardyou’remakingfriendswiththeMexicans.”
Shedidn’tlikethosewordsinhismouth.
“Hector,Consuela,”hesaid.
“Yes,they’reverynice.”Herlegstrembledbeneathher.
“Theyworkhard.”
“Yes,theydo.”
“Theycan’thelpthattheydon’t,youknow…havethebusinesssense.”Hepointedtothesideofhishead.
Shewantedtoaskhowhewouldknowthat.Didheevertalktothem?Hewastheidiot,creepyandinsensitive.Hangingbyherside,herhandtightenedintoafist.
“Atleasttheyworkhard,youknow?”herepeated.
“Yes.”Sheexitedherbody,ashell,ashiseyesmeandereddown.Shefixedhereyesonthelinoleumfloor,speckledlikebirds’eggs.Minahadbeenhidinginthestoreroomandtheaislesamongtheboxesandbottlesandjars,butinreality,pinneddownbyhisgaze,shehadbeenexposedhere,too.
“Anyway,Ithoughtthiswouldbeagoodtimetomoveyoutothecashregisters.”Hesmiled.“Oneofourworkersisretiring.”
Shemightbesafersurroundedbymorepeople.
“That—thatwouldbegreat,”shesaid.
“Wanttostartnextweek?”heasked.
“Sure.”Overcomewithrelief,hereyesgrewwet.
“JustcomeinandaskoneofthecashiersforMr.Kim,okay?He’llhelpyou.”Hewinked.
“Mr.Kim?Okay.”
“Goodjob.”Thosewordswerelikehandstryingtotouchher.
Assoonashewalkedaway,tearsfelldownhercheeks.Shecouldtastethesalt,liketheocean.Hastily,shewipedherface.
AlthoughsheenjoyedthecompanyofHectorandConsuelaandtheotherworkerswhogreetedherwithasmile,awave,oranodeveryday,shewouldgetpaidmoreasacashier,ajobthatwouldalsobeeasieronherbody.Shewasgettingolderafterall.Herstiffjointsandmusclesremindedherofthisdaily
Laterthatafternoon,shejoinedHectorinrestockingtheproducesection,whichhadbecomequicklydepletedearlierthatday.Astheyworked(himgrabbinganddeliveringcartsstockedwithleafygreensandrootvegetables,andherneatlypilingthem),shethoughtthatmaybesheshouldshetellhimthatshewasleavingthefloor.Maybehewouldthinkitwouldbestrangeifshedidn’ttellhim,andonedayhefoundoutthatshewasworkingattheregisters.Butshedidn’tknowhow.Shewasn’tsureaboutthewords,andshedidn’twanttooffendhim.
“I…Monday…Igoatcashregister,”shesaidinEnglish.
“You?”hesaid.
“Yes,me.”
“Oh,good,good.”Hesmiledwithwarmth,asifpattingherontheback.“Good.Youdoagoodjob,okay?”
“Okay.”
Hestackedthefloppyredleaflettucewithherinsilence.Shecouldsensehisresignation.HectorandConsuelahadbeenintheirjobsforever.
DealingwithKoreancustomersdirectlyrequiredtheKoreanlanguage,sure,butatthesametime,HectorandConsuelaalreadyknewalotofKorean,andwouldlearnmoreiftheythoughtitwouldmaketheirliveseasier.Itwasobviouswhyshewasgettingpromotedoverthem.
Shewantedtoexplaintohim,tomakehimfeelbetter,thatshewasn’tstrongenoughtodothisjob,butbothofthemknewthatwasnotthetruth.Thetruthwassomethingthatwouldmakethembothuncomfortableandsad.Thiswasalreadyhisexpectation.Thiswasalreadyhisexperience.Soshesaidnothinguntiltheendofhershift.
“Hastaluego.”Shetriedtosmile.
“Hastaluego,”hesaid,withoutquitemeetinghereyes.
ONMONDAY,MINAMETMR.KIM,THESAMEMANWHOoccasionallygreetedherintheaisles,fortraining.Hewasindeedafewyearsyoungerthanher,withhissmoothdarkskin,squareface,highcheekbones,ashysmilethatwasslightlylopsidedontheright.Hewasnottall,aboutthesameheightasMina,sowhenhespoketoher,helookedherstraightintheeyes,whichmadeherfeelself-conscious.Shefeltdowdyinherslacksandpinkpoloshirt,herworntennisshoes.
Asheshowedherthebuttonsontheregisterandtheformtofilloutforthereports,recordingtheexactchangeintheregisteratthebeginningandendofhershifts,shecouldn’thelpbutstareathisarms—thinbutmuscular,coveredinapaledown.Shealwayslikedarms.Anditgavehersomethingtolookatbesideshisface.
Onherfirstdayattheregister,shewasalittleslowwiththecash,andthecustomersgrewimpatient,eyeingher,toobusywiththeirownlives,theirownworriestorecognizethatshewasnewandtryingtolearnasquicklyaspossible.
“That’satwenty.Givemeback$3.15.”
“Okay.”
“No,here.Letmemakethiseasierforyou.Ihaveexactchange.”
Shewasstillgettingusedtothedollar,thedenominations,thefeelofit,thewayeachbillappearedthesamebutdifferent,thesizesofthecoins.Fortunately,thebaggerwhomsheworkedwith,Mario,withhisspikyhairbutsoftdemeanor,waspatient.HehelpedherwiththebreakdownofthecashorsmiledandapologizedinKoreantothecustomersasshestoodthere,perplexed,havingtouseapartofthebrainthathadgrownrustyovertheyearswithdisuse.HespenthistimebetweencustomershelpingMr.Kimortheothercashiersliftlargesacksofriceorboxesofproduceontocarts.
Afterafewhours,sheunderstoodthesubtletiesofthebar-codescanner.Shememorizedsomeofthecodesforthemorepopularproduce.Shereceivedanddoledoutmoneyautomatically.
Althoughthejobwaslessphysicallydemanding,thepresenceofallthecustomerswaitinginlineforhertodoherjobquicklywhilebeingfriendlyexhaustedher.Allthoseeyes.Thenervousnesssheexperiencedasacustomerwatchedherscaneachitem,ensuringthatshewaschargingthemcorrectly.Sure,shewouldgetusedtoit.Eventually,thecustomerswouldbecomelikethebottlesofsoysaucethatshestockedontheshelves,justanothercomponentoftherepetitive,ultimatelyunfeelingnatureofherjob.
Spinach.Doenjang.Thinricenoodles.Largesackofrice.Garlic.Bean-flavoredpopsicles.Twooranges.Abagofginger.
Asix-packofHite.Abagofpotatochips.Abundleofgreenonion.
Attheendoftheshift,Mr.Kim,harriedandrushed,camebytocheckinonher.Sweatrandownthesidesofhisface.Nonetheless,hetriedtobeasgenerousandgentlewithheraspossible.Heaskedherifshehadanyquestions,checkingtheremainingcashinherregisterupagainstwhatshehadloggedinherbinder.Hewipedhisforeheadwithhisbarearm.Shehandedhimapapernapkinshehadinherpocket.
“Thankyou,”hesaidinEnglish,smiling.
“No…problem?”Shelaughed,realizingshestillcouldn’tpronouncetheletterL
“Goodjobtoday.”
“Thankyou!”Theireyesmet,andshereturnedhissmile.
Onthewayhome,shesatatthefrontofthebus,staringintospace,transfixed,hermindnumb.Shewantedtogohome,shower,andclosehereyes.Shewishedshehadatelevisiontodistractherselffromthesadnessthatshefeltrisingwithinher.Hadshemadeamistake?Wouldshebeabletosurvivetheglares,theimpatienceofthecustomers?Wouldshebeabletohandlethesteadyflowofinteractionwhenallshewantedtodowastobeleftalone,tonotthinkorfeel,withonlythephysicalpainofworktranscendingtonumbnesslikeadrug?
Sheunderstoodhowdeliciousandeasyitwastobecomeanaddict.Afewtimes,shehaddrunkherselfunconsciousafterherhusbandanddaughterdied.Afterburyingthem,shewantedtothrowherselfinthatsameground.Shewoulddrinkandendupwithasplittingheadachethenextday,crawlingtothebathroomandvomiting.
Butshecouldn’thavegoneonthatway.Themostimportantthingnowwastobegood,toworkhard,tomakeittoheaven,whereshewouldbereunitedwiththemsomeday.Thatwasallthatmatterednow.NotevenMr.Park,hiswordslikehandslingeringtoolong,couldstopher.
Sittingatthefrontofthebus,swayingwithitsmovement,shetoldherselfthatshe’dbefine.She’dgetusedtotheregisters,thecash,thepeople,andifnot,shecouldalwaysasktomovebacktostockingshelves,orshecouldgosomewhereelse.Shecouldfindanotherjob.Andonceshefeltabitmorestablefinancially,shecouldfindalawyerthatwouldhelpherstayinthecountrypermanently.ThinkingofthedarknessofherdaysinSeoul,thatapartment,thestreetsherhusbandanddaughteroncewalkedupon,shecouldnevergobacktoKorea.
Theplacehadbecomeagraveyard.
Shelookedupatthebusdriver,aBlackwomanaboutheragewithashortbobcurledinward.Thiswomanhadspentherhourswithintheconfinesofthebus,tryingtodoherjob,navigatingthroughtraffic,yetalsohavingtorespondtothesteadyneedsofridersonthebus,whocouldbeeitherkindandfriendlyorharriedandrude.Thewomanhadtheresponsibilityofdrivingallthesepeopletotheirhomesorjobseveryday.
ThedriverglancedbackatMina.
“Youdoin’allright?”
“Me?”
“Youallright?”
“Yes,thankyou.”
Minawantedtosaysomethingelse.Butshedidn’tknowwhatorhow.
Shouldsheaskhowshewasdoing?No,thatwouldbeawkward.
Wasthebusdriverconcernedabouther?OrhadMinabeenstaringtoolongather,makingheruncomfortable?
Minagotoffthebusasquicklyaspossibleandwalkedlessthanhalfablocktothehouse.Inside,sheunlockedherroomwhereshegatheredherpajamasandatowelsothatshecouldshower,rinsethedayoff(allthatcurrency,thecounting,theimpatientcustomers,Mr.Kim’sEnglishthankyou,hissmile).Sheneededtoclearherhead,relax.
Asshetouchedtheknobtoopenherdoor,sheoverheardthelandladysay,“Mrs.Baek,”downthehalltowardtheotherrenter’sroom.
Thatwasunnie’sname.
Margot
Fall2014
ACROSSFROMHERMOTHER’SGATED-UPSHOPWASTHEchildren’sclothingstoreofhermother’sfriendAlma—likelyoneofthelastpeopletohaveseenhermother.PerhapsAlmahadnoticedsomethingorsomeonesuspiciousatthattime.
MargotandMiguelsteppedintoAlma’sbooth,emptyofpeople.Babyandchildren’sclotheshungfromfixturesalongthewallsandonroundersandracks.Littlesuperherosweatersetsforboys,andprincessandponyonesforgirls.
“Maybeshe’sinthebathroom.”Margotexitedtheshop,duckingbeneathatinywhitedresswrappedinplastic.Miguelfollowed.
“Shouldwewaitalittle?”heasked.
“Let’sopenmymom’sstoreandseeifwecanfindanythingthere.We’llbeabletoseeifshecomesback.”
Margot’smotherworkedinaswapmeetcalledMercadodelaRaza,anoldwarehousewithatinroof,highceilings,andconcretefloorsfilledtothebrimwithstores.ItwaslocatedsoutheastofLA—adustylandscapeofdilapidatedfactoriesandfruitvendorsgrippingbagsoforangesonstreetcorners—whereamostlyworking-classLatinopopulationflourished,carvingacommunityforthemselvesamongtheruinsofthedefenseandmanufacturingindustries.
Localsgatheredontheweekendsatswapmeetsthatbumpedbandaandnorte?omusic.Menwithfaceandnecktattoosroamedthewalkwaysinpeacewiththeirchildren.Familiesandchurchesrentedacoveredcorneroftheparkinglotoftheswapmeetasastagingareaforperformances,religiousgatherings,quincea?eras.
Inthistopographyintersectedbyrailroadtracks,wheregarbageandlargeobjects(mattresses,usedfurniture,brokenshoppingcarts)oncedestinedforlandfillsdisintegrated,Margot’smother,Mina,andotherKoreanAmericansmadealivingbecauseoftherelativelycheaprentfortheirstores.EvenKoreatownprovedtoocompetitiveandtooexpensive,sotheyfoundthemselvesadriftinSouthCentralorBellorHuntingtonPark,workinglonghours,sometimessevendaysperweek,behindcountersinplacesthatfeltcontinentallyfarfrombothliteralandfigurativehomes.
Margothaddetestedfollowinghermothertothestoreontheweekendsandweekdaysduringsummerandwinterbreakswhensheimaginedchildrenallovertheworldenjoyingtheirmiddle-classvacations,tumblinginwhitesandorgreengrass.Instead,shehadspentherdaysofffromschoolinthestoreamongplastichangersandclothingsmellingofthefactoriesfromwhichtheycame,whilehermother,inherexhaustion,sometimesevenyelledatcustomers.
Amiga!Amiga!shewouldhollerinherKoreanaccenttoshoppersaftertheyhadperusedsomeoftheitemsontheracksandwalkedaway.ThatimageandsoundhadbeensearedintoMargot’smemory—thesightofwomen’sbacksindeparturewhilehermothertriedtospeakintheirlanguage.Amiga!Amiga!Ishowyousomething.Thesadness,no,maybethecourageoftheunheard.Amiga!Amiga!Towomenwhodidn’tneedanotherfriend.Thepitchandtoneofhermother’svoice,duringsomeoftheirmostdesperatemoments,whenhermotherhadn’tbeensureifshecouldpaytherentorbuygroceries,resembledthatofawomanthrownoverboard,treadingwater,callingouttootherwomenwhodriftedbyonrowboats.
AsMargotnavigatedtheswapmeetnow,thedirtinessofthesurroundingssettledintoher.ShewasterrifiedthatMiguel—someonefromhermiddle-classlifeinSeattleofdishwashers,fleece,andstainlesssteelwaterbottles—wouldfinallyseethisothersideofherlife,howshegrewup.Shehadbeenashamedforsolongofherhome,hermother’swork,herlife.Butwhy?
PerhapssprawlinglawnsandshoppingmallswereoneversionoftheAmericandream,butthiswasanother.Shecouldseethatnow.Maybeitwasnotmainstream,maybeitwasnotseenwithanycompassionorcomplexityontelevisionorinthemovies,becauseitrepresentedallthatmiddle-andupper-classpeople,includingMargot,fearedandthereforedespised:aseeminglyinescapable,cyclicalpoverty.ButinactualitythiswastheAmericandreamforwhichpeopletoileddayandnight.Peoplehadlefttheirhomelandstobehere,tobuildandgrowwhattheyloved—family,friendship,community,asenseofbelonging.Thiswastheirversionofthedream.
Margotunlockedtherustedaccordiongatewiththelumpofkeysshehadfoundinhermother’spurse,jerkingitopenenoughforthemtoslideinside—awomen’sversionofAlma’sstore,jam-packedwithclothing.Slinkycocktaildresses,tighttopswithshouldercutouts,andconservative,embroideredblousesforolderwomenhungondisplayfromthewalls,alongwithjeansthathadsafety-pinnedsigns,handmadefromcoloredconstructionpaperandpermanentmarker:sale$20.
Onthedustyglasscounter,aceramicVirginMary,atwintothefracturedoneinhermother’slivingroom,stoodbythecashregister.Itsdrawerwasemptyandopen—thesadbrokenlip.Hermotherhadalwaysleftthemachineajartowardoffthieves,asiftosay,Nothinghere.Pleasegoaway
Margotsearchedhermother’susualhidingspotforthecashchangeshekept,underneathabunchoffreeholidaycalendarsinoneofherdisplaycasesforcostumejewelry—rhinestonenecklaceandearringsets,largebeadedhoops,plasticbangles—accessoriesthatshehopedcustomerswouldbuytogowiththeclothingtheyhadpurchased.Margotfoundarollofones,fives,andtensrubber-bandedtogether.
“Well,themoney’sallhere,”shesaid,standingupfrombehindthedisplaycase,onlytoseethatMiguelhadn’tfollowedherintotheshop.
Inthecenterofthewalkwaybetweenstores,MiguelwasspeakingtoAlma,whowascryingandblottinghereyeswithawadoftissue.Margotstashedthecashinhercross-bodypurseandjoinedthem.Almareachedoutherarmsforahug,andMargotfellintothem.
ShehadknownAlmaforabouttwentyyears,sinceaftertheLAriots—allthatshatteredglassandblacksmoke—thathaddestroyedhermother’sfirststore,acouplemilesawayinanother,muchtidierswapmeet,wheretheindividualshopseachhadproperwallsandrollupsteelgates.AlmahadwatchedMargotgrowupacrosstheaislebetweentheirstores—anaislebothnarrowwiththemerchandiseracksthatoverflowed,andimmeasurablywidebecauseofthedifferentlanguagesandculturesbetweenthem,oceanicindistance.Alma’sroundfaceandplumpskinhardlyseemedtoageasMargotwentthrougheachawkwardstageofherowndevelopment—ashyonlychildwithpigtailsoraneatbob,apreteenwhobleachedanddyedherhairnavyblueinthemiddleofthenightandsmokedcigarettesafterschool,andamuchmoreconservativecollegestudentwhounderstoodthatgettingadegreemightbetheonlywayofescapingthislife.
TearsspilledfromMargot’seyes.AlmapulledawayandputherhandsonMargot’scheeksandsaid,“Pobrecita,”huggingheragain.
“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawher?”MiguelaskedinSpanish.
“ThelasttimeIsawherwas…abouttwoweeksago,”Almasaidastheyparted.“BeforeThanksgiving.MaybetheweekendbeforeThanksgiving.”
Wipinghereyes,MargotcouldunderstandmostoftheSpanishinacasualcontext,butaswithherKorean,shestruggledwithputtingwordstogetheronthespot.Herfearofsoundingsillyorbeingmisunderstoodactedasasievethroughwhichalllanguagehadtopass.Anyspeaking,eveninEnglish,oftenproveddifficultforthisreason,butforeignlanguageshadamoregelatinoustextureinhermind,flowingevenmoreslowlytoandfromhermouth.
“Shetooktheentireweekendoff?”MargotaskedinEnglishtoherself.“Thatdoesn’tmakesense.”Margot’smotherworkedoneveryholiday,includingThanksgivingandChristmas,whensheclosedthestoreafewhoursearlierthanusual.OnThanksgivingDay,they’dsometimesorderchickenfromKFC—extracrispydrumsticksandthighsthatthey’ddipinhotsauce.AndWednesdaywastheonlydaythattheentireswapmeetclosedonaregularbasis.ThismeantthatAlmamust’veseenhermotherlastontheTuesdaybeforetheSaturdayorSundaywhenhermotherdied.
“Didyounoticeanythingstrangeordifferentabouther?”Miguelasked.
“Shedidseemsadthesepastcouplemonths,”Almasaid.“Verysad.”
“Doyouknowwhy?”Margotasked.
“Atfirst,Ithoughtmaybesomethinghappenedtoyou,butwhenIaskedher,shesaidyouwerefine,thatyouhadagoodjob,youlikedSeattlealot.”Sheblewhernose.“ThenIthoughtmaybe…shewashavingsomekindofemergency,likeafamilyemergencyoradeath,inKorea,andthat’swhyshe’sbeengonesolong.”ShemotionedforMargotandMigueltowaitasshegrabbedaboxoftissuesfromherstore.“IthoughtshewasinKoreathiswholetime.Maybesomeoneinherfamilyhaddied,orsomeonewassick.Icouldtellthatshewasverysadaboutsomethingorsomeone.”
TheobituarythatMargothadfoundlastnight:cancer,supermarket,wife,Calabasas,church.Seeingthephotograph,tinyandblack-and-white,waslikestaringataghostofherself.Shecouldfeelherselfsinkingunderthewaves,thesaltoftheseawaterinhermouth.Itwasalltoomuch—first,hermother’sdeath,anaccident;then,apotentialmurder;andnow,apossiblefathergoneforever.Washermothergrievinghim?Washethesameboyfriend,thevisitorwiththefancycar,theMercedesthatthelandlordhadmentionedtoMargot?Whyelsewouldshehavesavedhisobituary?Hehadtobeimportanttohermother.ButifhehaddiedinOctober,atwhomhadhermotherbeenyelling?
Washermother’sdeathreallyanaccident?
Inthewalkwaymadenarrowbytheamountofmerchandisedisplayedbyeachstore,awomanwhosoldchampurradofromawheeledcartsqueezedbehindMargot,Miguel,andAlma,leavingatrailofhotchocolate,cinnamon,andmasaintheair.
“Didshehaveanyvisitors?”Miguelasked.“No,notthatIknowof.”Almapaused,reachingforMargot’shand.“Doyouwantsomewater?”
“No,no,thankyou.”
“ShetalkedalotwiththeKoreanladyoverthere.”Almagesturedtoastoresomewherebehindhers.“Doyouknowher?Theonewiththesockshop?”
“Thesockshop?”
“Yes,socks,underwear,pajamas,stufflikethat.”Sheblewhernoseagain.“She’skindofnew,openedherstoreearlierthisyear.Theybecamefriendsfast,ortheyseemedtobefriendsalready,veryclose.”
MargotaskedAlmaifshecouldkeepaneyeonhermother’sunlockedstoreastheylefttofindthesockshopowner.Aroundthecorner,inthemazeofmostlymakeshiftstalls,eachstoreblasteditsowngenreofSpanish-languagemusic(pop,bachata,banda),punctuatedbythedistantcryofacagedpet-shopbirdorasectionoflullabiesemittingfromplastictoys.Atthesightoftiereddisplaysonwheelswithstacksofwhitesockssoldinbundlesforminghalfoftheperimeterofastore,MargotandMiguelpaused.
“Thismustbetheplace,”shesaid.
Seductivelingeriehungabovetheentryways,lacycorsetsandnightgownsfilledwiththebreastsofwire-framedhangersshapedintothetorsosofwomen.Onepairofscarletpanties,whichcamewithamatchingteddy,hadacartoonelephantfaceandsnoutatthecrotch.
Underthebrashfluorescentlight,thestoreownerstoodleaningonaglassdisplaycasewithrowsofconservative,pastelcottonpantiesstackedinside.Withherheadbowedandaballpointpeninhand,shestudiedtheclassifiedsoftheKoreannewspaper.ShelookedupasMargotandMiguelwalkedintohershop.
Margotcouldn’thelpbutstartatthesightofherface—elegant,long,outofplace.Althoughperhapsinhersixties,sheworebrightredlipstick,whichseemedtackyandbeautifulanddefiantallatonce.Hereyebrowswereperfectlypenciledcrescents,likesliversofthemoon.Amidnightbluefleecepeacoatwithpillsalongthesleevesswaddledaslenderdancer’sframe.
Margotbowedherhead.“Uh,myKoreanisreallybad.”
“That’sokay,”thewomansaidinEnglishwithaSouthernaccentthatsurprisedMargot.“CanIhelpyou?”
“Didyouknowtheownerofthewomen’sclothingstoreoverthere?”
“Yes.Yes,ofcourse,”shesaid,voiceshaking.
“Wewerejustwonderingwhenthelasttimeyousawherwas,”Miguelsaid.
“She—she’sbeengoneforawhile.”Shesquinted,layingthependown.“I’vebeenworriedabouther.Whydoyouask?”
“I’mherdaughter,”Margotsaid.“ThisismyfriendMiguel.”
Thewomanwidenedhereyes,thensquinted,creasingthefoundationonherface.
“Oh,”shesaid,asifshehadjustrecognizedMargotsomehow.
ButMargotdidn’tfindherfamiliaratall.Shecouldtellthatthesocklady,likeMargot’smother,mighthavebeenbeautifulonce.Thetheaterofherfacetoldastory,andarich,sadoneatthat.Womenlikeherandhermotherwerealwaysstrugglingtostayabovewater,theirfacesfloatingontopwhiletheirlegstreadedfranticallyunderneath.Theymightwashupdeadontheshoreoneday—likehermotheronthecarpet.
“You’vechangedsomuch,”thewomansaid,breathless.
“Excuseme?”
“Ididn’trecognizeyouatfirst.Yourhair.Iguessyouwouldn’trememberme.”Thewomanpointedtoherself.“Mrs.Baek?”
“No.”Margotshookherhead.“Idon’trememberyouatall.”
Mrs.Baekexhaledwithaloudpuffandsmiledtenderly.“Wealllivedinthesamehousetogetheruntilyouweremaybethreeorfour.”Hereyessoftened,revealingatouchofsentimentalitythatsurprisedMargot,whohadnorecollectionofthattimebeforetheriots,beforetheapartmentthattheylivedinnow.Accordingtohermother,whenshehadfirstarrivedinLosAngelesfromKoreain1987,shehadrentedaroominahouse,gottenpregnantwithMargot,andlivedthereforafewyearsuntilthelandladydiedin1991.Shehadthenpurchasedthelandlady’sclothingstoreatadiscountfromthelandlady’sadultchildren,thesameshopthatwouldbemostlydestroyedoneyearlaterintheriots.Atthetimeshehadpurchasedthatfirststore,hermotherhadmovedherselfandMargottotheirapartmentinKoreatown.ShehadnevermentionedMrs.Baekoranyhousemates.
“YourmotherusedtobringyoutotherestaurantthatIworkedat,HanokHouse.Doyouremember?Itlookedlikeanoldtraditionalhouse,lotsofwoodeverywhere.”
“Idon’trememberthat,”Margotsaid,alittleembarrassed.
Forafewseconds,Mrs.Baek’sfaceshatteredasifthememoryhadsmashedsomethingopenthatshehadbeenguardinginside.Herredlipshardenedintoaline.MargotcouldsenseMrs.Baekclosingoffsomehow.Shehadtoreelherbackin.Sheneededanswers.
“Whydidwestopgoingtotherestaurant?HanokHouse?”
“Yourmotherbecame…verybusyaftersheopenedherstore.Andwhenshelostthatstoreintheriots…shehadtoworksomuch.Itwasaverydifficulttime.Alotofpeoplelosteverything—theirbusinesses,theirjobs.Therewasnotimeforanythingbuttryingtorecover,tosurvive.Itwasalmostlikelivingthroughthewaragain.”
Margotrememberedstacksofsmokerising,blackeningtheairwithanoxiouschemicalsmell.Afewmilesfromtheirapartment,theworldhadbeenonfire.Ontelevision,therehadbeenagrainyblack-and-whitevideoofpoliceofficersbeatingRodneyKing,anunarmedBlackman,wholatersaid,“ItmademefeellikeIwasbackinslaverydays.”
Thereweresomberwhitemeninsuits,anacquittal.Bricksthrown,glasssmashed,gatestrampled.Buildingsignitedintoinfernosthatreleasedtowersofsmokeintothesky.TheNationalGuardstoodonstreetcornersincamouflagewithlargeguns.
Hermothercriedinfrontofthetelevisionset.Herstore,too,hadbeendestroyed.Owningabusinesswhereshedidn’thaveabossyellingather,aplacewhereshecouldbringherchildtowork,seemedtoogoodtobetrue.Allofitwouldbeshattered,too.Becausetheirlifewouldbepartoftheliethatthiscountryrepeatedtolivewithitself—thatfairnesswouldprevail;thatthelawsprotectedeveryoneequally;thatthislandwasn’tstolenfromNativepeoples;thatthiswealthwasn’tbuiltbyBlackpeoplewhowereenslavedbutbyindustriouswhitemen,“our”founders;thathardworkingimmigrantsprovedthiswasameritocracy;thathistoryshouldonlybetoldfromonepointofview,thatofthosewhowonandstillhavepower.Sothecityraged.Immolationwasalwaysastatement
Hermother’slifewasjustonelifeinthiswreckage.Margotwastheretowadewithherinwhatwasleft,salvagingtogetherwhattheycould.Theirfamilyoftwomight’vebeenthesmallestcountry,butitwastheonlyplacewheretheybelongedinthisworld.
Margotwept,surprisingherself.Shedidn’tthinkshehadanymoretearsleftinhertoday.
“Areyouallright?”Mrs.Baekasked,reachingoutandsqueezingMargot’shand.“Iknowthatwasadifficulttime.Thatwasaverydifficulttime.”
MiguelwrappedhisarmaroundMargot’sshoulders.Shehadbeenembarrassedaboutbringinghimtohermother’sstore—thathewouldseehowpoorshehadbeen—butnowshewasgratefulhewasthere.Hewaslikeherinsomanyways;theycouldbothcryorlaugh,feelonadime.
“How’dyouenduphere?”Margotasked,sniffling.
Mrs.Baekhandedheranapkin.“Igottiredofworkingattherestaurant,soIsavedandboughtthisshopinMarchearlierthisyear.ThiswastheonlyplacethatIcouldafford.It’shard,butit’salittleeasierthanworkingattherestaurant.I’mnotonmyfeetallthetime.”ShefocusedagainonMargot.“Yourmomhasn’tbeenaroundforawhile.Ithoughtmaybeshehadgonetovisityou,ormaybeshehadgonetoKorea.Issomeonesick?”
Ineightyears,hermotherhadnevervisitedMargotinSeattle,notevenforhergraduation,andcouldn’taffordtomissmorethanadayoffwork.ToMargot’sknowledge,hermotherhadn’tbeenonanairplanesinceshehadarrivedintheUStwenty-sevenyearsago.
“She’s…dead,”Margotsaid,beatingbacktheimagesthatswelledofhowtinyhermotherhadappearedontheground.HowMargothadfallentoherknees,screaming.“Shediedtwoweekendsago.”
Mrs.Baekgasped,coveringhermouthwithbothhands,eyeswellingwithtears.
“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawher?”Miguelasked.
“Acoupleofweeksago,”shesaid,voicetrembling.Astreakofredlipsticknowonhercheek.Shecried,dabbingunderhereyes,pinkandswollen.Eyelinerstreakedgraydownherface.
“Didanythingseemoff?”heasked.
“Yes,”shesaid,catchingherbreath.“She…hadbeendepressedforawhile.”Shesqueezedthenapkininherfist.
“Alma,herfriendwiththechildren’sclothingstore,saidthesamething.”MiguelglancedatMargot.
“Doyouknowwhy?”Margotasked.“Didshementionanything?”
Mrs.Baek’shandsshookasshesmootheddownthecrinkledpagesoftheclassifiedsonwhichshehadbeenleaning.ItwasobviousthatshewasconsideringwhattotellMargot,likeagrown-upprotectingachild.Margotwantedtosay,There’snothingyouneedtohidefrommeanymore.I’manadultnow.Ineedtoknow.
“Shewasstruggling.We’veallbeenstruggling,youknow?There’shardlyanycustomersthesedays.It’sgottensomuchworse.Nobodywantstocometoaswapmeetanymore.Youshouldseethebathrooms,howdirtyeverythingisnow.Theowner,themanager—noonecaresaboutusanymore.”FreshtearsleakedoutofMrs.Baek’seyes.Sheshookherhead.“Whendidshedie?”
“OverThanksgivingweekend,”Miguelsaid.“WeweredrivingdowntoLA.MargotfoundheronWednesday—”
Mrs.Baekcoveredhermouthagain.“OhmyGod.”
“Shehadfallendownsomehow.Shehitherhead.”
“OhmyGod.”Sheheldherheadasifshemightfaint.
“Thelandlordheardheryellingatsomeoneovertheweekend.”Margot’svoicetrembled,recallingtheconversationinthegarage.“Hesaidshehadaboyfriendofsomekind,amanwhovisitedheroverthesummer,andmaybeIthoughtsomeonewould…knowwhoheis,ormaybeifhewasinvolvedsomehow.”
Rubbingthespacebetweenherbrows,eyesclosed,Mrs.Baekexhaledoutloud.
“Doyouknowhim?DoyouknowhowIcan—”
“That’swhyshewasdepressed,”Mrs.Baeksaid.
“What?”
“HediedinOctober.”Shewipedthecornersofhereyes.
“Soitcouldn’thavebeenhimthatwaswithherthatnight,”Miguelsaid.
“Withher?”Mrs.Baekasked.
“That’swhatwe’retryingtofindout,”Margotsaid.“Whowaswithherthenightshedied.”
“Whatwashisname?”Miguelasked.
“I—Idon’tknow.”
“WasitChang-heeKim?Mr.Kim?”Margotasked.
“Oh,yes,Mr.Kim.”Mrs.Baeknodded.“Ididn’tevenknowabouthim,theirrelationship…”hervoicerising“…untilafterhedied.”Sheproppedherselfup,elbowsonthecounter.“Shewassodepressedthesepastcouplemonths,Ikeptpushinghertotellmewhatwaswrong.Maybesomethinghadhappenedtoyou.”Sheshookherhead.“Finally,shetoldmeabouthim.”Shewipedhernosewithanapkin.
“So,shekepthimasecretfromeveryone?”Margotasked.
“Shewasashamed,Iguess.Hewasmarried.”Mrs.Baek’svoicecracked.“Whatwasshethinking?”Shesobbed,grabbinganothernapkinfrominsidetheglasscountertowipeherface.
Whatwouldbethechancesofthislover,themanintheobituary,beingMargot’sfather?MaybeMargothaddeludedherselfintothinkingthathewouldbeouttheresomewhere,thathewouldappearinherlifesomehow—deadoralive.Maybesheonlywantedtoseeherselfinhimtosolidifythemythologyofherlife,tomakeitreal.Buttheonlythingrealwashermother’sbodyontheground,andtheknowledgethathermotherwasinarelationshipwithamarriedman,nowdeadaswell.
“Couldshehaveconfrontedmymother?Thewife.Couldthewife—”
“Idon’tknow.Maybe?Yourmotherneversaidmuchabouther.Iwouldn’tknowthat.”
“Whywouldshedothatifherhusbandwasalreadydeadthough?”Miguelasked.“Why?Whatwouldbethepoint?”
“Idon’tknow,”Margotsaid.“Maybehiswifefoundoutsomethingelse,somethingthatpissedheroffevenmore.Ormaybeittookacouplemonthstorealize,afterhisdeath,thathewascheatingonher?Sosheconfrontedmymom.Maybeshewantedanswers.Eitherway,wehavetofindher.”
Mrs.Baeknoddedassheweptagain.Herfriend,Margot’smother,wasnowgone.Hermakeuphadbecomeamess—streaksofgraydownhercheeks,lipsticksmeared.Shecoughedthroughhertears,shudderedwithaspecificloneliness,onethatMargotcouldrecognizefromherownmother.Itwasthelonelinessofbeinganoutsider.
Mina
Summer1987
ASHERSPEEDANDCONFIDENCEONTHEREGISTERgrew,Minabeganobservingthedifferentcustomersandtheiritems.Shetriedtopiecetogethertheirlivesasshescannedandenteredincodes.
Whitemushrooms.Threepacksoftofu.Greenonions.Garlic.Driedanchovies.FivePinkLadyapples.Abagoforanges.Toothpaste.
Sheeveninventedlittlegamesforherself,estimatinghowmuchabagofproducewouldcostbeforesheweighedit.Orguessingwhatacustomerwouldmakewithherpurchaseditems.
Kimchijjigae.Braisedmackerelwithradish.Seafoodpancakes.
Mario,whomusthavebeenonlyeighteenornineteenyearsold,workedwithheralmosteverydaynow.Hesaidhello,smiledmoreoften.Buthestillalwaysseemeddistracted,runningfromonetasktothenext.Hemeticulouslystuffedpurchasesintoplasticbags,wentofftohelpliftorcarrysomething,andappearedjustintimetobagitemsforthenextpersoninline.Hehadawholesystemforhowhewouldmanagehisjobmostefficiently.Alltheotherbaggersintheotheraisles,whomMinahadmetseveralof,seemedtohavesimilarroutines.Occasionally,theywouldstopandsaysomethingtoeachother,joke,butonlyforafewsecondsbeforetheyplungedbackintoworkagain.
Duringtheslowerhours,Mariospenthistimeorganizingandrestockingitemsupfront,whileMinarestockedandtidiedthesmalleritemsondisplaybytheregisters—thedrinksandcandiesandsnacks.ShesometimessawHectorandConsuela,eitheratthebackofthestoreorattheregistersastheycameforwardtodogo-backsorgrablast-minuteitemsforcustomers.Theystillgreetedeachotherwithanod,asmile,oranhola,butnowneverspoketoeachotherbeyondthat.Thecamaraderiehadbeenlost.
ShesaidhellototheotherKoreancashiersinthestore,buttheyrarelytalkedaswell.Allofthemseemedboredandunhappy,checkingintodotheirjobandcheckingout,perhapsrunninghometotheirfamilies.Perhapsherlifewaseasier,nothavingtorunaroundallthetime,cooking,cleaning,droppingkidsoffatandpickingthemupfromschool,discipliningthem,huggingthem,kissingthem.Perhapsherlifewaseasier,butshecouldn’thelpbutfeelanemptinessasshethoughtoftheliveshercoworkersmighthave.Thefullnessthatshemissed.
Wheneveralittlegirlattheregisterremindedherofherownlostdaughter,Mina’sbodytrembledwithamixofterrorandexhilaration.Hereyeswelledup,butshealwayscaughtherselfbeforesheactuallycried.Grippingthesidesofthecounter,shesteadiedherselfasmuchasshepossiblycould.Staringatthestreamofitemstoenter,thecashtocollectandreturn,shedidnotmakeeyecontactwithanycustomers.Shespenttherestofthedaytryingnottothinkorfeelatall.
Once,agirlaboutherdaughter’sagewithafather,wholookedsomuchlikeherhusbandwithhislongandsensitiveface,arrivedatthecheckoutstand.WasMinaimaginingthis,orweretheybackagain,likespectersfromthepast?Shealmostranaroundthecountertothrowherarmsaroundthem.MaybeGodwasgivingheronemorechance.
ButassoonasthelittlegirlsaidsomethingtoherfatherinEnglish,Minarealizedtheywerenothinglikeherownfamily.Theywerenotthesamepeopleatall.Thefatherwasmuchtallerandyoungerthanherownhusband.Thelittlegirlhadadifferentfaceentirely.
Duringherbathroombreak,sheranintoastallwhereshesatonthetoiletandcried.Shetriedtobeassilentaspossiblebutcouldn’thelptheoccasionalsobescapingfromhermouth.Sheheldherfaceinherhands,grippingitwiththepadsofherfingers.Shecouldn’tstop.Sheknewshehadtogobackupfront,butshecouldn’tcontrolherself.Thepaininherstomachandchestoverwhelmedher,asifshewasbeingstabbedwithsadnessitself.
Afterblowinghernose,shepressedherpalmstogetherandwhispered,“Please,God,helpme.Please,God.Please.I’lldoanythingyouwant.Anything.Ipromise.Pleasehelpme.Helpme,please.”ShedidnotwanttoadmitthistoHim,butsecretlyshewasaskingGodtokeepherfromendingeverything,fromthrowingherselfinfrontofthebus,whichshethoughtaboutsometimes.Asthebuspulledtoastopinfrontofher,shewonderedwhatwouldhappenifshesteppedoutinfrontofit.Onlythefearofhellkeptheralive.
Soonafterburyingherhusbandanddaughter,shestoodontheroofofherapartmentbuilding,wonderingifitwashighenoughtodieifshejumped.Asateenagerattheorphanage,aftershehadbeenbeatenbyoneofthenuns,shethoughtofalltheplacesshecouldhangherself.Butsheneverquitehadthecouragetodoit.Shewastooscaredofthepainshemightfeelbeforedying.Wonderingwhatitwouldfeellike,shewouldsometimesgrabashirtorapairofpants,andintherestroomthatshesharedwiththeothergirls,she’dtrytochokeherself,butshenevergotcloseenoughtoblackingout.Ithurttoomuch.Shecouldn’tstandthepain.
Whenshewasyounger,shedidn’tevencareifshehadgonetohell.Butnowshecared.Nowshewantedtosurvive.Howelsecouldsheseeherdaughteragain?
Thosetinyfingers.Thatperfectface.Thehighclearvoice.Thenear-blackeyes
Whensheemergedfromtherestroomatworkwithherfaceredandeyesswollen,Mr.Kim,whohadtakenherplaceattheregisteraftershehadbeengonelongerthanusual,droppedtheclosedsignatherregister.Mariopretendednottonoticeandinsteadbusiedhimselfbypreopeningseveraloftheplasticbagstoreadythemforthenextcustomers.
Mr.Kimtouchedherarm,pullingheraside.“Issomethingwrong?”heasked.
“Oh,nothing.Nothing.SorryIwasgoneforsolong.”
“Doyouneedtogohome?”
“No,I’mokay.”
“Icantakeyouhome.Youdon’tlookgood.”
Struttingbyinhiswhitepolo,khakipants,andvisorasifhewascomingfromadayofgolf,Mr.Parkasked,“Somethingwronghere?”
“Nothing,nothing.Everything’sfine.”Shedidn’twantMr.Parktoseeherface.Attheregister,sheremovedthesignandwavedatacustomerwaitinginanotherline.Mr.Kimstoodbyherside.Assoonasshewasdoneringingthewomanup,heasked,“CanIgetyousomething?”
“No,no.Really,I’mfine.”
Hourslaterinthebackofthemarket,shewenttoherstoragebasket,whereshekepthersnacks,jacket,andspareshoes.Unexpectedly,shefoundaplasticbagfulloffruit—brighttangerines,asoothinggreenGrannySmithapple,ahoney-coloredpear—toppedwithtwopackagesoframen.Oneofthetangerinesworealittleleaflikeahat.Thedimpledfleshwascleanandbrightandsweetunderhernose.
Whohadleftthebagforher?
Shedidn’tseeMr.Kimfortherestoftheday.
Asshestoodinfrontofthestopwatchingthebusapproach,sherecognizedthedriver,thewomanwiththeroundfaceandneatbob.Thebusslidafewfeetpastherwitharushofhotair,kickingupdustandleaves,beforeithaltedtoadramaticstop.
Showingherbuspass,Minaasked,“Youall…right?”Thewordssurprisedherasiftheyhadfallenoutofhermouth.
Thedriverlaughedtoherself.“Eh.I’mallright.You?”
TheexchangecalmedMina.Shespentsomuchofherdayignored,ananonymousfacebehindacashregister,apersonwhohandleditemsandmoney,scanned,punchedinnumbers.
Asshesatonthebenchseat,sheheldthebagofgrocerieswiththefruitandtheramenclosetoher.Sheclosedhereyes,repeatingthewordsinhermind,Youallright?Areyouallright?
Inthekitchen,beneaththeglowofasingleoverheadlight,yellowandsoft,Minastaredattheshinygreenapple,theperfection,theevennessofitsskin.Andwithoutthinking,shegrabbedaknife,windingawayitsflesh,anundressing.Sherememberedhow,afterdinner,shewouldarrangetheslicesonaplateforherdaughter,whowithhersmallhandsandmouthwouldtakehertimeeatingeachpiece.Thebrightfruitwouldfadeintobrown.Somuchlikeeverythinginnature.Thecolorofthefallenleavesthathaddied,curledonthegrass,sweepingthesurfacesoftheirtombstonesinthewind.
Minadroppedtheknifeinthesink,steadyingherselfonthecounter.
Shebitintothehalf-peeledfruit.Shefilledapotwithwater.
Sittinginthebreakfastnook,sheslurpedonthelongramennoodles,comfortedbythesaltybroth,whichsoothedherevenonahotdaywiththeairstagnantanddense.Shepartedthecurtainsandopenedthewindownexttothenook,staringoutthroughthesecuritybarsintothedarkness.Wouldsheeverforgetherhusband,herdaughter?Wouldtheywaitforher?Rememberherinheaven?Whatwasthepoint?Shewonderedbutfeltnumbfromallthecrying.SherememberedMr.Kimandimaginedhowherfacemust’velookedtohim,redandswollen.
Sheclearedthetable,washedherdishes,andwipeddownallthesurfaces,tryingtokeepthekitchenascleanandtidyaspossible.Thelandladywasn’tneatherself,oftenleavingfoodoutaccidentallyorforgettingtocleanupspillsonthestove.ButMinawantedeverythingtobeascleanasthisoldkitchen,withthegreaseonthewallsandthebrokencabinetdoors,couldpossiblybe.
Shereachedherarmsaboveherheadtostretchbeforelyingdowninbed,whereshestaredattheceiling.Sherememberedwhenshehadgottenthenewsthatherhusbandanddaughterhadbeenkilledinaterribleaccident,whenthepoliceofficershadarrivedatherapartmentdoor.Allshecouldimaginewasthehorroroftheirexcruciatingpain.Theredbloodseepingfromtheirbodiesontothestreet
Whathadshebeendoingthatdayathome?Shemust’vebeencookingorcleaning.Orhadshebeenwatchingtelevision?WasitSundayorSaturday?Shedidn’tknow.Wearinganapron,shehadopenedthedoor,andseeingthemeninuniform,herheartfelltothefloor.Shewantedtoscreambutcouldn’t.Instead,crying,shehadfallen,kneesandpalmsontheground,beggingthislifeformercy.
Margot
Fall2014
DOWNRESIDENTIALROADS,MOSTLYFREEOFPEDESTRIANSatnightwithanoccasionalfamilywalkingorchildrenplayingonthesidewalk,MargotandMigueldrovetoHanokHouse.Mrs.Baekhadsaid,YourmotherusedtobringyoutotherestaurantthatIworkedat,HanokHouse.Doyouremember?Itlookedlikeanoldtraditionalhouse,lotsofwoodeverywhere
TherewasnoreasonnottobelievewhatMrs.Baekhadclaimedabouthermother—connectinghermother’srecentgrieftothedeathofalover,themanintheobituary.ButMargotstillwantedtoscopetheplaceout,wheresheandhermotherspenttime,aplacethatbothhermotherandMrs.Baekhadleftbehind.Andbesides,afterallsheandMiguelhadbeenthroughthesepastseveraldays,theyneededafeasttorewardthemselves.
Koreatown,likemanyethnicenclavesinmajorcities,hadbeenchangingslowly.Whitepeoplewhohadonceflednowedgedtheirwayback—particularlyyouthhungryforcheaperrentwithaccesstosupermarkets,bars,andrestaurants.Yetwhenareas“improved,”didtheliveswithinthemgetbetteralso,orweretheypushedawaytosomewherecheapertomakeroomforthedroves,thenewblood?Soondeveloperswouldfollowtodemolishandbuildovertheplace,rebrandingthesymbolsandthesignsofthepeoplewholivedthere(the“kitschy”cultureandthe“foreign”architecture,thenoveltyoffoodsoncedeemeddisgusting).Wouldhermomhavebeenoneofthosepriced-outpeople,too?Orwouldshehaveclungstubbornly,maybeevenfoundasecondjobsothatshecouldstayinKoreatown?WithherlimitedEnglishandinabilitytodriveonthefreeway,thechoiceswouldbeslim.
Inabravemood,MargothadonceaskedhermotherinthebestKoreanshecouldoverthephone,“Whydon’tyougobacktoKorea?Whydoyoulivehere?”Shehadalwayswonderedwhyhermotherhadchosenthislife,whichcouldn’tbeeasierthanlivinginKoreawhereshewouldatleastspeakthesamelanguage,possessthesameculturalunderstandingandhistoryaseveryoneelse.EventhoughMargotknewverylittleabouthermother’sKoreanlife—thatshewasanorphanwhomostlyworkedinclothingfactoriesfromherteensthroughhertwenties,eventuallylearningtodesignclothes—shecouldn’tunderstandwhyshewouldratherbeinacountrywhereshehadsolittlepower,suchfewrights.
Hermotherhadpausedforalongwhile.
“Iwouldbetoofarawayfromyou,”hermotherhadsaid.
Margotpulledintothenarrow,one-wayparkinglotofHanokHouse,astand-alonerestaurantinthestyleofatraditionalKoreanresidencewithrusticwoodshuttersandasloped,gray-tiledroof.ShehadneverbeentoKoreaherself,andalthoughsheknewitscitieswerefullofskyscrapersandelectronicscreens,sheoftenimaginedthehomestostilllookthisway—charming,earthy,andfunctional
“DidyoueverhearbackfromOfficerChoi?”Miguelasked.
“No,notyet.”Margotsighed,pullingthekeyoutoftheignition.“MindifIgivehimanothertrynowbeforedinner?Maybehe’sstillatwork.”
“Noworries.I’llbemanagingmyprolificGrindr.”
Margotlaughedwhilepressingthepoliceofficer’snumber.
“Hey,Margot,”heanswered.“SorryIdidn’treturnyourcalltoday.Mondaysaretheworst.”
“Noproblem.Anythoughtsonthelandlord?Theyellingfrommymom’sapartment?”
“Ithoughtitwasinteresting.Imean,hewasn’tcertainwheretheyellingwascomingfromandonwhatday,right?”
“Hethoughtitwasmymother.Therearen’talotofKoreansleftinthebuilding.Hewasn’tcertain,butitseemedoddtomesincemymotherwasn’tparticularlynoisy—especiallyafterImovedoutforcollege.Anyway,itseemedsuspiciousenoughforhimtobringitup,don’tyouthink?”
“Hmm.Icanstopby.I’lltrytotalktohimthisweek,seeifIcangetanymoredetails.”
“Thatwouldbegreat,”shesaid,heartquickening.“Also,beforeyouhangup—Iknowthismightsoundweird,butlastnight,Iwasgoingthroughmymother’sapartmentandfoundthisobituaryshehadsaved.ItwasfromtheKoreannewspaperbackinOctober.SotodayIwenttotheswapmeetwheremymomworkedtoseeifanyoftheotherstoreownershadseenanythingsuspiciousaroundtheweekendshedied.Oneofmymother’sfriends,awomannamedMrs.Baek,saidthatthemanintheobituarywas…amanthatmymomwasseeingoverthesummer.Theyweredatingand…hewasmarried,soshedidn’ttellanyone.”
“Andyoudidn’tknowaboutthisguy?”
“No.”
“Buthe’sdeadnow,right?SinceOctober,almosttwomonthsago?”
“Correct,”shesaid.“Idon’tknowifyoucoulddothisorifit’srelatedtomymom’sdeath,butisthereanywayyoucouldfindoutsomemoreinformationonhim?HisnamewasChang-heeKim.IthinkhelivedinCalabasas.”
“Icouldlookintoit…butletmefirsttalktothelandlord,okay?I’lltrytogetovertherethisweek.”Hepaused.“ButifherboyfrienddiedbackinOctober,I’mnotsurewhatthatwouldhavetodowithyourmother’sdeath.”
“Whatabouthiswife?Hewashavinganaffairwithmymom.”
“Hmm,that’sagoodpoint.Icanlookintoit.”
“Great,thanks.Iwould…almostwanttotalktohermyself?Isthereawaytogetherphonenumberoraddress?Itriedgooglinghisname,but—”
“I’mnotsurethat’sagoodidea.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Tobehonest…yourmother’sdeathwasanaccident.There’snotmuchwecandounlesssomethingsubstantialhappens,somerevelation,orwefindoutforwhateverreasonthatyourmother’sdeathisconnectedtosomeotheractivity.”
“What?”
“AndwhatifMr.Kim’swifedoesn’tknowabouttheaffair?Whatifyourevealedtheaffairtohiswidowbycontactingher?Youhavenoproofthatshewasinvolvedinyourmother’sdeath,sohowwouldwegetanyinformationfromherwithoutrevealingthatherhusbandwascheatingonher?There’sachanceshedoesn’tknow,right?”
“Isupposeso,but—”
“Howwouldyoufindoutwhetherornotsheknows?Youcouldn’t.You’dhavetoaskheroutright,andtherewouldbenoreasontoaskheraboutyourmomifherhusbandwasn’tcheatinginhermind.There’snorealotherconnection.She’sawidow.It’dbe—”
“Istillthinkweshould—”
“Iknowthisisalot,Margot.You’re…findingoutalotofthingsaboutyourmother,thingsthatshekeptfromyouforareason,right?Sometimesthosethingsarehardtoaccept,andyouwantthemtobeconnectedtothehardestfactofall—thatshe’sgone.Igetthat.”
“Youcanbelievewhateveryouwant,OfficerChoi.”Hervoicerose.ShecouldfeelMiguel’seyesonher.“ButIabsolutelyrefusetosettleforanythingbutthetruth.Ineedtoknowwhathappenedthatnightandwhy—”
“Margot—”
“Youmightthinkwe’resomekindofburdenonyourworkload,butmymotherworkedherassoff,andshepaidtaxeslikeeveryoneelse.Shewasanhonestperson.Shewaskind.”Hervoicecracked.“Maybeshewasn’taperfectmotherorperson,butshetriedherbesttodowhatwasrightformeandforeveryoneelse—exceptherself.Peoplelikemymotherholdupthisshamasmuchasyou.”
“Yikes,”Miguelwhispered.
“That’snotit,Margot.That’snotwhat—”
“Shedeservedtolivelikeeveryoneelse.Youofallpeopleshouldknowbetter.‘Toprotectandtoserve’?”
Margot’searspulsed.Tearsfilledhereyes.ShecouldhearbothOfficerChoiandMiguelbreathing,startledbyhervoice.Nowwasthelastchancetostandupforhermother,whomshehadbeenashamedofforsolong.Shetriedtomufflehercrying.
“I’lltrytogetyousomemoreinformation,Margot,”OfficerChoisaid,resigned.“I’lltalktothelandlord.I’llseewhatIcanfindoutaboutMr.Kim.”Hepaused.“Iknowyoudon’tthinkIdo,butIunderstandmorethanyouwouldknow.Igetit.I’mjusttryingtoberealistichere.Iamsorryaboutyourloss.”
“Lord,”Miguelsaidaftershehungupthephone.
“AmIcrazy?”Shewipedthesweatfromherforehead,catchingherbreath.
“Honestly,Ithinkyouareright.Everyoneelsehaslostit,Margot.”Heturnedhisheadasifjustnoticingthesky—asmolderingtangerineandhot-pinkfire.“Theworldisfucked.Butwedeservethetruth.”Heunbuckledhisseatbelt.“Canweeatnow?”
MargotandMiguelexitedthecarunderthelastoftheday’slight.Shetookadeepbreath.ShealwayslovedseeingLosAngelesplatedingoldbyarecedingsun,theoutlinesofpalmtrees.Forafewquietmoments,youmighthearbirdsonginsteadofcarhonksandalarmsandtrickyourselfintobelievingitwasparadise.
Enteringtherestaurant,shecouldsmellthemeatgrillingoverthegasburners—fatsizzlingwhileflameslickedsesame,soysauce,sugar,onion,andgarlic.Nothingcouldquiteconnectpeoplelikefood.
Thehostessseatedthematatableofglazedwoodwithrawedges.Afterorderingbeefshortribsandporkbelly,Margotshowedthewaitress—athinmiddle-agedwomanwithpalepowderedskinandashortbob,tidyblackapronandskirt—theframedimageofherandhermotheronthedayofMargot’shighschoolgraduation,themostrecentphotothatMargotcouldfind.“Doyouknowthiswoman?”
“Yes,Ithinkso,”thewaitresssaid.“Butfromalongtimeago.”
“Doyoumeanyears?”
“Letmeasktheowner.”
ShefetchedanolderKoreanmaninhisseventies,withbrightsilverhairanddressedinanolivegreensweater-vestandkhakis.Agoldwatchglinted.Withnewdentures,hesmiledlikeafalsesun.
“We’rejustwonderingifyouknewmymother.”Margothandedhimthephoto.
Henodded,liftinghisbrows.“Looksfamiliar.”HiseyesthenconsideredMargotashadetoolong.
Shemadeaneffortnottoturnhergazeaway.Sheimmediatelydidn’tlikehimandshewantedhimtoknowit.
“Whenwasthelasttimeyousawher?”Margotasked.
Hescratchedhishead.“Idon’tknow.Somanycustomers.”Hisnostrilsflared.“Alllookalmostsame.”Hegrinned—thosePaul-Bunyan-statueteeth,coldandwhite,clinical.“Almostsame.Excuseme.”Bowinghishead,heturnedtoanothertablewherehegreetedagroupofboisterousguests—regularsorfriends.
“Thatwasshady,”Miguelsaid.
“Maybehe’sjustconfused.”
“Hedoesn’tseemthatold.”
Thewaitressreturnedwithatrayfullofbanchan,smallwhiteplatesglowing.
Margotdecidedtoswitchtactics.“DoyourememberawomannamedMrs.Baek?Sheusedtoworkhere.Redlipstick?”
Thewaitresssmirked.“Oh,yes,veryred.”
“Whendidshestopworkinghere?”Margotasked.
Thewaitressglancedbehindhershoulder.“Earlierthisyear.Spring,Ithink.”
Afterswitchingonthetabletopgrill’sgasburnerwithaclickandahiss,thewaitresshurriedaway,emptytrayinhand.Aroundthelowbluefire,theymunchedonbanchan—seaweedsalad,makkimchiandkkakdugi,lightlypickledmu,seasonedspinach,potatosalad.Afeastforthesenses.
“Well,”Margotsaid.“AtleastweknowMrs.BaekwastellingthetruthaboutopeningherstoreinMarch.”
Elbowsonthetable,Miguelplayedwithhischopsticksasifpinchingtheairinfrontofhisface.“Aftertheriots,whatdidyourmomdo?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Margottastedthekkakdugi,perfectlycrunchyandalittlesweet.Herfacetingled,hotfromtheflamesinthecenterofthetable.
“YourmomstoppedtalkingwithMrs.Baekthen.Shewasbusy.Butitseemskindofpivotal,right?Thattheystoppedtalking,andnowsuddenly,justthisyear,theybecamefriendsagain?Seemscoincidental.”
“Aftertheriots,Ithinkmymomworkedatsomefast-foodrestaurants.Shetookonrandomjobsuntilshecouldsaveenough—acoupleyearslater—tostartabusinessagain.”Theseasonedspinachsmelledoffreshsesameoil,whichmeltedinhermouth.“Ijustrememberitwasveryrough.Shewasabletosavesomeofthemerchandiseandhangersandstufffromheroldstore,andwelivedwiththoseclothesinboxesintheapartmentsincewedidn’thaveanyplacetostoreit.Weategovernmentfood—likecannedpork,powderedmilk.TheSalvationArmygaveustoothbrushes.”
Shetastedtheseaweedsalad,oneofherfavorites,whichsuppressedsomeofthesadnessshecouldfeelrisinginsideofher.Itsdelicategelatinousacidity,itsbrininesssatisfiedher.Howsheyearnedfortheoceanrightnow.Asateenager,shewouldridethebusonherowntothebeachandspendhourswalkingorsittingonabench,readingandwatchingthewater.“Itwashard.Itwasreallyhardbackthen.”
Thewaitressreturnedtothetablewithaplatterfullofrawmeat—themarinatedshortribsandpork—togrill.Soysauceandsugar,gingerandgarliccaramelized,drippingfatintothefire.Withanintensefeelingofgratitude,Margotmovedthegalbiandslicesofporkbellytokeepthemfromstickingtothegrill.Howjoyful,howabundantlifecouldsometimesbe—despitethedisappointments,thetragedy.Everymeal,evenasomberonelikethis,wasacelebrationofwhatwehadleft,whatremainedonthisearthtotasteandfeelandsee.
SheimaginedhermotherattheGrandCanyon,thedarkshadowspressedagainstred-andsand-coloredrockstriatedoverbillionsofyearsbywindandwater.ShethoughtofLasVegas,hermother’shandsgrippingthesteeringwheel,theopenwindows,andthefinepowderthatcakedtheirfacesandarms.
“DuringthattimewaswhenmymotherdroveustoVegas.”
“Vegas?Ithoughtyourmomdidn’tgoanywhere?”
“Itwasjustonce.Iwasprobablyaboutsixyearsold.Shehadneverdrivenonthefreewaybefore,Idon’tthink.Shewasreallyslow.”Margotlaughed.“I’msurprisedwewereneverpulledover.Anyway,weweresupposedtomeetupwithsomeonethere.Ithinkthiswasrightbeforemymotheropenedhernewstore,thelastone,intheswapmeet.”
“Interesting.”Hefinishedthelastoftheseaweedsalad.“Iguessitcould’vebeenanyonethatshewasmeetingupwith?Shedidn’thaveanyfamily,though,right?”
“No,”Margotsaid.“But…Idon’tthinkanyofthishastodowithMrs.Baek.Imean,IbelieveMrs.Baeknow,butitisoddthatmymotherwould’vejustcutheroffthatway,right?”
“Well,itprobablywasn’tintentional,”Miguelsaid.“Sometimespeoplegrowapart,ormaybeyourmomjustdidn’thavetimeforfriends—onlychurchandyou,Iguess.Shewastryingtosurvive,right?”
Oncethemeathadbrowned,MargotlaidpiecesonMiguel’splate,likehermotherwould’vedone,beforeservingherself.Aheavinessgatheredinherchest.Shewrappedabiteofwarmwhiterice,softporkbelly,andssamjanginaredlettuceleaf,stillwet,andcrammeditintohermouth.
Asateenagerinrestaurants,shehadoftenglancedaroundheratlargergroupsintheirbooths,envyingthevolumeofpeople,thegenerationsthatcouldbebroughtintoasingleperiodoftimeandspace,thearchitectureofafamilyoversharedfood.Therewasakindofrigidhierarchybetweenparentsandchildren,olderandyoungersiblings.Butthepoliticsprotectedasenseoftogethernessandplace,astatementthatreadinthesilenceofsubtlegestures(thepouringofanother’sglass,theuseoftwohands,theservingofothersfirst):Wewillalwaysprotecteachother.
Yetdespitethosegestures,thosefragileattemptstoexpresstheirfeelings,sheandhermothercouldn’tgetalong,relax.Weretheytooforeignfromeachother?
Orwasittheintensityoftwowomenalone,twowomenwhowouldbemirrorsforeachother,foreachother’ssadness,disappointments,rage?Ifonewouldexperiencejoy,theotherwouldfeelnotherownjoyrisingbutapangofjealousyrootedinafearofabandonmentthatwouldcausehertostriketheotherdown.Andwheredidthisfearoflonelinesscomefrom?Wasituniversalorspecifictohermother?OrmaybeevenspecifictobeingKorean?
Hermother,asachildofthewar,wouldhavesurelydiedaloneifshehadnotbeenfound.Andthewholeworldtoldwomeneveryday,Ifyouarealone,youarenoone.Awomanaloneisnooneatall.
MiguelhadonlyspentafewdaysinLAhereandthereonvacation,sotheydecidedtoseethecityafterdinner.Theycoulduseabreak,adiversion.Anythingtogetheroutofherownheadandheart,whichbynowhadbecomefloodedwithdetailsofhermother’slife.Shedideverythingforsolongwithinherpowertoavoidthereality,thepainofhermother,andnowitcamedownonherinadelugeofconfusingfacts,images,andemotions.Thesocklady,Mrs.Baek,redlipssmeared.Theobituaryofhermother’slover,whoresembledMargotaswell—thesquarenessofthejaw,maybeeventheeyes,thecheekbones.Therestaurantowner’sbrand-newsmile.Hermotherfacedownonthecarpet.Thedarksmell.Agas.Thesmellshecouldnotgetoutofhernoseandmouth.
“Let’sdrivetotheocean,”Margotsaid,startingthecar.“Wecanwalkaroundthepieralittle,thenwecancomebackandgotoabar,orthere’sthisoldsalsaclubdowntown.Weshouldcheckitout.”
“Hellyeah,”saidMiguel.
FifteenminuteslatertheyreachedPicoBoulevard,namedafterthelastgovernorofCaliforniaunderMexicanrule,whichstretchedallthewaywestfromLosAngelestoSantaMonica,gettingricher,cleaner,andquietertowardthecoast.
Althoughchillyanddampfromtheocean,Margotcrackedopenthewindowforsomeair.Shehadalwayslovedcomingtothebeach,oftentimesbyherselfsothatshecouldplopdownonthesand,buryhertoes,andwatchthewavescrash,orwalkalongtheoldcreakypierandplayGalagaatthearcade.Asateenager,shewouldridealocallinetoRimpaustationwhereshehoppedontheBlueBusforaneasy,hour-longcommutetoSantaMonica.
Shehadbeenmesmerizedbythesmellandthesoundofthewavesandthevastexpanseofmurkybluethatwasnotonlyamovingcolorbutactuallyawelloflivingorganisms—fishandalgaeandoctopusesandwhales—allmovingthroughtheirlivesunawareoftheterrestrialworldaboveit.Knowingalsothatsomewhereattheendoftheoceananentirelydifferentcontinentofpeoplestaredintothesameabyssofwateranddistanceandtimecomfortedher.Auniversalalonenessandyearning.
“Iwouldbetoofarawayfromyou,”hermotherhadsaid.
Andnowshewasgoneforever.
OnOceanAvenue,theyparkedbesidethebluffwithwell-maintainedgrass,robustpalmtrees,andarecreationalareaforaretirementcenter.Homelesspeoplelaydownintheirbundlesonthebenches.
“Doyouwanttowalkaroundalittle?”sheasked.
Theyopenedtheircardoorsandflungthemselvesintothecold,bitingwind.Alreadypitch-blackoutside,carnivallightsdancedonthepierwherefloodlightstouchedthesurfaceoftheoceanwithamottledyellowglow.Walkingtothepier,touristsbundledupincoatsandsweaters,fillingthedarknesswithacacophonyofvoicesandlanguages—accents,tones,andrhythmsfromacrosscontinents.Thecheerfulcrowdfloatedlikeadiasporaofdesire,seekingthethrillofnewexperiences,thesatisfactionofhungerwithfunnelcakes,hotdogs,hamburgers,andfries.Armsoutstretchedforselfies.Localcouplesandfamiliesmovedataslower,morecontemplativepace;they,likeMargot,hadcomehereforcomfort,forthefamiliarsightsandsounds,apartofthepatchworkofmemoriesthatwetouchedwhenlifeandthefuturefeltuncertain.
Margotzippedupherjacketasthewindcuttheirfacesandears.Stoppingatthebottomofthestairsthattookthemtothebeachitself,theyremovedtheirshoes.Thesoft,coldsandswallowedtheirfeet.Sherolledupherjeans.Theystompedarminarmthroughsand,shiveringastheypressedtheirsidesupagainstoneanother.ThewindwhippedMargot’shairinherface,clingingtothebalmonherlips.Astheystoodtwentyfeetorsofromwheretheoceanlickedtheshore,Margotreleasedagreatbigsigh.
“Isn’titbeautiful?”sheasked.“It’sfreezing,but…yes,there’ssomethingmagicalhere.”
Hercellphonerang.Sheflinched.Anunknownnumber.
“Hi,thisisTomfromKo-Americatours.”
“Oh,yes?”
“Youwantedsomeinformation?AboutMinaLee.September,GrandCanyon?”
“Yes,doyouknowwhomymotherwaswithduringthattrip?Doyouhaveanyinformationonherorhim?”
“Yes,um,Ihavehisemergencyform.Hmm,nophonenumber,butthenameisKimChang-hee.Ihaveaddressonly,inCalabasas.”
Margotrememberedtheblacktennisshoesshehadfoundinhermother’scloset,coveredinafinerust-coloreddust,thesmellofmineralandsage.Shehadfinallymadeittooneofthenationalparks,afteralltheseyearsofwork,andshehadnotbeenalone,butwithalover.
“Couldyougivemetheaddress?Oranyotherinformation.”
“Uh…whoareyouagain?”
“I’mherdaughter.I’mMinaLee’sdaughter.”Thewordscarvedintotheheavinessinsideherchest,whichbeingbytheoceanhadonlypartiallyrelieved.Wasshestilladaughterifhermotherwasdead?“Shediedaweekorsoagoand…Iwantedtogetintouchwithhimtolethimknow.Ithoughthewouldwanttoknow.”
“Oh,I’msosorryaboutthat.”
“Couldyoutextmehisaddress?Willyoudothatnow?Idon’thavealotoftime.Ihavetoleavesoon,”shelied.“IliveinSeattleandIhavetogobacktowork.”
AssoonasshereceivedthetextwiththeCalabasasaddress,shejumpedwithexcitement.
“Hesentit,”Margotsaid.“Whatnext?”
“Nophonenumber,right?”Shivering,Migueldancedhisfeetinplace.
Margotshookherhead.“Wecoulddrivetheremaybe?”
“Yeah,thisweekforsure.IgottagototheValleyanywaytolookatapartments.Butwouldwejustknock?Wecan’tdothat,right?”
“WhatifOfficerChoiisrightandshedoesn’tknowabouttheaffair,orwhomymotheris?”
“Ithinkweshouldgocheckitoutanyway.Imean,we’llbeintheValleyalready.Wedon’tneedtoknock,justkindofscopeitout.Imean…thiswouldbetheformerresidenceofyourmom’sboyfriend.And…doyoustillthinkhecouldbeyourdad?”
“Maybe,butitjustallseemstoocoincidentalatthispoint.”Sheshrugged.“ButIthinkthere’ssomethingthere.MymomnevereverhadaboyfriendtomyknowledgewhileIwasgrowingup.Whatwouldshebedoingwiththisspecificman?Amarriedman…withcancer.Itwasdoomed.”
“Andthewife—shehadtoknow,right?Imean,c’mon.”
“Yeah,hewentonagoddamnrecreationaltourwithmymother.Shehadtoknow.”
“We’llfigureitout.”
“I’mjustglad.It’sweird,butI’mhappythatshewentonthattrip.”Theoceanrippledunderthefullsilvermoonlight.“Ineversawheronarealvacation.Ever.I’mrelievedshegottodothatbeforeshedied.”
Forthefirsttimesincediscoveringhermother’sbodylastweek,shefelthopeful—asifsomehow,slowly,herpersistencemightbepayingoff.Shedroppedhershoestothegroundandrantowardtheocean,whichappearedcalmandplacid.Thecoldairrushedinandoutofherlungs,whippedherhairoutofherbun,alloverherface.Shehadfeltsotrappedherentirelifeinthatapartment,atthatswapmeet,insidehermother’slife.Andtemporarilyshecouldfreeherselfhere,rightnow;therewassomuchspaceandhardlyanyonearound.
Herfeetsplashedintotheicywater.Shescreamed,thenlaughed,realizingshehadchosenthisforherself.Withherteethchattering,sheranoutandbackinagain,deeper,uptoherknees.Adipinthiswaterwasakindofinsanity.Butshefeltfree.
Shehadalwaysbeenalittlescaredofthewater,ofgettingintoodeepandbeingsweptaway.Sheneverlearnedhowtoswim.Therewerenoswimmingpoolswhereshehadgrownup,noextracurricularclassesforkids.Waterwasalwayssomethingshewalkedinandfearedforitspower.
Onthepier,roller-coasterridersscreamed.Redandwhitelightsdancedinablacksky.Thesaltairsmelledlikesafety,thelongestsighofrelief.TheFerriswheelspunandblinked,throbbinglightheartedly,itsspokeslikemanyarmsoutstretchedinthenight.
Asshestoodknee-deepinthewater,atangleofweedswrappedaroundherankles,ticklingtheskin.Shecouldtripandfallintothedarkfoamingwater,andthestrandswouldwindaroundher,squeezingthelastbreathoutofherbody,untilshebelongedtonoone,notevenherself.Shewouldbelongtothesea.Inapanic,sheliftedherfeetinadance,retreatingtowardthesand,tofreeherselffromwhatwas,uponcloserinspection,notactuallyseaweed,butathinrope,no,anet,apieceoffishingnet,gummyandlacedwithkelpleavesandpearl-likepolyps.Maintainingherbalance,shedraggedthenetoutofthewaterandpickeditcleanasshewalkedtowardMiguel.Hernoseranfromthecold,andshewipedherfaceonhersleeve.
“Areyouokay?”Miguelasked.
“Thisthingwrappedaroundmylegs.”
Margotheldacornerofnetouttothesky,upagainsttheshapeoftheFerriswheelonthepierinthedistance—blinkinginblack,many-spoked,turningslowly,aglow.Sheimaginedallthetinysilverfishthatwouldswimthroughtheweave—likehermother’swords,no,hermotherherself,shimmering,liquefied,slippingthrougheveryhole.
Mina
Fall1987
WHENSHEFINISHEDHERSHIFTONMOSTDAYS,SHEfoundsomethingsmallwaitingamongherbelongings—twobananas,apackofgum,aheadoflettuce,asmallboxofchocolates.Itwashardtotellwhatthelogicofeachselectionwas,oriftherewasanyatall.Dependingonhermood,eachitemseemedentirelythoughtfulorutterlymeaningless.Shelookedforwardtoseeingwhathadbeenplacedinherbin,andonthedayswhenshedidn’treceiveanything,shewenthomesullenlydisappointed,asifthatwastheinevitableendtoastreakofgoodfortune.Butthenthenextday,shewouldfindsomethingagain—apackageoframen,asmallcontainerofdoenjang,themostexquisiteKoreanpear,perfectlyshapedandfreckled—andtheworldseemedtoopenupalittleoncemore,acrackoflightseepingintodarkness.
SheknewitwasMr.Kim.Hehadseenherthatday,aftershehadrungupthefatheranddaughterwhoremindedhersomuchofherown,aftershehadruntothebathroomandemergedwithherfaceredandswollen.Hehadgivenherthatlook,silentlyacknowledgingherpain,andlaterthatday,shehaddiscoveredthefruit,thatbeautifulgreenapple,andtherameninherbin.Sincethenithadbeenclearintheirquietandpoliteexchangesthathewantedtohelphersomehow,thatsomehowinherloneliness,herdespair,herecognizedsomething.Maybeabitofhimself.
Apartofherwantedtorejecteverything,toconfronthimandaskhimpolitelytonotleaveheranythinganymore.Shedidn’tneedorwantanysympathy.Anditconfusedher.Whatwasthepointofthesegesturesthatcouldn’tleadanywhereforher?
Atthesametime,theideaofnotreceivingthelittlegifts,whichoftenservedasthehighlightofherentireday,terrifiedher.Maybeitwasthetiniestofthings,attimes,onaconsistentbasis,thatkeptusalive,andifshecouldnotcreatesuchkindnessesforherself,couldn’tsheallowsomeoneelsetodosoforher?
Afteracoupleweeksofthemonotony,theaccretivefamiliarityofthecashandthecoinsinherhand,thedullflashesofcourtesybetweenherandthecustomers,punctuatedonlybythegiftsshereceivedattheendofmostdays,Mariodisappeared.
Onacrispautumnday,Minaapproachedherregister,whereateenager,maybeeighteenornineteenyearsold,wasworkingwithMr.Kimonthefront-of-storetasksthatMariousuallydidonhisown.AssoonasMr.KimnoticedMina,hetriedtosmileandwalkedawaytothebackofthestore.Shesaidhello,actingasnaturalaspossiblewiththenewemployeewhointroducedhimselfasDaniel.
WherewasMario?Perhapshehadthedayoff,which,forwhateverreason,seemedoddtoher.Hehadquietlyguidedherthroughmanyofhermoredifficultdaysasacashier.Somethingaboutthewholesceneseemedaskew.Butsheremindedherselfthathecouldbesickoronvacation.Whoknew?
Daniellearnedquickly,hadcertainlyworkedinasupermarketorgrocerystorebefore.Duringtheslowerhours,hewouldaskifsheneededhelpwithanything,whichshedidn’t.Shewentaroundtidyingtheregisters,tryingtoignorehimbecauseshecouldn’tquitethinkofanythingelseforhimtodo.Marioalwayskepthimselfbusy.ShelookedaroundtoseeifMr.Kimwasanywhere,butshedidn’tseehim,northeowner,Mr.Park,atallfortherestoftheday.
Attheendofhershift,aKoreanpearwrappedinitsStyrofoamsleevewaitedinherstoragebin.Sheinhaledthedappledskinofthefruit,whichsmelledoffall,crispandsweet.Shecradledthepearinhertwohandsand,forasecond,pressedittoherchest.
MinahadcomeoutoftherestroomandgonedownthesoftdrinksaisletopicksomethingupforherselfwhenshenoticedMr.Kim,whohadseemedtobeavoidingher,walkingawaytowardtheotherendoftheaisle.FinallyshehadthechancetoaskhimaboutMario.Forasecond,shethoughttoproceedslowly;shedidn’twanttorunintohim,butatthesametime,shewastiredofnotknowing,andsomethingabouthisavoidancepainedher,madeherquestiontheitemsinherbin,andwhetherornotshehadmistakenhispoliteness,hiskindnaturetowardeveryoneforsomethingelse.
“Mr.Kim,”shecalled.
Heturnedaround.Hisfacewashaggard,tiredaroundtheeyes.
Shewalkedclosertohimbutstayedfarenoughawaytonotappearsuspicioustoanyonepassingby.
“Ishesick?”sheasked.
“Who?”
“Mario.”
“Oh.No,he…”Heturnedhisheadtoseeifanyonewascomingfrombehind.“Hegotsentback.ToMexico.”
Atthatmoment,shefeltthedistancebetweenthem—coldlikethealuminumcaninherhand.Shehadthesuddenurgetothrowitandbreakthecruel,fluorescentlight.
“Why?”Hervoicecrackedasshefullyrealizedwhathemeant.TheywouldprobablyneverseeMarioagain.
“Idon’tknow.Itriedto…WhenIfoundout,IthoughtmaybeIcouldsendhimsomemoneyforalawyer.”
“Howcouldhegetsentback?”
“Hedidn’thavehispapers.Idon’tknow.”
“Oh.”Hereyesdroppedtothefloor.CouldMr.Kimtellthatshe,too,didn’thaveherpapers,oratleastnotyet?Wasitobvioustoothers?OrhadMariosomehowgottenhimselfintrouble,andintheprocessbeencaught?
“Hismotherandhisbrotherandsistersarestillhere.Theyalllivetogether.”
“So,that’sit?Hejustgetstakenaway.”
“It’shappenedbefore.Idon’tknowwhy,whattriggeredit.”
“Buthe’sbeenhereallthistime,right?”
“Yes.Itdoesn’tmatter,though.”
“But…therehastobesomething.Howcouldhedisappearlikethat?”
“Ispoketohismom.That’showIfoundout.Hejustdidn’tshowup,soIknewsomethingwaswrong.Ithinkhewastheonlyonesupportinghisfamily.Hisfatherhadbeenkilledgoinghomeoneday.Shotoutofnowhere.”TearswelledupinMr.Kim’seyes.“It’snotallright.”
“Isthereanythingwecandoforthem?”
“I’mnotsure,butIthinkI’mgoingtostartcollectingsomemoney.”Mr.Kimslippedapackofcigarettesoutofhisshirtpocket.Hehadnevergivenoffanyindicationthathesmokedbefore.“Iwentbylastnightwithsomegroceries.Therewasalittlebaby,acouplegirls,aboy.Shehassomefamily,Ithink.Achurch.ButI’mgonnastartcollectingsomemoneyhere.Ihaven’ttoldanyoneelseyet.”
“Okay,letmeknow,”shesaid.“Iwanttohelp.”
Hetappedoutacigarette,holdingitsoftlyinhishand.
Shewantedtoholdthathandnow.
ONEWEEKLATEROUTSIDEOFTHESUPERMARKET,Minawrappedhersweateraroundherbodybeforeclimbingintothepassengerseatofalargewhitevan,whichsmelledofexhaust,dampcardboard,andoverripefruit.Inthedriver’sseat,Mr.Kimswitchedontheradiotoasuddenblastofpopmusic.Heflippedthroughdifferentstationsuntilhefoundsomeoldies—theShirelles’“DedicatedtotheOneILove.”Afterturningontothestreet,heeasedintothesteadyflowofearlySaturdaynighttraffic,boppinghishandonthesteeringwheelandmouthingthewordswiththeenthusiasmofsomeoneyounger,someoneunharmedbylife.
Shesmiledatthismorselofjoy,despitetheheavinessoftheirtask.Swayingalittletothemusic,shestaredoutthewindowastheydrovesouththroughunfamiliarneighborhoods.Shetriednottolookathim.Itmadehernervoustositsoclosetohim.Shecouldreachoutandtouchhim,andnoonewouldsee.Noonewouldknow.
Infrontofatwo-storyapartmentbuilding,windowsbarredandcrackscrawlingupthestuccolikevines,Mr.Kimunloadedthebagsofdonatedfoodfromthevanandcarriedthemtothetopofthesteps.Hepressedoneoftheunitnumbersontheintercom,andwhenawomananswered,heintroducedhimself.Forasecond,Minawasn’tsureifshewouldopenthedooruntilaloudobnoxiousbuzzlettheminside.
Mario’smotherstoodinfrontofherapartmentdoorlikeawomanaccustomedtobadnews.Herorangishblondhair,darkattheroots,hadbeenpulledintoaloose,highbunaboveaheavyfacewithverticallinescarvedbetweenherbrows.HerblackT-shirtwasstretchedattheneck,revealingfragilecollarbones.
“Hola,Lupe,”Mr.Kimsaid.“Uh,tenemoscomida,uh…fideos,leche,jugos…paraustedes.”
Lupeclappedherpalmsinresponse.ShereachedtohelpMinawiththebags,butMinarefusedasLupeguidedtheminsideofherapartment.OnthesunkencouchsatthreeebullientchildrenofdifferentagesgluedtoaSpanish-languagegameshowonTV,eruptingintosquealsoflaughterateveryjokeorwackystunt.Theoldest,agirlofabouttenoreleven,heldababywiththedowniestbrownhaironherlap.Thebabysputtered,andshewipedthebaby’smouthwithacloth.
Minasmiledthinkingofherowndaughteratthatbaby’sage—herpinkface,thelittleclosedeyes,thenose,thetiniestfingersandtoes,thecreamiestfoldsofskin,andthatsmell,thatsweetestofsmells,softandpowdery.
“?Quierenalgodebeber?”Lupeasked,gesturingforthemtosit.
Mr.KimrestedthebagsonarounddiningtableandslidtwochairsoutforthemselveswhileLupepouredglassesoforangejuice.Thirstierthanshehadthought,MinasippedgratefullyasLupesatdownwiththem,observingthechildrenwatchingtelevision,laughing.Theeldestdaughterloweredthevolume.
“NosabenloquelepasóaMario,”Lupewhispered.“Nosécómodecirles.”
MinarecognizedenoughwordstopiecetogetherthatLupehadn’ttoldthechildrenaboutwhathadhappenedtoMario.
“?Cuándofuelaúltimavezque…escuchastedeél?”Mr.Kimasked.
TearsspilledoutofLupe’seyes.Mr.Kimpulledahandkerchiefoutofhisshirtpocket.Thesecondgirl,withoutthebaby,andtheboyrushedtoher,puttingtheirfacesonherback,theirarmsaroundhershoulders.
Unsureofwhattodonext,Mr.KimandMinastaredatthediningroomtable.WhenMinaglanceduptoseethemotherandchildrenholdingandcomfortingeachother,shecouldfeelherheart,whichshehadworkedsohardtoignore,tearintwo.
“Losiento,”Minasaid.“Losiento.”OneoftheexpressionsshehadlearnedfromHectorandConsuela.
WhenLupefinishedblottingthetearsfromherface,sheinhaleddeeplythroughhermouth.HerdaughterwipedawaythehairstickingtoherfaceandkissedhermotherontheforeheadwithsuchtendernessthatMinafeltaheatrisefromherchestandshecouldn’thelpbutcry.Mr.Kim’seyesrestedonMina—ashadetoolong.
Henowknew.Thiswashersadness,too.Shewasmourningsomeone,afamily.
Thefollowingweek,MinaandMr.KimsatsidebysideonthecouchasLupeservedleftoverchocolatecakeonpaperplatesprintedwithrainbowconfetti.Yesterdayhadbeenhereldestdaughter’sbirthday.Thetwogirlsranincirclesaroundthesmalllivingroom,boppingeachotherwithhelium-filledballoons,whilethelittleboy,fiveorsixyearsold,heldthebaby.
LupehadreceivedaphonecallfromMarioatadetentioncenterinthemorning.Describingtheconversation,sheclappedherhands,eyesupward,thankfultoGod.Tearsleakedoutofhereyes.Havingheardstoriesofbriberiesandbeatings,evenmurders,sheonlyneededtoknowthathewasstillalive.
MinacouldsenseLupe’sguilt,theguiltthatperhapsallparentsfeelwhensomehowtheylosetheirchild,nomattertheageorthecircumstance.Thatguiltwasaverticalandendlesswallmadesmoothfromhandsandfeetattemptingtoclimbit.Occasionallyamemorytogether—thelaughter,thesqueakyvoice,akissonthecheek—wouldserveasakindofridgeonwhichtohoistyourself,butstillyou’dfallsomehow.Therewasnowaytorest.
Astheylefttheparty,MinapulledherselfintothevanbesideMr.Kim.“Doessheknowyethowlonghe’llbethere,inthedetentioncenter?”Minaaskedhim
“No.Butcouldbeweeks,months.”Heturnedtheignitionafewtimes.Theenginechoked.“IspoketoMr.Parkaboutgettingherajobatthemarket.”
“Oh,that’sgood,”shesaid.
“Shehasaneighbor,anephewwho’llhelpherwiththekidswhilesheworks.”Hetriedagain.Thistime,theenginegroanedtolife.“It’llbehard,butit’snothopeless.”
“Whatabouther?Issheorthekidsatanyrisk?Ofbeingdeported?”
“Yes,ofcourse.”
Outsidethecarwindows,mencruisedonlowbikes.Tiresglintedlikethesteadythroboflighthousesinthedark.Minacouldn’thelpbutwonderwhateachpersonlivinginthiscitydidtogetby.Howmanyofthemlivedlikeher,underground,andhowmanyhadstorieslikehers?Howmanyrisksdidpeopletake,onandoffpaper,tosurvivethebrutalitiesofwhattheycouldnotchangeabouttheirlives?America,tomanyabroad,representedtheonlywayout—notasolutionbutachancetokeephopealiveandburning.
Butsomedaysshefeltlikeshewaslivinginsideofalie.
“Doyouwantmetotakeyouhome?”Mr.Kimasked,breakingthroughherthoughts.“Orbacktothestore?”
“Oh.Areyougoingbacktothestore?”
“Idon’thaveto,Icanalsojustgohome.Icandropyouoff.”
“Okay,well…”
“It’snotabigdeal.”
“If…ifyoucouldtakemehome,thatwouldbenice.”Shewashesitanttotellhimwhereshelived.Shedidn’tknowwhy.“IlivenearWiltonandOlympic.Isthatoutofyourway?”
“No,notatall.”
“Icantakethebus.”
“No.It’sfine.”
Sheaskedhimtoturnrightontothedark,tree-linedstreetonwhichshelived.Shebecameself-consciousofbeinginthiscaralonewithhim,aman—concernedthateitherthelandladyorMrs.Baekmightseeherandgetthewrongidea.
Butwhatwasthewrongidea?WhatwouldbesoshamefulaboutherandMr.Kimoranymanforthatmatter?Shewasanadult.Shecouldtakecareofherself,makechoicesaboutherbody.Butstillherheartraced.Perhapsshewassimplyterrifiedofwantingmorefromthislife—morefeeling,morejoy,morepleasure—knowingthatitcouldallbetakenawayatanymomentandthatstillshe’dhavetosurvive.Wasshestrongenough?
“Acoupleblocksontheleft,”shesaid,pointing.“Rightthere.”
Hepulledupinfrontofthehouse,whichhadallthelightsoffinside.Thelandladymusthavealreadygonetobed.
“Thankyou,”shesaid.
“Noproblem.”Hishandsremainedonthesteeringwheelashestaredthroughthewindshield.Hegulped.Washesweating?
Assheopenedherdoor,Mr.Kimsaid,“Doyou…doyouwanttogetdinnersometime?”
“Oh.No.No,thankyou.”Shesmiled,hoppingoutofthevan.
“You’renotmarried,areyou?”
“No.Ijust—”
“JustthoughtI’dask.”Henodded,lipspursed.“Haveagoodnight.”
Sheshutthevandoorandwavedgoodbyethroughthewindow.Shewalkedupthebrokendrivewaytothehouse,afraidtolookbehindherbecausesheknewhewasstillinhiscar,makingsureshegotinsidesafely.Sheopenedthefrontdoorandrushedtowardherbedroom.
Sheswitchedonherlampandlaydown,facepressedagainstthepillow.
ShelikedMr.Kim.Hispolite,big-hearteddemeanor.Hiswarmsmile.
Thesmoothskinofhisarms.Thethickblackhaironhishead.
Butwhywouldanyonewanttobewithher,awidowwhohadlostherchild?Shewasdamagedgoods,asfarasshecouldtell.Itwouldbetoomuchworktogetinvolvedwithanyonenow.Besides,shecouldneveraffordtoloseanyoneagain.
Shecouldn’tsleepatallthatnight,thinkingabouthim,aboutLupe,herchildren,Mario,andthenaboutMr.Kimagain.Hermind,likethestreetlights,letoffasteadybeamuntilthemorning,whenshecouldhearthebirdssinging,andtheskyturnedpurpleandyellow,likeafreshbruiseoutside.Thatwaswhenshefinallyclosedhereyes.
MinacaughtglimpsesofLupeinthestore,stockingitemsasMinahaddonewhenshebeganworkingatthesupermarket.They’dwaveateachotherorsmileandsayhellowithasilentunderstandingthattheysharedsomething,somethingthatmightbetoosignificant,evendangeroustospeakof.MinayearnedtoaskheraboutMariobutdidn’tquiteknowhow.
ShehadwantedtolearnSpanishformanyreasonsandnowforthisoneinparticular.Howwouldtheshapeofherfeelings,thoughtschangeifshecouldsaythemoutloud?Ifshecouldhearthem?Ifsomeoneelse,whomightunderstand,couldhearthem,too?ByonlyspeakingKorean,herworld,andtheworldofwhatwasinsideher,feltlimitedtothefewpeopleshespoketoeachday,orthepeoplewhomshecouldn’tquitetrustatchurch.Howcouldtheshapeofherlifechangeifshehadmorepeoplethatshecouldreachwithwords?
She’dhavetolearnonherown.Shecouldgetabook.But,no,sheshouldlearnEnglishfirst.
ButwhyshouldshelearnEnglishwhennoonearoundherusedit?EverysinglepersonatthesupermarketspokeSpanishorKoreanorboth.PerhapsMr.KimandMr.Park,theowner,spokeEnglish,butthatwasit.InKoreatown,shemanagedtodoalmosteverythinginKorean.Andsincesherentedherroomunderthetable,completedallhertransactionsincash,shedidn’tevenneedabankaccountyet.Evenifshedidopenoneeventually,therewouldbeaKoreanbanktohelpher,aKoreanaccountant.
Attheendofhershift,shewalkedtoabookstoreafewblocksfromthesupermarket,whereshepickedupaSpanishlanguagebook.Standingatthebusstop,sheflippedthroughthetext,tryingtodecipherthediagrams.
Dorothyswimsinthelake./Dorothynadaenellago.
Dorothydrinksorangejuice./Dorothybebezumodenaranja.
Asuddengustofwind,speckledwithdustanddirt,devouredherasthebusapproached.Minashowedherpasstothewomanwiththeroundfaceandperfectbob.
“Aren’tyoucold?”thedriverasked.
“No,no.It’sokay.”
“It’sfreezingoutthere.”Shemimedshivering,crossingherarmstokeepherselfwarm.
Minasmiled,makingherwaytothebackwhereshecouldstudyherbook.
“It’sfreezingoutthere,”sherepeatedtoherself.
Onceshegothome,shereheatedapotofdoenjangjjigaewhileskimmingthetextandflippingthroughthelessonplans.Itseemedthatwithaboutthirtyminutesperday,shecouldgetthroughatleasthalfofthebookoverthenextmonth,completingalltheexercisesandassignmentsalongtheway.
Inthediningnook,sheclosedthebookandblewonaspoonfulofsoupbeforetakingabiteandrealizingthenhowcoldsheactuallywasinthathouse.Sheneededtoputonasweaterbutfelttoolazyandhungrytomove.
Mrs.BaekemergedfromherbedroominadrabgrayT-shirtandloosematchingpajamapants,yawningasifshehadjustwokenup.Thenightbefore,shehadprobablyworkedthegraveyardshiftattherestaurantwhereshecookedforlate-nightdinersandpartierswhohadbeenoutdrinkingandcravedacomfortingbowlofsoondubujjigaeoracast-ironplatterofbulgogi.
“Ihaven’tseenyouinawhile,”Minasaid.“Imadedinneralready,somedoenjangjjigae.Doyouwanttojoinme?”
“Sure,letmetakeoutsomemorebanchan.”
MinaladledhersomesoupandscoopedricewhileMrs.Baeklaidoutastackoflittlebowls—gosarinamul,kkakdugi,panfrieddriedanchovies—coveredinSaranwrapfromthefridge.
“Imaketheseeverydayatwork,”Mrs.Baeksaid,unwrappingthebanchanandreleasingtherich,comfortingscentsofsesame,onion,andgarlic.ShesatacrossfromMinaasifshewereonthefloor,liftingoneofherlegsandplacingthebottomofherfootonthebench.Unlikesomanywomen,Mrs.Baekdidn’tseemtomindtakinguptimeandspace,spreadingherselfout,whichbothirkedandfascinatedMina.
“I’msothirsty,”Mrs.Baeksaid,chewing.“Idon’tknowwhy.”
“Letmegetyousomewater.”Minaranthefaucet,tryingtorememberhowmanyyearsMrs.BaekhadlivedinAmerica.Five,ten,twenty?
Mrs.BaekflippedthroughtheSpanishtextbookabsent-mindedly,asifstrollingthroughtheglossypagesofawomen’smagazine.“You’relearningSpanish?”
“Trying.Ifigureit’dbeeasierto,youknow,talktopeople.”Minalaughed.“IguessIshouldlearnEnglishoneofthesedays,too.Ican’talwaysdependonyou.”
“Oh,you’lllearneventually.”Mrs.Baeksmiled.“Ittakestime.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeenhere,inAmerica?”
“Manyyears.Almosttwenty.”
“NowonderyourEnglishissogreat.”Minamixedriceintoherjjigae.
“Yes,yes.Ireadalot,too.IwasalsoanEnglishliteraturemajor.Doyouliketoread?”
“Tobehonest,Ihatereading.”Minasmiled.“Iwasneveragoodstudent.”
“Youcanwatchtelevisionormoviesthen.Ithinkifyoutakeintheculture,it’seasier,youknow?”
Mrs.BaekimpressedMinawithhercollegedegree,herEnglishskills,andhercooking,yetsomethingaboutherwasalsodeeplyunsettling.Minacouldn’tquiteunderstandhowthiswomanwould’veendedupinthesamehouseasher,atarestaurantcookingfood,whenshecouldgetahigherpayingjobinanofficesomewhere.Wassherunningfromsomethingorsomeone?
Shecouldn’taskthat.Still,shehadasneakingsuspicionthatMrs.Baek,likeher,washidingfromtheworld.Butfromwhom?
INTHEBACKOFTHESTOREATALONGFOLDINGTABLE,Minanibbledonherpackedlunch,abentoofleftovers—rice,seasonedspinach,kimchi,afewbitesofbulgogi.ShethoughtabouttheSpanishwordsshehadlearnedfromDaniel,wordsabouttheweather—nublado,viento,soleado—whichsoundedbeautifuloutofhismouthbutfunnyandgarbledoutofhers.Shestillcouldn’tquitegetthesoundoftheletterL
Assheformedhertongueandlips,tryingtofindtheshapeofthatsound—LL…L—Mr.Kimenteredthebreakarea,stoppingtobowhisheadtowardMinabeforeheadingtotherestroom.NowthatLupeworkedatthesupermarket,MinaandMr.Kimnolongerhadareasontovisitherandherchildren.HestillleftfooditemsforMinainherstoragebin,butasthedayspassed,shesawhimlessandless.Perhapshenowfeltembarrassedafteraskingherouttodinneracoupleweeksago.Whocouldblamehim?
Heexitedtherestroom,turningaway.
“Mr.Kim,”shesaid,notknowingwhyorwhatshewouldsay.
Hestoppedinhistracks.“Yes?”Hisvoicewastiredandgravelly.
“I’veneverthankedyou…”Sheclearedherthroat.“Forthethingsyouputinmybasket.”
“Oh.”Heturnedaround,staringatthefloorafewfeetaheadofhim,wavingdismissively.“Nobigdeal.Sometimes,wehavetheseleftovers,can’tsellthemoranything,so…nobigdeal.”Heliftedhishandtoacknowledgeherwordsbeforeturningagain.
“Mr.Kim.”
“Yes?”
“Issomethingwrong?”
“No,nothing.Everythingisfine.”Heglancedathiswatch.“Ihavetorunnow.Butthankyou.”
Fortherestoftheday,shethoughtabouthisdownturnedface.Thetenuousbridgebetweenthemwaseroding.Sheimaginedherselfshoutingforhimashewalkedaway,butshedidn’tknowwhatshewouldsay.Shecouldn’texplainhowfrightenedshehadbecomeoflife,knowingthatatanymomentitcouldbetakenawayandthattherewerenolessons,nomeaningthatshehadfoundinloss,onlypain.Howcouldsheexplainthistohim?
Atherregister,shescannedandpunchedthenumbers,barelyacknowledgingthecustomers,anyonearoundher.
“?Quépasó?”Danielasked.
Shefeignedasmile.“Nada.”
Butshecouldn’tstopthinkingabouthim.Shewishedtherewassomethingshecoulddoforhim,leavesomethinginhisoffice.Butwhat?Whatwouldheneed?Howwouldsheknow?Maybeitdidn’tmatter.Maybeanygesturewouldcount.
Attheendofhershift,shegrabbedanAsianpearfromtheproducesection,paidforit,andrushedtowardthebackofthestore.Sheplacedthefruitonhisdeskinhistinyoffice,whichshehadneverenteredbeforeandsmelledmustyandslightlysweetfrompaperandink.Sheheardanoisebehindherandturnedaround.Hestoodatthedoor.
“Isthatforme?”Hisbrowneyessoftened.
“Yes.”Shecaughtherbreath.“Ijustthought—sorry,Iprobablyshouldn’tbeinhere.”
“That’sniceofyou.Youdon’thavetodoanythingforme.”
“Youjustlooked…tired.”
Hisgazedroppedtowardthegroundashismindseemedtocalculatewhatandhowmuchtosay.“Alotgoingonaroundhere.”
Apairoffeetshuffledbehindhimasthestoreownerwalkedover.Facingthemboth,Mr.Parksaid,“Hello,hello.AmIinterruptingsomething?”Heliftedhiseyebrows.
Minacringedinside.Theofficeseemedtoshrinkinsize.
“No,Mrs.Leewantedtotalkaboutherschedule.”
“Oh,anyproblems?”Mr.Parkcranedhisneck,tryingtocatchaglimpseofherbehindMr.Kim.“You’renotinanykindoftrouble,areyou,Mrs.Lee?”Hewinked,almostimperceptibly.
“No,everythingisfine,”shesaidinasteelyvoice.“Ijustwantedto…talktohimaboutmyhours.I’dliketoworkmorehours.”
“Oh,Isee,”hesaid,grinningatMr.Kimbeforepattinghimontheshoulder.Walkingaway,Mr.Parkadded,“Bytheway,goodjob,Mrs.Lee.You’vebeendoingagoodjob.”
“Thankyou.”
Mr.Parkwentoutthebackdoor,eithertosmokeorleavefortheday.
Mr.Kimfacedheragain.“Well,thankyoufortheapple,”hesaidwithasmile
“It’sapear.”
“Oh,that’sright.”
“Um…”Shetouchedthecornerofthedeskwiththetipsofherfingers,steadyingherself.“Doyoustillwanttohavedinner?”
Margot
Fall2014
LASTNIGHTHADBEENMARGOTANDMIGUEL’SFIRSTnightsleepingintheapartment,aboutaweekaftertheyhaddiscoveredhermother’sbody.Margothadsleptinhermother’sroomwhileMiguelstayedinMargot’s.AfterbrewingacupofcoffeewithaFrenchpressthatshehadboughthermothermanyyearsago,Margotsatatthediningroomtable,staringoutthewindowatthealleythatseparatedtheirbuildingfromthenext.HermotherhadneverusedtheFrenchpress,preferringinsteadthepacketsofinstantcoffee,premixedwithsugarandcreamerfromtheKoreansupermarket.Hermotherhadevenkeptitinitsboxasifpreservingitforsomeone.
HowmanytimeshadMargotgazedoutthatwindow?
Sheandhermotherwouldsitatthattable,atbreakfast,atdinnertime,silent.Howshehadwishedhermotherwouldaskherhowshewasfeelingmoreoften.Howshehadlongedforhermothertoaskherwhathadhappenedthatday,ifitwasgoodorbad,orifsomethingaboutithadsurprisedher.
Butmaybethequestionsthemselvesfrightenedhermother.Notbecauseshedidn’tcareaboutMargot,butbecausethequestionswerethesameonesthatshewasneverwillingtoaskoransweraboutherself.Ithurttoomuchtoknow.Howareyoudoing?Howdoyoufeel?
Margotfinishedwhatwasleftinhermug,chewingthecrystalsofsugarthathadn’tyetdissolved.
Wearingawhiteundershirtandblackjeans,Miguelemergedfromthebathroomwithahandtowel,dryinghiswethair.Sherealizedthenthatshehadn’ttakenashowerherselfindays,notevenaftershehadwalkedonthebeachandsubmergedherselfintheice-coldwater.SheplacedthekettleonthestovetopnowtobrewMiguelacupofcoffee,too.Theelectriccoilglowedorange,deepeningtored.
Miguelgrabbedarazorfromhisovernightbagandclosedthebathroomdoor.Herphonerang.
“Oh,hi,”OfficerChoisaid.Shecouldhearbackgroundnoiseofhimrummagingthroughpapers,folders.“Hopeit’snottooearly?I’vegotsomestuffforyou.”
“Isit…good?”
“Well,couplethings,”hesaid.“Ifinallyreachedthelandlord.Ispoketohimyesterdayafternoon.”
“Oh,great.”
“Unfortunately,hesaidhedidn’trememberanythingoddabouttheweekendthatyourmotherdied.Hesaidthathehadnoideawhatyouweretalkingabout,theyelling,yourmother’svoice—”
“What?”
“Hesaiditwasjustlikeanyotherweekend.Yourmotherhadbeenaquiettenant.”
“IknowI’mnotimaginingwhathesaid.”
“SoItriedknockingonsomeofthedoorsofyourneighbors.”
“And?”Shepacedbackandforthinthekitchen.
“Onlyoneofthemanswered.Andshesaidshewasn’thomeatallovertheweekend.She’slivedinthebuildingforafewyearsandyourmotherhasalwaysbeenveryquiet.”
“God,Ican’tbelievethis,”shesaidtoherself.“Iswear,hetoldme…Wewereintheparkinglot,thegarage.Iknowwhathesaid.Ihavenoideawhyhewouldn’ttellyou…”
Butsherememberedthelandlord’swordsaftersheconfrontedhimaboutnottalkingtothepolice:Whatfor?Iwastiredanditcould’vebeenanyone.Idon’tneedthemsnoopingaroundhere.Doyou?Doyouthinktheneighborslikethat?Whatdoyouthinkthepolicearegoingtodoforyou?Doyouthinktheycareaboutyourmother?
“Damnit.I’llhavetotalktohimagain,”shesaid.“It’sbullshit.”
“I’mnotsurewhatelsewecando,Margot.”
“Therehadtohavebeensomeoneelsearound.”Shegrittedherteeth.Hereyesdartedtowardtheelectriccoil—redandhot.Shecouldhearthebubblinginsideofthekettlenow.
“Ilookedintotheobituary,too.”
“Youdid?”shesaid,somewhatrelieved.
“Yourmother’sboyfriend,KimChang-hee,wasaprettybigdealintheValley.Rich.Donatedalottothechurch.Hehadthissmallsupermarketchain,SuperSan.Everheardofit?”
“No,”shesaid,leaningontheedgeofthecounternexttothestove.“IguessIjustdon’tknowtheValley.”
“Wife.Nokids.”Hepaused.“Pancreaticcancer.HediedinOctober.”
“Isee.”ShouldshetellhimthatshesawaresemblancebetweenherselfandMr.Kim?No.Itwassillywishfulthinking.
“HiswidowlivesinCalabasas.Theyhaveahomethere.”
Sheknew.Thetouroperatorhadgivenhertheaddress.
“Idon’treallyseeaconnectiontoyourmotherorherdeath,”hesaid.“Youfoundthisobituaryathomewithoutanyexplanation?”
“Yes,I…IfounditinadrawerthatIwasgoingthrough.”
“Imean—”
“Whatwashername?Thewidow’sname?”
“MaryKim.”
“Doyouhaveaphonenumber?”
“Ireallydon’tthinkweshouldgodownthisroute.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Shecouldhearmen’svoicesinthebackground.“Yourmother.”OfficerChoiloweredhisvoice.“Shehadalover.Hedied.Andthen—later,shediedaswell.”Hepaused.“It’sterribleandsad,butthereisn’tapointinhurtinganyoneelse,right?Imean,noneofthisinformationwillbringyourmomback.”
“Hurtinganyoneelse?”
“Thewidow.Mr.Kim’swife.Whybringherintothis?Shemightnotevenknowabouttheaffair.”
“Butwhatifshedoes?”
“Howarewegoingtofigurethatout?Askher?Whywouldwebeaskingquestionsaboutyourmother?We’dhavetotellher.”Hesighed.“Idon’treallyseewhatelseIcandohere,Margot.Asfarasyourmother’sdeathgoes—whichwasterrible,I’msorry—it’sanopen-and-shutcase.Itwasanaccident,andthere’snotmuchmoreIcan—”
Shehungupthephone.Thekettlescreamed.
SheturnedofftheburnerasMiguelreemergedfromthebathroom,freshlyshaven,cleanandminty,andstrolledintothekitchen.
“Didyouhearanyofthat?”Margotasked,pouringthehotwaterintotheFrenchpress.
“Yeah,Idid.”Heshookhishead.“Sothelandlordisnowjustactinglikehedidn’thearanything.Ofcourse.”
Afterstirringthegroundsinthewater,shesaid,“I’mgonnatalktohim.I’lltrythisafternoon.”
“Thelandlord?”Miguelleanedonthekitchencounter.“Doyouwantmetogowithyou?Doyoufeelsafe?”
“I’llbeokay,Ithink.”Shepressedthegroundsdownandpouredthecoffeeintoamug.“Youhaveerrandstorun.I’lltryhimtoday,andwecanstillgotoCalabasasthisweek,right?”
“Sure,howabouttomorrow?OrFriday?”
“Soundsgood,”shesaid.“Ican’tbelievethelandlordlied.Thisissofrustrating.”
“Maybeyoushouldgodowntherenow?I’llgowithyou.Ordoyouhavehisnumber?”
“Yeah,Ido.”Shegrabbedherphoneagain.“Ishould,oractually—it’shereonthefridge,Ithink.”Hermotherhadtapedupapieceofpaperwiththephonenumbersofimportantpeople—Margot,thelandlord,herchurch,Alma,themanageroftheswapmeet—incaseofanemergency.
Shedialed.Whentheansweringmachinepickedupwithagenericrecording,shedidn’tbothertoleaveamessage.Shehadafeelingthathewouldbeavoidinghernow.
“Maybetakeabreak?”Miguelsaid.“Ihavesomeappointmentsatapartmentstoday.Howaboutwedothatandthengoouttoeatsomething?WecoulddrivearoundBurbankforabit,getawayfromthisplace.”
Shenoddedandsaid,“I’mjustsofedupwitheverythingrightnow.”
“ToobadhotOfficerChoiturnedouttobesuchabummer.”
“Predictable,”shesaid.“Allofthisandthatlandlordaresofuckingpredictable.”
“Whynotsurprisethem?”Hesippedhiscoffee.“Ithinkweshouldsurprisethem,don’tyouthink?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”sheasked.
“Werollupoursleevesandfigurethisshitoutonourown.Youdon’tneedhimforanythingelse,right?Deletehim.”
Hewasright.Shedidn’tneedOfficerChoiorthelandlord.Noneofthemwereonherorhermother’sside,deadoralive.
Normally,shewould’vedeferredtotheiropinions.Theirdoubtswould’vewormedtheirwaythroughherownintelligence,herowninstinctstodefendwhatsheknewwasright.Butshenowrealizedthattheirpowerreliedonherabilitytoundercutherself.Andshewastiredofdoingthat.Sheandhermotherdeservedmore.Shewouldn’tstopuntilshefoundthetruthofhermother’slife.
TWODAYSOFSEARCHINGFORANAPARTMENTHADgonebybeforeMiguelscoredamodernone-bedroominBurbankearlyFridayafternoon.AfteralatelunchatanItalianchalkboard-menueateryblocksfromhisnewplace,MargotandMiguelenduredthestop-and-godownthe101foralmosttwenty-fivemilestothehillsofCalabasas,westoftheSanFernandoValley.
TheplanwastocheckoutMr.Kim’shousewherepresumably,hiswidow,MaryKim,stilllived.MargotwantedtofindoutasmuchinformationasshecouldaboutMr.andMrs.Kimwithoutactuallyconfrontingher.Otherwise,OfficerChoiwasright;shemightberevealingtheaffairunnecessarilytoher.AndinMargot’smind,althoughMarywasoncetheonlypersonwhomighthaveamotivationtoharmhermother,thelandlord,whohadliedtoeitherherorOfficerChoi,hadbecomeincreasinglysuspicious;hisansweringmachinenowindicatedthathewasoutoftownforafamilyemergency.Howconvenient.
“DoyouwanttostaywithmeonSundaynight—afterImovein?”Miguelasked.“Areyoucomfortableattheapartmentbyyourself?”
“IthinkI’llbeokay,”shesaid.“Besides,Iprobablyshouldstayatmymom’sandfindthatlandlord.Finishstuffup.Burbankisfar.”
Ofcourse,shewashappyforMiguel,butsheenviedhoworganizedhewas,howeasilyheseemedtomanagethelogisticsoflife.Hehadfoundabetterjobinanotherstatethatgavehimmoreoptionstopursuehispassions,hisdreams.HenowhadanapartmentwithstainlesssteelappliancesinaLEED-certifiedbuildinglocatedclosetohisworkplace,anactingstudio,shops,andrestaurants.Whycouldn’tshegetherlifeinorder,too?
Whatwaswrongwithher?
Shecouldn’tstandherjobasanadministrativeassistant—thedataentry,theproofreading,creatingbrochuresinthattinyappendixofanofficewiththeadoberedwalls,thesingle,dustytasklampsheusedeveryday.Shecouldn’tbeartheweatherinSeattle.AfteralifeinLosAngeles,shehadneveradjustedtothegraywinters.
Andwhenshedidcatchaglimpseofthethingsshewanted(amorecreativejob,artclasses,astrongersenseofcommunityoutsideofwork),thosethingswoulddisappearbeforeshecouldtouchthem,backintothemessofhermind.She’dgetdistractedbyotherlives—theproblemsofmen.Hertwo-monthrelationshipwithhercoworkerJonathanlastyearhadbeendisastrous.Hisself-absorptioncombinedwithhisgenericflattery—thecomplimentsaboutherthoughtfulness,herempathyandintelligence—wasseductive.Shehadthiskeenfeelingthatifshecouldsupporthimendlessly—throughhisgriefoverhisdeceasedwife,hisadultsonwhostruggledwithaddiction—shewouldberewardedwithhisattention,hisadmirationforever.Shecoulddisappeararoundhimandstillfeelgoodaboutherself.
Butofcourse,hebrokeherheart.Hewasanit-hurts-meto-hurt-you,anI-love-you-but-I’m-not-in-love-with-youkindofman.Itwasallsodullandpredictableintheend.
Andnowthathermotherwasdead,therewasnoonetorunfromexceptherself.Shewasn’tevenadaughteranymore.She’dhavetobecomesomeoneelse.
Herfootcrampedinitsstop-and-gopositionoverthebrakes.Thisslowmiserableparade.
“Lookatthatsunset,”Miguelsaid.
Hermindshiftedtotheriotoussky,itsmesmerizingwashofpinksandoranges.Shehadalwayslovedthosesublimecolorsthatsuggestedboththebeginningandtheendofeverything.ThesuninLAcouldbearealdramaqueen,quietlyblazinginatulleofsmogalldayuntiltheeveningaskedhertoleave,andshebecameallflourishandflames.
Exitingthe101laterintwilight,thecarwounduphills,pastexpansivehomesofvaryingarchitecturalstyles—Mediterranean,Tudor,CapeCod—complexesofbothgoodandbadtastebutmostlyexpressionsoflargebankaccounts,impenetrability,power.Manicuredlawns,apristinegreen,notaleafortwigorstemmisplaced,maintainedbyarmiesofworkerswholivedandtraveledfardailyfrommuchpoorerpartsoftheValleyandLA,whospenthoursinthesun,workingwhileremaininginvisible.
Margotcouldn’tbelievehermotherhadaloverwholivedwithsuchwealthlessthanthirtymilesawayfromherinKoreatown.Couldhealsobeherfather?PerhapsshenotonlywantedtofindoutmoreaboutMaryKimbutalsowhetherornotMr.Kimcouldbeherdad.Itseemedabsurdtofollowanimpulsetowardsuchanelaboratestory.ButwhyelsewouldhermotherbedatingthiswealthymanallthewayinCalabasas?Whatwouldtheyhaveincommonwitheachotherexceptthepast?
Growingup,sheonlyknewthathermotherhadworkedatasupermarketwhenshehadfirstmovedfromKoreaandmetamantherewhodisappearedaftershebecamepregnant.Hermotherneverexplainedwhyandrefusedtogiveawayanydetailsabouthim—hisname,hispersonality,hisface.Eventually,Margotstoppedasking.
Margothadalwaysimaginedherfatherasaquiet,nondescriptpersonwhostillworkedatagrocerystore,andpotentiallyhadhisownchildrenandfamily,orhadbeenaperpetualbachelor,breakingheartswhereverhewent.Shehadpreferredthelatter,someonecruel.Thatwaysheneverhadtowonderwhysheandhermotherhadbeenabandoned,discardedlikethepeelofafruit.
Butnowshecouldn’tresistthepotentialofthisstory—thatMr.Kimcouldbeherfather,thathermotherhadfoundloveinthefinalyearofherlife,thatavengefulwifehadconfrontedhermother,maybeevenkilledher,whetheronpurposeorbyaccident.Asfar-fetchedasthisscenarioseemed,itmademoresensetoMargotthanhermotherrandomlyfallinginherownapartment,onlytohaveherout-of-towndaughterfindherbodydayslater.Sheunderstoodthatbothlifeanddeathcouldberandom,unnecessary—butsheneededmorefromhermother’sstory.Andnowthathermotherwasdead,Margotwasnolongerafraidofanytruth.
TheypulledupinfrontoftheaddressMargothadreceivedfromthetouroperatorearlierthisweek.Itwasawhitetwo-storyMediterranean-stylehome,expensivelykeptwithitsdenselawnandswayingpalmtrees.Allthelightswereon,blazingintheeveningdimness.Atieredstonefountaingushedwaterindefinitelyasifthedrought,oranyotherproblemofthisplanet,couldnottouchthisblessedhouseandland.Inthedriveway,abrand-newLexusSUVandMercedessedanposedasifstraightoutofaholidaycarcommercial.
“Maybeyoushouldgodownablock?Sotheydon’tseethecar,”Miguelsaid.
“Yeah,mycar’sjustalittleoutofplace.”Shepulledforwardalongthecurb.Shesaidinagrandedamevoice,“Hello,911,thereappearstobeanaverage-lookingautomobileoutsidethegroundsatthistime.”
“Wecouldbehousekeepers.”
Shelaugheddespitethepoundinginherchest.Whatifaneighborsawthem?Weretheytrespassing,breathinginthecitrusblossoms,thenewcarsmellofthisneighborhood?Shefeltforeignandalien.
Afterparkingdowntheblock,theystrolleddownthesidewalkthroughthebronzegatethathadbeenleftwideopen.Perhapsacarhadpulledintemporarily,ortheresidentsalwaysleftthegateajar,whichseemedoddbutworkedintheirfavorthatnight.Astheyapproachedthehouse,MargotandMiguelducked,scamperingacrossthelawnuntiltheyreachedarowofboxwoodtohidebehindwhiletheypeeredthroughalargewindowintothesilent,emptyhouse.Elegantlyunlived-inwithmostlymonochromaticholidaydecor—pineconesandboughspaintedplatinumandwhiteatopamantelcoveredinsilverphotoframes.Anivorytuftedsofaandarmchairwithclean,invitinglines.
“It’sniceinthere,”Miguelsaid.“LikeinthatAnnaWin-tourkindofway.”
“It’slikeamagazine.”
“Doyouwanttolookaroundtheback?”
“No,Idon’tthinkweshould—”
Margotfrozeasapearl-skinnedwomanofanindeterminateageappearedinthecenterofthelivingspace.Inherlongcreamynightgown,shecradledacrystalofwhiskeywithslenderfingerscrownedbyoxbloodnails.Alithe,compactbody,eyeskeptlow.Shemovedinandoutoftheirsightline,pacinglikeananimalinacageasifpossessed.
Margotclosedhereyes,afraidshemightfaint.Shehadanimpulsetorunnow,forgeteverything.Sheneverhadafather.Sheneverneededone.Shehadhermotheratleast—amotherwhowasoftenunavailablebutnonethelessprotectedher,perhapsprotectedhertoomuch,butshehaddonesobecauseshehadknownhowsensitiveMargotcouldbe,howemotional.Butnowthathermotherwasdead,Margothadbeenthrustintoseeingher,intoseeingthembothforwhotheyreallywere—womenwhosurvivedontheirown.Theythrivedintheirowncountryoftwo.Theywereinaway,despitehowtheymight’veappearedtotheoutsideworld,perfectlyfine.
Migueltappedherarm.Amaninhisforties—handsome,chiseledasamoviestar—enteredtheroom.Wearingablackcrewnecksweateranddarkslim-fitjeans,hesmokedacigarettewithanintenseTonyLeungface.Heperchedhimselfontheedgeofthewhitesofaasifunabletorelax,unwillingtogettoocomfortable.Theyappearedtobeinsomeintenselysomberdiscussion—browsfurrowed,prolongedsilencesbetweenwords.
“Damn,heisfine,”Miguelsaid.
“Weshouldgo,”Margotsaid.“Idon’tthink—”
Themanstood,snuffingouthiscigaretteinanashtray.
MargotandMiguelduckedbehindthebushes.Edgingherfaceupward,shecaughtaglimpseinsideofthecouplekissinginanembrace.
“Let’sgetoutofhere.”MargotpulledMiguel’ssleeve,andtheyscrambledaway,lowtotheground.Assoonastheyemergedoutoftheopengate,theysloweddown,tryingtoappearascasualandordinaryaspossible,asiftheywereonlytwopeopleoutonaneveningstroll.Thecoldairburnedherlungs.Aqueasinessrosefromherstomachupintoherchest.Shecouldtastethebileatthebackofherthroat.
“Whew,”Miguelsaid,shuttingthecardoor.“Iguesswidowsjustwannahavefun?”
“Somebodytradedinforanewmodel.”
Shepulledawayfromthecurb,makingsurenoonefollowedthem.
Downtree-linedroads,branchesveinedthenightskybetweenstatelyhomeslitlikewelcominglanterns.Buttheimagesofthewomanandmankissing,hersullennessdespitetheairyperfection,theheavenofthathouse,hadbeenburnedintoMargot’shead.
“Iwonderhowoldsheis?”Margotasked.“Thathadtohavebeenhiswife,right?OfficerChoisaidhehadnokids.”
“Howoldwasherhusband?”Miguelasked.“Sixty-four,Ithink.”
“Ifeelliketheoldestshecouldbe…wouldbeforty?Maybefifty?”
“Doyouthinkshejustfoundthisguy?”Margotasked.“Maybe.Orhecould’vebeenherloverfromtheget-go.”
“Youmean,whileherhusbandwasalive?”
“Alittlesidedish,”Miguelsaid.“Butthenshewouldhavenoreasontofightwithmymom,right?Imean,whywouldshecare?”
“Money?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Idon’tknow,butthat’stheonlythingIcanthinkof.”
Soontheysatinathicksilencewithonlythetickingoftheturnsignal,thehumofthecar’senginebetweenthem.Fortherestofthedrive,Margotspedhomethroughthedark,thinkingofthewoman’sface—aperfectovalthatshimmeredsoftlylikeapearl.Theman’shandsonherwaist.
Maryandhermotherhadsuchdifferentlives,andyetitwasasifMargotcouldhearMarysuffocatingunderallthatrichlight,strainingasifshe’dbeentrappedlikeaperfectspecimeninsideofajar.
Mina
Fall1987
INMR.KIM’SBLUESTATIONWAGONWITHVELVETYseats,apaperpinetreedangledfromtherearviewmirror.Themoonglowedsilverandbright,peekingbehindafaintcloud.Staringoutthewindowintothedark,Minawrappedhersweateraroundherbody.SherealizednowhowsullenshehadbeenthepastcoupleweekswhenMr.KimhadbeenavoidingherafterherrejectionofhimfollowingthelasttimetheywenttovisitLupe.Asaresult,shewaslearningSpanishtodistractherselffromhowunhappyshehadbeen,howimpossiblelifecouldsometimesbe.
Theairfreshenerhunglikeanamulet.Sheyearnedforsomesignfromtheuniversethatsaid,Youaredoingfine
“So,wheredoyoufeellikegoing?”Mr.Kimasked,breakingthesilence.“Doyoufeellikeanythinginparticular?”
“No.I’mokaywithanything.”
“There’sarestaurantthatIlike,HanokHouse.They’vegotprettymucheverything—galbi,jjigaes.”
Alongingtosomehowtouchhimcreptup,likevinesattachinghertothismanbesideher,tothisworld.Shewishedshecouldincineratetheshootsandtendrils,butshewouldriskdestroyingherself.Whatwasshedoing?Ithadbeenayearsinceherhusbandanddaughterhaddied,sinceburyingthemintheground,asingletombstone,together.Whatwasshedoinginthiscar,farawayfromthem,farawayfromhome?ShewantedtoaskMr.Kimtoturnback,butassoonasshelookedathim,theinsideofhermouthfeltparched.Shecouldn’t.Shewantedtobeherenow.
Astheypulledintoanarrowparkinglot,shealmostclappedherhandsatthesightoftherestaurantthatresembledatraditionalKoreanhouse.Itsdecorativewoodenbeamsandcurved,gray-tiledroofwerecharmingandlovelycomparedtothedrabconcreteandgraffitiedstuccoofLosAngeles.
Insidetherestaurant,whichsmelledofseafood,peppers,onion,garlic,andsesameoil,Hahoetalmasksgrinnedonthewallsbesideboothsmadeoutofdarkslabsofglazedwood.Earlystillfordinner,therestaurantwasmostlyemptyexceptforanothercoupleinafarcornerofthediningroomandanolderman,sleevesrolledup,carefullysippingfromaboiling-hotjjigaebyhimself.
Astheysatdown,awaitressgreetedthemwithtwostickylaminatedmenus.Minastudiedhers,avoidingeyecontactwithMr.Kim.
“I’mhavingthemaeuntang,”hesaid.“Ialwaysgetthesamething.”
“Oh,thatsoundsdelicious.”
“Whatlooksgoodtoyou?”
“Ahljjigae”Hermouthwateredatthethoughtoffisheggsboiledwithtofu,onion,andmuinaspicystew.“Ihaven’thadthatinalongtime.”
“Oneofmyfavorites,too.”Hisarmmovedonthetableasifresistingtheimpulsetoholdherhand.
Thewaitressreturnedwithapotofbarleytea.
“So,howlonghaveyoubeeninLA?”sheasked.
“Gosh,overtenyears,Iguess.Icamehereaftercollege.”Hebrushedhisfullblackhairbackwithhishand.“Iwasgoingtodomymaster’sdegree,butthatdidn’tlastlong.”Hesmiled,crinklingtheskinaroundhissoftbrowneyes.Shelovedlookingathim.
“Howcome?”sheasked.
“Oh,justwasn’tmything.Itwasanexcusetogetoverhere.”Hewinked.Hislipswereperfectlysized.Asensationofwarmthpressedherchestlikethesunshiningonnewleaves—tenderandbrightgreen.Shecouldfeelthesapcoursingthroughherbody.“Itsoundedgoodtomymother.Mypoormother.”Heshookhishead,pouringhertea.“Howaboutyou?”
“Me?”
“Howcomeyou’rehere?Orwhydoesyourfamilythinkyou’rehere?”
Steamrosefromhercupofbarleytea.Sheclosedhereyesandcouldfeelthegripofhermother’shand,andthenthesuddenabsenceofthatpressureonherskin.Evenifshehadherownfamily,ahusband,adaughter,forseveralyears,shedidn’tbelonginthisworlditseemed.Sheneverdid.
“Youdon’thavetotellme,”hesaid.“I’msorry.”
Thewaitressreturned,spreadingbanchanonthetable—makkimchiandkkakdugi,seasonedsoybeansproutsandspinach,soy-glazedlotusroot.Withhismetalchopsticks,Mr.Kimsampledthespinach,chewingthoughtfullyasifadmiringitscomposition—garliccloves,greenonions,soysauce,sesameoil.Thetanginessofthemakkimchi,whichshealwaystriedfirst,openedherpalate.Shebitintothecandyofthelotusroot,crunchyandchewy,forcomfort.Therewasastartlingfamiliaritytothebanchanasifshehadtastedthespecificcharacterofeachdish,everydifferenttasteandtexture,someplaceelserecently,butshecouldn’tnamewhere.
“Whatdidyoustudy?”sheasked,pouringhimtea.
“Economics,”hesaid.“IguessIstillkindofendedupineconomics.Business,sortof.”Hesmiledagain.
“Notquitewhatyouexpected,though.”
“Nope,butthat’sokay.That’showitis.”Hesighed.“Wecomeherethinkingthatwe’llworkhardandsometimesitworksout,sometimesitdoesn’t.That’slife.”
“You’restillyoung.”
Heblushed.“Young?Notreally.Ihaven’tbeenyoungforatleasttenyears.”
“Well,youngenough.Ifyouwantedtostartover,youcould.”
“That’strue.I’mnottieddownoranything.”
“Wereyouevermarried?”Thewordsslippedoutofhermouth.
“Yes.”Hesippedhistea.“Foraboutayear.Notlong.”
Handsshaking,sheliftedthepottorefillhiscup.“Shepassedaway,”hesaid,eyesdowncast.“Shehadstomachcancer.”
“I’msorry.”Sheexhaledoutloud.“Thatmusthavebeenverydifficult.”
Thewaitressarrivedwithtwoheavystonewarebowlsfilledtothebrimwithpipinghotstewsredolentoftheearthandsea—snapper,fisheggs,andclams,zucchini,ginger,andgarlic.MinawatchedhersbubblewhileMr.Kim,adventurous,spoonedabitofhissoup,blewonthebroth,andsipped.Shebitherlip,wishingshecouldscarfdownherahljjigae.SomuchofKoreanfoodwasaboutpatienceasthevolcanicsoupssettleddown,buildingthediners’anticipationwiththebrightcolorsoftheredpepperandgreenonion,thesmells.
“Isitgood?”sheasked.
“Yes,trysome.”Henudgedhisbowltowardher.
“Iwillinalittlebit.Please,goahead.”
ThebrothburnedhertonguebuttastedlikeitwouldatanyrestaurantinSeoul,perfectinitsdepthandbrininessfromtheroe.Thefisheggscrumbledinsidehermouth,andshewashedthemdownwithaspoonfulofdelicatemuthathadbecomeperfectlytranslucent.
“You?”heasked,notlookingupfromhisbowl.
“Yes?”
“Didyouevermarry?”Hesniffedfromtheheatofthespice.
“Yes,”shesaid,surprisingherself.“Hedied,too.”Thosewordswrungherheart.Ifsheweretomentionherdaughter,shewouldcompletelyfallapart.Shewouldrunoutintothestreetscreaming.Shewouldbeatthebottomofherfistsontheground,asiftryingtobreakherdaughterfree.Sheneverintendedtotellhimaboutherhusbandanddaughteratall,asifshehadbeenashamedofthetragediesthathadrentherlife,herfamily.Wasn’tthathowmostpeopletreatedherbackhome—likehersadnesswasadiseasethatcouldspread?
“I’msorry,”hesaid.
Shewantedtogetout.Butshecouldn’t.Onthewalls,theHahoetalmasksseemedtobelaughingather.Howcouldsheleavenow?
“Areyouokay?”
“Ineedtousetherestroom.Excuseme.”
Standingatthesink,shecried,wipinghereyes.Shesplashedherfacewithcoldwaterandwaitedafewminutesuntilshecaughtherbreathandmostoftheredhadleftherskin.Shecouldn’t.Shecouldn’tdothis.Shedidn’tbelonginthislife,thisdream.Herhusbandanddaughter’sdeathswereproofofthisfact.Shewasmadefornightmares.Shewouldworkandgotochurchuntilonedayshediedandwenttoheaven.Thatwasalltherewaslefttohopefor,thatwasalltherewaslefttolongforinthisworld.
ShereturnedtothetablewhereMr.Kimhadrefrainedfromeatinginherabsence.Herahljjigaehadgonelukewarm.
Theydrovebackhomeinsilence.Thepinetreedeodorizerswunglikeapendulum.Thenighthadripenedintoastarlessblackwhilethestreetlightsglowedamberonsteelandglass.Fromtheperiphery,shewatchedhisarms,thinandmuscular,guidethesteeringwheel,hislegpressonthegas.Shecouldsaysomething.Shecouldtellhimeverything.Butwhat?Whatwouldthatsomethingbe?Whatcouldshesaywithoutfallingapart,revealinghowbrokenandunlovableshehadbecome?Shehadalreadytoldhimtoomuch.
Ashepulledupinfrontofherdarkhouse,Minasaid,“I’msorryaboutearlier.Ijust—”
“Noworries.Iunderstand.”
“I’m…It’sallsonew.”Shewasruinednow,wasn’tshe?Shecouldn’tevenhaveamealoutandenjoyherself.
“Ofcourse.Don’tworryaboutit.”
“I’msorry.”Shewantedtorunoutofthecar.“Thankyoufordinner.”
Beforesheshutthedoor,hesaid,“You’reveryniceandpretty.”
Shedidn’tknowhowtorespond.
“Imeanthat.You’reverynice.”
“Oh,okay.”Sheresistedtheurgetocry.Asawidowwhohadalsolostherchild,itseemedshehadagainbecomeasinvisibleasshewasgrowingup—alonewithoutafamily,aleftoverfromawar,anunwantedgirl.
“Canwehavedinneragain?NextSaturday?”
Shenodded.InEnglish,shesaid,“Goodnight.”
Insideherroom,shelayonherbed,thinkingofMr.Kim—hiswarmsmile,thesadnessofhiseyes,hissmootharms—thenherhusband,thepeckofhislipsashedepartedeachdayforwork,andsheburiedherfaceinherblanket.
Tearsleakedoutofhereyes.Shetoreatthefabricwithherhands,notrippingbutgripping,wingsflappingoveramarshatdusk,purpleandglassy,untilshewastootiredtorealizeshewasfallingintoasoftmiracle,insectsskimmingthesurface,ofsleep.
AUTUMNSETTLEDINTHECITY.THENIGHTSGREWcolder,droppingdowntothefiftiesattimes,whichseemedchillyinaplacewherehousesandapartmentsdidn’thavemuchforinsulationandheat.ThedraftyhomeinwhichMinalivedfeltcolderthanitwasoutsideatnight,andshebundledupinsweatersandblanketsasshelistenedtotheKoreanradioorstoodbythestove,cookingsomethingforherself.Someofthelocaltreeshadlosttheirleaves,butthepalmtreesliningthestreetspersisted,ragged,swayinginthatbright,smog-filledsky.
Atthesupermarketwhennoonewouldnotice,Mr.Kim,lipscurled,winkedatherwithanalmostcomedicforce.Minalaughed,coveringhermouth,whenshewantedmorethananythingtokisshim,feelhiswarmanimalbreath.Shewantedherfacetotingle,herhearttothumpagainstherchest.Bewild,likerubbingoneselfinthedirtorpluckingflowersandpushingtheminherhair.
Afterthatawkwardfirstdate,hestillleftgiftsinherbin—aHershey’sbar,abagofsaltedpeanuts,aValenciaorangewiththemostperfectnavel—objectsthatarousedsomesoftness,likearabbit’sfuragainstherface.Toknowthathewasthere,toknowthathewasthinkingaboutherwasastrangebutmarvelousrelieffromthehardnessofeveryday.
Atthebeginningoftheircourtship,herhusband,withhislongsensitiveface,relaxedeyes,andmischievoussmile,hadbroughtherflowersandchocolateslikethemaincharacterinanAmericanmovie.Hiskindnesscontinuedthroughouttheirmarriage,butnotwiththesameintensity,ofcourse.Aftersomanyyearstogether,raisingadaughter,too,theirliveshadturnedtowardthepractical,tothequestionsofhowtheywouldprovidethebestlifetheycouldforher,whattheywouldhavetosacrifice.
Sotheromancehadleftthem,butneverthelove.Everymorning,hedroppedintokissher,likeaseagulldivingintotheocean,beforeherushedoutthedoor.Shewouldbeeatingbreakfastbyherselforgettingreadyinthebathroom,andhepeckedheronthecheekorsometimessloppilylikeafarmanimaltosaygoodbye.Helovedrituals,organization,patterns.
Buttoencounterthesesmallobjects—theseordinarygifts—nowfromMr.Kimrevivedsomethinginherthatshehadforgotten,stirringthecoalsofasmallfirethatshehadbelievedhadlongsincedied.Shebeganwearinglipstick—softpinksandberries—whichshepurchasedatadrugstorenearthehouse.Shestillworethesameblousesandslacks,butshebrushedandcombedherhair,checkingherselfinapocketsizemirrorshekeptinherpursethroughouttheday.Shelinedhereyesblackwiththetiniestflickattheend.Allofthishappenedsoquickly,withinaweek,thateventhelandlady,whorarelysaidanythingaboutanyone’sappearance,noticed.
“Somebody’sliving,”sheteased.
WithThursdayoff,Mina,exhaustedfromalateshiftthenightbefore,sleptinuntilnoon,whenpotsandpans,metalsurfaces,bangedagainsteachother.Shehatedloudnoises,especiallysuddenones,strikingliketheuniversecrashingdown,andshedidn’tknowinwhichdirectionsheshouldrun.Inherpajamasstill,sheexitedherroomandpeekedthroughtheopendoorofthekitchen,whichalwayssmelledofgarlicandgreenonion.
Withherpaleandbonylegs,Mrs.BaekstoodinagrayT-shirt-likenightgown,clickingaburneronthestove.Herbunofcurlyhairhunglowonherneck.Herforeheadandnosegleamedintheroomhalf-litbysun.
“Ah,it’sbeenawhile,”Mrs.Baeksaid,drizzlingoilontoapan.
Minafeignedasmile,yearningtoreturntobed.“Areyouhungry?”Mrs.Baekasked.“Iwasjustabouttomakesomething.”
“Imightwaitalittlebit.”Sheplacedherhandonherstomach.
“Yousure?Sitdown.”Mrs.Baekliftedalargebowlonthecounter.“Ihaveallthispancakebatter.Freshsquid.”
Minalovedthehotcrispypajeonorbindaetteokfriedintheopen-airmarketsbackhome.Theanonymousbustleandthenthecomfortofsittingonatinyplasticstoolasshewaitedtobefed.Thewomenwhocookedineachstallalwaysseemedharriedandgruff,yettheirmannerismswerealsodistinctlysoothing—asifunderneaththeirno-nonsenseapproachwasthetendernessofthefamilythattheywereeachchargedwithprovidingfor.Theywerewomenofgreatpowerandimportance,andtheyknewit.
“Ihavesomericefromyesterday,”Minasaid.“Wantmetoheatthatup?”ShereachedintotherefrigeratorforalargeroundTupperware,crackedopenthelid,andplaceditinthemicrowave,whereshestoodwatchingthestovewithMrs.Baek.
“Isawyoutheothernight,”Mrs.Baeksaidinalowvoice,smilingasshetiltedthepantospreadtheoil.
“Where?”
“AtHanokHouse.”
“Youworkthere?”Minarememberedthecalmingfamiliarityofthebanchan—thespinachandsoybeansprouts,thecrunchylotusroot.
“Yes,Iwasintheback.Inoticedyousittingwithaman.Ididn’twanttointerrupt.”
“Isee.”Minaleanedherhiponthecounter.“IknewIrecognizedthebanchanfromsomewhere.”
“Whoishe?”Mrs.Baekasked.Sheladledthebatterontothehotpanwhereitcookedalmostimmediately,theedgeshardening.
“He’sacoworker.Iworkforhim.”Herstomachrumbled.
“Oh,thatmakessense,”Mrs.Baeksaid,stillfocusedonthepan.
Themicrowavedinged.Minascoopedhotriceintotwobowlsfromherdryingrack.
“Doyoulikehim?”Mrs.Baeknudgedthepajeonwiththespatulasothatitwouldn’tstick.
“Idon’tknow.Maybe.”Minasettledinthebreakfastnook,thewoodbenchescolddespitetheircushions.Thesmellofsquidandscallionpajeon,hotandcrispy,filledthekitchen.Withherpalebirdlegs,feetcoveredinredhouseslippers,Mrs.BaekshuffledtowardMinacarryingaheavyplateandasmallbowlforthedippingsauce.Thepajeonwasperfectlygoldenandbrowned,slicedintoquarters.
“Goaheadandhavesome.Letmecleanupalittlebit.”
MinawaiteduntilMrs.Baekslidontothebenchinfrontofher.
“Goahead,”Mrs.Baeksaid.
“No,youfirst,please.Thankyouforsharing.”
Mrs.Baekpickeduphermetalchopsticks,liftedapieceofthepajeonontoherbowlofrice.“He’shandsome.”Sheraisedherbrows.
Minasmiled,dippingapieceofpajeonintoatinybowlofsoysauceandvinegar.“Heis.”
“Ishenice?”
“Yes,sofar,butit’shardformetotrustanyone,Iguess.”Shesighed.
“I’mthesame.”Mrs.Baeknudgedthemakkimchi,Mina’sfavorite,towardher.“Youcannevertellwithmen,youknow?”
Minanodded,tastingthemakkimchi.Perfectlytangyandripe.
“Idon’tthinkI’lltrustanymanagain,”Mrs.Baeksaid.
MinawonderedaboutwhatkindofhistoryMrs.Baekmighthavehad,butshecouldtellbytheresentmentinMrs.Baek’swordsthattoresurrectthoseexperiencesheremightonlyshatterthesafety,theprecariouslackofjudgmentbetweenthem—twowomen,adriftinaforeigncountry,withoutanyapparentfamily.
Aftereatinginsilenceforacoupleminutes,Minasaid,“Everythingyoucookisdelicious.”
“It’shardtocookforone,youknow?”
“Iagree.Ionlymakeramenorthesamejjigaenowadays.”Minarememberedherdaughter’sfavoritemeals—kalguksu,sujebi,braisedmackerelinthefallandwinter,naengmyeoninthesummer—andhowmuchtimeandcaresheputintofeedingthemallbackthen.Shewantedherdaughter’slifetobefullsothatshewouldneversuffer,sothatMinacoulderaseallthehardshipanddeprivationshehadherselfendured.
Butthepastalwayshadawayofrisingbackagainwhensomanyofthequestionshadremainedunanswered,wrong-doingsremainedunacknowledged,whenacountrytornbyaborderhadcontinuedfordecadestobeatwarwithitself.Boththelivingandthedeadremainedseparatedfromeachother,foreverunsettled.
“Wereyouevermarried?”Mrs.Baekasked.
InSeoul,bynow,theleaveshangingwouldbetheirbrightest,theirmostbeautifulagainstagraysky.Thegingkoandmaplewouldglowyellowandreddownthestreetsandupthehills.Thecrispfallairwouldpiercehermouth,herthroat,herlungs.Sheandherdaughterranthroughthefallenleaves,kickingandlaughing.
Butshehatedthoseredleavesnow,theseasonthattookherhusbandanddaughterawayfromher,too.
“Hedied,”Minasaid.
“Oh,I’msorry.”Mrs.Baekplacedherchopsticksonthetable.“Washesick?”
“No.Itwasanaccident.”
Mrs.Baekreachedoutandsqueezedherhand,thefirsttimeMinahadbeentouchedwithpurposeinalongtime.ShecouldfeelsomethingsproutinginsideofherchestasifMrs.Baek’skindnesswastheamber-coloredlightstretchinglongerandlongereachdayinspring.
Butitwasstillonlyautumn.Aseasonofdying.Andwhenshethoughtaboutthosetrees,howtheymustlookatthismoment—thesaturation,thebrightness—ablaze,allshecouldimaginewasthebloodthatmusthavebeenintheroad,afterarecklessdriver,rushingonhiswaytowork,mowedherfamilydown.
Margot
Fall2014
UNDERNEATHVAULTEDCEILINGSANDSTAINEDGLASScatchingthefaintestofmorninglightindeliciousjeweltones,Margotcouldfeelhowbeautifulandsafeachurchcouldbe—thesinuousburnofincense,thecalmlemonoilonwood,therituals,theincantationsandsong.IthadbeenyearssinceMargothadgonetochurchherself.Inherteens,shehadfoughtwithhermotheraboutwhatsheviewedastheoppression,theboredomofworship.Butseeingthewindowsnow,sherememberedhowasachild,shewouldstareatthestainedglassandthinkofpiecesofcandylikeJollyRanchers.Shehadwonderedwhatthewindowswouldtastelikeifshecouldclimbupandlickthem.
TheIrishpriestgreetedthegatheredinKoreanwithabitofhisnativelilt.Thepipeorganplayedandthechoirsangclearly.Everycellinherbodyvibratedwithmusic.Shecouldn’tunderstandthelyrics,butshecouldfeeltheirmeaning,theseductionoftheirgentleness,theirmeeknessinfrontofaGodwhowouldrewardthem,aGodwhowouldalwaysrestoreorderandpeacetothisworld.
Sheclosedhereyes.Didhermotherbelieveinanyofthis?Ordidshejustneedtobelong?DidsheonlyneedtoreturnhereeverySundaytorestoreordertoherspiritandmind?Shecouldunderstandwhyhermotherneededtobelievetherewasaheavenafterallofthis—afterallheranxiety,herloneliness,thefrailtiesofabodythatcouldbetakenfromher,apparently,atanymoment,thisbodythatsuffered,thatbelongedtoanddissolvedintotheearthlikethatofanyanimal.
Andhermother’sashes.Whatwouldshedowiththem?Whatwouldhermotherhavewantedforherself?
Whethershewasinheavenorsimplygone,Margotachedforhermother.Umma.Tearsstreameddownherface,drippedfromherchinontoherchest.Shelickedthesaltawayfromherlips.Amenhummedaroundher.Whilethepriestreadfromthescripture,hisKoreancalmandfluidasacreek,shekeptherfacelowered,collectingherself.Shewishedshecouldunderstandthewords,butinsteadtheKoreanwashedaroundherlikewater,chest-deep.Herheadspunfromthefrankincense.Shecouldn’tsitstillanylonger.
Afterthehomily,moreprayer,shestoodtoreceivethecommunion,butinsteadofwalkingtowardthealtar,sheboltedoutthefrontdoorintothemorninglightwhereshecouldfinallycatchherbreath.Thesunglowedthroughhazeandsmoglikeanemberdying.Shesatonthecoldconcretestepsasfinchesflittedandchirpedthroughtrees.Pigeonscooedunderroofeaves.
AfterallthoseyearsoffightingwithhermotherwhofearedMargotwouldgotohelloneday,Margotwasnowheresearchingforwhateveryoneelsewas—answers,safety,relief.
Shehadhopedtospeaktothepriestoradeaconaftertheservice,findoutwhatshemightdoforhermother,herashes.Atthesametime,shewasembarrassedbythefactthatshecouldn’taffordtodoanythingproperforhermother.Firstshehadtosellhermother’sstoreandcar.Suddenly,shefeltaprofoundsenseofshame—asshehadalwaysfeltaroundmostotherKoreanAmericans—thatshehadgrownupfatherlessandpoor.AmongKoreanAmericans,manyofwhomwereChristianandfrommiddle-toupper-classbackgroundsasaresultofstatus-filteringimmigrationlaws,achildoutofwedlock,amissingfather,seemedtobeparticularlyembarrassingwhenfamilysuccessrepresentedallthatyouhadinthiscountryfarawayfromhome.Anyonewhofailedwasdefective.Sheandhermotherhadbeendefective—notthedream,nottheconventionalshapeofafamilyandsuccess.
Theirexistencewascriminal.Hersinglemotherwasundocumented.Margotwasfatherless.Shame,shameonthemall.
Theheavywoodendoorscrashedopenastheparishionersemerged.Margotstoodatattention,searchingthecrowdthatstreamedaroundher.Withajolt,sherecognizedMrs.Baekdashingbyintheshuffle.Margotalmostsaidsomething,butinsteadshefollowedhertothecongestedone-wayparkinglotwheregroupsofpeople,mostlymiddle-agedandelderly,chatted,whilecarsbackedoutofspotswithcare.
Mrs.BaekhadreachedhercarandwenttounlockitwhenMargotcaughtupwithher.
“Mrs.Baek,”Margotsaid.
Shejumpedandturnedaroundwithherkeys,sharp,stickingoutofherhand,whileteethflashedbetweenherredlips,theedgeofasnarl.Startled,Margotraisedherhandsupinfrontofherchestasifprotectingherself.WhywasMrs.Baeksoscared?
“OhmyGod,”Mrs.Baeksaid,eyeswide,catchingherbreath.“Youscaredme.”
“Sorry,Iwashappytoseeyou.Idon’tknowanyone.Yougotothischurch?”
“Ijuststarted,”shesaid.Shesmoothedthebunontopofherheadandloosenedhergriponthekeys.“Ineverreallydid,butmyfirsttimewaslastweek.”
“Isee,”Margotsaid,wonderingwhyshehadbegunattending.
“Didyougotochurchwithyourmom?”
“WhileIwasgrowingup,butnotrecently.”
Mrs.Baeknodded.“Areyougoingtohaveaservice?”
“Ithinkso,stilltryingtofigureitout.Herashesareatthemortuary.Idon’tthinkI’llbeabletohaveaserviceuntilafterIsellmymom’sstore,hercar.Maybeattheendofthemonth,orinearlyJanuary.”
Mrs.Baekfixedhereyesonthecrackedasphaltoftheparkinglot.“Shenevertoldyouoraskedforanything,right?Sheneverhadanyrequests?”
“No,notthatIknowof.”
“Shewouldn’twantyoutospendsomuchmoney.”Mrs.BaekreachedoutandsqueezedMargot’sarm.“Nowthatyou’realone,youhavetotakecareofyourself,right?”
Margotnoddedandtiltedherfaceupwardtoblinkbacksuddentears,noticingawhitetrailintheskylikeascar.ShelookedbackatMrs.Baek,whoseeyeshadsoftenedintodarkbrownpoolsthatshimmeredinthemorninglight.Despitethedistractionofherredlips,shehadthesoulfulfaceofsomeonewhofeltdeeply.ShewasthekindofwomanMargotwouldwanttobeoneday—stylish,genuine,self-possessed,andconfident.
“Therearewaystohonoryourmomprivately,don’tyouthink?Ithinkthatmakesthemostsense.ItwouldprobablyjustbemeandAlma,youknow,ifyouhadaservice.Maybesomepeoplefromchurch.”Shesmiled.“Butshewouldn’twantyoutospendalotofmoney.”
MargotsuddenlyrememberedwhatMiguelhadsuggestedaboutMrs.KimaftersnoopingaroundtheCalabasashouseonFridaynight:thatifshehadfoughtwithMargot’smom,whowashavinganaffairwithherhusband,heronlymotivationwouldbemoney.Shealreadyhadalover.Shecouldn’thavebeenjealousromantically.ButifMrs.Kimwasmotivatedbymoney,adesiretoprotectherselffinancially,whatcouldthatrevealaboutwhetherornotMr.KimwasMargot’sfather?Couldhermotherhavebeenseekingsupport?MaybeMrs.Baekwouldknow.
AsMargotwasabouttoask,Mrs.Baekturnedawaytowardhercar.Openingthedoor,shesaid,“Imissyourmom.”Hervoicetrembled,eyesdowncast.“Maybe—maybethat’swhyIcamehere,youknow?Ijusthadthisimpulsetocomehere.”SheglancedatMargotbeforewipingtearsfromhercheeks.“MaybeIwashopingtoseeyourmom?That’ssilly,Iknow.ShewasalwayshereonSunday.”
Margothesitated,decidingitwasn’ttherighttimetoquestionher.
Aftershuttingthedoor,Mrs.Baekstartedtheengineandbackedoutofthespot.Margotwatchedasthewindshieldreflectedaplushsolitarycloudinthegray-bluemorningsky,obscuringMrs.Baek’sface.Herhands,slenderandlong,guidedthesteeringwheel.Hertiressquealedunexpectedly.Finchesflew,aflurryoftanfeathers,beforelandingandpeckingagainattheasphalt,whateverscraptheycouldfind.
LATEAFTERNOONTHENEXTDAY,MARGOTRETURNEDtotheswapmeettoaskAlmaandtheneighboringstoreownersiftheyknewsomeonewhomightwanttopurchasehermother’sstoreoutright.Earlierthatmorning,shehadgonetothebankwithhermother’sdeathcertificate,andsinceMargothadbeenlistedasabeneficiary,shewasabletowithdrawhermother’sfunds—$562—andcloseheraccount.Butsheneededmorethanthattocoverhermother’scremationandunpaidbills.
Intheparkinglotoftheswapmeet,largespeakersvibratedandbumpedtobandamusic.Amaninacowboyhatgrilledchickeninacloudofdelicioussmoke.Insidetheoldwarehousestructure,merchandiseoverflowedintotheaisleswherepeopleperusedandpickedoveritemsforsale.Hermother’sstorehadremaineduntouched,thegatestillpadlocked,undisturbed.
Margotcouldn’thelpbutworrythatsomeone,knowingthathermotherwasgone,hadbrokenintotheplaceandtakeneverything.Andnowthathermotherwasdead,howmuchwasherstore—theclothing,theracks,thedisplaycases,thehangers,whichhermotherhadworkedovertwentyyearstoacquire—worth?MargothadenoughofherownsavingstocoverrentinSeattlebutnotenoughtoremaininLApasttheholidays.
AsMargotunlockedtheaccordiongate,Almaemergedfromherstore—jam-packedwithChristmasdecorations—wearingaSantahatdelightfullyaskew.Stringsofflashingmulticoloredlightsandmetallictinselgarlandsdazzledintheoverheadfluorescentlight.AlmahuggedMargot,kissingheronthecheek,abenedictionofsorts.“Venconmigo.”
SheofferedMargotamugofchampurrado,easingMargot’smindwiththefamiliarsmell,thetasteofhotchocolate,cinnamon,andmasakeptwarmforhours.
Sittingdowntogether,Almapointedtohermother’sstore.“?Mihermanaquierecomprarlatienda?”
“?Tuhermana?”
“$6,000?”
Margothadnoideahowmuchhermother’sstorewasactuallyworth,butwhatcouldshedoaboutthatnow?Howmuchtimeandenergydidshehave?$6,000wasplenty,enoughtocoverhermother’scremationandhelpwithMargot’sexpensessinceshewastakingunpaidtimeoffwork.AndsheknewthatAlmaandhersisterwouldtakegoodcareofthestoreandcustomers.
“Nextweek?Dinero,”Almaasked.
“Okay.Sí.CanIcallyou?”MargotfinishedthelastofherchampurradoandmotionedforAlmatoaddhernumbertoherphone.“I’llcomebacknextweek?”
AwaveofsadnessengulfedMargot.Shecouldn’tbelieveithadallcomedowntothis,allthoseyearshermotherhadspentprotectingandgrowingherstore.Allthoseyears,shehadyelled,Amiga!Amiga!atthewomen’sbacksastheywalkedaway,sweptthefloors,complimentedstrangersaftertheyhadtriedonclothes,Bonita.Soyoung.Joven.Allthewomenwhohadstoodinthemakeshiftdressingroommirror,observingthemselvesfromdifferentangles,consideringwhotheywereandhowtheylooked.
AlmaembracedMargot,rubbingacircleonherback.Ofcourse,thiswashowhermotherwouldwantthingstobe.Howcomplete.
Afterplacinghermother’snotebooks,receipts,andthefoot-tallceramicVirginMaryinthebiggestcardboardboxshecouldfind,shelockedupthestore.
Nowthatshehadsomemoneycomingherway,sherealizedthatmaybesheshouldtakeMrs.Baekouttodinnerthisweek.TheycouldgotoHanokHouseagain.HertriptoCalabasaswithMiguelhadn’tansweredmuchaboutMr.Kim—otherthanthathiswife,Mary,alreadyhadanotherlover—andmaybeMrs.Baekmightknowmoreabouthim.MaybesheevenmightbeabletoanswerthequestionofwhetherhewasMargot’sfather.
Margotstrolledthroughthemazeofshopsdeckedoutintinselgarlandsandflashingholidaylights.Childrenran,screamingandlaughing.Loudspeakersinanothersectionoftheswapmeetblasted“FelizNavidad,”entangledwiththemusicofvariouselectronictoysforsale.
Margotthoughtoftheyearsshehadspenthatingthisplace,resentingthework,thedirtiness,andthetrashthataccumulatedintheaisles.
“Idon’twanttogotowork,”Margot,asateenager,hadyelled.“Iwanttostayhome.It’smyweekend.”
“DoyouthinkIwanttowork?”hermotherasked,voicecracking.“Ineedyourhelp.Ican’tdoeverythingalone.”
“It’snotmyfaultthatyouhavetowork.WhydoIhavetogothere?You’refinetherebyyourself.”
“Ineedyourhelp.Doyouunderstand?Ican’tdoeverythingalone.”
AndMargotalmostalwayscavedtopreservewhatlittlesanity,whatlittleordercouldbekeptintheirhomeoftwopeoplestrugglingtounderstandeachother,preservewhatlittlecontroltheycouldhaveoverthisworldthatseemedtoshunthem—poorimmigrantoutsiders.YetMargotcouldwitnessnowthatthisstore,thisswapmeet,wherehermotherspentsixdaysaweek,wasanextensionofhome,andthehomesofallthepeoplewhoworkedhere,includingAlma,notjustformoneybutbecauseoflove,thelovetheyhadfortheirfamiliesandfriends,raisedandsupportedhereandabroad.Love,inallitsforms,couldlookthisway,too.
Margotstoppedatthesightoftheracksanddisplaycarts,oncestackedwithsocksandunderwear,strippedbare.Thelingeriehangingfromtorsosmadeofmetalwire,allofthemerchandisehaddisappeared.AFORLEASEsignhungonthewall.
“Oh,shit,”Margotsaidtonoone,almostdroppingthecardboardbox.Mrs.Baek’sstorewasgone.
MargotwentstraighttoHanokHouse,whereshemetwithMiguelfordinnerafterhisfirstdayatwork.
She’dhavetopresssomeonetherefurthertofindMrs.Baeknow.ItseemedlikeagoodplacetotrysinceMrs.Baekhadworkedthereupuntilearlierthisyear.WhywouldsheshutdownherstorewithouttellingMargotyesterdayatchurch?
Lonemeninrolled-upsleevesslurpednoodles.Familiesspokeinlowhushedtones.Closertotheholidays,Koreanimmigrants,whooftenownedsmallbusinessesorworkedlonghoursintheserviceindustries,dependedonthistimeofyear,whenpeopledinedoutandshoppedmoreoften,tosurvive.Nooneappearedtobecelebratinganythingatall.Thescentofmeatlickedbyflame,fatdrippingonfirelingered,buttonightwasanightofhardy,inexpensivedishes—jjigaes,kalguksu,yukgaejang.Tonightwasanightofgettingby,fulfillingoneselfafteranespeciallyhardday,findingcomfortandhomeinfood.
“Istheownerheretonight?”Margotaskedthesamewaitressfromlastweek.
“Mr.Park?No,nottoday.”Herfacewasunpowderedandpinkaroundthecheeksandnosefromtheheatofthefood.Inheropaqueblacktightsandsensibleballetshoes,shestrodetowardthekitchenintheback.
Somanycustomers.Alllookalmostsame,therestaurantownerhadsaidabouthermother.HehadgrinnedwiththosePaul-Bunyan-statueteeth,coldandclinical.
Themyulchibokkeum,chewyandstickystir-friedanchovies—tinyeyes,gillsbroken,bodiestwistedindeaththroesthathaddisgustedhergrowingup—werenowsatisfyinglybrinyandsweetinMargot’smouth.Itwaslikeabiteoftheseabutcandied,pureluxury.
Miguelsampledthemyulchibokkeumhimself.Oneofthetinyfishslippedoutofhischopsticks’gripontothetable.
“Howwaswork?”Margotasked.
Hepickedupthefallenmyulchiwithhisfingers,placingitinhismouth.“Oh,itwasfine.Meteveryoneonmyteam.”Hesippedfromhisglassofwater.“Nothingmuchtodotoday.Gotmylaptop,allmysuppliesandeverything.Somanypens.”Heopenedhiseyeswide.“I’veneverseensomanydifferenttypesofpens.Rollerball.Gel.Classicballpoint…”
“Alittledifferentfromworkingatanonprofit?”
Thewaitressdeliveredtwoearthenwarepotsofsoondubujjigaethatboiledandbubbledattheirtable.
“Excuseme,”Margotsaid.
“Yes?”Thewaitressloweredherhead.
“Doyou…happentoknowhowIcangetintouchwithMrs.Baek?Sheusedtoworkhere—untilearlierthisyear.”
Thewaitresspaused,inhalingdeeply.Sheglancedaroundtherestaurant.
“Itriedgoingtoherstoreattheswapmeettoday,”Margotsaid.“Itwascompletelygone.She—”
“No,Idon’thaveanyinformation,”thewaitressinterruptedwithatight-lippedsmile.“I’msorry.”Sheturnedawaywithhertrayinhand.
Margotresistedtheurgetocallafterher.Maybesheshouldtryaskingoneoftheotherwaitresses?Bitingbackherfrustration,sheturnedtothefood.Throughsteamfromredpepper,onions,andfishbroth,theycrackedaneggontopoftheirjjigaes.Margotpickedatmorebanchan—seasonedspinachandsoybeansprouts—waitingforthesouptosettledown.
Howthisjjigaemust’veprovidedtheperfectcomfortonacoldKoreannight.ShehadneverbeentoKoreaherself,neverhadenoughmoneytotravelonherown,butthroughthevigorandbrashnessofthiscomfortfood,shecouldimaginethebrutalityofawinter,orevenahistoryandcultureitself,thatneededthiskindofbalm.Sheneededthisrightnow.
WherewasMrs.Baek?MargotcouldgotochurchagainthisSunday,butcouldshewaitalmostaweekuntilthen?AndwhatifMrs.Baekwasn’tthereeither?Thenwhat?Shimmeringlikeaschoolofthetiniestfish,shewasslippingthroughthenet.
“HaveyoudecidedwhattodoaboutCalabasasorMrs.Kim?”
Shesighed.“IfeellikeI’vehitadeadendwiththat.UnlessI’mwillingtojustgotoherandaskheroutrightaboutherhusband,there’snothingmuchIcangain,especiallynowthatMrs.Baekisgone.”Shedippedherspoonintothesoup,mixingtheingredients—theclams,mussels,andshrimp,zucchiniandonion.
Margotfeltalighttaponhershoulderandturnedtoseethewaitress,wholeanedforwardandasked,“CouldItalktoyou?Outside?”Bowingherheadslightly,shegesturedtowardthedoor.Margotfollowedherout.
Thefogoftheirbreathrosefromtheirfacesasifsmokingcigarettestogetheronbreak.Thewaitresshuggedtheemptytraylikeashield,pressingtheroundsurfacetoherchest.Margotjammedherhandsintoherpockets.Lintrolledatherfingers.
“You’relookingforMrs.Baek?”
“Yes.”Margot’schestagainwasadarkmortar,thepestlegrinding.
“Everythingokay?”Mascaraclumpedthewaitress’slashesintosharpends.Cigarettebuttslitteredthesomberparkinglot,whichglitteredwithspecksofbrokenglass.
“No.”Margotshookherhead.“Mymom—she’sdead.”
“What?”
“Mymotherisdead.Shediedabouttwoweeksago.And…IwantedtoaskMrs.Baeksomequestionsabouther.Theywerefriendsforalongtime.Shemightbeabletoanswersomequestionsaboutmymother.”
ThewaitresstouchedMargot’sarminvoluntarilyasifbothofferingcomfortandsteadyingherself.
“IwenttoMrs.Baek’sstoretodayandshewasn’tthere.Shesoldherstore,Iguess.Sheleft.Doyouhavehernumberoraddress?Somewaytocontacther?”
Thewaitresssqueezedthetraytoherchestagainandshookherhead.“Idon’tknowifIcangivethattoyou.I’msorry.”
“Whynot?”Margotasked.
“Whenshequit,shealso…Shetoldmetonevertellanyonewhereshelives.”
“Why?Mymotherwasherfriendforareallylongtime.Idon’tthinkit’dbeaproblemif—”
“Yes,but…”Sheslidthetinycrossaroundhernecklace.
“Butwhat?Itdoesn’tmakesense.Idon’thaveanyproblemswithMrs.Baek.Isawheryesterdayeven,atmymother’schurch.We’refine.Ijustneedtoaskhersomequestions.”Margot’svoicegrewhoarse.Onthevergeoftears,shesaid,“She’stheonlypersonIhaveleftrightnow.Idon’thaveanyfamily.Nooneelsecanhelpme.”
Thewaitressclosedhereyesandfrowned.
“Idon’thaveanybodytohelpme,”Margotsaid.“Please.”
SheopenedhereyesandmetMargot’sgaze.“DoyouknowwhyMrs.Baekleft?”Thewaitresspointedtowardtheground,meaningtherestaurant.
“Shesaidshecouldn’tbeonherfeetallthetime,”Margotsaid.
“ShequitwhenMr.Parkboughttherestaurant.”
“Wait,who’sMr.Park?”
“Mr.Parkboughttherestauranttobeclosertoher,”thewaitressexplained.
Mr.ParkmustbetheownerMargothadspokentotheothernight.HiseyeslingeringonMargot’sfacetoolong.
“Ithinkmaybetheyhadafewdatesorsomething,butshewasnotinterestedinhim.Andheboughtthisrestauranttobeclosertoher,yousee?Hewasalreadyretiredforawhile.”
“Oh,shit.”Margotcoveredhermouth.
Thewaitressglancedatherwatch.“Ihavetogo.”
“Wait.”Margottouchedthewaitress’selbow.“Sohe’sbeenfollowingher,or…stalkingher?”
Shenodded.“Shehadtomove,too.Shetoldmenottotellanyoneanythingaboutwhereshelivesnow.Whenyoucameherelasttime,Mr.ParkwasheresoIcouldn’tsayanythinginfrontofhim.”
“Doyouknowwhereshelives?IpromisethatIwon’ttellanyone.IwouldnevertellMr.Parkoranyoneelse.Iwouldneverputherindangerlikethat.”
“I—”
“Ireallyneedherhelp.”
“Iwillwriteitdownforyoubeforeyouleave,okay?”Hereyeswerefulloffear.“Don’ttellherItoldyou,okay,aboutMr.Park?Don’ttellanyone,okay?”ShesqueezedMargot’sarmbeforeshereenteredtherestaurant.
Hardbreathsbillowedfog.Streetlightsglowedofftheglassofparkedvehiclesinthelot.
MargotreturnedtothetabletofindMiguelslumpedinhisseat,textingsomeoneonhisphone.Hehadfinishedmostofhisjjigae.
“Sorryaboutthat,”shesaid,slidingherselfontothebench.“God.”
“Somethingwrong?”
Margotplantedherforeheadinherpalm.“Mr.Park,theownerofthisplace?”shewhispered.“He’sbeenstalkingMrs.Baek.That’sprobablywhysheleftthestore.Maybehefoundherthere?”
“OhmyGod.Shit.”
“Iknow,Iknow.Iknewsomethingwasoffabouthim.”
“Ihopeshe’sokay.”
“Me,too.Thewaitressissupposedtogivemeheraddress.She’swritingitdown.”
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”
“I’mgoingtoherplace—tonight.”
“Whatifshe’salreadygone?”
“IhavetofindoutwhatsheknowsaboutMr.Kim.She’stheonlyonewhoknows.Iknowit.Ijustknow.”
ThewaitressslippedasmallfoldedpieceofpaperonthetableinfrontofMargot.
Herjjigaehadgonelukewarm,butshedidn’tcareabouteatinganymore.ShehadtofindMrs.Baekbeforeitwastoolate.
Mina
Fall1987
WITHTHESUNHANGINGLOW,ADUSKYANDMOLTENlandscapeofcloudsstriatedandstretchedthin,andthedarksilhouettesofpalmtreesbacklit,MinaandMr.Kim,ontheirseconddate,drovewestinhisstationwagondownOlympicBoulevard,oneofthelongeststreetsinthecity.Itwaslinedwithstores,restaurants,andshoppingplazasthroughKoreatownbutrapidlydwindleddowntoaresidentialareawithmostlysingle-familyhomesarounditsintersectionwithCrenshawBoulevard.
Staringoutthewindow,MinamarveledathowmuchherlifehadchangedinthepastseveralmonthssincemovingtoAmerica,howlargeandstrangetheworldnowseemedinthisforeignplaceofwarmweatherandcoldsurfaces—cars,speed,metal,andglassbetweenpeople.ShemissedKoreaanditsquietalleyways,snowmeltingintoclearwater,themustard-coloredleavesofgingkotrees,undulatingstoneshinglesonroofs,despitecoups,militaryrule,wars,aborderthatwasnotascarbutanopenwound.
Andhowcouldsheremovethememoryofthephysicalbeautyfromthememoryofherlosses,thetremendousnessofthatpain?Absencewasalwayspresent.Thunder,bombsdropping.Nowshehadonlythisdullugliness,thisdulldrone—thecharmlessbuildings,theboringroads,thebatteredbuses,droopingpalmtreesgonebrown—spectacularlylit.
“Areyoucold?”Mr.Kimadjustedthetemperaturewiththedial.
“Alittle.I’mokay.”
“Letmeknowifyouwantmetoturntheheatupsomemore.”
“Okay.”
“Howwasyourdaytoday?”
Earlier,Minahadslippedintohiscar,afraidthatsomeonemightseeherfromthestore.Shehadbeenatworkallday,distracted,ringingupitemstwiceorgivingtheincorrectchange.Shehadbeenunabletosleepthenightbefore.
“Itwasfine,”shesaid.“Yours?Ididn’tseeyouatall.”
“Itookthedayoff.”Heclearedhisthroat.“Iwasn’tfeelingsowellthismorning.”
“Areyouokay?”
“Yeah,totallyfine.JustsomestomachproblemsIsometimeshave.”Hesighed.“Beenreallybusyatthestore.”
“Yeah,seemsthatway.”
“Iguess,that’sagoodthing.Morecustomers,maybemoremoney.”
“Ormaybejustmorework.”
Helaughed.“Yeah,prettymuch.Oneofthesedays,I’mgoingtoownmyownplace.”
“Whatkindofplace?”
“Grocerystore.I’magroceryman.”
Shesmiled.“Youmakeitsoundlikethat’syourdestiny.”
“Whynot?Imean,whatelse?TheonlythingIlikebetterthanfoodisbooks.ButwhatamIgoingtodo,sellBibles?WhatkindofbooksdopeoplebuyinKoreatown?”
“There’sabookstorenearthemarket.”
“Haveyoueverbeeninthere?”
“Sure.”ShethoughtoftheSpanishtextbookshehadboughtacoupleweeksago.
“It’sBiblesandEnglishandSpanishbooks.Andmaybesomeotherstuff,butnoonehastimetoreadanymore.Allwedoiswork…Buteveryonehastoeat.”
“Ihopeso,”shejoked.
“Thegrocerystoreisthefuture.”
“Thegrocerystoreisnow.”Shecrackedup,coveringhermouthwithherhand.
“I’vebeensaving,butprobablyinafewyearsI’llstartastoresomewhereelse,maybeintheValley,soI’mnot…”
“Directlycompetingwiththeboss,”Minafinished.
Hegrinned.“Exactly.”
DrivingdownOlympicBoulevardtowardawideskyofhotbrightstreaksofcitruspink,heturneddownaresidentialstreetwithsmallbutwell-maintainedhomesandgreenlawnswithrosebushesstillinbloom,shapelyornamentalshrubs,treesprunedintopleasingforms,armsstretchedopen.HeappearedtobetakinginthesurroundingsandadmiringthehousesuntiltheyhitPicoBoulevard,wheretheyturnedrighttocontinuewest,thefarthestshehadbeenfromKoreatownsincethatdayinJulywhenshehadlandedatLAX.
“Sowherearewegoing?”sheasked.“Thebeach.”
“Thebeach?
Whatistheretodoatnight?”
“Oh,restaurants,games,rides,allkindsofthings.Youhaven’tbeenyet?”
“Nope.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeenhereagain?”heasked.
“Fewmonths.”
“Well,youdon’thaveacar.I’monlysurprisedyouhaven’tbeenwithoneofyourfriends.”
ShethoughtofMrs.Shin,herkids,herbusiness.“Everyone’stoobusy.”
“Doyoulikethebeach?”
“Yes.”SherememberedsittingwithherhusbandonthesmoothhotsandatNaksanBeach,watchingtheirdaughterplayinthewaves,whoseemedsotinytheninhershellpinkswimsuitandfloppywhitehat.Amuch-neededweekendtrip,arelieffromtheoppressiveheatofthecity.Minalovedthesmelloftheocean.Butsherememberedalsofeelingguiltyforwanting,forwhateverreason,despitehowmuchshelovedthem,tobealone.“Ilovethebeach,”shesaid.“You?”
“Oneofmyfavoriteplaces.”Hesmiled.“Remindsmeofmychildhood.”
Afterparkingonthesideofapalmtree–linedroad,alreadylitbythehollowglowofstreetlamps,sheopenedtheheavycardoortothesurpriseofateeth-chatteringwindthatwhippedherhaireverywhere.Shewrappedhersweateraroundherbody.Despitethecold,thesharpsaltandseaweedintheairclearedherheartandherhead.HereshecouldforgetLA’ssoot-coloredskyliketheaftermathofaconstantfire,aperpetualburning.Hereshemightbreatheagain.
“Doyouwantmyjacket?”heasked,walkingbyherside.
“No,that’sokay.I’llgetusedtoit.”
“Areyousure?”
Shenodded.Approachingthewater,shereadahigharchoverawidedrivewaylitupwithwordsshedidn’tquiteunderstand—SantaMonica,YachtHarbor,SportFishingBoating,Cafés—abeaconinadarkeningsky.Sherecognizedfishingandboatingandcafés,butwhatwasyacht?Wasitaname?
“Ithoughtwecouldjustgrabsomethingonthepier,”hesaid.“Somethingeasy.Hotdog?Hamburger?”
“Sure.”Seagullschirpedoverhead.
“Andthenwecouldwalkaround,checkouttheFerriswheel?”
“Um,I’mscaredofheights.”Shesmiled,embarrassed.
“Youare?”
“Yeah.Idon’twanttofall.”
“Youshouldtrythis,though.It’sgoingtobebeautiful.”
Downthewalkwaytothepierinabustleofallagesandraces,shethoughtaboutthefirstandlasttimeshehadbeenonaFerriswheelwhenherdaughterwasfourorfiveyearsold.Minahadclosedhereyestheentiretime.Allshecouldimaginewasthemplummetingdownfromthatwheelintothecrowdbelow.Thescreamsandthecrash.Shehatedthecreakingsoundsthattheseatsmadelurchinginthewind.Shesworetoherselfthatshewouldnevergoupthereagain.Shewouldstandbackandwatchonthegroundwhereshebelonged.
“Whatdoyoufeellikeeating?”heasked.
“Oh,anything.”
“There’saprettygoodplacerighthere,offtotheside.It’snotfancyoranything,butthey’vegothamburgersandhotdogs.”
ShehadtriedAmericanfoodahandfuloftimesinKoreabutneverenjoyedtheflavors—thetasteofdrybeef,bread,andcheese,theoddmealytomato,theflappylettuce.Buttonight,shefeltalittleadventurous,readytoplungeintosomethingdifferent—Americanfoodinwhereelse?America.ShehadalreadyenjoyedMexicanfoodfromatacotruckparkedafewblocksawayfromthemarket;shecravedthebrightsalsas,thelimesqueezedonmeat,thesoft,moisttortillas.
“Whatdoyouthinkyou’dlike?”heaskedastheystoodbeforethemenuboardofasimpleandlowrectangularbuilding,weather-beatenonthepier.
“Whatdoyourecommend?”
“Reallyanything.IthinkI’llgetacheeseburger.”
“I’llhavethesame.”
Hesteppedtowardthecounterwhileshestoodtherewatchinghim—theflexofhisarmsashereachedtopullhiswalletoutofhisbackpocket,thewayhisthickblackhairfadedintohisneck.Thesmoothlinesofhisback,hiswaist.Whenheturnedaround,shecouldn’thelpbutsmile,stilllookingathim.
“Busynight,”shesaid.“Somanypeopleout.”
“Yeah,peoplelovethisplace.”
“Doyoucomeherealot?”
“Iusedtocomehereallthetime,butnowIcomeeverynowandthen.SometimesIjustwalkonthepier.Iliketoseetheocean.Italwaysclearsmyhead.We’llhavetocomewhenit’slightoutsometime—that’snice,too,butdifferent.”
Behindthecounter,awomancalledtheirnumber.Afterthankingher,hepickedupthetraywithtwocheeseburgers,apileoffries,andtwocansofCoke.Fromanemptytablebythewindow,theycouldwatchthewaterasthesunslippedbelowthehorizon.
“Sorry,Iforgottoaskwhatyouwantedtodrink.IgotyouaCoke,butIcouldgetyousomethingelse.”
Shepoppedthecanopenandsipped.“It’sgood.”
Shewasn’tsurehowtoeathercheeseburger,soshepickedatitwithherfingers,tearingoffpiecestoputinhermouthandenjoyingthetasteofthelettuceandtomato,thegreasymeatandcheesebetweenthebread.Shewatchedhimdiphisheadtotheburger,rippingwithhisteethandchewing.Americanfoodseemedsobarbaric.Wherewerethechopsticks?
Shetookabite,mimickingMr.Kim,andcoveredhermouthwithherhandasshechewedthemassiveamountoffood.Shetriedhardnottolaughatherself.
“Areyouokay?”
Shemotionedwithherfingerthatsheneededaminute.Aftershehadswallowedthefood,sheasked,“HowdoAmericanseatlikethis?”
“Isitgood?Iseverythingokay?”
“Yes,it’salldelicious,but…messy.”Shegrinned.
“You’llgetusedtoit.Itrynottoeatittoomuch.Notthehealthiest,butIdolovefrenchfries.”Hegrabbedacouple,gesturingforhertotry.
Shedippedoneinthetinycupofketchupandpoppeditinhermouth.
“Icangetusedtothis,”shesaid.
“Ha,Iknow.Igottabecareful.”Hepattedhisstomach.
“Youdon’thaveanythingtoworryabout.You’resothin.”
Helaughed.“Youthinkso?”
“Yes.”
“Skinny?”
“No,notskinny.Justright.”Sheblushed,lookingdownathercheeseburgerandtakinganotherbite.Eagertochangethesubject,sheasked,“Soyouwenttothebeachalotgrowingup?”
“Yes,Idid.Igrewupinthesouth,Busan.”
“Oh,that’ssupposedtobenice.Neverbeen.”
“Itis.Ithinkaboutitalot.”Hiseyeslockedintohers.Shelookedaway,pretendingnottonotice.“Iguessthisisn’tabadplacetobe,though.”Hestaredoutthewindow,admiringthecarnivallights.
“No,it’snot.”Shewantedtoreassurehim,toreassurethemboth.
“Lotsofwork,”hesaid.
“Yeah.”Hergazerestedonthesaltandpeppershakers,thefries.
“Areyounotsureaboutbeinghere,inAmerica?”heasked.
“Ihaven’tfigureditoutyet.”
“Well,somethingIlearnedisyoudon’thavetoknowwhereyouaregoingto,youknow,enjoyyourselfalittle,haveagoodtime.”
Tearsfilledhereyes.Shepickeduponeofthelastfriesandplaceditinhermouth,chewingslowly.
Afterfinishingthefood,Mr.Kimthrewawaytheirtrash.Ablastofmistandwindstruckthemastheyduckedoutofthecaféontothewornboardsofthepier.Theroughsurfacepressedthroughthesolesofhershoestoherfeet,stillthrobbingafterthedayatwork.
“Here,takemyjacket.”Hetookoffhiswindbreaker.
“No,that’sokay.You’llcatchacold.”
“Pleasetakeit.”Hehelditouttoher,insisting.Shereachedforit,butinsteadhehelpedherputitonfrombehind.Sheslidherarmsthroughthelargejacketandzippeditaroundherbody.Thewarmthengulfedher.
Hesuppressedasmile.“Youlookfunnyinthat,”hesaid.
“Thanks.”
“No,Imean,youlookcute.”
Shecouldn’thelpbutchuckle,wantingtohithimplayfullyonthearm.Butshefeltconsciousofhowclosetheystoodtogether,howhecouldreachouthishandandgrabhersastheywalkedpastthecarnivalgames,thewildpulsinglights,thestuffedneonanimals.Howhisfingerswouldfeelbetweenhers.
Hestoppedinfrontofatentwithbasketballhoops.“Shouldweplayagame?”
“Oh,I’mnogood.”
“Here,let’strythisone.I’mMagicJohnson.”Hepretendedtodribbleandmimedasloppyjumpshot.
Shelaughed.“I’mterrible,it’lljustbeawasteofmoney.”
“Let’stry.”Atared-and-white-stripedbooth,hepurchasedahandfuloftokens.Afterhandingthemtothevendor,theythrewtheballwildly,missingeachtime.Minascreamedwhenshealmostshotherballintoanotherperson’shoop.Finallyafterseveralrounds,bothMr.KimandMinascored,oneaftertheother.Theyjumpedupanddown,high-fivinglikechildren,victoriousandgiddy.
Theyeachwonasmallwhiteteddybear,holdingaredheartbetweenitspaws.
“I’llgiveyoumine,ifyougivemeyours?”heasked.
“WhyshouldI?Ilikeminebetter.”
“They’rethesame.”
“No,they’renot.Mineismoresymmetrical.”
“Okay,fine.Yoursismoresymmetrical.”Hepoutedplayfully.
“I’mjustkidding.Givemeyours.”Shetookhisbearandplacedhersinhishand.Forasecond,theyheldthemtogether,admiringtheirsillyfaces—thebulboussnoutandhalf-moonears,thesaccharineheart.
“Thankyouverymuch,”hesaidinEnglish.
“You’rewelcomeverymuch.”Shecouldn’thelpbutlaugh.
Throughthemazeofpeople,mostlyyoungerthanthem,herself-consciousnesstwinged.Shesqueezedthebearinherhand.Wasshecheatingonherhusband?Intheirfifteen-yearmarriage,therehadbeenonlyahandfuloftimeswhenshehadcomeclosetoeventhinkingaboutanotherman.Nothinghadactuallyhappened.Shehadmetanattractivenewcoworker,orshewouldpasssomeoneonthestreet,andshewouldimaginewhatitwouldbeliketobewiththatperson—adinner,anembrace,akiss.Itflashedinhermindlikeaprojectiononamoviescreen.Whenshethoughtaboutthesemoments,shehatedherself.Butwhyshouldshe?Hadn’therhusbandeverthoughtaboutsomeoneelse—apairoflegspassing,aprettysmile?Howwasitpossible,human,tonotimaginethepossibilities?
Shepanted,breathquickandshallow,questionsseatedonherchest.Hermind,likeafinefishingnet,strangledthedetailsaroundher,thesounds:ashriekoflaughter,childrenscreaming,amansinginginaSpanishbaritone,thethumpingbassofaboombox.
“Whatdoyouthink?”
Withoutherrealizingit,theyhadreachedtheFerriswheelline.
“Wannatry?”Heraisedhisdarkbrows.Hiseyes,however,appearedsympathetic,readytobeturneddown.
Assheliftedherfacetowardthesky,thequestionsunseatedthemselves;herbrainwaslessofatangle.Thewheelseemedgentle,aspider’swebmadefromsteelandlight.“Okay.”
“Areyousure?Youdon’thavetoifyoudon’twantto.”Hesmiled.
“IthinkI’llbeallright.”
Ashewalkedtowardtheticketbooth,shewaited,watchinghim,stillholdingthebear.Blackbeadyeyes.Redheart.Thinkingofherdaughter’sstuffedanimals,shehuggedthebeartoherchest.Shecouldalmostcry.Shedidn’twanttothinkaboutheranymore.Butifshestoppedthinkingabouther,wouldthatbeabetrayal?Howcouldshemanagetoloveandhonorpeoplewithoutthosefeelingstearingherapart?Howcouldshecontinuetoholdontothemwithoutitdestroyingeverybitofher,shreddingeverypossibilityandhopeshemightdaretohave?
Hereturnedwiththetickets.“Areyouokay?”
“Yes.I’mfine.”
Theywalkedtowaitattheendoftheline.“Areyoucoldstill?”
“Alittle.”
“IwishIhadmorelayerstopulloff,”hesaid.
“Ha,that’sokay.”
“Waithere.I’llgetussomethingtowarmup.”
Thecrowd,bodieslikebeesinahive,swallowedhim.Amass,strangefacesandlimbs.
Anexplosionblastedinsidehermind.Herkneesalmostbuckledassheclungtothatropeinsideherbrain.Shehadbeenholdinghermother’shand,andsuddenlyshewasnot.Shewaslost.Frightened,shehadcriedoutatthepeople,rushingbyhertogetout.Shehadfallentotheground,smokyandsulfurous,theearth’sshardsstabbingher,hadbeenalmosttrampledexceptthataman,astranger,hadhelpedher,hadpickedherupandplacedherontopofhisshoulderseventhoughbloodranfreshfromhisscalp.
Mr.KimreturnedwithtwoStyrofoamcups,startlingheroutofthememory.“Haveyouhadhotchocolate?”
“No,never,”shesaid,relievedhewasback.
“Ithinkyou’lllikeit.”
Sheblewonthedrinkbeforesipping.“Mmm,that’sgood.”Shewantedtogulpitalldown,butitwastoohot.
“Iguessyouhaveasweettooth.”
“Didn’trealizeituntilnow.”She’dalwayslikedchocolatebuthadneverhaditmeltedintoadrinkbefore,acomfort.Sheleanedherheadback,entrancedbytheFerriswheel,theswayingcars,thelightsdancing,winkingattheworld.
“You’regoingtobecoldupthere,”shesaid.“Youdon’twantyourjacketback?”
“I’llbeokay.”
Astheywalkeduptheline,theattendantsaid,“Youhavetothrowawaythosedrinks.”
Shetookafinalsipbeforeheplacedtheirtwocupsinatrashcannearby.“Iwashopingwecouldholdontothose.”
“Me,too.”
Assheclimbedon,theentirecarrockedasiftheycouldflipoverandshesquealedsittingdown.
“Don’tworry,”hesaid,grabbingherhandgently.Shesqueezedhishandbackastheyrosehigherandhigherintotheblacksky.Thecrowdbelowthemreceded,shrankinsize.Shivering,shesattheclosesttohimthatsheeverhad,thesideofherhippressedagainsthis.
“I’mgoingtoclosemyeyes,”shesaid.
“Okay.Don’tworry.”
Whilethewheelrotated,glidingupandoveranddownandunder,shesqueezedhishandharder,eyesclosed.Herheartthumpedagainstthewallofherchest.Teethchattering,theyhuddledtogethercloser.Hereachedhisarmaroundhershoulders.Thecarscreakedgentlyaroundthem.
“Areyouokay?”heasked.
“Yes,justkeepingmyeyesclosed.”Shelaughed.“Iknowit’schildish.”
“Don’tworry.It’sabigstepforyou.Behappythatyoumadeitthisfar.”
“Youmean…”
“OntheFerriswheel.Youdidn’thavetogeton,butyoudid.”
Hisbreathwasclosetoherear,herneck.Sheturnedherheadtowardhim,andhetouchedhislipsagainsthers.Shekissedhim,tastingchocolate,thesaltintheairaroundthem.Shebecamenothingbutabody,farawayandlight,builtforflying.
Andwhenheliftedhisfacefromhers,sheopenedhereyestothecontrastsoftheworldbelow—brightandsparkling,deepanddark,everywhere,magnificently,breathtakinglyaroundher.
Margot
Fall2014
LAMPLIGHTSGLOWEDSTEADYANDUNFLINCHINGWHILEtelevisionscreensflickeredbehindgauzycurtains,closedwindows.Achorusofdogsbehindfencesandwallsaccompaniedthehowlsofsirens.Sweetcornmasatoastedonagriddlesomewhere.Regardlessoftemperatureorseason,therewasalwayssomethingburninginLosAngeles—abacon-wrappedhotdog,aroachofweed,shortribssizzling,therubberoftiresintheheat,anentireneighborhoodcracklingwithsparksinJuly,anentireforestonfire.You’dneverforgettheflames.
Sittinginhercar,parkedbesideastripofdyinglawnwithsucculentsandcactiinbatteredceramicpots,Margotgatheredherself,breathingthroughhermouth.Twentyminutesearlier,thewaitressatHanokHousehadslippedherthisaddressnearMacArthurPark.ItwasstillonlyMonday.
Throughtheopencourtyard,MargotascendedthefirstflightofstairstoMrs.Baek’sapartment.Unit211.Herknucklesrappedonthedoor.Thepadsofherfingerslingeredonthesmoothgraysurfaceasiftouchingananimal.
Ashadowfilledthemutedlightofthefisheyeonthedoor.
“Whoisit?”Mrs.Baekasked,gruffandharsh.
“It’sMina’sdaughter,Margot.”
ThedoorcreakedopentorevealabrasschainbisectingMrs.Baek’sface—paleandghostlywithoutmakeup,hairwrappedinasalmon-coloredtowel.Shesquintedandasked,“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“CouldItalktoyou?”
“It’slate.How’dyougetmyaddress?”
“I…googledyou.”
Shesighed,unlatchingthechain.“Iwasjustabouttoputonasheetmask.”
Thecrampedlivingroomsmelledofausedbookstore—adust-coveredbreakdownofpaperandink—andthickcucumbercoldcream.Stacksofbooksandnewspapersonthecoffeetableresembledafragileskylinethatcouldtoppletotheground.Afirehazard.
Margotsankintothevelvetofanoldhuntergreencouch—avintagecurbsidepiecethathadbeencleanedandnowanimatedaspacethatresembledmoreofanofficeorastoragecloset.Ontheflat-screentelevisionbetweenthelivinganddiningareas,theKoreannewshadbeenmuted.
Inagraydove-coloredrobeoverapinksleepinggown,frayedhemkissingherbonyknees,Mrs.Baekcrossedherarmsbeneathherchest,remotecontrolinhand.Withoutherarmorofmakeup—theredlipstick,theeyebrowspenciledintothesliversofamoon—sheresembledatropicalbirdpluckedofitsfeathers.
“Iwantedtoaskyousomequestions,”Margotsaid.
Mrs.Baekcrossedherarms.“About?”
TheclaustrophobiaoftheroomclosedinonMargot.Whatwasshethinkingcominghere?Butshethoughtofwhatshewassearchingforandsteeledherself.
“Mr.Kimandmymother,”Margotsaid.
Mrs.Baektightenedthetowelwraponherhead.
“Iwenttotheswapmeettoday,”Margotcontinued.“Yourstorewasgone.”
Mrs.BaekplantedadiningchairinfrontofMargotandsatdown.“I’mdone.”
“Withwork?”
“Fornow.”Shebitintoahangnail.“Didyouseeanycustomersthere?”
“No.”
“I’vebeenlosingmoneyforawhile.”
Businesswasslowagaintoday.EvenalltheKoreanbusinessesdowntownareclosing.
ThewaitressexpectedMargottorefrainfrommentioningMr.Park,butshewantedtoknowifMrs.Baekwassafe.Evenifherbusinesshadbeendoingpoorly,itseemedoddthatMrs.Baekwouldclosedownherstorerightbeforetheholidays—themostlucrativetimeoftheyear.
“Anyotherreasonwhy?Seemslikeyouclosedthingsdownprettyquickly.”
“I’vebeen…planningthisforawhile.”
“Whatwillyoudonow?”
“I’mnotsure.I’llsurvive.Don’tworryaboutme.”
“WillyougobacktoHanokHouse?”Margotasked,knowingtheanswerbuthopingthatshecouldprovokesomeresponse.
“No,notthere.Neveragain.”Mrs.Baekadjustedtheknotonherrobe’sbelt.
Margotexaminedastackofbooksonthecoffeetable,novelsthatshehadreadinhighschoolandcollegeherself.Difficultbooks.Beautifulbooks.GeorgeEliot.EdithWharton.Pagesonpagesliketeethoncewhite,nowyellowed.Howabookwaskindoflikeamouth.Didstorieskeepusaliveorkilluswithfalseexpectations?Itdependedonwhowrotethemperhaps.
“Youreadthese?”Margotasked,noticingThomasHardy’sTessoftheD’Urbervilles,oneofherfavorites,inapile.Apangofsorrowfilledherasshethoughtofthatstory,anditsend.“Mymomneverread.”
“Shehatedreading.”Mrs.Baekleanedbackinherchair.“Believeitornot,ImajoredinEnglish.Likeyou.”
Thosewords,likeyou,wrungsomethinginMargot’schest.HowmuchhadhermothertalkedaboutMargot?Hadshebeenproudofher?
Mrs.Baekplantedherhandsonherknees,readytostand.“It’sgettinglate,”shesaid.“Mysheetmaskiscalling.”
“CouldIaskyouaboutMr.Kim?”
“Idon’tknowthatmuch,tobehonest.”Hervoicetrembled.“LikeIsaid,shedidn’ttellmeabouthimuntilafterhedied.”
“Washemyfather?”Margot’sheartthumpedinsideofherchest.
Mrs.Baekwidenedhereyesinshock.
“Ifoundhisobituaryatourapartment.There’sapictureofhim.Helookslikeme.”
Bitingdownonherlip,Mrs.Baekremainedsilent.
“Itdoesn’tmakesensethattheywouldbetogetherotherwise.IvisitedhishouseinCalabasas,youknow?Hehadthisbeautifulhouse,abeautifullife.Hiswifeisstunning.Hewaslivinginanentirelydifferentworld.Howcouldtheyhavemet?Whatwouldtheyhaveincommonexceptforthepast?”
Mrs.Baekinhaleddeeply,staringdownatherlap.
Margotleanedback,handsonthevelvetcouchagain.“Heownedsomesupermarkets.IremembermymothersaidthatmyfatherworkedatthesamesupermarketasherwhenshefirstcametoAmerica.Whyelsewouldhe—whatelsewouldtheconnectionbebetweenthem?Ormaybetheywerejustfriendsfrombackthen?ButeverytimeIlookathispicture—”Hervoiceshook.“Iswear—”
“It’shim,”Mrs.Baekinterrupted,browsfurrowed.“You’reright.Hewasyourfather,Margot.”
“Whydidn’tanyonetellme?”Herheartbroke.Sheneededair.
Mrs.Baekshookherheadinresponse.
“Whydidn’tanyonetellme?”Margotshouted—angryathermother,Mrs.Baek,theworld.Crying,sherosetoherfeet.
“Becauseyourmotherthoughttherewasnoreasonforyoutoknow.Hewasdying.Therewasnoreasontotellhimaboutyouaswell.Whatwouldbethepoint?”Mrs.Baektightenedthetowelaroundherhead.“Shemadethatdecision.”
“Butit’snotfair.Iwould’veratherknown.Iwouldn’tcarethathewasdying.”
“Maybeshejustdidn’twanttotellhim,”sherespondedfiercely.“It’satoughthingtofindoutwhenyou’resick.Hehadcancer.Shewastryingtoprotectyouboth.”Sheburstintotearsandsobbed.“Shewastryingtoprotectyou.Shewastryingtoprotecteveryone.”Shewipedhernoseonthesleeveofhergrayrobe.
Margotploppeddownagainonthecouch.Mrs.Baekstoodandlefttheroom,returningwithaboxoftissuesthatshehandedtoMargot.
“Istilldon’tunderstand.”Margotblewhernose.“Andnow—what?WhatdoIdowithallthisinformation?It’suselesstomenow.They’rebothdead.”
Mrs.BaeksatnexttoMargot,heldherhand.“Thepastis…”Shewinced,hereyesfixedonthecarpet.“Sometimes,it’sbettertoforget.Youhavestillsomuchaheadofyou,okay?Youhaveto…Wehavetomoveon,okay?”
“ButIdon’twantto,notuntilIunderstand.Whetheritwasreallyjustanaccident.”
“Yourmother’sdeath?”
Margotnodded.“I’mnotgoingto—tomoveonuntilIunderstand.Ican’tmoveonuntil—”
“Untilwhen?Untilyourealizeitwasnotyourfault?”Mrs.Baek’seyesglistened.“Doyoufeelguilty?”
Margot’scheeksburned.“Ishould’vecheckedonhermoreoften,visitedhermoreoften.MaybeIwouldn’thave…preventedanything,butalsomaybeIwould’veknownwhatwasgoingoninherlife.Icould’ve—”
“Itwasn’tyourfault,Margot.”Mrs.BaeksqueezedMargot’swrist.“Itwasanaccident.Averybadaccident.”Wipingthecornersofhereyes,shesaid,“Weallwishthatwecould’vedonesomethingdifferently,right?Butit’snotreallyworthrevisiting.Weallcould’vedonethingsdifferently.”Shefocusedonthepilesofbooksinfrontofthem.“That’stheproblemwithmemory.”
Hermothercouldcrackopenamomentwithhermemoryasifthepresentwasnothingbutaneggshell,spottedandfrail.Asateenager,Margothadbeggedhermotheroncetoattendaconcert(shecouldn’tevenrememberthebandnow).EvenifMargothadsecuredaridewithherfriend’sparents,whichwasalie,hermotherdidnotwantheroutatnight.
“DoyouknowhowhardIwork?”hermotherhadyelledinKorean.“DoyouknowhowhardIwork?Ihaven’tdoneanythingfunforyears.Fun?”
“Whywon’tyouletmebehappy?”MargotyelledinEnglishwithlittlecareforherneighborsnextdoor.
“Youshouldbedoingschoolwork.Youshouldbeathome.Doyouknowhowluckyyouare?DoyouknowwhatIwasdoingatyourage?”Hermotherjabbedherownchestwithanindexfinger.“Iworkedinafactoryalldayasachild.Doyouknowwhatthat’slike?Igotsickallthetime.Terriblethingshappenedtochildrenlikeus.Wewereallburdens.Wewereallmouthstofeed.Ihadtolearntofeedmyself.Thereisnofun.Thereisnofuninthisworld.”
Buthermother’sharshnesswasdesignedtoprotectMargotfromwhathermotherconsideredtobeauniversewithoutshelter,withoutmuchkindnessforkindness’ssake.Ofcourse,hermotherwouldperceivetheworldthatway—somuchofheridentitywasaboutthepast.Shewasfloating,likeallofus,inhistory.Yetthetasteofherswasparticularlyfoulanddark,filledwithsmokeandflame.
TearsstreameddownMargot’sface.Shehadtogetoutofthisroom.Clawing.Sheneededair.Grippingthearmofthesofa,shestoodandmovedtothedoor.
“Sorrytocomebysolate.”Sheplacedherhandonthedoorknob.
“Yourmother…Shewasverylonelywhenshefirstcamehere.”Mrs.Baekofferedthis—adepartinggestureperhapstohelpMargotforgiveherself,forgivehermotheratlast.
ButMargotdidn’tturn.Shehatedthatword,lonely.Shewantedtoask,Whataboutme?It’snotmyfaultshewaslonely.It’snotmyfaultthatIwasborn.Iwaslonely,too.Iwaslonely.Nobodywantedme.Butsheremainedsilent,clenchingherteeth.
“Shewaslikealotofus.Lonely.Butthat’swhatit’slikeforwomenlikeus.That’swhy…wewerethewaywewere.That’swhywemakethedecisionsthatwemake.Sothatwecansurvive.Wecangetby.Wecanprotecteachother.”Mrs.Baeksighed.“Shewould’vedoneanythingforyou.Youkepthersafe.Yousavedher.”
Margotcouldn’thearanymore.Gaspingforair,shesteppedoutoftheapartment,descendedthestairs,andrushedthroughthecourtyardintothestreet.Shewaitedinthecar,catchingherbreath.Asinglelampbeamedontothevacantsidewalk.
Womenlikeus.
Margot’sbrainwasawildanimal,clawingoutofherhead.ThenetthatwrappedaroundMargot’sankles,threateningtodragherintothesea.
Yousavedher.
Butshehadn’t.Shehadbeentoolate.
MargotwoundherwaypastMacArthurPark,itsblacklakeglowingwithsmearedreflectionsoflight,toward10West,realizingnowthatsheneverownedacarinLosAngeles,thatherwholelifeuntilshemovedawayattheageofeighteenhadbeenconfinedtobuses,walking,andridingwithhermotheronsurfacestreets.Andyetshecouldalwaysfindthefreeway,atleastI-10,asifthesignstowardthemhadsomehowbeenimprintedonthemapofhermemory,thebonesofherhandsandfeetthatdrovethiscarnowtotheocean.
Shehadnevertakenacarontothepier,whichjuttedlikeadrivewayontotheseatowardthehorizon,avisualcliff.Thewheelsrumbledbeneathherovertheboards.Sheimaginedgassingit,aThelma&Louiseend,flyingthroughthemetalhandrailsandovertheedge.She’dbeweightlessandfreebeforeplungingintotheterribledeep.Inhalingthesaltandwaterwouldbeboththeendandagreatrelief.
Inthepier’sparkinglot,sheturnedthecaroffandstaredatthedarkoceanandtheFerriswheel,amany-spokedstrobethatthrobbedliketheheartofthisplace,dreamlike,upandoverandaround,dippingtheriderbackintolifeandoutagain.Shegotoutandjoggedtowardtheticketbooth,emptyatthistimeofnight.StandinginlinefortheFerriswheel,alone,thesaltairandthecarnivalfoodcleansedherhead.
Aftersteppinginoneofthetubs,whichswungbeneathher,shewaitedastheothersboarded,andsheroseintotheblacknight,light,eatingair.
Mina
Winter1987—1988
MINATHOUGHTABOUTTHEFIRSTNIGHTTHEYHADkissedontheFerriswheel,howthecarhadswayedbeneaththemastheyrevolvedagainandagainatasteadypace,floatinginthenightsky.Teethchattering.Saltairandhotchocolate.Hisbreathclosetoherearandneck.Shehadbeenterrifiedofboththeridemalfunctioningandthefreefallofplungingintothedepthsofwhatshecouldfeel,herbodyandherlipspressedagainsthis.
Shehadbeentakinganinventoryofhiskindnesses—thewayhehadgivenherhisjacketthatnight,broughtheradrinktokeepherwarm,hadn’tteasedherforclosinghereyeswhenthewheelstartedtoturn.Herhusbandwould’vedonethat,notoutofcruelty,butbecauseheenjoyedinnocuousjabs,jokes,laughter—aqualitythatappealedtohermoreseriousself.
Butwhatifthiswasaruse,thisthingbetweenherandMr.Kim?Whatifsheallowedhimtogetclose,showedhimlove,onlyforhimtochange?Whatifsheweretoloseherselfinthefeelings,theillusionofpotentialhappinessagain?Whatif,whatif,whatif?
SinceridingtheFerriswheel,theyhadspentmanynightstogether,evenaweekendcelebratingtheholidaysinLasVegas—aneonplaceoflush,dizzyingdistraction.Shehadplayedtheslotmachines,lostmoneyandwonitbackagain,witnessedakangarooboxwithamaninacircusringascowboyclownschasedeachotheraroundthestage.Atadinnerbuffet,theygorgedthemselvesonAmericanfood—breadedchicken,grilledsteak,macaroniandcheese,allkindsofpotatoes(baked,fried,roasted).Sherefusedtodrink,mostlybecauseshedidn’tliketo,butalsobecauseshehadbecomeafraidoflosingherselfagain.
Afterherhusbandanddaughter’sdeaths,shehadspiraledoutofcontrolforalmostaweek,crawlingaroundtheapartmentonherkneesandelbows,onlytothrowupintherestroom.Drinkingwastheloneresponseshehadforpain.Anddrunkennessgaveherpermissiontoexpressheranger,herrageinflashesoftearingclothesorsmashingplates.Whenshecouldn’tdragherselftothestore,thecoughsyrupinthemedicinecabinetcouldbludgeonhermindenoughtogetherthroughanight.
Butnow,withMr.Kim,inatangleofsheetsonthebed,atrestaurants,bytheturquoisepoolofamotel,shehadn’tfeltthisgoodinalongtime.Sheoftencaughtherselfsmilingfornoreason,checkingherhairandmakeupinmirrorsthatshepassedby.
BothMrs.Baekandthelandladynoticedtheshiftinherappearance,herdemeanor,andhabits.Thelandladybestoweduponheraknowingsmirkoranodofapprovaleverynowandthen,butMrs.Baeknevershiedawayfromaskingdirectquestions,eventhoughMinadidn’tfeelreadytotalkaboutMr.Kimyet.
Somenights,Minadidn’thavetheenergytoavoidMrs.Baek.Theysharedthesamekitchen,thesamebathroom.Lessthantenfeetseparatedtheirbedroomdoors.
“Igrilledsomemackerel.Doyoulikemackerel?”Mrs.Baekaskedtwodaysbeforetheendoftheyear.
“Yes,Ido.”Minalovedthefish’soilyandstickysmell,thebeautyofitsdarkstripes,thecrispinessoftheskinwhengrilled.
Mrs.Baekhadpreparedafeast—seasonedspinachandsoybeansprouts,baechukimchiandkkakdugi,pickledperillaleaves,andtwotypesofjjigae—comparedtotheirusualmealsofmaybetwoorthreebanchanandsoup.
“Goahead.”ShemotionedtoMina.
Pickingupherchopsticks,Minatastedthekimchi—richandtangywithhintsofpearandshrimp.
“How’syourboyfriend?”Mrs.Baekasked,adjustingherpositiononthebench.
Minatriedtosmile.“He’sokay.”
“Hashebeennice?”
“He’sbeenfine.Yes.He’snice.”Themackerel’sfleshslippedawayfromthebones,meltedlikebutterinhermouth.HowthisfishtastedlikecomfortonawinternightevenhereinLosAngeles.“Howaboutyou?Areyouinterestedinanyone?”MinaonlynowrememberedthatMrs.Baekhadoncesaid,Idon’tthinkI’lltrustanymanagain
“No.”Mrs.Baeklaughedtoherself.“Ihavebooks.Ihavemusic.Idon’tneedaboyfriend.I’mbusy.”
“Whatisthatsupposedtomean?”
“Imeanthatyouseemedboredbefore,that’sall.Allyoudidwaswork.I’mnotbored.I’mneverbored.”
“Isee,becauseyou’resointeresting.”Minaplacedherhandsonthetable.“Educated.”
“Ididn’tmeanitthatway,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Iwasn’ttalkingaboutyou.Iwasreferringtomyself.”
Minaslidoffthebenchandcleaneduphersideofthetable.
“Justleaveitthere,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“I’msorry.”
“No,I’msorry.I’llputthissoupback.Ihaven’ttouchedit.”
“Don’tdothat.”
ShegrabbedthebowlandMrs.Baekpulleditback.
“Pleasesitdown.I’msorry.”
MinarealizedthenhowmuchshehadbeenalittlefrightenedbyMrs.Baek—herquickmindandmouth,carefullydrawnbrows,herrelaxedsenseofself,sprawlinglikethecityitself.Butatthesametime,Mrs.Baekhadbeentoogenerous,toohelpful,and,yes,maybeeventoointerestingtodenyfromherlife.Andshemadesomeofthemostdeliciousbanchan.Somethingassimpleasaleaffermentedcouldcreateamoment,amealthatresembledahome,evenifyouneverreallyhadone.
Minasatdownagain,gazingatwhatremainedofthemackerel—thebrownmeatatthebelly,theclearbonespronounced.
“Anyway,Iwaswrong,okay?Ididn’tmeanwhatIsaid.Ithasnothingtodowithyou.I’llnevertrustmen.Idon’tknowhowanymore.”
“Wereyoumarriedbefore?”Minaasked.
“Yes,yes,Iwas.”Mrs.Baek’sfacegrewred.“Hewasterrible.”
“Doyoutalktohimstill?”
“No,God,no.”Hernostrilsflared.“HelivesinTexas.”
“Youranaway?”
“Yes.Ididn’thaveachoice.”Hervoicetrembled.ItwasthefirsttimethatMinahadseenMrs.Baekthisvulnerable.
MinareachedoutherhandandrubbedMrs.Baek’swristwithherthumb.
“MaybeI’mjustalittlebittersometimes,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Iwastedsomuchofmylife.Andnowwhat?”
“You’restillalive,”Minasaid,bothtoMrs.Baekandherself.“Isn’titamiracle?Thatwe’restillhere?”Tearsfilledhereyes.“Noonewouldhaveexpectedthisofus.Wesurprisedthem.Wesurprisedourselves.”
Enteringthekitchen,thelandladysaid,“Thatsmellsgood.”
“Doyouwanttojoinus?”Mrs.Baekasked,pullingherarmgentlyawayfromMina,wholoweredherhead,wipingherface.
“No,I’mfine.Ialreadyate.I’mjustmakingsomesoupnowfortomorrow.”
Afterdinner,Mrs.Baek,asakindofpeaceoffering,peeledandslicedtwogoldenapples,whichtheyenjoyedtogetherinsilence.Minaswallowedthefruit—brightandsweetandtartasifjustpluckedfromthebranch—withanintensesatisfaction.
Despitealltheireffortstoforgetheirownlivesinthisforeignlandasindividuals,itwasobvious:theyneededeachother.Theyremindedoneanotherwithsharedfoodorwordsthatlife,althoughmostlymundaneandsometimespainful,wasstillspectacular,fullofwonder,especiallywhenwepushedourselvestowardtheedge,beyondourfears,asMr.KimhadaskedMinatoridetheFerriswheel,andimagineanotherlife,withhim.
ATHISONE-BEDROOMAPARTMENTOFFNORMANDIEAvenueinKoreatown,MinaandMr.Kimwouldeatdinnerafterworkandthen—armsdraped,thighstouching,fingerslaced—theywouldwatchtheKoreannewsandoccasionallyanAmericanshow.Eventually,theywouldmaketheirwaytothebedroomtomakelove.Lyingnexttoeachotherafterward,withMr.Kimsnoringloudly,Minawouldsometimesstareattheceiling,wonderingwhathadbecomeofherlife,howithadallhappenedsoquickly.
Acouplemonthsintotheirrelationship,aTVspecialairedonthelocalKoreanchannelaboutthetemporaryreunificationeventsforKoreanfamiliesseparatedintheNorthandtheSouthwithoutanyabilitytocommunicatewitheachotherfordecadessincetheKoreanWar.Thesefamilieshadbeentornapart,memberslost,intheprocessoffleeingtheviolenceanddeaththaterasedmillionsofpeople.Howcouldtheyhaveknownthatonedaytheircountrywouldbesplitintwo,severingthemfromtheirmothers,fathers,brothers,sisters,children,withoutanypalpableendinsight?
Andthereunificationopportunitieswerescarce.Tensofthousandsoffamiliesremainedonthewaitinglists,hopingtobechosenbythelottery,notknowingiftheywoulddiebeforetheygotthechancetoseetheirlovedonesagain.
Minaclosedhereyes,yearningtochangethechannel.Shecouldn’tbearthevolumeoffeeling,thefacesstretchedwithaviolenceofsomanyemotions,therawcomplexityinresponsetosomanyyearslostbetweenmembersofthesamefamilyonthescreen.Grandmothersinhanbokswept,holdingthefacesofeachotherbetweenwrinkledandspottedhands.Grandfatherscriedandbeggedforforgivenessatthefeetofthechildren,nowadults,whomtheyhadleftbehind,notknowingthatthewarandborderwouldseparatethemforever.
ButMr.Kimremainedtransfixedbythescreen,redcreepinguphisneckandface
Fromaboxthathekeptonhiscoffeetable,Minahandedhimatissue.Herheartcracked.“I’llchangethechannel,”shesaid.
“No.Iwanttoseethis.”
Onthetelevision,theelderlyofferedtestimonialsonwhotheyweremissingandhowmuchtheyhopedtohearfromorseethemagainbeforedying.Tearsstreameddownsomanyfaces.Handsclutchedhandkerchiefsandtissuesasthereunited,dressedintheirbestsuitsorhanboks,droppedtotheground,grabbingeachotherasifcheckingtomakesurethatthebodiesofthelostwerereal.Asinglehumanbeingcouldliveanentirecontinentofpainandworryandlonging.
“Doyoueverwonderifyourparentsmightstillbethere,inNorthKorea?”Mr.Kimasked.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Whenyoulostyourparents—wherewereyouwhenyoulostthem?”
“Idon’tremember.Ionlyremembertherewerehills,dirt,peoplefleeing.That’sallIremember.”
“Doyoueverthinkthatmaybetheynevermadeitacross?”
“No,I’veneverthoughtofthat.”Heatrosefromthepitofherstomachthroughherlungsandthroat.
“Butmaybethat’swhytheyneverfoundyou,”hesaid,disturbed.
“Maybe.Iguessthere’snothingtodoaboutitnow.”Shestoodtochangethechannel.
“No,notyet.”
“Idon’twanttowatchthisanymore.”
“Justletmefinishthis,please.”
“I’llgoandsitinthebedroom.”
Assheenteredthebedroomandlaydown,tearsspilledfromhereyes,soakingthepillowcasebeneathherhead.Whywashedoingthistoher?Whatdidheknowaboutherparents?Howdareheassumethattheyhadn’tmadeitthrough?Whatkeptheralivealltheseyearswasthethoughtthattheywerefine,maybetheyhadmovedonwithouther,maybetheyhadanotherchild,buttheywerefine.Theywerefine.
TheyweresomewhereinSouthKorea.Theyhadnormallives.Theyhadmovedon.Theywerefine.Fine.Fine.
Shewantedtoyellthistohim.Shewantedtoscream,butshedidn’t.Shecouldn’taffordtolosehimnow.
Tenminuteshadgonebyuntilsheheardhimsteppingtowardher.Withherbackfacingthedoor,herbodytiltedlikeacanoeashesatonthebedbyherfeet.Heputhishandonherleg,whichhesqueezedinthesoftestwayasiftestingtherealityofherpresenceinhislife.
“I’msorry,”hesaid.
“Don’tworry,”shesaid,tryingtodisguiseinhervoicethatshehadbeencrying.
“I’mverysorry.”
Asharpsobescapedhismouthlikeahiccupashewept.Sheturnedtoseehisfaceabovehers,broken,beforehecovereditwithhishand.Shewantedtotouchhisfacebutdidn’tknowhow,notatthatmoment.
“I…Ishouldhavetoldyouthisbefore,”Mr.Kimsaidsoftly.“IwashopingthatIwouldseemyfather.EverytimeanythingaboutNorthKoreaisontelevision—Ialwayshopetoseemyfather.”
Shesatupinbed.Hebowedhishead,staringatherlegs,whichwereakindofborderbetweenthem.
“Mymother,whenshewaspregnantwithme,lefttheNorthwithherbrotherandparents.Myfatherhadtostaybehindforwork.Hewantedtotakecareofeverything,thehomewehad.Hedidn’twanttojustleave,butsheneversawhimagainafterthat.”Hepausedtowipethetearsfromhiseyes.“Nooneknowswhathappenedtohim.Mymothertried,butwhoknows?Somanypeoplebackthen,everyonejusttryingtogetout.Maybehemadeit.Maybenot.”Hewipedhisnoseonhissleeve.“Anyway,IliketobelievethatifIsawhisface,I’dknowitwashim.I’dknow—there’smyfather.That’swhyIwatchtheTV.”
Shereachedtotouchhimastearsleakedoutofhereyes.Shewantedtobestrongforhim,butshecouldn’tholdherselftogether.
“Sheraisedmebyherself,”hecontinued.“Itwasveryhard.Shedidallkindsofthings,justsowecouldgetby.Shecould’velostme,too,whenshewaspregnant.Therewassolittletoeat.It’sreallyamiraclethatI’malive.Shewasaverygoodmother.”
“Whereisshenow?”
“InBusan.Gettingold,though.”
“Sheneverremarried?”
“No.AsIgotolder,Itriedtoconvinceher,butshealwaysseemedtothinkthatoneday,shewouldseemydadagain,andshewouldn’twanttotellhimthatshehadremarried.Iguess,she’swaiting.She’sbeenonthelistforawhile.Butshedoesn’tevenknowifhe’sstillaliveorwhat.Nooneknows.It’sallamystery.”
Hewipedhiseyesbeforelyingdownonthebed.Shejoinedhim.Herhandrestedonthesideofhisfacewhereshecouldfeelthesandpaperofhisstubbleunderherpalm,herfingertipsonhischeekbone.Thisman’skindnessemergedoutofthecrueltiesoftheirliveslikebirdshatchedonfieldsruinedbyminesandbarbedwire.Shewantedtobekind,tobegentle,too.Hewasshowingherthatitwasokaytotry.
“Ithoughtoneday,I’dgetrich.”Hiseyesbrightenedasiflaughingathimselfinside.“I’dcometoAmerica,getrich,andgoback,youknow?AndifIhadenoughmoney,wecouldfindhim.Butthatdoesn’tseemtobegoingtoplaneither.I’msortoftrappedherenow.”
“We’retrappedtogether,”shesaidwithasmile.
“AtleastImetyou.”
“There’sstilltime.”
“Yes,there’sstilltime,butwe’regettingold.Allofus.Especiallymymother.”
“Howoldisshe?”
“She’sinherfifties.”
“She’sstillyoung.”
Heloweredhiseyes.Thetipsofhisfingerstrailedherarm.
“Haveyoutriedprayer?”Minaasked.
“Ihave,butGodgivesmethecoldshoulder.”
“That’snottrue.”Butshefeltthatwayonmostdaysherself.
“I’msorryaboutwhatIsaidearlier,”hesaid.“I’msureyourfamilyisfine.”
Pipestappedonthewallsastheshowerran.Inthenextapartment,aneighborsnored.
Minacouldn’tfallbackasleep.HermindturnedoverMr.Kim’swordslikestonesthatclackedsoothinglyonashore:Shealwaysseemedtothinkthatoneday,shewouldseemydadagain,andshewouldn’twanttotellhimthatshehadremarried.
Whatifhisfatherwasdeadalready?Allthoseyearshismotherwouldhavewasted,alone.Butthenagain,whatifthehopeofneverhavingtomoveonwaswhatkeptheralive?Maybethetragedyofwaitingwastheonlywayshesurvived?
WouldMinabeabletofaceherhusbandintheafterlife?
WouldhebeangryaboutMr.Kim?
Inheaven,iftheywerealldead,wouldtheyawkwardlyhavetoseeeachother?Orwouldheavenmeanthatshecouldhavetwolives?Washeavenaworldinwhichshecouldhavethembothbutseparately?Shewonderedifherbrainandherheartcouldevenhandlethedifferentiterationsofherlife,themanywaysasongcouldbeplayed.Achangeinlyrics,adifferenttempoandpace.
Perhapsthinkingshewasstillasleep,Mr.Kimtiptoedtowardhisclosetfromwhichhepulledouthisday’soutfit—hispoloshirt,hiskhakislacks.Aeucalyptusscentfromhisafter-shave,cleanandfresh,filledtheroom,whichhadbecomeabitmustyfromthewindowsunopenedinwinter.Withhereyeshalf-open,sheobservedhimslideonhisunderwearandpants,admiringthemusclesinhisbackandshoulders.
“Youshouldkeepyourshirtoffmoreoften,”shesaid.
“Ah,you’reup.”Heturnedaroundandsatontheedgeofthebed,hishandonherleg.“HopeIdidn’twakeyou.”
“No,Ihadtroublefallingasleep.”
“Areyounotfeelingwell?Youcouldcallinsick?”Heslippedonhisshirt.
“Iwish.”
“Doyouwantmetofindoutifsomeonecouldcoverforyou?”
“No,Idon’tthinkso.I’llbefine.Ihaveatleastfivemorehours.I’llgetsleepnow.”
Hekissedherwetlyonthecheek.
“Ew,”shesaid,wipingherface,laughing.
Aftersheheardthelocksonthefrontdoorclickshut,theknobtested,sheclosedhereyes,thinkingofhim,tryingtostayfocusedonhim,them,thefeelofhishandonherleg,thefeelofhisfacebeneathherfingers,now.Butshecouldn’tshakethefeelingthatthiscouldn’tlast.Nothingdid—goodorbad.
FIFTEENMINUTESEARLY,MINAGRABBEDACANOF7-Upforthedullacheinherstomachandmadeherwaytotherearofthestore.Shehadn’teatenlunchyetbutwasn’thungryatall,soshestashedthehamsandwichandFujiapplethatshehadpackedforherselfinherstoragebinandreturnedtotheregistersupfront.
Foraslongasshecouldremember,wheneverupsetordepressed,shecouldn’tforceherselftoeat.Shecouldskipafewmealseasily,unabletofreeherselffromtheweightofthesadnessinherchestorthegnawingofadolorousmind.Heremotions,likealongpinholdinganinsectorabutterflyintoplace,couldcontrolherinthatway.
Onherfirstdayattheorphanageinfrontofamealofbeansandbarley,herstomachhadclosedlikeafistasifprotectingthemostvital,themostmysteriouspartofherself.Allshecoulddowassipwateruntilthenunsallowedhertoleavethetableafterovertwohours.Onlyafterafewdaysofsettlingintotheroutines,thefacesaroundher,couldshefinallyingestanentiremeal,awaterydoenjangjjigae,heavilyboiledwithsummersquash.Atherfirstbite,herentirebodyfromheadtotoetingledinariotofsensations—aplantbulbburiedinthemostbrutalwinterscorchedwithastartlingsummerheat—andshehadtofightherselffromdevouringthericeandsouplikeananimal.
Atthefrontofthestore,Mr.Kim,withhissweatyhairfloppingandfallingontohisforehead,appearedasifhehadbeenrunningaroundallmorning.Whentheireyesmet,heflashedthemostsubtleyetknowingsmilebeforejoggingawaytosometask—acustomercomplaint,ashipmentdelayed,abottleshatteredonthefloorinaislethree.Perhapstheyhadbeenunderstaffedthatday.
Sheimaginedhimowninghisownsupermarketandhowmuchprideshewouldhaveforhim,knowingthathecouldhelphismotheroneday.MaybehismothercouldmovetoAmerica,andtheycouldtakecareofhertogether.OrmaybehismotherwouldwanttostayinKorea,butMr.Kimcouldbuyheranicehouseandvisitheronceayear,lavishingherwithgifts—chocolates,newshoes,andclothes.
HowoftendidhegobacktoKoreathesedays,ifeveratall?Heneverspokeoftravelingdespitehisfeelingsforhismother.Couldhenotaffordtotaketimeoff,orwashenotabletoflyfreelybecauseofhisimmigrationstatus?Howmuchcouldtheyeverknowabouteachother?
Twobundlesofgreenonions.Doenjang.Largesesameoil.Packageofdriedseaweed.Driedanchovies.Flour.
SixpackofHite.Driedcuttlefish.TwoboxesofChocoPie.
Shefeltdizzyafterafewhours,havingtosteadyherselfonthecounter.Acidrosefromherstomachtotherootofhertongue.Theflowofcustomershadsloweddown,sosherushedtothebackofthestore,afraidshemightfaintorthrowup.
Throughthedoorwayoflongrubberstripsthatslappedtogetherasshepassedthrough,thedarknessandthedropintemperaturerevivedher.Shestoodbentover,handsgrippingthefrontofherthighs,catchingherbreathbeforesheheadedtotherestroom.Archingherheadbackward,shegulpedairthroughhermouth,worryingthatsheneededtogohome.Maybeallsheneededwasrest—inherownroom,onherownbed—alone.
BehindthedoorofMr.Park’soffice,sheheardchairsslideviolentlyonthedustyfloor.Awomanshrieked.
Minafroze,startledbyafearthatgrabbedherbythethroat.Unabletoapproachthesound,sheranbackintotheaisles,searchingforMr.Kim.Neartheregisters,hestoodwithanelderlywoman.AssoonashesawMina’sface,heexcusedhimselfandfollowedhertothebackwhereshepointedtowardthedoor.Helistened,thenshouted,“Mr.Park.”Silence.“Mr.Park!”Hetriedtheknobandpushedinside.
StandingaboutfifteenfeetawayatasharpanglethatobscuredtheinsideofMr.Park’soffice,Minaheardawomanscreamagain.Themenshouted,soonfollowedbythecrashingsoundofbodiescolliding.
Minadidn’tknowwhattodo.Shewantedtorushinside,butshewasfrozeninplace,terrified.Shouldshehide?
“Yousonofabitch,”Mr.Parkyelledfromtheroom,pantingasifcatchinghisbreath.“You’refired.Getoutofhere.”
Withhisarmaroundtheshouldersofawomanbentinpain,Mr.Kimlimpedthroughthedoor.
ItwasLupe.
Mina’sheartsank.Theroomspun.Foulacidroseinherthroat.
“Let’sgetoutofhere,”Mr.KimwhisperedtoMina.“Beforeheseesyou.”
“What?”
“C’mon.”Hegrabbedherhand.“Lupe,c’mon.”
Together,theywalkedouttheheavybackdoorintoacruelwhitesunlight.“Mypurse,”Minasaid.“Mykeys.”
“We’llgetourstufflater.I’llcallDanielandhavehimgrabeverything.We’llgetitalllater,okay?”
Openingthestationwagondoor,MinamotionedforLupetositinthefrontseatwhereshesobbeduncontrollablywithherfaceinherhand.RedrandownthesideofMr.Kim’sjaw,drippingontohisshoulders,ontothepoloshirthehadputonthatmorninginfrontofher.Fromthebackseat,Minasearchedthecarfornapkins,somethingtoblotthebloodbutcouldn’tfindanything.Sheremovedhersweaterandreachedforward,holdingittohishead.
“I’m—I’msosorry,”LupesaidinEnglish,coughing,almostchoking.
“No,nolepreocupe.Lellevaremosacasa,asucasa,”hesaid.
MinareachedtosqueezeLupe’sshoulder,anattempttosaywhatshedidn’tknowhowtosayinSpanishorEnglish:It’snotyourfault.Noneofthisisyourfault.
Trappedintheback,unabletoattendtoMr.Kim’swounds,unabletocomfortLupe,Mina’sheartandmindracedasshescrambledtoputtogetherwhathadjusthappened.Swallowingthetasteofherownvomit,shedidn’twanttothinkaboutwhatwouldhappentothemnow,later,tomorrow.Shetriedtocalmherbreath,closinghereyes.
“Sonofabitch,”Mr.Kimhissedtohimself.
Arrivingatherapartment,Lupetriedtocomposeherself,wipingherfacedrywithhersleeve.Minavomitedonthestripofgrassnexttothesidewalkassoonassheopenedthecardoor.NeitherLupenorMr.Kimnoticed.Forasecond,Minabecamedistractedbyalongtrailofantsdevouringasnailthathadbeensmashed.
Bodycoveredinbruises,foreheadandhandsbandaged,Mr.Kimlayonthebed,staringattheceiling.
“What’sgoingtohappennow?”Minaasked.
“Idon’tknow.”HehaddescribedhowhehadwalkedintotheofficeonMr.ParkholdingLupedown.Uponseeinghim,Mr.ParkpushedLupeaside.Shehitthecornerofthedeskasshewentcrashingtotheground.Mr.KimpunchedMr.Parkinthefaceuntilhishandsbled.AndwhenhereachedtohelpLupe,Mr.Parkshovedhimintoabookshelf.Objectstoppledontohishead.
“Yousonofabitch.You’refired.”Mr.Parkhadspitthewordsoutofhisbloodymouth.
ImaginingLupe’shorror—thatfearandentrapmentanddisgust—MinayearnedtokillMr.Park.Aboxcuttertohisneck.Sherememberedhimemergingoutofhisofficetohelpherwhileliftingcartonsofftheground.Thegripofapistolhadflashedathisside.Areyousureyoucandothis?Hewinked.Chillsrandownherspine.Fistsclenched.Iworkedhard,veryhard.Andnow,I’mtheowner.Iownallofthis.
Shecouldbreakhimdownlikeoneofhisboxes,stuffhiswordsbackinhismouth.Hedeservedtheworstkindofending.
Mr.Kimsighed.“There’sachance…”
“Achanceofwhat?”
“Thathe’llcallthepoliceonus.”Hesqueezedhiseyesshut.
“You?Why?”Hervoicehadgrownhoarse.
“Hehasfriends.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Hehasfriends.Just…Ifhereallywantedto…hecouldgetridofusall.”
“Buthealreadyfiredyou.”Herheartpoundedinherchest,herhead.
“Ifthat’senoughforhim.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Idon’tknowforsure,butmysenseisthathehadsomethingtodowithMariogettingsentback.”
“What?”
“Idon’thaveanyproof.MaybeI’mjustbeingparanoid.”Heshookhishead.“Theotherday,hemadethiscommentaboutwhatagoodworkerLupeis.ThenhesaidsomethingaboutMarionotbeingabletokeephimselfoutoftrouble,thathewasn’tsmartenoughtomindhisownbusiness.”AtearleakedoutofMr.Kim’seye.“Ididn’tpresshimanyfurther.Butit’slikehewastryingtotellmesomething.Itwaslikeawarning.Idon’tknow.”
“Whywouldhecallthepoliceonyouwhenyou’retheonewhowastryingtohelpLupe?He’sthecriminal.”
“Becauseheknowsthatshewouldnotcallthepolice.Shecouldriskbeingdeported.HecouldmakeupsomekindofstoryabouthowIassaultedhim.Shehaschildren.Shewouldnevergotothepolice.”
“ButIwouldsaysomething.Icouldsaysomething.Iwasthereforeverything.”
“He’smorepowerful.”Hisnostrilsflared.“It’shisstorythatgetsheard,yousee?”
Carefully,shepressedtheadhesiveofthebandagepeelingoffhisforehead.Thecottonhadgrownbrown.Sheclosedhereyesandanexplosionblastedinherhead.Therewasnomercy.Eventhesilenceitselfwaspreparationforthemosthorriblesounds.Shehadcriedoutatthepeople,desperatetosavethemselves,rushingbyher.Umma,shehadscreamedthroughhertears.Umma.Shecouldn’tgetthescreamsandthewhistlesofthebombsoutofhermind.Theearthstabbedherkneeswhenshefelltotheground.
SheimaginedbloodspurtingoutofMr.Park’sneck.
“Ibetterlielowforawhile.”Mr.Kimgrippedherhand,nudgingherbacktothepresent.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Shetouchedhisarminagesturethaturgedhimtoliebackdownwithher.
“Hide.Idon’tknow.”Hiseyeswide.“IshouldcallLupefirst,makesureshe’sokay.”
“What?Whereareyougoingtogo?Thisdoesn’tmakesense.”
“Idon’tknow.”Hecoveredhisfacewithhishand.
“Areyouthinkingofleavingtown?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Youcan’tleavetown.”Shewantedtosay,Youcan’tleavemenow
“Ican’tgetarrested.Ican’t…”
“Nothingwillhappen.Whydoyoukeepthinkingsomethinglikethatcouldhappen?”
Herubbedbetweenhisbrows.“Inever—Inevertoldyouthis.WhenIfirstcametothiscountry,Icameonastudentvisa,andIletitexpire.BythenIhadgivenuponeverything,andthenIfoundthisjob.”
“You’renotsupposedtobehere?”
Neitherwasshe.AndtheconceptofwhowasandwhowasnotsupposedtobehereperplexedMina.Hadn’thebeenworkingallthistime?Hadn’thebeenpayinghistaxes,too?Hadn’tthewars,theuprisings,theslaughterinthestreetsthathaddestroyedtheirfamiliesandhomes,driventhemheretothiscountrythatglittereduntouchedbythebombsitdroppedeverywhereelse,beenenough?Andwhydidthelawtakeanyopportunitytoeitherlockpeopleuporkickthemoutwhentheworstkindofpeople,likeMr.Park,shouldbeinprisonratherthangettingrichoffthelaborofeverybodyelse,theterrorofeverybodyelse?
Rushingtothebathroom,shekneltinfrontofthetoilet.Nothingcame,onlyatrailofmucousthatclungtohermouth.Shehadn’teatenatallthatday.Thesquarepinktilesspunasshetriedtosteadyherselfstandingup.Sherememberedthosedaysafterherhusbandanddaughterdied,thosedaysofpalmsandkneesdraggingonawetfloor,ofbrushingherteethwithanindexfingerbecauseshehadalreadythrownalltheirtoothbrushesinthetrash.Therewerepillsinthecabinetthatshehadjammedinhermouth,forceddrydownherthroat.Yethereshewas,sixthousandmilesaway,stillconfused,stilllost.Wouldsheeverfindhome?
Enteringthebedroom,shejumpedatthesightofMr.Kimseatedontheedgeofthemattressinthelowglowofthelamp,holdingagun—small,black,andmatte.
“Whatareyoudoing?”sheasked,breathless.“Putthataway.”
“Iwantyoutohavethis,”hesaid.“I’llshowyouhow—”
“No,Idon’twantthat.WhatdoIneedthatfor?I’mfine.I’llbefine.Pleaseputthataway.”
Hecontemplatedthegun,shookhishead,andreturnedittoitsholsterandbagonthebed.
“Whydoyoueven…”Butshedidn’tbotherfinishingherquestion.Ofcourseheownedagun.ShehadneverseensomanygunsonmenwhowerenotinthemilitaryuntilcomingtoAmerica.Fromwhatweretheyallprotectingthemselves?Hecouldhurthimself,ifnotsomeoneelse.Shehadtotakeitawayfromhimsomehow.Itwastooeasytohurtsomeone.Shecouldn’tlosehim.Shecouldn’tloseanyoneagain.“Couldyouplease—putthatawaysomewhere?Ican’tbeinthisroomwithitthere.”
Heslidopenhisnightstanddrawer,tuckedthebaginside.
Sheclosedhereyes,inhaled,andplacedherheadinherhands.“ShouldIgotoworktomorrow?”
Hesighed.“Yes,Ithinkyoushould.”
“Ican’t.Ican’tevergoback.”Herlipstrembled.Shecouldn’tholdinhertearsanymore.
“Ithinkyoushouldpretendthat…youweren’tthere.Youhavenoideawhathappened.Didheseeyou?”
“Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkso.”
“That’sgood.”Hepaused.“Ithinkit’sbetterifyoupretendnothinghappenedsothathedoesn’tthinkyouwerethere,right?”
“Ican’tdothat.”
“Youhaveto.”Hiseyesglowedwetwithfearorsomeprofoundresignationorboth.“Hisfacewasbleeding.Iprobablybrokehisnose.Idoubthe’llbetheretomorrow.Ifyoudon’tfeelsafe,leave,okay?ButIthinkifyou’remissingfromwork,everyonewillassumeyouwereinvolvedsomehow,andwedon’twantthatrightnow.Weshouldkeepyououtofit.We’llkeepyououtofit,okay?”
“Why?WhyshouldIgo?”
“Youneedtheworkfornow.”Hisvoicecracked.“Wecanallfinddifferentjobslater,butyouneedthework,okay?Iknowthisisterrible.Iknow,butsomeonehasto…Wecan’tallnotgoback.”
“Iknow.”
“Canyoudoit?Canyougobacktoworktomorrow?”
Margot
Fall2014
THEMORNINGAFTERVISITINGMRS.BAEKATHERapartment—thecrampedlivingroomthatsmelledofusedbookstoresandcucumbercoldcream—andthenridingtheFerriswheelatthepierbyherself,MargotwokeupearlytoonceagaindrivetoCalabasas,whichmighttakealmostanhourinweekdaytraffic.
Thequestionofhermother’sdeathzigzaggedinMargot’smind.RegardlessofwhatMrs.Baekhadsaid—thatshehadclosedherstorebecauseshehadbeenstrugglingfinancially—herstalker,Mr.Park,withhisfakesmileandlingeringeyes,seemedincreasinglydangerous,capableofphysicallyharmingsomeone.Butevenwiththeyellingthatthelandlordhadheardthenightofhermother’sdeath,shecouldn’tconnectMr.Parkwithhermotheryet.AndifshedugdeeperintoMr.Park’slife,ifsheconfrontedhimsomehow,couldsheberesponsibleforhimretaliatingagainstMrs.Baekandthewaitresswhohaddisclosedhisbehavior?Thesewomenweredoingtheirbesttonavigatetheirownliveswithincircumstancesdriven,storiestoldbymen.Margotalsohadtoprotectthem.
Shewasalsostillupsetthat,inthosefinalmonthsofhislife,hermotherhadnotconnectedherwithherfather,asifshehadbeenhoardinghimalltoherself.Perhapshermotherhadeveryone’sbestinterestinmind,butwhydidhermothergettodecide?AndshehadleftunexpectedlythetangleofthisnetforMargottounravelbyherself.
Withherfootontheaccelerator,Margotneededtoknowherfathernow.
ShewantedtoknowwhathehaddoneallthoseyearsafterhelefthermotherandwhyhehadfledLosAngeles.Thesewerehardquestions,questionsshewasn’tevensureshewasreadytoaskoutloud.Butshehadbeenpresentedwiththisrareopportunity,andinaway,shehadbeenpreparingfortheanswersherentirelife.
Maybethat’swhatshehadbeendoingthisentiretime—hardeningherselfforthetruth.Somequestionswerenevermeanttobeanswered,yetideally,pursuingthemmightatleastshedlightonhowmuchyouvaluedyourself,theneedyoumighthavetotellyourownstory,howeverfragmenteditmightbe.Itwasokaytoyearnfortheimpossibleeverynowandthenaslongasintheyearningyoudiscoveredsomethingaboutyourself.
Andshewasadmittingtoherselfnowthatallthoseyearsofnotcaringaboutwhoherfatherwas,brushingofftheideaofhim,wasamasksheworetodenywhatshereallywanted—tolearnmoreabouthimandhermother,tounderstandherorigins.Wereherparentsinlove?Wasitaone-nightstand?Anaffair?
Howhuman,howbeautifulevenourmistakescouldbe.Onceagainthebronzegatehadbeenleftopen.Thesametwocars—glisteningandnew—hadbeenparkedinthedrivewayalongwithamuddylandscapertruck.Aweedwhackerwhirredinthedistance.
Thecreamywhitetwo-storyhouseappearedevenmoredreamlikeduringtheday.Thesundrenchedthesurroundingfoliageinahoney-coloredlight,andwell-fedbirdsflittedplayfullyonthedensegrass.Thetieredstonefountaingushedwaterasthepalmtreesrustledagainsteachotherinthebreeze.
Shetappedtheheavybrassdoorknocker,andtheveryhandsomeandchiseledmanfromtheothernightanswered,wearingasoftgraycashmeresweaterandperfectlyfitteddarkslacks.HesmelledlikeaDolce&Gabbanaad,andfromwhatshecouldtell,hadthebodytomatch.
“CanIhelpyou?”heasked.
Herkneesalmostbuckledbeneathherfromnerves.“I’mheretoseeMrs.Kim?”
“CanIaskwhoyouare?”Hisbrowsfurrowed.
Shegulped.“I’msomeonefrom…herhusband’spast.”
“Youmeanafriend?Orarelative?”
“Kindof,”shesaid.“Um,yeah,arelative.”
“Onemoment.”Heshutthedoorasshewaited.Behindher,thelandscaperdumpedbarebranchesintothebackofhistruck.Shewavedhelloathim,andhenoddedbackunderhiscap.Thecoldmorningairsmelledlikefresh-cutgrass.
Aminutelater,Dolce&Gabbanareappeared.“Comein,”hesaid.
Afterwalkingthroughtheentrywaywhereshelefthershoes,embarrassedabouttheconditionofherdingysocks,Margotperchedherselfontheedgeoftheivorytuftedsofainthelivingroomthatshehadpeeredinontheothernight.Theairfeltimpossiblycrispandcleaninsidethehouseasifshehadbeensealedinavacuumofperfecttemperatureandhumidityandlight—bothwondrousandeerie
“CanIhelpyou?”Mrs.Kimaskedassheentered.Shetuckedhersilkyblackhairbehindherear,revealingalargeiridescentpearllikeafullmoon,hypnoticandsilvery.Herfingernailswereshiny,oxblood-colored.Sheworeavoluptuoussweater,snow-white,apairofheathergrayleggings,andchicmuleslippersmadeoutofthemostimpracticalvelvet.
“Youlooklovely,”Margotsaidoutloud,involuntarily,asshestooduplikeasuitorinaVictoriannovel.
Mrs.Kimsmiledandpattedherselfonthecheek,blushingasshesatonthearmchairbesidethesofa.“Itrytotakegoodcareofmyskin.Please,haveaseat.”Sheraisedherbrows.“CouldIofferyousomethingtodrink?”
“Oh,no,notrightnow,thankyou.”
“IstheresomethingthatIcanhelpyouwith?Mydrivermentionedthatyoumightberelatedtomyhusband.Arelative?”
“Well,that’sonewaytoputit,”Margotsaid,realizingthatherloverwasthedriver.Shecouldn’twaittotellMiguelaboutthis.
“Andwe’venevermet?You…dolookfamiliar.”Mrs.Kim’sfacewasindeedbeautiful,inthemostidealizedKoreanway—line-freeandluminescent,narrowchinandjawandnose,creasedanddoe-likeeyes—butimmobiletheentiretimeasifshedidn’tquitefeelanythinganymore,orasiftherewasahumanbeingtrappedbehindtheskin.Shewasliketheperfectlyconstructedwoman—fromanalienplanet,luxuriousandfur-covered.
Suddenly,Margotbecameveryself-consciousabouthersocks,thelackofmakeuporanycoloronherface,herraggednails.
Margottookadeepbreathandbegan.“Idon’treallyknowhowtosaythis,but—”
Mrs.Kim’sdriver-slash-loverreappeared.“Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?I’mmakingmyselfsometea.”
“Oh,no,nothanks,”Margotsaid.“Well…whatkindoftea?”
“Greentea?”
“Sure.”
Henodded.Mrs.KimstaredatMargot’sfaceasifsherecognizedherfromsomewhere.
“So,acoupleweeksago…”Margotclearedherthroat.“Ifoundmymother’sbodyinherapartmentinKoreatown.Shewasdead.Andgoingthroughherthings,Ifoundyourhusband’sobituaryinanenvelope.”
“What?”Mrs.Kim’smouthdroppedopen.
“Well,letmebacktrack.Ineverknewmydad.IgrewupinKoreatown.Mymomwasworkingatthissupermarketintheeighties,andsomeonesheworkedwithgotherpregnant,andheleftrightafter.Ineverknewanythingabouthim,butwhenIsawhispictureintheobituary—”
Mrs.Kimfroze,eyesopenwide.
“Andthenmymother’sfriendconfirmedthatheismydad.”
“What’syourmother’sname?”
“Mina.MinaLee.”
“OhmyGod,”shesaid,slappingherhanddownonthecushionofherseat.Herfacegrewred,jawclenched.“So,that’swhosheis.”
Thedriverreappeared.“Here’syourtea,”hesaid,handingthedelicate,bone-coloredcuponasaucertoMargotthenexitingtheroom.
AnawkwardpausefellbeforeMrs.Kimfinallyspoke.“MyhusbandandI…Wewerenotexactly…conventional.”
“Okay.”
“Wehavealwaysbeenveryopen.”
“Youmean…”
“Openaboutourrelationshipswithothers.”
Margotalmostspittheteaoutofhermouth.“Likeswingers?”
“No,notlikethat.”Shegaveasmalllaugh.“Butwewere…flexible.”
“Openrelationship?”
“Yes,basically.”
“Wow.Modern.”Margotplacedthecupandsaucerontheglasscoffeetablenexttoperfectlypositioned,untouchedbookslikemonumentstoaverypredictabletaste—RichardAvedon,Chanel,andblack-and-whiteParis.
“Anyway,myhusbandgotverysickoverthesummer.Hehadcancer.AndIhadseenthis…”hervoicebroke“…woman’snamethathehadbeencallingalot.Mina.Your…mother.Ididn’tcaremuch.Sowhat,he’sdying.‘Goforit.Havefun.’”Tendonspulsedinherneck.“Butthenafterhedied,Irealized—”Hereyeswidened.“Doyouknowhowmuchhespentonthatwoman?”
“Mymom?”
“Yes,yourmom.Sorry.I’msorryforyourloss.Imean—”Shegrittedherperfectteeth.“Doyouknowhowmuchhespent?”
“No.No,Idon’t.Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingaboutatall.”AheavinessbuiltinsideofMargot’schest.Whatmoney?Noneofthismadesense.
“Hehiredaninvestigatorthathehadbeenusing,forhimself,tofindoutsomethingsforher.Ifoundallthesereceipts—”
“What?”Margotexhaled,lettingalltheairoutofherlungs.Shehadbeenholdingherbreath.Shepickedupthesauceranddranksomeoftheteathathadcooledandnowtastedfaintlymetallic.“Whatwouldshehavebeenusingthisinvestigatorfor?”Sheshookherhead.“It’snotlikehespentmoneyonherforstuff.There’snothingofvaluewhereshelives.”
“ThisinvestigatorworkswithpeoplealloverKoreatofindmissingpeople,missingfamilies,liketheoneswhowereseparatedbythewar.Myhusbandfoundoutabouthisownfatherthatway.”Shesighed.“Notthatyourmotherorherfamilydidn’tmatter,buttome,shewasjustastranger,see?Somerandomwomanthathejustmet.”
“Doyouknowwhatshefoundout?Orwhatspecificinformationhewould’ve—”
“No.AndItoreitallup.Ididn’twanttolookatitanymore.”Frustrated,Mrs.Kimpinchedbetweenherbrowswithherfingers.
Margotfeltapangofremorsethatshewouldneverknowwhattheinvestigatorfound.
“Whywouldhespendsomuch?”Mrs.Kimasked.“Butnow…nowitmakessense.”
“Idon’tthinkheknewaboutme.”
“Butshewassomeonefromhispastthen.Itwassomekindofdeeperrelationship.Maybeheeven…lovedher,”shesaid,bitingherlipasifashamedofherself.
Margotdidn’tknowwhattosay.“Whydidyoumarryhim?”sheasked.“Didyoueverloveeachother?”
“Yes,Isupposeso.Butyouknow,itjustmadethemostsense.Hewasrich,andIwantedsecurity.Ihadhadmyheartbrokensomanytimesbeforethen.”
“Byothermen?”
“Byallkindsofpeople,”shesaid.“Iusedtofeelsomuch,youknow?Butfeelingsaredangerous.”
“Wouldn’tlifebemeaninglesswithoutthem?”
“Ha,you’reverysentimental.Likeyourfather.”Mrs.Kimnodded.“Ineverunderstoodhimmuch,tobehonest.Hewassodifferentfromeveryoneelse.”
“How?”Margotcouldfeelthegripofhermusclesloosening,relievedtolearneventhistidbitabouthim—whattheymighthaveincommon.Forafewseconds,shefeltlessalone.Itwaswondroustobelikesomeone,tobecarryingsomeoneelseinyourbloodandbones.Peoplewhomyoumightnothaveevenmet.
“Oh,insomanyways.Ican’treallytalkaboutthisrightnow.”Mrs.Kimwipedcarefullyattheinnercornersofhereyeswithherfingertips.“Idomisshim.”Sheexhaledoutloud.“I’msorry,butIhavethisterribleheadache.”
“CanIgetyousomething?”
“No,no,that’sokay.”Sheshookherhead.“It’sbeendifficultforme,nowthatI’monmyown.”Sheopenedhereyes.“Hetookcareofeverything,youknow?Thefinances,thebills.Nowwhat?I’llprobablysellallthesupermarkets,andthen?”
Thedriverstoodbythewidedoorway,waitingandwatchingMargot.Shecouldfeelthehaironthebackofherneckrising.
“Ishouldselleverythingandtraveltheworld,don’tyouthink?IcouldgotoMachuPicchu.I’vealwayswantedtogothere.Haveyoubeen?”
“No,I’veneverbeen.”
“It’ssupposedtobemagical.”
“CouldI—couldIgetyournumber?”Margotasked.“Maybewhenthingssettledown,wecantalkagain,beforeyougotoMachuPicchu.I’dlovetolearnmoreabouthim.Iknowthatitbringsupalot,buttherearestillsomanythingsIdon’tknow,likewhathewasdoingallthoseyearsafterheleftKoreatown,whyheleftmymotherinthefirstplace.”
“Tobehonest,therearesomanythingsthatIdon’tevenknowaboutbeforewe—beforeweweremarried.Sungmin,givehermynumber,okay?”
Thedriver,Sungmin,nodded.
“Thankyouforvisiting.Whatwasyournameagain?”
“MargotLee.”Shestood.
“Thankyou.Whatalovelyname,”shesaid.“Sungminwillwalkyouout.”Mrs.Kimlefttheroom,rubbinghertemples.
FollowingSungmintotheentrywayandlacingonhersneakersagain,MargotpulledoutherphoneforhimtoenterMrs.Kim’sinformation.Afterheopenedthedoor,onanimpulse,Margotasked,“Doyouhappentoknowanythingaboutmyfather?Whendidyoustartworkingforhim?”
Sungminshookhishead.“Pleaseleave.”Hetriedtosmilepolitely.“Wehavealottogetdonetoday.”
Withhishand,hegesturedlikeanushertowardtheexit.
Margotstoodatthedoorway,facingthedrivewayintothehoney-coloredmorninglight.Shefeltahandonhershoulderandthenasmallshove.
Shegaspedandlookedbackathimasthedoorshut.Hehadtouchedher.Ithadallhappenedsoquicklyshedidn’tevenhavetimetoreact.Thetieredstonefountaingushedwaterindefinitely.Shesmelledthefresh-cutgrassandtheundercurrentofsomethingfoullikemanureorcompostintheair.
Hehadpushedher.Nothardbutinawaythatstillalarmedherwithitsabruptness,ahandoutofnowhere.Andshecouldstilltastethetea,thatmetallictasteinhermouth.
TheVirginMary’sfacewashalf-smashed,revealingthecreamybonecolorinside.Hersingledreamyeyeanddelicatemouth,pertandpeach-colored,appearedunbothered.Beneaththedrapeandthefoldsofherskybluecapeborderedbygold,herarmsstretchedforward.Abaresetoftoespeekedoutthebottomofherdiaphanouswhitedress,likethatofaGreekgoddess,ontopofaserpentflickingatongue.
Margothadbeeninbedforthepasttwodayssick—dizzy,sore,andtired,immobilizedyetfrustratedbyhowmuchshestillhadlefttodo.Shenowsatonthelivingroomcouch,exhausted,contemplatingtheVirginMaryinherhand.MargotrecalledhowupsetMrs.Kimhadbeenaboutherhusbandspendingsomuchmoneyontheinvestigationofhermother’sfamily.IfshecalledMrs.Kim,wouldsheprovideherwiththeinvestigator’snumbersothatshecouldfigureoutwhatkindofinformationhehadfound?WouldsheknowenoughKoreantospeakwithhim?
Andthepush,thatfinalpushonthedoorstepbythedriver?Whyhadhedonethat?Wasitawarning?Thegreenteahadtastedabitmetallicinhermouth.Poisonseemedtoofar-fetched—plusshewasstillalive—butthetimingwasodd.Wasthisallaboutmoney?WasMrs.Kimoutforrevenge?
Shouldshecallthepolice,OfficerChoiagain?Buthehadsaidthathedidn’tthinktheyshouldbecontactingMrs.Kim.Andhishandsweretied.Hecouldn’tgetfurtherinvolved:Idon’treallyseewhatelseIcandohere,Margot.Asfarasyourmother’sdeathgoes—whichwasterrible,I’msorry—it’sanopen-and-shutcase.Itwasanaccident.
Assheturnedthestatueinherhands,Margotinhaledthroughboththesadnessandagravefeelingofresponsibilitysinceshehadfoundhermother’sbodytwoweeksago.Itwasasifshewaslivingforbothofthemnow—thoughtsspinning,heartracingwildly—butwhatifsheneverfoundanyanswers?
Herphonerang.“Howareyoufeeling?”Miguelaskedwhenshepickedup.
“Better.Notdead.”
“You’vebeenworkingprettyhardoverthere.VisitingMrs.Baek,visitingMrs.Kim.Maybeyoushouldrelaxalittle.”
“IguessnowthatI’msick,Ikindofhaveto.”
“CouldIgetyousomething?Icoulddriveoverlatertonight?”
“No,no,thanks.IfIdon’tfeelbetterbytomorrow,I’llfindadoctor.I’llbefine.”
Afterhangingupthephone,shewentintoherroom,retrievedoneofheroldunusednotebooksfromherdeskdrawer,andsketchedthebrokenMary—fragmentsofherface,hertoes,theserpent’stongueatherfeet.Herpencilpressedontopaperthebigblueeye,thinroundbrow,theperfectCupid’sbowmouth.
IthadbeenyearssinceMargothadbeencompelledtodraw.Despiteherlackoftechnicalskill,shehadawayofjuxtaposingimagesunexpectedly.Shealwayssuspectedshemighthaveaknackforsomethingmorethree-dimensional,somethingakintomixedmediaorassemblage,whichrequiredmorespaceandwouldbedifficulttodescribe.Thepointwasthatitwouldtellitsownstory,inventitsowndimensionandtime.Butallofthissoundedsohigh-mindedandridiculousforawomanlikehertopursue,awomanwhohadgrownuppoor,whohadbeensurroundedmostofherlifebypeoplestrugglingtokeepthelightsonandfoodonthetable.
Yet,everyoneneededart.Whyelsedidhermotherassignsomuchcareintothefruitthatshesliced,thatlongpeelofskin,aribbonthatrevealedthetendernessofthefleshinside?Orthetinyflickofhereyelinerthatsheangledperfectlyinthemirror,thearrangementoftheoutfitsthatshehungonthewallsofherstore.Hermother,whowasinanotherlifeaclothingdesigner,hadsometimescaughtMargotdrawing.OncewhenMargotwasinthesixthgrade,stillyoungenoughtonotunderstandhowdistantherowntinyfamilyhadbeenfromideal,shehadbeensketchingaportraitofhermother’sface—thehighcheekbones,thenarrowchin,thesoftbrowneyesthatshoneasifonthevergeoftears,waterlappingatalake’sedge.
“Letmesee.”Hermothergrabbedthedrawing.Squinting,sheheldittotheyellowlightabovethediningtable.“AmIthisoldalready?”
Margotdidn’thavearesponse.Hermotherwasthemostbeautifulpersonintheworld.
ItbecamedifficultforMargottounderstandwhattocreate.Asachild,shehatedtoupsethermother.Insteadshestucktoclose-upsofflowersortrees—evergreeninwinterordeciduousandmustardyellowandbloodorangeinthefall—pastorallandscapesthatshecopiedoutofwallcalendars,whichboredher,butwhatelsecouldshedo?Shehatedtodrawherownface—afaceshecouldn’tquiterecognizeinhermotheroranywhereelseonTVorinthemovies—thefaceofastranger,aforeigner,anonymousandplain.
Laterasateenager,abstractsculpturelikethatofRuthAsawaandLeeBontecou,assemblage,andinstallationhadcapturedherimagination.Shewouldhavetheurgetotoppletrashcansover,scourformaterials,buthowcouldsheexplainthistohermother?Andwherewouldshestoreallherprojects?Theirapartmentwastoosmall.Ofcourse,she’dhavetorunfromthisplace.
ButaftershehadfinallyleftforSeattle,aftercollege,herstudentdebthadgrownandshesettledintoadeskjob,thefirstoneshecouldfindthatalsomightbenefitsociety.Atthenonprofit,alloftheclientsandmanyofhercoworkerswereblindorhadlowvisionandnavigatedtheworldinwaysthatstartledher—awhitecaneandGPS,Braillewatches,softwarethatreadscreensoutloud.
Thefirstyearorsohadbeenalmostinspirational,amarvel,butquicklyheradministrativetaskshadbecomeinsurmountablepiles,deadeninglevelsofrepetitiononherdesk.Herlifesmelledofprintertoner,soundedlikethegulpofthewatercooler,thebeepandwhirofthecopymachine.Ofcourse,afterthreeyearsofthis,herrelationshiplastyearwithJonathan,acoworker,hadbeenthrilling—thewarmanimalbreath,thepulse,thetinyhairsonherarmsrising.Sheneededdanger.Thethrillofsexdrownedoutherburningquestions,replacedtherealdangersthat,whenpursued,mightactuallykillher.Whowasshe?Whatwouldhappenifshewereunafraidofherself?
Margothadalwaysguardedthedifferentpartsofherlifefromeachother—hermother,herfriends,pastboyfriends,coworkers.Ifnoneofthosethingstouched,ifshecouldkeeptheminisolation,shecouldneverbehurtordestroyedentirely.Theconstantyetquietconstructionofseparaterooms,compartmentsaroundher.Butmostofthetime,shefeltaloneinthecenterofthatbuilding.Lightlessandairtight.
Hermother’sdeathhadburnedthatstructureofMargot’slifetotheground.
Sheattemptednowtodrawhermother’sfaceagainonablankpage—thesoftbrowneyesandnarrowchin,herhairinabob—justasMargothadrememberedherthelasttimeshehadseenher.Andthenontheoppositepage,shedrewherfather’sfaceasbestasshecouldfromhermemoryoftheobituary.Shecarvedtheoutlinesoftheirfacesinpencil,thewrinklesaroundtheeyesandbetweenthebrows.
Whenshestoppedtorest,exhausted,sherealizedthatwhensheclosedhernotebook,pressingtogetherthepages,theywouldnearlykissagain—featuresoverlappingeachother’s.
Mina
Winter1988
WITHMR.PARK,LUPE,ANDMR.KIMGONE,THEDAYpassedwithasilentandintensemelancholy.Wordhadgottenout,andalthoughnoonesaidathing,nooneacknowledgedwhathappenedorwhatcould’vehappened,Minacouldfeelthetension,thesadnessasthickandinescapableasthecity’ssmog.
EveryonesensedthatneitherLupenorMr.Kimwouldeverbebackandthatifthey,too,wantedtokeeptheirjobs,theybetteravoidgettinginthewayofMr.Park.PerhapsithadbeenthatwayallalongandMinaonlynoticeditnow,naively.Whenshethoughtabouteveryone’sinteractionsandairaroundhim,theyeachhadalreadybeentakingtheirprecautionsasmostpeopledoaroundpowerfulpeopleineventhetiniestuniverseofasupermarket.Perhapstheyeachsilentlyknewthattheirpositionswerealwaystenuous,thattheycouldeachbecomesomeone’sprey.
Standingattheregister,heavyasasackofgrain,shetriednottothinkaboutMr.KimorLupe,orthegunthatshehadtakenfromhimthismorning.Shehadcreptuptohim,stillsnoring.Sheyearnedtosmooththecreasesbetweenhisbrowswhereshekissedhim,inhalinghismorningbreath,whichshehadneverminded.Itwasthesmellofhiscomfort,hisrest.Sheslidthedraweropenbesidehisbed.Thegunbagwaslighterthanshehadexpected.Assherodethebustowork,shekeptherlargebrownpurseonherlap,cautiousaboutputtinganypressureonit,asifitpossessedawildanimal,asnake,tranquilizedfornowbutviciousandunpredictable.
NowMinalistenedforthebeepingsoundandstaredoffintospace,onlypayingattentionwhenshereceivedcashfromthecustomeranddoledoutchange.Atthispointshehadmemorizedmostoftheproduceandcouldenterthecodeswithouthavingtolookatthekeypad.
Duringherbreak,shecalledMr.Kimonapayphoneoutsideofthesupermarket.Nooneanswered.Whoknewwhathewasgoingthroughnow?Washealreadyinjail?ShewantedtocontactLupebutdidn’thavehernumber.She,too,musthavebeenfiguringoutwhattodo,howshewouldfindworktohelpMario,tofeedherkids.
Minawishedshehadacigarettetosmokesothatshehadareasontobeoutside,feelingself-consciousafterafewminutesofstandingasifwaiting,butwaitingforwhat?Shewentinside.Avoidingtherearofthestorealtogether,shedidn’tevenusetherestroom.Shewouldwaitalldayuntilshegothome.
Laterthatnightatthebusstop,shestood,light-headedandnauseous,bythetransitsignalone.Shehadalmostforgottenabouttheguninherpurse.Shesensedthatthingswouldneverbethesameagain,thatMr.Kimwouldhavetofindanewjob,thatshe,whowouldn’tbeabletolookatMr.Park,hadtofindanewone,too.Howcouldshegetintothiskindofdisastersoquickly,afterbeinginAmericaforlessthanayear?
Astheheadlightsofthebusapproached,shehadthesuddenurgetostepoutinfront.Justonefoot.
Likeadeerintheroad,crossing,unaware.Itwouldbethatsimpleandpure.Anerasure.Anotherbodyinthemorgue.
Thebusswerved,screechingtoahalt.Thedriver,hereyeswideandmouthopen,appearedshocked,sad,thenupset.
Minathoughttorunawaybutwhere?Howcouldshekeeprunning?
Instead,shegotonthebuswithherheadhanging,eyesontheground.
“Whatareyoudoing?”thedriverdemanded.“Areyoutryingtogetyourselfkilled?You’retryingtogetusallkilled?”
Minawalkedthroughthecenteraisle,pasttheperkedears,thewatchingeyes.Shewedgedherselfbetweentwopassengers,onewhodidn’tcareatall,andtheotheranolderwomanwhowasinshock.
Minaglancedforwardtoseethedriverraiseherhandsinexasperation,lettingthemfallatherthighswithaslap.Intherearviewmirror,thedriver’sfacesoftenedintoabrokenheart,asshemouthed,“Fuck,”toherself.Sheshuttheheavydoors,drivingtowardthenextstop.
Inthekitchen,Mrs.Baekstoodatthestove,stirringapot.
Tryingtogounnoticed,Minaslippedoffhershoesandheadedtowardherroom.Sheyearnedtodisappear.Shehadn’tsleptatalllastnight.Butbeforeshecouldreachherdoor,Mrs.Baekasked,“Didyoueatdinneryet?”
“No,notyet.I’mverytired.”
“Youdon’tlooksogood.Areyougettingsick?”
“Maybe.”
“Doyouwanttojoinme?”
“That’sokay.Ihaveaphonecalltomake.”
Mrs.Baeksuspendedthewoodenspoonintheair,likeabatoninamarchingband.“Whydon’tyoujoinmeafteryourphonecall?”
“Um…”
“Icanwait.Goaheadandmakeyourcall.”
Withoutanyenergyleft,Minaunlockedherbedroomdoor,andonceinside,droppedallherbelongingsontheground.ShepickedupthephoneonhernightstandandspunbymemoryMr.Kim’snumberontherotarydial.Noanswer.
Afterusingtherestroom,shesatinthebreakfastnookacrossfromMrs.Baek,whohadbeensippingonamugofbarleytea,waiting.
“Youdon’tlookgoodatall,”shesaid.
“I’vebeenworkingalot,”Minareplied.“Stomachproblems.”
“Likewhat?”
“WhenIgetstressedout,Ihavetroubleeating.AndwhenIdoeat,Iwanttothrowup.”
“Yourboyfriend—everythingokay?”
“Yes.”
“Yousure?”Mrs.BaekplacedherhandontopofMina’s.“Maybeyouhavesomekindofstomachbug?Youlookverypale.”
“Yes,that’sprobablywhatitis.”
“Letmemakeyousomericeporridge,”Mrs.Baeksaid,standingup.
“Don’ttroubleyourself.Thankyou.No,really.”
“Don’tworry.Itwon’ttakelong.Whydon’tyougobacktobed?I’llwakeyouupwhenit’sready.”
Minadraggedherselftoherroomagainwhereshelaydownandcried,blottingthecornersofhereyeswithherblanket.Shedidn’twantMrs.Baektoseeherthatway—justanotherwomansobbinginaroombyherself.Butthat’swhatshewas,wasn’tshe?Shehadthiscrushingfeelingthatshe’dneverseeMr.Kimagain.Howcouldshefeellikethis,howcouldsheallowthistohappen?
Sheclosedhereyesanddriftedofftosleepuntilsheheardaknock,maybetenorthirtyminuteslater,shecouldn’ttell.Beforeshecouldsayanything,Mrs.Baekpokedherheadinthroughthedoor.
“Sorrytowakeyouup,”shesaid.“Ihaveyourporridge.”
“Oh,that’sokay.Thankyou.”MinatriedtoriseupfromthebedonherelbowsintimetomeetMrs.Baek,butherarmscollapsedbeneathher.
“Oh,”Mrs.Baeksaid,approachingtohelp.“Whenwasthelasttimeyouate?”
“Idon’tremember.Idon’tthinkIateyesterday.”
“Youhavetoeatsomethingbeforeyoufallasleepthen.”
Minaslumpedoveronthebed,leaningagainstthewall.Mrs.Baekheldthebowlofporridgewithametalspoon,contemplatingMina’sface.
“Here,takeabite,”shesaid,holdingthespoonuptoMina’smouth.
ThetendernessofthegesturemadeMina’seyeswateragain.Tearsrolleddownhercheeks,andshecouldn’thelpbutcoverherface,asiftoshieldherselffromthekindnessofsomeoneelse.
Thephonerang,wakingMinafromadeepsleepshehadachievedonlyafterafewhoursoftossingandturningandpoundingthemattresswithherfistsinsadnessandinrage.Shegrabbedthereceiver,suddenlywideawake.
“Mr.Kim?”sheasked.
“Yes.”Hisvoicewasweary.
“Areyouokay?Whereareyou?”shecried.“Whereareyou?Areyouleavingme?”
Hetookadeepbreath.“I’m…I’mattheairport.”
“What?Whatareyoudoingthere?”Shecouldn’tcontrolherself.Sheknewwhathewasabouttosay.Sheknewthiswasgoingtohappen.Shekeptrepeatingthisoverandoveragaintopunishherself,toteachherselfalesson.Justlikethewomenattheorphanagewhowouldpunishherwhenshewasbad,whentheycaughtherstealing,whenshespokeupagainstthem.Sheknewthiswasgoingtohappen.Thisiswhynobodywantsyou,they’dsay.
“Ican’ttalklong.IwenttoseeLupeyesterday.She’sgoingtobeokay.Shehassomepeopleatchurch,familytohelpher,sodon’tworryabouther,okay?She’sgoingtobefine.Worryaboutyourself,okay?”
“Whataboutyou?Whereareyougoing?”
“I’vegotacousininChicago.I’mgoingto…leaveforalittlewhile.”
“Howlong?”sheasked.
“Idon’tknowyet.”
“Awhile?”
“Maybe.”
“CanIcomewithyou?”
“No,Idon’tthinkthat’sbestfornow.”
“Whydon’tyoutakemewithyou?Whydon’tyoutakemewithyou?”Hervoicerose,echoingthroughoutthehouse.Shedidn’tcarewhoheardher.“Whydon’tyoutakemewithyou?”
“It’snotthateasy.Iwould.There’sjust…It’stoodangerousrightnow.I’msorry.”Shecouldhearhimcrying.“Ineverwantedtohurtyou.Ineverwantedtohurtanyone.Ididn’tthink—”
“Thentakemewithyou.Ihavenothinghere.Takemewithyou.”
“Ican’t.It’dbeeasiertohidebymyself.It’ssaferforyouthisway.”Hepaused,gulpingbreath.“Didyoutakethegun?”
Shedidn’tanswer,heartracing.
“Becarefulwiththat.It’sloaded,okay?Don’ttakeitoutofthebagunlessyouneedit.Protectyourself,okay?Becareful.”
“Icanhandlehimmyself.”Hervoiceshooklikeanearthquake,rattlingeveryboneinherbody.
“Just,becareful.I’m—I’msorry.Iloveyou.”Hehungupthephone.
Shethrewthereceiver,whichhitthewallwithaloudcrash.Thesoundofthedialtonedrovehertopickthereceiverupandsmashitintothephonewithacrack,crack,ahollowplasticsound.Shedidn’tcareanymoreifshebrokeit.Thiswasthetimenow.Thiswasthetimetoenditall.Shecouldhangherselfinherroom.Shehadsheets.Shecouldtiethemaroundthedoor,slipthemaroundherneckandendeverything,thewaysheshould’veendedthingsbeforecomingtothisstrangecountry,beforeMr.Parkcouldruinallofthem,before,before…
BeforetheFerriswheel,beforethesaltintheair,thetasteofhotchocolate,onceagain,fallingpreytothedazzlingdeceptionoftheworld,theblushandthebloominsideherchest.
ButshecouldkillMr.Parkbeforetakingherownlife.Shecouldfindhiminhisoffice.Shehadthegun.Shecouldendhim.Shecouldendhiminfrontofeveryone.Whoknewhowmanyhehadterrorized?Howmanyhehadcannibalizedforhisowngain?Howmanyofthemhadhehurt?Howmanymorelivescouldheruin?Shehadnothingtolosenow.
Someonepoundedonthedoor.
Minacriedout,“Notnow.”
“Areyouokay?”Mrs.Baekasked.
“Goaway.”
ShecouldtellthatMrs.Baekstillstoodontheotherside,waitingforher,foranything.
“Goaway,”shescreamed.Shegrabbedapillowandthrewitatthedoor.
Mrs.Baektriedtheknob.Findingitlocked,shepushedherwaythroughtheflimsywood.
ShockandterrordistortedMrs.Baek’sfaceatthesightofMinaonthefloor.
MinasawherselfthroughMrs.Baek’seyes.Shewantedtokillherselfevenmore
Mrs.Baekknelttothegroundbesideher,tryingtohelpherstandup.
“Getyourhandsoffme.”Minavomitedayellowishfluid,rightontoherownchest.
Mrs.BaekwrappedherarmsaroundMina,dragginghertotherestroomwhereshehadhersitonthefloorbesidethetoilet.Minathrewupthesadremainsoflastnight’spaltrydinner,thericeporridge.Mrs.BaekgrabbedatowelandwipeddownMina’sface,coveredintearsandsnotlikeachild’s.ShethenhandedthetoweltoMina,whoblewhernose.
Shecouldn’tstopcrying,herbreathrushinginandout.
BothofthemknewastheysatonthefloorbesidethetoiletthatMinawaspregnant.
Margot
Winter2014
THEMONDAYBEFORECHRISTMAS,MARGOTWASFINALLYfeelingbetter.Shehadbeeninbedforthepastseveraldays,overcomebyweaknessandnausea.Wasitsimplygriefandexhaustion,thebeginningsoftheflu,orpoisoning?Miguelhadofferedtodrivehertoaclinicorhospital,butshehadrefused,unwillingtodealwiththeworriesofinsurance,inorout-of-network.
Andforthefirsttimeinawhile,shewokeupearlythismorningwiththeurgetopreparebreakfast,sunny-sideupeggsonrice.Afterward,shecleanedouthermother’skitchen,emptyingcupboardsanddrawers,stillstickyfromaliferushedbetweenworkandhome.Thenuttydarkamberofsesameoil—heavyandclinging—remainedinahalf-fullbottle.Asqueezebottleofhoney—crystallizedintosugar,roughonthetongue—hadglueditselfdown,leavingadarkfootprint,asweetovalontheliningofashelf.
Margothadalreadytouchedmostofeverythinginthekitchenwithapracticalintimacyherentirelife—nosecrets,nootherlives.Buteventheutensils,ahodgepodgeofstainlesssteel,becametinymonuments—sharp,reflective,serrated,andcurvedwithfeeling.
Growingup,shehadhatedusingchopsticks.Shehadrefusedthem,seatedatthetablewithhermother—differentinstrumentsintheirhands—asiftheinchesbetweenthemwereasexpansiveasacontinentaldivide,thedarkriftofanocean.Andyet,despitethisdailybreach,thisrupturebetweenmotheranddaughter,handsposedaroundshapesforeigntoeachother,sherememberedthebowlsofricehermotherhadfedher,thebanchan,thestews,thefruitshehadmeticulouslypeeledandsliced,andhowfoodwasperhapsthemostpracticalandnecessarymeansbywhichMargotcouldaccessthestoriesandmemories,thesaprunninginsidehermother.
Theyhadspokendifferentlanguages—driftingfurtherandfurtherapartasMargothadgottenolder.Margot’smotherneverlearnedmuchEnglishinKoreatown,didn’thaveto,andMargot,whospentsolittletimewithhermotherbesidesworkinglonghoursatthestore,distancedherselffromKoreanculture,whichsheassociatedwithaliennessandpovertyandwar.Shewantedtolivelike“realAmericans”ontelevisionwiththeircleansurfaces,theirwallswithoutcracksandchippedpaint,theirdishwashersandshinyappliances.Shewantedtoliveliketheydidinbooks—thoseprecariousandfragileskylinesinMrs.Baek’sapartment,paperliketeethoncewhite,nowyellow—withbeautyandcomplexfeelings,agency,choiceinterruptedbyfate,andviceversa.
Hermother’slifeseemedtohavelittleself-determinationatall,onlytheburdenofgettingby,knowingthatnomatterhowhardshehadworked,shewouldneverleavethatapartment.Andthatwasexactlywhathadhappened,wasn’tit?Hermotherneverleftthatplace.Awoman,alone,fallentotragedyandfate,menwhowouldleaveanddestroyher.
Shewaslikealotofus.Lonely.Butthat’swhatit’slikeforwomenlikeus.
Thefoulstenchofthebody—bileandrottingfruit.
Butwasitanaccident?Orintentional?TherewasstillMrs.Kimandherdriver,Sungmin.Thesurprisingpushofhishand,asifMargotwasjustananimalwhohadwanderedinoffthestreet.Andwherewasthelandlordstill?Hecouldn’tbetrustedeither.
Retiringtothecouch,Margotsketchedinhernotebookasingleforkononepageandasetofchopsticksonthenextsothatshecouldflipbetweenthem,theirshapes.Shewantedtolivesomewhereinthatmovement,likethebeatofadove’swing.
Thereweresomanythingsthatshecouldneverexplaintohermother.Eveniftheyhadspokenthesamelanguages,thechasmthatdividedthemwouldhavestillbeentoogreat.Insomeways,Margot’ssuccessinthiscountry,herindependence,reliedonthisdistancefromhermother—herpoverty,herforeignness,thealienationofherlife,theheavinessofherthanklesswork,thehoursandminutes,ignoredandevenreviledbytheworld.Andthereweresomanywaystobecrushed,tohaveyourheartbrokennavigatingthatcanyonbetweenthem—whattheycouldnotsay,whattheyhadsaidtowoundeachother.
Butmaybeonlyhereinthesepages,inthesedrawings,ifMargothadshownmorecommitmenttotheirrelationship,ifshehadbeenunafraidofcommitment,couldhermotherhaveunderstood:thatMargotwouldneverleaveherintheend,thatshewould,despitethedistancethatseparatedthem,neverletgoofherhand.
Afterfinishingthekitchen,Margotcleanedhermother’sroom,wheresheonceagainfoundthesneakerscoveredinfinedust,thecondomwrapperbeneaththebed.Shethrewthediscarded,forgottenobjectsawayandplacedtheshoesinthegarbagebag,knowingnowthatthesewereremnantsofhermother’sreunionwithherfather,Mr.Kim.
Onhermother’sbed,thatsadteddybear,dingywithtime,clungtoasatinredheartattachedtoitsroundcartoonpaws.Shesqueezedtheheartandfeltsomethinghardinside.Herpulsebegantopound.Shetoreaparttheseam,sloppyandhandstitched.
Apieceofpaperwithaboxnumberandabank’snameandasmallkeyfellout.
Sherippedopentherestofthebearbutdidn’tfindanythingelse.Shescavengedthroughhermother’sbelongings,checkingthepocketsandtheliningsevenmorecarefullynowforanything,anycluethatcouldsomehownoteliminatebuteasethepain,thebarrageofquestionsclawinginsideherhead.Shewantedanswersnow.Shewantedhermothertobealivesothatshecouldfinallyaskherallthethingsshehadalwayswantedtoask,allthethingsshefoundherselftoofrightenedtoaskbeforethis.Hermother’slifeandherpasthadalwaysbeensocarefullyguarded.Italwaysfeltlikethewrongmove,look,touch,orwordswouldbreakhermotherforever.
AsachildoffourorfiveseatedinthelukewarmtubofmilkyDovesoap–scentedwater,scratchingthepetalsoftheanti-slipstickersbeneathher,Margothadasked,“Whereismyfather?”
Hermother,kneesonthebathroomfloor,hadwinced,pausingtoreflect.“Idon’tknow.Heleftusalongtimeago.”
“Wheredidhego?”Margotaskedtheceilingabove,sloshingthewaterwithherfeet.
“Idon’tknow.”Hermotheradjustedherlegs,handscoveredinfoam.“Ineverhadafather,too.Youasktoomanyquestions.”Atearsliddownherface,quickandsilent.
Tiltingherheadbackashermotherpouredwaterfromabove,carefulnottosplashherface,Margotyearnedtopushthetearsbackinhermother’seyes.Itwasexcruciatingtowatchhermother,whoworkedtirelesslyandsilentlydayafterday,emote,exposeherselfatonce.Intheseraremomentsofgreattendernessandfragility,theirsanityrattlinglikeglasscupsinacupboardduringaquake,Margotlearnedthatfamilieswereourgreatestsourceofpain,whethertheyhadlostorabandonedusorsimplyscrubbedourheads.
AllofthesefeelingshadturnedintoakindofragewhenMargotbecameateenager,whentheworlddemandedanswers:Whereisyourdad?Youdon’thaveadad?Whatdoesyourmomdoforaliving?You’vebeenlivinginthatapartmentforhowlong?Questionsthatwerejudgmentsaroundwhatsheandhermothercouldnotaffordorcontrol.
Itwasallaboutcontrol,wasn’tit?
Moneycouldmaketheworldintimatelyspotless.Thatwastheillusion.
Kneelingonthecarpet,Margotcontemplatedthesmallkeyonthetablebesidehermother’sbed.Akeywassuchanobvioussymbol,yetsometimesthetruthwasalwaysthere,rightinfrontofyourface,untilyouwerereadytoswallowitsshapeandallitsedges,untilyouknewyouwerestrongenoughtobearitsweight.
IthadbeeneightyearssinceshehadmovedtoSeattle,eightyearsofhalf-understoodconversationsoverthephoneandvisitsduringtheholidaysthatrevolvedaroundwork.Margothadbelievedtheycouldgoonthiswayforever,thatthisdistancehurtthemboththeleast.
Butshenowknewtherewassomuchtruthundisclosed.Likeatreethathadlostitsleaves,silentlybracingitselfagainstwindandcold,thesapinsideofthemcould,undertherightconditions,pushthegreen,thosetenderrevelations,outofthemoncemore.
Withhermother’ssafety-depositkeyandpapersinherpurse,Margotopenedtheapartmentdoorandlookedbehindhertoobservetheconditionofhermother’shome—donationbagseverywhereandpilesofjunkinthecenteroftheroom.Thescenebothsatisfiedandterrifiedheratonce.Shehadfinallyfoundawaytogetridofthisplace,thisapartmentthathadtauntedherwithitssadness,itspoverty,withthedirtywindows,themisshapenandfadedcouchandthecoffeetablewithringsfrommugslikewetfootprintsthathaddriedonthesurface.Butthenanotherpartofherwantedtothrowherbodyontothosepilesandstaythereforeverlikeawaitingroomuntilhermothercameback,oruntiltheuniversesomehowdeliveredtheanswersthatsheneededtomakedecisions,getonwithlifeliketherestoftheworld.Shelockedthedoorbehindher.
Inthedarkandmustystairwell,thelandlordclimbedthesteps,grippingthehandrail.
“Excuseme,”shesaid.“Ileftyouamessageaboutmymom?”
“Oh,yes,yes,sorry.I’vehadsomuchgoingon—”
“Whydidyoulietothepoliceofficer?”Margotinterrupted.
“Lie?”
“Thepoliceofficer?”Shefoldedherarmsacrossherchest.“OfficerChoi?Hesaidthatyoudidn’thearathingfrommymother’sapartment.Youtoldme—”
Hesmiledasifamusedandcombedhishandthroughhisthickgrayhair.“Didn’tIsaythatthepoliceweren’tgoingtodoanything?There’snoneedtogettheminvolved.Idon’tneedthemhangingaroundthebuilding,scaringmytenants.Whatgoodisthatgoingtodoforyourmom?”
“Butdon’tyouthink—”
“Wedon’tneedpolicearoundhere.”
“Yeah,butwhataboutmymom?Don’tyouthinkifsomeonecould’vekilledher,thatyourtenantswouldcareaboutfindingtheguy?”
“Shhh,”hesaid,annoyed.Hecameupthestairsclosertoher.“I’mjusttryingtorunabusiness,okay?It’snotlikeIdon’tcare.”
Forafewseconds,sheimaginedpushinghimdownthestairwell.Histhin-limbedbodytumblingtotheground.Hisheadcrackedagainstastep.Sheflinchedattheimage,thecruelty.Itwouldlooklikeanaccident.
“Ijustdon’tthinkyoucantrustthepolice,”hesaid.“Whyriskyourself?Whygetinvolved?Don’tyouthinkenoughpeoplehavebeenhurt?Enoughpeoplehavebeenhurtalready.”
“Youmademelooklikealiar.”
“Listen,I’msorryaboutthat.I’mtrying—”Hisvoicecracked.“I’mtryingreallyhardtokeepthingstogether.Believeme.I’malwaysabouttolosethisplace.”Tearsfilledhiseyes.“IfIthoughttalkingtothepolicewouldhelpyourmother,Iwould,Ireallywould,butIhonestlydon’tthinkitwouldmakeadifference.I’veseenalotinmyyears.”
Margothesitated.Hermothermight’vedonethesame.Shemight’vefeltthesameway.
“MaybeIdon’tdothebestjobaroundhere,butI’mtryingmybest,”hecontinued.“Iknownoonelikesthelandlord.Ididn’tevenwanttogetintoanyofthis—itwasmywife’sidea.AndnowI’mstucklikeeveryoneelse.WhatelsecanIdo?Noonewouldhiremenow.Nobodywantsaguylikeme.Nobodywantsanyofus,yousee?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Margotasked.
“Iftheycouldhavetheirway,they’dteardownthewholething,makeitintofancycondosorsomething.Getridofusall.Theyliketheworkthatwedo,buttheydon’tlikeourfacesorlanguage,yousee?It’sabigconspiracyandnowwe’reallstuck.There’sanepisodeofTwilightZone—youwouldn’tremember—buttheonewiththetoysthatarealltrappedinabin,abigcylinder.That’sus.”
“Well,Icanseethat,”shesaid.Itwasobviousthatshehadreachedthelimitofwhatthelandlordcouldprovideregardinghermother’sdeathandhedidn’tseemparticularlyguiltyorcapableofharmhimself.Andnowsheneededtogettothebank,beforeitclosed,withthesafety-depositkeyandpapers,rippedfromtheteddybear’sheart.Sheclimbeddownthestairspasthim.“Letmeknowifyourememberanythingelse,okay?”
“Shehasafriend,right?Lady.Redlipstick.Maybeshecanhelpyou?”
Shepaused,turningtofacehim.“Shehas.Shealreadyhas.”
“Shehasproblems,too,orsomething,right?”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Ijustremember,onetime,shewashere—maybeinSeptemberorOctober,somethinglikethat.Isawherparkonthestreetanditlookedlikeanoldermanwassittinginhiscar,waitingforher.Youknow?Likehewasfollowingher.”
“Anolderman?”
“Yeah,adifferentone.Notyourmom’sboyfriend.”
“Didhehaveakindof…squarehead,bigwhiteteeth,biggoldwatch—”
“Exactly.”
“Sohefollowedthewomanwiththeredlipsticktothisapartment?”
“Ithinkso.Yeah,I’mprettysureofit.”
Margot’sheartpoundedinherchest.Mr.Parkknewwherehermotherlived.Butwouldhewanttohurther?Unlesssomehowhermotherhadtriedtointerveneinhisbehavior,triedtostanduptohim?Maybehehadgonetoherapartment,askedherwhereMrs.Baeklivedorworkednow,andshehadrefusedtoanswer.HermotherwoulddoanythingtoprotectMrs.Baek.
Wouldthisbeenoughforhimtofightwithher?Pushher?
Margotcouldn’tgototherestaurantandconfronthimnow.Itmightbetoodangerousandcouldjeopardizethewaitressaswell.IfsheneededtoquestionMr.Park,she’dhavetofindhimsomewhereelseandshe’dhavetoaskMigueltogowithherjustincase.Wherewouldhebeotherthantherestaurant?Someonehadtoknow.Shecouldn’taskMrs.BaekbecauseshewouldbetooconcernedforMargot.PerhapsMargotandMigueltogetherwouldhavetofollowhimafterwork.
Sherandowntotheparkinglotandopenedthecardoor.Catchingherbreath,sheglancedattherearviewmirrortomakesureshewasalone.Chillsrandownherspineasshethoughtofthedriver’shandonhershoulder,thepush.Maybethat’sallithadtaken.Therewasbloodthathadpooledandpressedagainsthermother’sbrain.Shewasgettingtooclose.Mr.ParkfollowedMrs.Baektohermother’sapartment.Thenethadwrappedaroundherankles.
Asafety-depositbox.Abankthatwouldsoonclose.Adoorclosing.Margotwasonherown.
Therewerenowtoomanypeoplewhomightbeangryathermother—Mrs.Kimandherdriver-slash-lover,Sungmin,alsoMr.Park—toomanypeoplewhomightwanttohurther.Perhapsthatwasthelifeofanywomanlikehermother,awomanwhowaspoorandinsomanywayspowerlessbutnonethelesspersistedlikeakindofmiracle,adefianceagainsttheworld.
Butwhowouldwanthermotherdeadthemost?
Mina
Spring2014
AFTERADINNEROFDOENJANGGUK,MYULCHIBOKKEUMandkimchiasbanchan,Mina,inanautomaticgesture,turnedonthetelevision.Assoonastheelderlyfaces—wrinkledandscrunchedinpainbeneathmen’shatscoveringbaldingheads,grandmothersinhanbokssqueezingouttearsfrombehindglasses—appeared(footageoflastmonth’sdaylongreunion,thefirstinthreeyearsbetweenfamiliesseparatedinNorthandSouthKorea),shefledtothekitchenwheresheslumpeddownontothelaminatefloor.
Newsoftheseeminglyendlessnegotiationsbetweengovernmentsforthesefleetingreunions—thelunch,theafternoon,whenthesefamilieswhohadwaitedtheirwholelives,sometimesoversixtyyears,foreachother—hadthistime,morethananyother,drivenhertothebrink.Shepressedherforeheadandfreehandagainstoneofthecabinetsassheinhaledalltheyearsinthisplace,asifthisapartmenthadbeenakindoflover,whokeptaroofoverherhead,whohadnoopinionsbutprovided,despiteitssorrow,acertainkindofstrength.Howlonghaditbeen?Overtwentyyears.
Timewaswearingherdown.Shewasapproachingseventyyearsoldnowandcouldseeherselfinthefacesoftheelderlyreunited,thehairaroundhertempleswhitening.Shecouldseeherselfinthosereunions—hervulnerabilityandpain—rubbingthesadnessawayfromheralreadywornface.
Howmuchcouldthebody,howmuchcouldthehearttake?
Twenty-sixyearsago,notlongaftershehadfirstarrivedinLosAngeles,shehadcaughtasimilarTVspecialonthesepainfullyscarcefamilyreunificationeffortswithMr.Kimonhiscouchafteradinnerof—whatwasit?—somethingsimplelikeshigeumchiorbaechudoenjangguk.Likethememoryrisingnow,thecrimsoncreptupthesmoothskinofhisneck,hisfaceastearswelledinhiseyes,whichshehadyearnedtopushbackinsideofhim.
Doyoueverwonderifyourparentsmightstillbethere,inNorthKorea?Mr.Kimhadasked.
No,I’veneverthoughtofthat.
Butmaybethat’swhytheyneverfoundyou,hesaid.
Thatwastheeveningbeforetheend.Onthefloorofherkitchennow,shesatleaningagainstthecabinets,eyesclosed,breathinghardthroughhermouth,tendingtoimagesfromthepast:Lupe’sfaceonthatdaythatshehadbeenattackedbyMr.Park,howshesobbedinthefrontseatofthestationwagon,theredbloodrunningdownthesideofMr.Kim’sface,thesmellofiron,Mr.Kimseatedinthelowglowofthelamp,holdingagun—small,black,andmatte.
Minastillhadthatgun.
ShehadneverheardfromLupeagain.SheprayedthatsheandMariohadbeenreunitedsomehow,butnooneknew.Nooneatthesupermarketspokeofthem,asifsilencewasaformofprotection.
Mr.Parkhadmostlyignoredher.Everynowandthen,shewouldcatchhimglancingather,butheneversaidaword,asifshewerenowinvisible,aninanimateobject.ShehadnoideaifheknewofherinvolvementinwhathadhappenedtoLupethatday,buthehadbeensuspiciousaboutherrelationshiptoMr.Kimperhaps.
Shehadworkedatthesupermarket,hissupermarket,upuntiltheverydaythatherwaterbroke.Thatlate-Junemorninghadbegunlikemostotherswithherlumberingtothebathroom,eatingbreakfastaloneinthekitchen’snook,andmakingherwaythroughagraymalaiseofsmogtothebusstop.Sheclimbedthestairsontothebusandeasedherselfontooneoftheseatsupfront.Staringoutthewindshieldrelievedhernausea.
Afteronlyanhouratthecashregister,herstomach,alreadybulbousanduncomfortable,hardenedintoafist.Asharpbrightpainsparked.Herwaterbrokeasshehobbledtothebackofthestore.Thewarmthrandownherlegsontothefloor.Sheplacedamaxipadonherunderwearinthebathroom,collectedherbelongingsfortheverylasttime.Exitingthereardoor,shewaddledaroundthebuildingtothefrontofthesupermarket,whereshecalledMrs.Baekatthepayphone.Breathingthroughthepain,shewaitedforthirtyminutesunderahardskyofsunandhaze,thecoloroflaundrywater,forMrs.Baektodrivehertothehospitaldowntown.
Duringtwodaysofagony,mostlyaloneexceptforwhenMrs.Baekcouldgetoffofwork,exceptforthefewhourswhenMrs.Baekheldherhand,consolingher,Minascreamedattheworldthatthreatenedeverydaytotearherapart.Herbodywasconsumedinflames,likeasaint’sburnedatthestake.Untilfinally,sheheldherbaby,redandhowling,coveredinwhitewax.
Amonster.
Amonster,likeher,bornintoaworld,hollow—withoutafamily,withoutauntsanduncles,cousins,grandparents,withoutevengravestonestocalltheirown.
Mrs.BaeknamedthebabyMargot,anamethatsheloved.
MinahadalreadysufferedmonthsoftheotherKoreanwomenatthesupermarket,observingthestretchofherstomachintoabulb.Ofcourse,theygossipedaboutwhatkindoflewdnesswouldleadtoherpregnancy,thepregnancyofasingleKoreanwomaninherforties.Minahadquitchurchassoonasshebeganshowing,outoffearoftheshameshewouldbringuponherselfamongthewomenthere,evenMrs.Shin,whomshetrusted,butcouldn’texpecttounderstandwhatitwouldbeliketocometothiscountryasasinglewoman,awidow,andfallinlove,despiteallthebestintentions,onlytoendupagainalone.
Athome,MinacriedinbedwhileMrs.Baekcaredforthebaby.Sheneverthoughtshewouldeverstopcrying,asifshecouldexhaustherselftodeaththatway.Weekspassed,andshewouldstillburstintotears,withoutwarningsometimes,asshewaitedherlifeout,unabletowork.Shehadenoughsavingstopayforrent,groceries,formula,diapersforafewmonths,andMrs.Baekandthelandladyhelpedbypreparinghermeals,tendingtothebabywhilesheslept.
Shecouldn’tgetoutofbedsomedays.Withthelightoutside,thebluesky,thebirdsshecouldhearinthebackyard,chirping,theworldseemedtomoveonwithouther,asshecried,hardlyabletobatheandfeedherself,letaloneherbaby.Shecontemplatedleavingthebabysomewheresafeandrunningaway,butwherewouldsheturntonext?
Argentina?TheSanFernandoValley?NewYork?
Shedidn’thavetheenergyanymore.
Yethowcouldsheraisethisbabybyherself?Shecouldn’trelyonthekindnessesofMrs.Baekandthelandladywhohadtheirownlonghoursofwork,theirownworries,forever.
Afteralmosttwomonthsathome,shedroppedherdaughteroffattheapartmentofalocalgrandmothershewouldpaytotakecareofMargot.Sheworkedforayearwashingdishes,andthenatafast-foodrestaurantwheresheassembledchilidogs,deep-friedcorndogs—bizarreAmericanfoods.Sheworkedandworkedandworkeduntilshecouldfigureoutwhattodowithherlife.
Butastheyearspassed,andthelandladydied,herhousesoldbyherchildren,andMinalostherfirststoreintheriots,andMinaandMrs.Baekwentoutontheirownandlosttouchwitheachother,andherdaughter’slimbsbecamelongandlovedtodraw,andherfacegrewintoquestionsandthoughts,MinaforgotMr.Kim’sface.
ShesawonlyherselfinMargot,asifshecouldnotbeartoseeherinherentirety,asifshewasapuzzlewithpiecesmissingforever.Sherefusedtoseetheentiregirl.
Shehadmovedonthatway.Whenshehadsavedenoughmoneytobuyanotherstore,shedidn’thavetoworryaboutababysitterwhenMargotwasnotatschool.Shecouldbringhertowork.Shecouldteachthegirltohelpher.Attheswapmeet,Margotwouldmakefriends.Margotwouldbecomeawomanoneday,andshewouldleaveMina,too.Theywouldallleaveher.Herdaughter,anAmerican,whospokeEnglish,couldhardlysayanythingwithdepthinKorean,whowouldgotocollegeinSeattle.Herdaughterhadnotforgottenabouther,butMinaknewthatshewantedtoforget.Whowouldn’twanttoforgetallthoseyearsofworkandpain?Toherdaughter,thisapartment,herapartmentwasdirty,notsuitabletohernewtastes,hernewlifeasanactualAmerican.
Somethingaboutthiscountrymadeiteasytoforgetthatweneededeachother.
Thephonerangandshesprangfromthekitchenfloorintothelivingroomwhereshegrippedthereceiverinherhand.Itwasher.Mina’sbodytingledasifreanimatedbyMargot’svoice,which—despiteitsclearfrustrationinitsstruggletomixKoreanandEnglish—tetheredMinabacktothisworld.
“Whatdidyoueatfordinner?”Minaasked.
“Somepasta.Spaghetti,”Margotsaid.“Whataboutyou?”
“Doenjangguk.”Foryears,Minawouldwakeupbeforesunrisetomakeherdaughteralargepotofsouporstewfortheday.Shecouldn’tbearherdaughtercominghomefromschoolandnothavinganythingnutritioustoeat,soshefilledherfoodwithasmanyvegetablesasshecouldafford—zucchini,carrots,peppers,andonions.EventhoughherdaughtercravedAmericanmeals,shewantedherdaughtertoalwaysthinkoftheirhomeas,ifnotthemostcomfortableplace,ashelterinwhichshe’dnevergowithoutfood.Wasn’tthatthemostheartbreakingthingforanyparentintheworld?Toknowtheirchildwashungry.Sometimesshewonderedifperhapsbeingseparatedfromherownmothermight’veprotectedthemfromenduringthepainofwatchingeachotherwhittleawayuntiltheybecamenothing—bonesinthedirtthatwouldbebrokenbybombs,bysoldiers’boots.
Butno,nothingwasworsethanlosingeachother;nothingwasworsethanbeinglost.Itwasasifsheandherparentswerebothhalfdeadandhalfalive—hauntingeachotheratonce.Itwasalmostworsethandeath.Purgatory.
“Everythingokay?”Margotasked.
“Yes,everythingokay.You?”
“Busy.Alotofwork,”MargotsaidinKorean.
“That’sgood.Beingbusyisgood.”
“How’sthestore?”Margotasked.
Shedidn’twantherdaughtertoworry,herdaughterwho,despiteherupbringingandhowlittleMinacouldprovide,managedtogotocollegeandfindaniceofficejob.Sheknewthatherdaughterhadcollegeloanstopay,herownrentandbills.AndMinawasproudofher,too.Atchurchorattheswapmeet,shebraggedabouther,theonethatgotaway,concealingthewoundofabandonmentbeneathherpride.
“Businessisslow,butit’sokay,”Minasaid.“Igetboredalot.Notalotofcustomersthesedays.”
“Whydon’tyoulearnEnglish?Doyouwantmetobuyyousomebookssothatyoucanlearn?”
“It’stoohardformenow.”
“Whydon’tyoutry?Youcanlearn,”MargotsaidinEnglish.“Youhavetime.”
Herdaughterwouldneverunderstandwhyshecouldn’tmakethetimetolearnalanguagethatwouldneveraccepther—especiallyatheragenow.Whatwouldbethepoint?Shewasinhersixtiesandcouldn’tfindajobanywhereexceptataswapmeetoratarestaurantinKoreatown.Shedidn’tknowasingleEnglishlanguagespeakerexceptforherdaughter,whoonlyvisitedonceperyear.Whatwasthepointoflearningalanguagethatbroughtyouintothefoldofaworldthatdidn’twantyou?Didthisworldwanther?No.Itdidn’tlikethesoundofhervoice.
“Whydon’tyoulearnKorean?”Minaaskedsharply.
“I’mnotbored.”Margotpaused,formulatingherwordsinKorean.“There’snotime.Idon’thaveauseforit.”
Mrs.BaeklaughingflashedinMina’smind:Ihavemusic.Idon’tneedaboyfriend.I’mbusy.I’mnotbored.I’mneverbored.
WouldMargoteverrealizethatwhenMinasaidshewasbored,shewastryingtosaythatshewaslonely?Boredwasamucheasierwordtosay,wasn’tit?ShewastiredoffightingwithherdaughtertomovebacktoLA,tocomebackhome.Andshedidn’tneedherdaughtertolectureher.Shehadbeenthroughenoughalready.Whatdidherdaughter,American-born,knowabouttime,aboutsurvival,aboutusefulness?Whatdidsheknowaboutboredom?Aboutloneliness?
Minahadspentsomanyyearsdedicatedtoherbusiness,growingandtendingtheinventorylikeherowngarden,earningprideinsomethingsheowned.Butnowthattherewerefewercustomers,shehadlittletodistractherselfanymore.Shecouldn’taffordtoreplacebrokenoroldhangersanymore.Theracksandroundershadgrownbareofclothes.Nowonlythepoorestofcustomersremained,theoneswhohaggledandwalkedawaybecausetheycouldsenseherdesperation,herfearthatshe,inherage,wouldhavetoagainfindanotherwaytokeeptheroofoverherhead.Fortheiressentials,theothercustomersdrovetobig-boxstoreswheretheyknewtheycouldalwaysgetthebestdeals,wheretheymightbecome,insomeways,finallyAmerican,wheretheexchangeofitems—moneyforshampoo,anewdressforafirstdate,coughsyrup,asweaterforGrandma—mightcomewithoutanyemotionalresponse,familiarity,orbond.
Shehadfelttheslowcreepofsadnessoverwhelmherassherealizednowthatallshehadbuiltcouldnotsurvive.Herbusinesshadbecomeherchild,hadn’tit?Whatwouldorcouldshedonextinthislifewithsolittlemoneyandsolittletime?
“Okay,well,takecareofyourself.Getsomerestsoon,”Minasaidbeforehangingupthephone.
Shehaddivertedherselfwithworkalltheseyears.Howcouldshetellherdaughter,whohadsuchalimitedunderstandingofKorean,whatshehadbeenthrough,whyshecouldn’tlearnEnglish,whyshehadchosenthislife,howmuchshelovedMargot,howmuchshewasbothproudofandfrightenedbyherdaughter,whowassharpandquickandstrong?Herdaughterhadtobe,ofcourse,becauseofhowshehadbeenraised.Theyhadraisedeachotherinaway.Shelovedherdaughter.Shewoulddoanythingforher.
Butshewouldnever,everlearnEnglish.Shedidn’tcare.Shehatedthewaythelanguagesoundedinhermouth,outofherlips—stiltedandchildlike.Andwhenshedidattempttospeaktosomeoneonthephone,orattheDMV,sheoftengotdirtylooksorharsh,condescendingresponses.Shedidn’tneedalanguagethatwasn’tbigenoughforher,didn’twanttomakeroomforher.
Shehadbeenthroughenough,hadn’tshe?Shehadchurch.ShehadGod.Shewasfine.Shedidn’tneedanyoneatall.Thiswasherlanguage.Thiswasthestoryshetoldherselftosurvive.
AFTERANOTHERSLEEPLESSNIGHT,MINARUSHEDBACKtohershopfromtherestroom,washedcoffeemuganddishsoapinhand,andbumpedintoasmallyetpowerfulfigure.Sheappearedoutofnowherelikeasuddenearthquake.
Mina’sinsidesswayedlikehanginglights.Themugsmashedtotheground.“Mrs.Baek?”
Togethertheybenttorecoverthepiecesscatteredalongthepaintedwalkwaywheremerchandisehungaboveorleanedondisplaycartsinanexplosionofgoodsfromchildren’stoystosneakers,dietgreenteas,herbaltinctures.
Asshecradledthehalf-brokenmug,filledwithitsshards,inonehand,MinaunconsciouslygrabbedMrs.Baek’sarmwiththeother.Itsurprisedherhowtighthergripwasonthisnowstranger,andMrs.Baekdidn’tevenflinch.Shewasthatstrong.
“Doyouworkhere?”Mrs.Baekasked,eyeswide.
“Yes.”Minacouldfeelherselfslippingbelowthesurfaceofthewater.Shehadtriednottothinkabouttheirpastforsolong—andhereshewasnow.
“Iopenedastorearoundthecorner,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Asockshop.”
Howmanyyearshaditbeensincetheyhadlastseeneachother?Overtwenty.Hervoice—urgentandhusky—hadremainedfamiliarbutherfacehadripenedintoatheaterofsurprisingbeautywithlipsperfectlylined,astrikingshadeofred.TheyseemedtofloatintheskytowardMinalikeanobjectofsurrealisminamindthathadbecomesoheavyandgray,thickasthesmoginLA.
Shemusthaveusedmakeuptoconcealthecirclesunderhereyes,thedarkcirclesthatMinahadseeminglyalwayshad,eveninhertwenties.OrMrs.Baekhadbeenblessedwithgoodgenes,ortheabilitytosleepwellatnight,ormaybebecauseshedidn’thavechildren.Howmuch,despitetheyearsofMrs.Baek’sintimateknowledgeofMina’slife,thecareofMina’sownbaby,didshereallyknowaboutMrs.Baek?Wherehadshebeensincetheylastsaweachother?
Andwhatwasshedoingherenow?
“YouleftHanokHouse?”Minaasked,apangofsorrowinherchest.SherememberedherfirstdatewithMr.Kim—theslabsofdarkwoodastables,theHahoetalmasksthatlaughed,grainsofahlonhertongue—andhowlater,afterMargot’sbirth,Mrs.Baekwouldinvitethemthereforafreemeal,pipinghotjjigaesandtangs,brothyandslow-cooked.HowmuchMrs.Baekhadnourishedthem.Itwasahouseafterall,wasn’tit?Itwasahomethatnoneofthemcouldhave,wherefoodwassafety,temporaryshelterfromthedarknessoftheworld,thehoursofmindlesswork,thefearthatitcouldallbetakenaway,anyday,atanymoment.
“Yes,IleftHanokHouse.Earlierthisyear.”
Minawantedtoaskwhybutdidn’t.Thereweremanyreasonswhyawomanfled—boredom,fear,frustration,adesiretogetahead.ButitwashardtotellwhetherowningasockshopwasforMrs.Baekanimprovementinthequalityofherlifeoratypeofbanishment.Surelyshecouldn’tmakemuchmoreherethanshehadatHanokHousewhereatleastshewouldalwaysbefed.
“I’ve—I’vewonderedaboutyou,”Mrs.Baeksaid,hereyesfillingwithtears
Minanodded.“It’sstrangethatweendedupunderthesameroofagain.”
“Therearen’tmanyplacesleftthesedaysforasmallbusiness,Iguess.”
“Yes,yes,thatmakessense,”Minasaid.“Ishould…getbacktomystore.”Sheforcedasmiletoobscurethequickeningofherheart,therisingnausea,thecoldsweatonherneck.“I’msureIwillseeyouaround?”
NotthatMrs.Baekhadwrongedherinanyway,butrathersherepresentedatimethatMinahadnoreasontorelive,atimeduringwhichshewasparticularlyvulnerable,whenshehadfirstmovedtoAmerica,whenshehadbeensonaivetothinkthatshecouldrunawayfromthepast,whenshehadreplacedthesorrowoflosingherhusbandanddaughterwiththesorrowoflosingalover,afathertoherchild,whenallthesorrowsinherlifethreatenedtoundoher,andMrs.Baek,theentiretime,appearedsoputtogether,soconfident,educated,andthoughtful
Assoonassheenteredherstore,Minasatdownonthefloorbehindhercounter,tendingtothathistory:It’snotyourfault.Noneofthisisyourfault,howshehadlongedtosaythistoLupeinthestationwagononthatday,thebloodrunningdownthesideofMr.Kim’sjaw,howshehadthrownupinthetoiletandMrs.Baekwipeddownherfacelikeachild’safterhisfinalphonecall.
Mrs.Baekhadenteredherlifeonemoretime,likeashipthatpassed,churningwater.ButperhapswhatterrifiedMinathemostwasn’taresurgenceofwhathappened,whatcouldhavehappened,whathadneverhappened,butinsteadsomethingthatMrs.Baekthreatenedtooffer—friendshipagain.
WhyhadMrs.BaekfledHanokHouse?Didsheneedhernow?
Laterthatafternoon,MinasearchedtheswapmeetforMrs.Baek’sstore—asockshop—whichturnedouttobelessthanaminuteaway,aroundacornersheneverpassed,downoneoftheaislestowardtherearofthebuilding.Bothconservativepajamasetsandlacylingeriehungoutsidethestore’sperimeterconstructed,likeMina’s,ofgridwallpanels.ShecaughtaglimpseofMrs.Baeknearherglasscounter,organizingbundlesofathleticsocks.
“Mrs.Baek,”Minacalledfromthecenterofthewalkway.Herheartwasracing,asifshehadbeenwalkingstraightintothewavesforsomeonewhohadbeenwashedaway,whocouldn’tswimbacktotheshorebyherself.Forthepastseveralhours,shehadbeensteelingherselfforthismoment.
Mrs.Baekliftedherface,anduponseeingMina,motionedforhertocomeforward.
Trembling,Minathreadedbetweentables,piledwithundergarments,totheglasscounter.
Hereyescouldn’tresistthepullofMrs.Baek’slips—redandperfectlylined.Nowsheremembered.Aposterofapaintingthatshehadseenonce.Thelonglipsstretchedacrossawideskyspottedwithcloudsinafaintsnakeskinpattern.Womenlikeherselfrarelyworeredlipstick,notonlybecauseawomanwhoworeitcalledattentiontoherface—carvedwithlinesbyalifeofworkinglonghours—butbecauseredlipstickrequiredthewearertobevigilantaboutwheretheyplacedtheirhandsonthemselves,soasnottomessuporsmudgetheirmouths,vigilantabouttheliningoftheirlipssothatthecolorwouldn’tbleedintothetinycracksthatformedastimewentby,astheyhadonbothMina’sandMrs.Baek’s.
ButsheadmiredtheeffortMrs.Baekhadputintoherself,apparentlyforherself.Minawonderedwithwhatcolorshewouldadornherlips.Notred.Shealwayspreferredsoftpinksandberries—liketheonessheusedtowearwhenshewasyoung.
“Everythingokay?”Mrs.Baekasked.
Minacouldnotfeelherfeet,asifhertorsoandheadlevitated,legless,abovethedullgraycarpet.Foramoment,shefixedhereyesonanEnglishnovelontopoftheglasscounter—ThomasHardy,Tessofthed’Urbervilles
“Yes,it’sbeensuchalongwhile,”Minasaid.“I—Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtogetdinnersometime?”Theshynessofherownvoicesurprisedher.Whywasshesoafraid?
“Yes,ofcourse,”Mrs.Baeksaid,asifshehadbeenwaitingalltheseyearsforMinatoask.
AweightliftedoffMina’schest.“Howabouttonightortomorrow?”sheasked.
“Yes,yes,anywhereisfine,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Justnot—”
“HanokHouse.”Minasmiled.
“Yes.Somewhereelse.”Mrs.Baeksmirked.“Tonightisfine.”Herneckappearedtogrowred.“Iwasonlyplanningonfinishingthatbook.”Shetiltedherheadtowardthecounter.
“Isitanygood?”Minathumbedthroughthepages,impressedbyMrs.Baek’sabilitytoreadsomanyEnglishwords.Shedidn’tknowasinglepersonwholovednovelslikeher.
“Yes,Ireaditalongtimeago.Incollege,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“It’ssadbutbeautiful.”
Minasetthebookbackdownandrestedherhandonthecoverasifshecouldabsorbthroughitsfleshsomeofherfriend.
“Butit’sfullofterriblemen,”Mrs.Baeksaid,shakingherhead.“AndIalwayshatedtheend.”
Shortribs,sugar,sesame,andgarliccaramelizedoverflames,sizzlingaroundthem,accentuatedbythesharpnessofkimchijjigaesandfishstewsboilinginearthenwarepots.Minahadn’thadamealatarestaurantinagesitseemed,notsinceshehaddinedwithherdaughterlastChristmas.Theassortmentofbanchan—seasonedsoybeansprouts,acornjelly,potatosalad,tofujorim,friedfishcake,grilledgulbi,kkakdugi—strummedhersenseslikepuresunlightpressingonseedbeds.
“DoyourememberthebanchanIusedtobringhomefromwork?”Mrs.Baekasked.
“Yes,ofcourse.Theywerealwaysthebest.”ThepotatosaladmeltedlikeamousseinMina’smouth.
“Ilovedworkingthere,inaway,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Icouldjustcookanditwassimple.Iguesseverythingwassimplerbackthen.”
“Thehourswereveryhard,though,right?”
“Yes,butIdidn’tmind.”
Minatastedthesoybeansprouts—thatdelicatecrunchbetweenherteeth,thegentlestingofgarlicandgreenonion,themouthwateringsesame.“Whydidyouleave?Ithoughtmaybeyouweretiredoftherestaurant.”
Mrs.Baeksippedicewater,stainingtheedgeoftheglasswithherlipstick.Howshelefthermark,asignatureofsorts,wherevershewent.Mina’sownlipsfeltdryassherubbedthemtogether.Shepeeledabitofdeadskinoffwithherteeth.
“It’scomplicated.”Mrs.Baektappedtheendsofherchopsticksonthetablebeforegrippingacubeofkkakdugithatdisappearedinhermouth.
Anuneaseripenedbetweentheminthepausesoftheirspeech.
“WhatisMargotuptothesedays?”Mrs.Baekasked.
“ShelivesinSeattlenow.Shewenttocollegethere.Sheworksinanoffice,anonprofit.”
“That’swonderful.”
Thewaitresssetthegreenbottleofsojuandtwoglassesonthetable.
“Wouldyoumindbringingussomemorebanchan?”Mrs.Baekasked.Shepouredthesojuwithtwohands.“Doyouthinkshe’llmovebacktoLA?”
Minahadn’thadadrinkinyears,notsinceleavingKorea,butwithherheartpoundingnow,herpalmssweating,shegulpeddowntheclearfluid,boltingtowardsomerelief,thecomfortofabluntedmind.
“Idon’tknow.Sheseemstolikeitthere,”Minasaid.
“Kidswilldowhattheypleasethesedays.Butshe’llbeback,Ibet.I’dlovetoseeheragain.”Mrs.Baekgrinned.Intheoverheadlight,hereyesweredarkanddullascharcoal.
Minafilledboththeirglasses.
“Didyoueverhearfromherfather?”Mrs.BaeknudgedtheplateofgrilledgulbitowardMina,whoshookherhead.Thefish’sopenmouthrevealedthetiniestteeth.“Whathaveyoubeendoingthesepastyears?”
“Working.Goingtochurch.Whataboutyou?”
“Same.Nochurch,though,ofcourse.”Mrs.Baek’schopstickssplittheskin,gatheringabiteoffthebones.Shelaughed.“Ineverunderstoodhowyoucouldhangoutwiththewomenthere.Sojudgmental.”Sheslippedatranslucentbitofboneoutofhermouth.
Minaadjustedherselfinherseat.“IneverseethemreallyexceptonSundays.”
“That’sright.”Mrs.Baeknodded.“Whateverhappenedtotheladywhowasyourfriendbackthen?YourfriendfromSeoul?”
“Mrs.Shin?”Minaasked.Apangofsadness.“WhileIwaspregnant,Istoppedgoingtochurchforawhile,remember?”Sheexhaledoutloud.“Eventually,Ichangedchurches.Wedidn’tkeepintouchafterthat.”AnunacknowledgedtensionhadrisenbetweenherandMrs.ShinasMina’sgrowingstomachbecamemoreandmoreapparent.Thedisgraceofitall.EvenifshecaredforMina,Mrs.Shincouldn’thaveawomanlikeMinaaroundinfluencingherchildren.Shewasruined,wasn’tshe?
ButwithMrs.Baek,Minacouldbe,foronce,human.Theycaredforeachotherdespitetheirflaws,oridiosyncrasies,whichwere—inacertainlight,eveninthesmallestgestureslikeMrs.Baek’sredlipstick—actsofdefianceandcourage.Theyneednoterasethemselves.
“Willyouretiresoon?”Mrs.Baekasked.
“Tobehonest,I’mnotsure.I’llprobablyhavetoworkuntilIcan’tanymore,untilI’mtooold.Ican’treallyaffordtoretire.”
“Samehere.”Mrs.Baeksighed.
Thewaitresscarriedtwoheavyearthenwarepotsofsoon-dubujjigae.Steamrosebetweenthem,cloudingtheairwiththescentofkimchi,sesameoil,garlic,anchovy,shrimp.Theycrackedtheireggsontothejjigaes.Theyolksthrobbedontop.
Minarubbedthespacebetweenherbrows,partiallycoveringherface.“Youknow,Ihavetobehonest.WhenIfirstsawyou,Iwassortofterrifiedofthememoriesthatyoumightbringup.I’vegrownsoaccustomedtobeingaloneafterMargotleft,youknow?”
“Yes,Iunderstand.Ifeltthesameway,Ithink.”
Minapressedherpalmsonthewoodenbenchbelowher.
“Idon’tknowifyouknowthis,”Mrs.Baeksaid,eyeslow.“Butbackthen,whenyouweregoingthroughsomuch,that’showIsurvivedinaway—byhelpingyouandMargot.ThatwayIdidn’thavetothinksomuchaboutmyownproblemsanymore.IfeltlikeIhadescapedmineandthatIhadtobestrong.Foryoutwo.”Shesighed,crinklingthepapersleeveofherchopsticks.
Minawantedtothankherforhelpingallthoseyearsago.Whenhavingachildshouldhavebeenimpossible,Mrs.BaekhadfedherandtendedtoMargotwhenMinacouldn’tdosoherself.MaybethatwaswhatmadeMinasouncomfortableaboutMrs.Baek.Shehadneverexperiencedthiskindoflovebefore;thiswasfamily.
AndyetsherealizedthatshehadneverknownmuchaboutMrs.Baek.Inthepast,Mrs.BaekhadmentionedahusbandinTexas.WhatproblemshadsheescapedbyhelpingMinaandMargot?Minacouldn’taskheraboutthemnow,couldshe?Maybeonedayshewould.Shewantedtohelpher,tobeofsomeusetoher,too.WhohadMrs.Baekleftbehind,orwhohadshebeenfleeingfromallthoseyearsago?
“Didyouever—yourhusband—didyoueverspeaktohimagain?”Minaasked.
Mrs.Baek’seyesdarkenedintocoal.“No,no,ofcoursenot.Hewasterrible.”Shesighed.“Thankgoodnessweneverhadchildrentogether.”
“Didyouwanttohavechildren?”
“No,Ididnot,”shesaid.“Tobehonest,Ineverwantedmyown.”
“Isthatwhyyouhadtoleave?Didhewantthem?”
“Yes,hedid,but—that’snotwhyIleft.Whenwefirstmet,hewassomuchfun.Isn’tthathowtheyallare?Butoncewemarried,Irealizedhewasverybad.He…hecouldn’tcontrolhimself.”Sheshookherhead.“ButIdidn’thaveawayoutuntilIbecameacitizen,soIstayedwithhimforyears.Ihadtosurvive,youknow?”
“Yes,ofcourse,”Minasaid.Sadnesscreptupfromherchestintoherface.Shewonderedhowmanywomenhadbeentrapped—interriblemarriages,terriblejobs,unbearablecircumstances—simplybecausetheworldhadn’tbeendesignedtoallowthemtothriveontheirown.Theirdecisionswouldalwaysbescrutinizedbythelevelsatwhichtheywereabletosacrificethemselves,theirbodies,theirpleasuresanddesires.Awomanwhoimaginedherownwayoutwouldalwaysbeostracizedforherownstrength.Untilonedaytheyfoundeachotherbysomekindofmagicormiracleorgrace—herenow.Theyweresafe.
Tearsfilledhereyes.“You’vedonewell,”Minasaid.
“Me?”
“Yes,we’vedonewell.Don’tyouthink?”
Mrs.Baeksmiledwithadullglintinhereyes.Pullingtherestofthegulbi’sfleshoffthebones,shesaid,“YouandI,we’vealwaysbeenstrongerthananyoneelse.”ShenudgedtheplateoffishtowardMina.“Atleastwehaveeachother.”
Minastaredattheobjectsinfrontofher—thebanchan,thejjigae,themetalspoons,thechopsticks.Foramoment,asMrs.Baekdelicatelyspoonedhersoup,Minacontemplatedthematterougethatmanaged,despitetheeatinganddrinking,toremainperfectlylinedwithonlyapatchyfade,acharmingpinkishstainonthelips.
SomuchofMina’slifehadbeendrivenbytheneedtosurviveinaworldcreatedbyandforsomeoneelse.Whatwouldtheworldlooklikeifshemadeitherown,eventemporarily,foramoment,fleeting,sothatshecouldexperienceagainthethrob,thehungerofbeingalive,eyeswide,teethshowing?
Thecolor,themarkontherimofaglassofwater.Iamhere,Iwashere,itsaid.Makeupexpressedadesiretobeseenwhileprovidingsomecamouflageaswell.ButwhatelsewasMrs.Baekhiding?AndhowcouldMinahelphernow?
Margot
Winter2014
ONTHEFLOOROFHERMOTHER’SBEDROOM,MARGOTporedoverthecontentsofthesafety-depositbox—alargeenvelopeofdocumentsinKoreanandmostlyblack-and-whitephotographsextendingoverdecades.Forthefirsttime,shesawhermotherasasmallchild—herovalfaceandclevergaze—posingbyherselfinfrontofatraditionalKoreanhousewithitseleganttiledroofanddarkwoodenbeams,thenhermotherasayoungteenager,defiantlyunsmilingatacommunaldiningtable.Alloftheseimageshadfadedthroughtheyears,whichremindedMargot,almost,oftheSeattleskyinwinter,allthoselayeredgraywashesofmutedsoftnessandlight.
Shecouldbegintoimaginewhathermother’slifemighthavebeenlikeattheorphanage,fromwhichshehadneverbeenadoptedandwhichshehadalmostneverdiscussed.
Butwhatstoodoutmost,whatstartledMargotwithwavesofuncertainty,wereseveralcolorphotos,inparticularoneofhermotherasawomaninherlatethirtieswithahusbandandchild,apigtaileddaughterinaredT-shirtandleggings.Withitsyellowishtint,warpedsurface,thephotohadbeenthumbed,touchedthroughtheyearsrepeatedlylikeaworrystone.
Thehusbandhadalongsensitivefaceandaneasysmile,standinginarelaxed,openstancewithonehandonhisdaughter’sshoulderandtheotherarmaroundMina,fashionableinherwide-leggedjeansandfloralblouse.Shestoodstifflywithaslightsmileonherfacethatshonewithoutasinglewrinkleorline.Inthebackground,atree-coveredhillsiderevealedaslipofblueskyatthetopoftheframe.Asunnyremarkabledayinthewoodsorthecountry.Dustfromamblingontrailscoveredtheirshoes.
ThelittlegirlinthephotographresembledMinawithherhighcheekbonesandnarrowchin,morethanMargotdidherself.Andthestrangers,thehusbandandchild,hadaninnocenceandclarityaboutthem,untouchedbythehardnessofMina’sorphanpastandherfutureimmigrantlife.
MargothadalwaysthoughtofKoreansasworkaholics,religiousandpragmatic,yetattimesshowyandstatus-orientedwhentheyhadthemeans.Butstudyingthoserelaxedfacesinthephotographs,thosedustyshoes,Margotcouldseesomeoneelse,Koreans—notKoreanAmericans,notimmigrantshardenedbytherealitiesoflivinginaforeigncountry,wholikeherfatherinCalabasashadstubbornly“succeeded,”achievingasheenofperfectionwhileobscuringhisactualcomplexity,anisolationfromtheself.Orlikehermother,whohadworkedtirelesslyyethadneveramountedtomorethanthelongdays,thelonghours,alone.
Whatdidthiscountryaskusalltosacrifice?Wasitpossibletofeelanythingwhilewewerealltryingtogetaheadofeveryoneelse,includingourself?
AndhowcouldhermotherhaveabandonedthisotherfamilytoliveinAmerica,whereherlifehadbeentoughinthiscrampedapartment,workinganoftensoul-crushingjob,assheyelled,Amiga!Amiga!tostrangerswalkingaway,assheraisedMargotday-to-day,month-to-month,byherself?Unless,forwhateverreason,thehusbandinthisphotographhadbeenworse,thisfamily,thislifehadbeenworse.Buthowcouldthatbepossible?
Ofcourse,hermothermight’vewantedtotellMargotaboutallofthisoneday—anotherfamily,anothercountry,ahalfsistersomewhere.Butwhenandhow?Perhapshermother,likeherself,didn’tknowwhattodowithlifesometimes,hadn’tmadeanydecisionsyet.Hermotherhadkeptthekeytothesafety-depositboxinsidetheteddybear’ssillyheart,whichshehadassumednoonewouldeverstealortouch.She,too,mighthavebeenunderthatspell,theillusionthatdelayingone’sdecisions,one’sactionswasthesameasprolonginglife.Butthen—unexpectedly—shedied.
WhocouldhelpMargotunderstandthisallnow?
Inthestairwell,thelandlordhadsaidMrs.Baekhadbeenathermother’sapartmentinSeptemberorOctober,whenhehadseenMr.Parkwaitingforheroutside
Wealllivedinthesamehousetogetheruntilyouweremaybethreeorfour.YourmotherusedtobringyoutotherestaurantthatIworkedat,HanokHouse.Doyouremember?
Onlyonepersonknewhermotherwellenough.
Mina
Summer2014
INHERBATHROOMMIRROR,MINAAPPLIEDTHEDUSTYrose–coloredlipstickthatshehadpurchasedwithMrs.Baekfromoneoftheswapmeet’sdollarstores.Earlierthatday,astheyweresharingalunchofriceandvariousleftoverbanchanontopofthedisplay-casecounterofMina’sshop,Mrs.Baekhadsaid,“Youlooksotiredthesedays.Rememberbackintheday,howmuchyoucaredaboutyourlooks?”Shesmiled.“Irememberyouevenworethoselong,flowingskirtstowork.Weren’tyoustockingshelves?”
Minacouldn’thelpbutlaughatherself,hownaiveshehadoncebeen.“Iwantedtomakeagoodimpression,”shehadreplied,recallingthefirsttimeshehadseenMr.Kim—theedgesofhisfingertipsashehaddroppedthechange,thecoldhardcoins,inheropenpalm,thepinkflyerthatspelledhelpwanted,hiseyes,smiling.
“Whydon’tyouwearsomemakeup?”Mrs.Baekasked,snappingherTupperwareclosed.“Youlooklikeagrandmaandyou’renotevenagrandmotheryet.”
“DoyouknowhowoldIam?”
“Sowhat?DoyouknowhowoldIam?I’molderthanyou.”
“Whatdomylooksmatter?”
“Maybewhenyoulookinthemirror,youmightbehappy.Ifeelthatway.WhenI’mdrawingmylipsormyeyebrows,Ifeelalive,likeI’mtakingcareofmyself.IfeellikeI’mcontrollingmylifeinsomeway.LikeI’mincontrol.”
“Maybeyou’reright,”Minasaid.
“Let’sgotothedollarstoreoverthereandgetyousomecolor.”
Together,theystoodclose,thesidesoftheirarmstouchingastheylingeredoverthesmallselectionoflipstickonastandcoveredincosmetics—foundation,powders,andblushes.MinatestedseveralshadesonthebackofherhanduntilaflashofdustyroseappearedandMrs.Baeksaid,“Thatone.That’sit.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Yes,it’ssubtlebutpretty,don’tyouthink?Youcouldstartoffslow.”
“Eventually,maybeI’llgraduatetored.”Minaplacedherfistonherwaistandpoppedoutherhip.
Mrs.Baeklaughed.“Maybe,”shesaid.“Butbythenwe’llbeonourdeathbeds.Twins,Iguess.”
Now,inthemirror’sreflection,Minainsertedanindexfingerintohermouth,puckered,andpulledthefingerbackoutthroughherlips—atrickthatMrs.Baekhadtaughthertokeepthecolorfromherteeth.Shesmearedthewaxycolorontohercheeks,brighteningherface.Allsheneededwasabitofunder-eyeconcealer,anddespiteherage,shecouldbebeautiful,oratleast,livelyagain.
Throughanopenwindow,shecouldsmellaneighborgrillingcarneasada—thesmokeofanimalfat,citrus,andgarlic.Herstomachgrumbled.Withtoiletpaper,shewipedthecoloroffhermouth.
Thephonerang.Wasitherdaughter?Orwasitsomepeskysalesman,tryingtosellhersomethinginEnglish?
Sherushedtothelivingroom.“Hello?”
“Mrs.Lee?”amansaidroughly.“Mrs.Lee.”
Itwashim.Shewouldknowthatvoiceanywhere.
Shegaspedandslammedthereceiverdownwithacrash.
Minahadgrownterrifiedofthesoundofunexpectedknockingondoors,whichwouldalwaysremindherofwhenthepoliceofficerscametoherapartmentinSeoul.Andsowhensheheardaknockthenextday,shesteppedbackforasecond,thinkingthatshecouldpretendshewasn’there,butthentheknockcameagain,andsherealizedthatwhoeveritwascouldhearhertelevision.Shecrepttowardthedoor,avoidingthefisheye,knowingthatwhoeveritwasmightseeher.
Aminutepassed.“Whoisit?”sheasked.
“It’sme.”Athroatcleared.“Mr.Kim.”
Oh,no,oh,no,oh,no.“Goaway,”shescreamed,surprisingherself.“Goaway.”
Sheslumpedontothefloor,crawlingonherhandsandkneestowardherbedroom,whereshewaiteduntilshecouldnothearathinganymore,onlythedripofthefaucetinthebathroom,theflushofaneighbor’stoilet.Shedidn’tknowforhowlongshehid.
Whenwasthelastshehadseenhim?Overtwenty-sixyearsago.Heseemedtobespeakingtoherfromthepast,fromtheFerriswheelwhereshehadopenedhereyes,observingthebeautyofthisworldthat,forafewminutes,promisednottoharmher.LiketheFerriswheel,theentireworld,herlifehadpulsed—ripeandbright—withthesmelloftheoceanbathingawayherpain,thegriefthatkeptherupmostnights.
Overtwenty-sixyearsago,shehadtakenthegunfromMr.Kim’sdrawer,slippeditintoherpurse,andgonetothesupermarketlikeanyotherdayatwork.Shecould’vekilledMr.Parkthen,buthewasn’tthere.Thegunbagwasinhercloset,whichshehadhiddeninanattempttokeepMargotsafe,tosubmergethatpartofherlifeasbestasshecould.
Afteralongboutofsilence,shecheckedthefisheye.Hewasgone.
Hehadpushedanotethroughthebottomofthedoor.
Pleasecallme.Idon’thavealotoftimeleft.Ihavecancer.I’mdying.Icanhelpyou.Iwanttohelpyouwithyourfamily.
SheturnedtowardhercoffeetableandslappedtheVirginMarystatue,atwintotheoneatherstore.Thestatuetippedtoitsside,tumblingtothegroundwithacrack.
ASDAYLIGHTENDEDINTHEGRAPEFRUIT-AND-ORANGEglowofsunset,Minacalledhimalmosttwoweeksafterhisvisit.Apartofherhopedhewoulddisappearanddie,unabletobeartheideathathewasalive,andanotherpartofhercouldnottoleratetheideaofhimnotexistinginthisworldatall.
Withinthesetwoweeks,trappedinthislimbobetweencallinghimornot,sheavoidedMrs.Baek.Shethoughtalldayandnightaboutwhatchoiceshewouldmostregret.Wouldhehelpher?Whatwouldthatmean?Couldshetrusthimenoughtolethiminherlifeagain?Orwasthisallarusetohumiliateher,ashehaddonewhenheabandonedher,ashehaddonewhenhehadfailedtomeetherinLasVegas?Whatwastheexcusethen?Howmuchmorehumiliationcouldshetake?
Twentyyearsago,shehaddriventothedesertforhim.Hehadfoundher,intheirapartment,mailedheraletteraskinghertomeethiminLasVegasifshecould.
IamgoingtobeinLasVegasforoneweek.Canyoucomeandmeetme?Iwillbeatthishotel.Askformeatthefrontdesk.Pleasedonotletanyoneknow.
SheplannedtointroducehimtoMargot,sixyearsoldthen.Shedidn’tunderstandwhathehadbeendoinginVegas,orwhy,butsherememberedtheirtriptheretogetheralongtimeago,whentheyhadgorgedthemselvesonAmericanfoodatthebuffets,gambledonpennyslotsuntilthecrackofdawn,madeloveinthedimlightofthesunstillrising,andsleptsoundlyuntillunch.
Minahadpackedupthecarwithherdaughter,whosatinthebackbyherself,unaware.ShehadnoideawhattotellMargotanddecidedtonotsayawordaboutMr.Kim,incase,forwhateverreason,heeitherdidn’tshowup,orhehadchangedordidn’twanttohaveanythingtodowiththem,orperhapsthecorrespondencehadallbeenaterriblemistake.
Thathadbeenthefirstandlasttimeshehadeverdrivenonthefreeway.Shedrovebelowthelimit.Despitethecarsaroundherhonking,allshecouldrememberwasnotthedryaridlandscapeandthefearthatsheshould’vefeltdrivingaloneforsuchalongdistance,butthewayherheartthrobbedinherthroatthinkingaboutMr.Kim,theirtimetogetherinbedorontheFerriswheel,andthepleasure,thejoyshehadfeltaroundhimforthefirsttimesinceherhusbandanddaughterhaddied.
Buthenevershowedup.Thehotelwheretheyweresupposedtomeetdidn’trecognizehisname.Shehadn’theardfromhimsince.
Untilnow.Chewingherfingernails,shedialedthelong-distancenumberonthenotethathehadslippedunderthedoor.Whathadovercomeher?Perhapsattheendofhislifeandtowardtheendofhers,sheneededtohearhisvoiceagain.Sheneededtoknowthattheirtimetogetherwasnotanillusionthatshehadtuckedsomewhereinsideofherbrain.Sheneededtoknowthatitwasall,insomeway,real.
“Ididn’tthinkyou’dcall.”Hisvoice,wornandraspy,startledher.
Didshedialthewrongnumber?
“Hello?”heasked.
Sheremainedsilent.
“Mrs.Lee?”
Sheplacedthereceiverdownonherlap,contemplatingifsheshouldhangupthephone.Shecouldn’tstandtoberemindedofthelifethatshehadlivedwithouthim,yetshecouldn’tbeartolethimgoagain.Shehatedtheuniverse,evenGod,rightnow.Whycouldn’tHemakelifesimpleandclean?Hadn’tshesufferedenough?Enough,shewantedtoscream.
“Mrs.Lee?”Shecouldstillhearhisvoice,muffledonherlap.
Trembling,sheliftedthereceivertoherearagain.“Yes?”
“Canwetalk?Icanhelpyou,Ithink.Icanhelpyou.”
“Howdidyougetmynumber?”sheasked.“Howdidyoufindme?”
“Thehousethatyouusedtolivein?Thelandladywhodied,herkids?Icalledthem.Youboughtastorefromthem,right?Theyhadyournewaddress,yournumber.”
“Whywouldtheyhave—”
“ItoldthemIwasdying,thatIwantedtoreachyou,thatIcouldhelpyoubefore—”
“Idon’twantyourhelp.”
“Iknowthat—youprobablywonderedalltheseyears.”
“WhataboutVegas?”Hervoicecracked.“Whataboutthen?”
“Yes,Iknow.I’msorry.Wewere…soyoungthen.”Heclearedhisthroat.“Iwas—IwasinChicagoatthetime.TherewasaconferenceinVegas.Iworkedformycousin’simportbusiness.”Hesighed.“Butmywife—”
“Idon’twanttoknow,”shesaid.Herheartraced.
Breathingdeeply,hesaid,“Okay.ButIcanhelpyou,beforeit’stoolate.Yourparents.Whatiftheyarestillalive?”
Yourparents.Shealmostdroppedthereceiver.
“Idon’tcareanymore,”shesaid,hervoicerising.“I’vealreadymovedon.Whatifthey’redead?Whatisthepoint?”
“Icanhelpyoufindthem.Ihavesomeone,aninvestigatorinSeoulthatIuse.”
“Idon’twanttoknow.”Shehungupthephone.“Don’tyouthinkifIwould’vewantedtoknow,Iwould’vetriedmyself,”shesaidoutloudtonoonebutherself.“Iwould’vestayedinKoreaandwaitedlikeyourmom.WhywouldIwanttoknowthemnow?Forwhat?SoIcanburythem,visittheirgraves?Whatisthepoint?”Tearsstreameddownherface.Shewantedtothrottlesomeone.Shewantedtothrottletheuniverse.
Thephonerang.
“What?”sheasked,relievedthathehadcalledback.
“Meetme,”hesaid.“Whydon’twegosomewhere?”
Shebreathedhardthroughhermouth.
“Wecantalk.Thatisit.Ipromise…I’llbethere.It’sdifferentthistime.”
Shedidn’twanttorideinhiscar,nordidtheywanttobeseeninKoreatowntogether,sosheagreedtomeetattheendofthepieronSundaynight.Ofcourse,sheknewthathehadchosentheplacenotforitsseclusion,butbecauseofthememoriesarousedbytheair,thesaltoftheocean,thelustofthecarnivallights,andtheroughwoodboardsthatsqueakedbeneathherfeet,providingtheillusionofwalkingoutonwater.
Shedidn’tknowifshewouldevenrecognizehimandkeptthinkingtorunawaybeforeitwastoolate,beforehewouldpullherinlikethewaves,outintotheoceanagain.Shehadagreedthatshewouldonlymeethimifhedidnoteverbringupthepast,ifhedidnoteverbringupwherehehadgone,whathadbecomeofhislifesincehehadleftLA,howlonghehadbeenlivinginthearea,whyhenevermadeittoVegas—especiallyhiswife.Shedidn’twanttohearanyofit.Allshewantedtoknowwaswhathecouldofferhernow,whathekneworcouldknow,andhowheknewit.
Asshewalkedclosertotheendofthepier,thescreamsontherollercoasterwhooshedby,andshestaredupattheFerriswheel,flashingredandwhite.Tearsfilledhereyes.Shehadn’texpectedtocry.Shehadn’tbeentothispierforyears.Herdaughterwouldsometimescomeonherown,butMinarefusedtostepfootagaininthisplace,whereshehadletherselffeelagain.Andhereshewasoncemore,overcomewithanemotionthatmadehermouthdry,hungryforthesweetburnofthehotchocolateshecouldsmellbymemory,thefirsttimeshehadhadhotchocolateinherlife.Shethoughtforasecondshemustturnaround,orjumpoffthesideofthepier,amidthejostleofbodiesaroundher,thestreetmusicians.Thewaterwascallinghername.
Butbeforesheknewit,shehadreachedtheendofthepier.Underneaththewhiteglowofatalllamp,amansatonthebench,shriveledinalargeblackwoolcoat.Shewalkedclosertohim.Heturnedaroundandshe,alarmedanddesperately,sadlyhappy,caughtaglimpseofhisface.Theworldtiltedbeneathherfeet.Theybowedtheirheadsateachother.
Shecouldcollapse,butshegrippedthebackofthebenchasquicklyasshecould.Shesattwofeetawayfromhimasiftheywerestrangers.
Shecrossedherarmsinfrontofherbelly,ashamedofherbody,andwept.
Shecouldsensehimtryingnottolookather,althoughhewantedtocomforther.Hereachedintohiscoatpocketandofferedherahandkerchief.Shewipedhereyesatonlythecornerstonotdisturbhereyeliner,themakeupshewore.Thetears,springingfromherheart’sheaviness,theheavinessofalifetime,almostseventyyears,streameddownherface,andshedidn’tcareifanyonecouldseeher.
Shefacedtheocean.Themoonglowed,shimmeringonitssurface.Shecouldn’tglanceathimagain.Shecouldn’tseehisface.
“You’restillcute,”hesaid.
Surprised,shecouldn’thelpbutsmile.
“You’restillpretty,”hesaid.“Idon’tknowifyou’reniceanymore,though.”
Shelaughed,gentlydabbinghercheekswithhishandkerchief.“WhyshouldIbe?”sheasked.
“Youarerightaboutthat.”Hesighed.“I’msosorryfor…everything.”
Atighteninginherthroat.Shefellsilentforawhile.Fromthecornerofhereyes,shewatchedhimcrossanduncrosshislegs.Thewaterlappedthepillarsbeneaththem.Shetriednottoshiverorappearcoldinfrontofhim.
Finally,sheasked,“Didyoueverfindyourfather?”
“Yes,Idid,”hesaid.“Butitturnsout,hedied…alongtimeago.”Heclearedhisthroat.“Actually,IfoundoutthathediedshortlyafterwelefthimintheNorth.Abombhadbeendroppednearourhouse.”
Minagaspedandclosedhereyesmomentarily.
“Ineverhadthehearttotellmymotherthat,”hesaid.“Ialwaysthoughtit’dbebestto…letherwaititout.So…shediedthinkingthathemightstillbealivesomewhere,ormaybeshewouldmeethiminheaven.ButIcouldn’tletherknowthatshehadwaitedallthoseyearsforhim…fornothing.Thatwould’vebrokenherheart,morethananythingelse,don’tyouthink?”
Shecouldfeelhimwatchingher.Forasecond,sheglancedback.Thesightofhim,oldandsmallinhislongcoat,painedher.Sherememberedhisarms,howshelovedhisarms,andshecouldseethathehadgrownthin,wastingaway.Shecouldhardlyrecognizehimexceptforthesoftnessofhiseyesbeneathhiscurvedbrows,thegentlelineofhislips.
Heclearedhisthroat.“Doyou…doyouwanttoknowthetruth?Aboutyourparents?”
Yourparents.Thewordsstung,stirringtheashesinsideherheart.“Idon’tthinkthetruthmattersanymore.”
“Howisthat?”
Sheheldbacktears.“Likeforyourmother.Whywouldthetruthhavematteredtoher?Whywouldthetruthmatternow?”
“Becauseyouhavetime.”
“There’shardlyanytime.”Shewantedtosay,I’malmostseventy.WhattimedoIhaveleft?Shewipedhereyeswiththesoftwhitehandkerchiefballedupinherfist.
“Youstillhavetime.”
Howdidwemeasurewhatwehadleft?NotindaysoryearsforMina,butwithwhatstrengthremained.Hisdayswerenumbered.Hehadsaidthecancerwouldovertakehimbeforetheendoftheyear.Shewantedtoholdhim,butdidn’tknowhow,afterallthistimehadpassed.Theirbodieshadchangedsomuch.Shecouldhardlyrecognizethemselvesundertheweightofalltheyears—twenty-sixofthem—andwhattimecoulddotothebodyandtheheart.
Heplacedhisfaceintohishands,shaking.
“Whatisworsethanthetruthiswhereyourmindgoes,”hesaid.“Howitwanders,howitrefusestoletgo.Thethingsyouimaginethatcould’vehappened.Atleastyouhaveananswer.Atleastyoucanstopthinkingatnight.Mymotherwasatthepointwheretherewasnomoremovingforward—allshehadleftwereherdreamstokeepheralive.Youstillhavetime.Youstillhavesomanyyearsleft,butalso,noonehasenoughtime.Ijustwish…IwishIhadcomeheresooner.Icould’vetriedtohelpyouearlier,but…life…”
“Youdidn’tknow.”
Ofcourse,shecouldn’ttellhimnowaboutMargot.Whatwouldbethepoint?Judgingbythegoldbandonhisfinger,hewasmarriednow,mighthavekidsofhisown.TheideaofMargotmightshatterhim.Shewouldkeephimfromthatknowledge,ashehadprotectedhismotherbeforeherdeath.Shewouldsparehim.
AndforMargottohaveafathernow,howcouldthathelpher,whenhewasonhiswayoutofthisworld?Shecouldn’ttradethegriefofnothavingafatherforthegriefofonedying.Atleastshehadgottenusedtotheformer,afamiliarsadnessratherthansomethingfrighteningandunknown.Minawouldsparethemboth.Andshewouldallowhimbackintoherlifeonherownterms.
Minastaredoutintothewideoceanofobsidian,scintillatingunderthewhitemoonlight.Once,behindthem,theyhadriddentheFerriswheelinariotoflightflashinginthestillblueglowofnight.Backthen,everydelicioussecondmattered.Everysinglebreath.
Margot
Winter2014
AFTERMARGOTHADGONETHROUGHTHECONTENTSofthesafety-depositboxonMondaynight,sheresistedthetemptationtorushtoMrs.Baek’sapartmentandsleeplesslywaiteduntilthemorning.OnlyMrs.Baekcouldhelpherunderstandthephotographfromthesafety-depositbox—hermother,awomaninherlatethirtieswithahusbandandchildinKorea.Wherewastheotherfamily,thepigtaileddaughterintheredT-shirtandleggings?
Butyesterday,whenMargotknockedatMrs.Baek’sdoor,nooneanswered.Andnow,Wednesday,ChristmasEve,Margothadonlyoneplacelefttosearch.
MargotandMigueldrovepasthousesdecoratedwithholidaystringlightsandplasticSantastohermother’schurch,whichwouldbehavingseparateservicesinSpanish,Korean,andEnglish.Afterward,they’dhavedinnerataOaxacanrestaurantthatneitherofthemhadbeentobuthadheardgoodthingsabout—richredandblackmolesandlivemusicinanoilclothsetting.
Despitethecircumstances,bothofthemfelttheneedtodosomethingforChristmas.Inaplaceaswarmandbone-dryasLosAngeles,theholidayseasonstillseemedchilly,especiallyatnight,whenlocalsdonnedbootsanddownjacketsandsweaters.Andthefestivitiesprovidedatleastahearthoftogethernessandactivity—shopping,cooking,theresurrectionofplastictrees,theribbons,thelights.Thesmellofpozoleandbirria,meatslong-simmeredinchiliesandherbs,andtracesofKoreanfoodwithitspiquantkimchiandstewsandbulgogifilledthehallwaysofherapartmentbuilding.Christmascactidecorateddrabbalconiesinfuchsias.Supermarketpoinsettiasflourished,brazenandflamingred.Thechildrenofffromschoolranaroundatallhours.
OutsideofMargot’scar,menonbicycleszoomedbyintraffic;commuterschattedatthebusstop,plasticbagsbulgingwithgroceries;streetvendorssoldeverythingfromorangesandpeeledmangoesservedonasticktoshinyboomboxesandsoftpolyesterblanketsprintedwithteddybearsandcartoonhearts.
“DoyouthinkitmightbetimetocallOfficerChoiagain?”Miguelasked,sittinginthepassengerseat.“Imean,weknowwhatweknowaboutMr.Park,right?He’sbeenstalkingMrs.Baek.Hewasapparentlyatyourmom’sapartment.”
“IwouldthinkthatifMrs.Baekwantedthepoliceinvolved,shewould’vecalledthemalready,”Margotsaid.“Shemightbescaredthathe’dretaliatesomehow.”
“Buthealreadycould’vehurtyourmom.Isn’tthatenoughforusalltobescared?”
“Wedon’tknowthatforcertainyet.IjusthopeMrs.Baek’satchurchtonight.Ifweseeher,wecouldletherknowthatthelandlordsawMr.Parkatmymom’sapartment.Idon’tevenhavetomentionwhatthewaitresstoldmeabouthimbuyingtherestaurantandstalkingMrs.Baek,right?I’llaskheraboutMr.Park,ifIcancallthepolice.Ijustdon’twanttodoanythingthatcouldharmher.”Shesighed.“Iwish—Iwishthiswasn’thappeningallatonce.IfeellikeI’mfallingbehind,likeI’mnotfastenough.I’llneverbe—”
“Youweresicklastweek,”Miguelsaid.“Yourmomdied.Youjustfiguredouttheidentityofyourdad.Thiswouldbetoomuchforliterallyanyone.”
Tearsfilledhereyes.
“It’samiraclethatyou’restillstandingafterallyou’vebeenthrough.You’retough.”
Itwasthefirsttimeanyonehadtoldherthat,andshebelievedhim.Shehadalwaysthoughtofherselfassensitive,fearful,evenpassiveattimes,buthewasright.Shehadgottenherstrengthfromhermother.Hermotherwasbold—movingtothiscountrywhereshedidn’tknowthelanguageandlaws,fallinginlove,raisingadaughterbyherself.
Andinthesepastfewweeks,Margotalonehadknockedonunknowndoors,soldhermother’sstore,stooduptoapoliceofficer—actionsshecouldn’thaveimagineddoingevenamonthago.Herlifehadseemedsobanalbackthen:managingtoavoidJonathan,hercoworkerwithwhomshehadthatrelationshiplastyear,sortingyearsofpaperworkinherboss’soffice,scrollingthroughendlessdatingprofilesonline,editingandobsessivelyadjustingclipartinaprogramnewsletter.Nowshewasdrivingaroundthecity,searchingforthetruthofherself,thetruthofhermother,ofwhethershewasmurdered.
“SowhenIgotsicklastweek?”Margotsaid.“Ihaveasneakingsuspicion…Iknowthissoundsreallyparanoid,butit’salmostlikethatguy—thedriver,thehotone?—it’salmostlikehepoisonedme.Thatteadidn’ttasteright.”
Miguelcoveredhismouthinshock.“IsweartoGod,Iwasthinkingthesamethingwhenyoutoldme.ButIdidn’twanttoscareyou.”
“Shit.Youcan’ttrustpeoplewhoarethatgood-looking.”
“Doyouplanoncallingher,too?”Miguelasked.“Mrs.Kim?Imean,Iknowthiscouldallbeseparate,but…Iguess,ifyouwantedmoreinfoonyourdad?Orareyoutoocreepedout?”
“I’llcallher.Iwasthinkingaftertheholidays,lethersettledownalittle.”Margotsighed.“Fornow,Ithinkit’sbestthatwefindMrs.Baek.She’stheonlyonewhocouldknowaboutmymom’sotherfamily,thehusbandanddaughter.AndI’mafraidthatbecauseofMr.Park,shemightdisappearorgosomewhereelse.”
Aftercirclingtheblockafewtimes,theynudgedtheirwayintoatinyparkingspot,questionablyclosetoadefunct-lookinghydrant.WalkingupthefrontstepsoftheSpanish-stylechurch,theywentinsidetoseeitwascompletelyfulloffamiliesdressedintheirbest.Headsbowed,everyonelistenedastheIrishpriest,speakingKorean,ledtheminprayer.
Attherearofthechurch,MargotandMiguelwedgedthemselvesbetweenstrangersandleanedagainstthecoldwalls.Thesmellofincense,oldpaper,anddustintermingledwiththepersonalfragrances,theperfumesaroundthem—aheadymixofflorals,evergreen,andspice.Thisdevotiontothesenses,tothesoundsofscriptureandsong,thefragmentsofcolorthatcouldbarelybeseenfromthestainedglasswindowsatnight,coalescedinthisspacewhereritualandpracticeamongstrangerscreatedacommunity.ThiswaswhyhermotherhadreturnedhereeachSunday,becauseshecouldinsertherselfand,withoutawordorevenaglance,belong.
Thelasttimetheyhadgottenintoanargumentaboutchurch,Margothadbeenfifteenorsixteenyearsold,mutinousandloudenoughtoscarehermother.ThatwasaboutthesameagewhenshehadfullygivenuponlearningKorean,too,thesameagewhenherdefiancewastheonlythingshehadtofeelalive.Andanythingabouthermother—herforeignness,herpoverty,herpowerlessness—becameonlyamirrorforwhatMargotdidnotwanttobeorbecome.
“Idon’tbelieveinGod,”MargothadsaidinEnglish,washingdishesafterdinner.“Idon’twanttogotochurchtomorrow.”
“Youdon’tbelieveinGod?”hermotherrepliedinKorean,wipingthetable.“Doyouknowwhathappenstopeoplewhodon’tbelieveinGod?”
“Yes,ofcourse.”
Hermotherapproached,corneringMargot.“Doyouwanttogotohell?”
Despiteherfatigueafteralongdayofwork,twelvehoursorsoofrunningarounddowntownforinventory,courtingcustomerswhomostlyignoredher,whosometimescalledher“china,”laughingatherface,hermother,inanargument,drewwordsfromherdeepestwell,herdeepestfears.
“Idon’tbelieveinhell.”Alreadyexhausted,Margotrinsedthepotunderthehottestwater,steamrising,ticklingherface.
Hermother’shandslappedthecounter.“Doyouwanttogotohell?”
“IftherewasaGod,Hewouldn’tletussuffer,”Margotshouted,turningoffthetap.“Hewouldn’tletsomanyofusbepoor.”HervoicehadriseninEnglish,andshecouldn’ttellhowmuchhermotherwouldunderstand,butitdidn’tmatter.Sheneededtosaythisoutloud.“Hewouldn’tmakelifesohardforus.Therewouldn’tbewar.Hewouldn’tmakelifehardforsomanypeople.”Tearsgushedoutofhereyes.Shecouldn’tstopherselfnow.
“Whataboutwhenyoudie?Uh?”Hermothergesturedtothegroundasiftheywouldallbeburiedrightonthespotunderthebeigelinoleumoftheirfloors.
“WhenIdie,I’llbedirt.Itdoesn’tmatter.”
“Whataboutwhenyoudie?”Herindexfinger,shaking,pointedtowardMargot’schest.“Howwillpeoplefindyou?Uh?Howwillyoufindthepeopleyoulost?”Hermother,whorarelycried,sobbed.“Howwillyoufindthepeopleyoulost?”
Atthesightofhermother’sfacecrackedopen,Margotrushedpastherintothebathroomwheresheperchedonthetoilet,weepingabouttheimpossibilityoflivingwithhermother,tyrannousbuteverynowandthen,unexpectedlytransparent,leakinglightfromthedisastersofherlife—hersinglemotherhood,herchildhoodasanorphan,thewar,thehoursandhourswithoutaproperdayoff,withoutavacation,thatsheputintothestore.
Margotneverknewwhattodowiththebrightflashesofwhohermotherwasthatwouldthreatentoburnthemalltotheground.
Shecouldhearthesqueakofthecarpetedfloorashermotherstoodoutsidethebathroom,listeningtoMargotcry.Margotimaginedhernow—herfingerspressedagainstthecloseddoor,herheadleaningforward,herhandcurledinafisttoknock,butthensheretreated.
Howafraidtheywereofeachother.Howimpossibletheyseemedtogether.Butifonlyhermotherwould’veknocked,andMargot’sresponsewouldn’thavebeen,Goaway.Ifonlytheyhadawaytoembraceeachotherandsay,Idon’tunderstandyou,butI’mtryingmybest.Iamtryingmyverybest.
Andnowbeinginhermother’sworldwaslikesteppingintoawildfire,theedgesofwhichshemightnotevercontainorevenknow.Animmolationthatmightcleardeadbrush,bringseedtrappedinperfectpineconesdowntothesoil.
Attheendoftheprayer,thecrowdstood,flippingthroughtheonionskinpagesofblackvinyl-coveredbooks,clearingthroatstosing.Thegentlenessoftheirsongaboveorganmusicelevatedtheroom,asiftheirspiritscouldskimthevaultedceiling,fillingtheribcageofthechurch.Shedidn’tunderstandthewords,butherbodyhummedwiththesound,asoundofkindnessandbelonging,maybeevenforgiveness,too.Tearsfilledhereyesandshewipedthecornerswiththesleeveofhersweaterbeforetheycouldfall.
Whenshelookedup,shesawthesideofafamiliarfaceabouttwentyfeetinfrontofthem.
Theredmouth.
MargotnudgedMiguelurgently.
“What?”hewhispered.Thesermonhadbegun.Thepriestinhisrobesspokewithgentlebutfirmwords,stirringthechurchlikeafire.MargotcouldonlycatchinthenetofhermindtheKoreanwordsforgiving,love,andGod
“Mrs.Baek,”shesaid.“Overthere.”
“Where?”
“Grayscarf.”AmanstandingbesideMargotshotheradirtylook.
Whencommunioncommencedandherrowhadbeencalled,Mrs.Baek,whoworeadeepnavyblouse,rosefromthepew.Herlongblueskirt,closertoindigo,swayedwithherbody.Shebowedwhenreceivingthewaferinhermouth.Margotimaginedthetasteandtexture,thedrynessbeforeitdissolvedonthetongue,downthethroat.Sheleanedagainstthewall,lookingatthegildedaltarabovewhichJesushung,paleandlanky,armsspreadonthecross.
Returningtoherrow,Mrs.Baekglancedupand,forasecond,MargotthoughtthatshehadseenherandMiguel.Ofcourse,theystoodout.Butthenshepickeduphersongbookandseatedherselfasifnothingunusualhadhappened.
Attheendoftheservice,MargotwatchedasMrs.Baekgatheredherbelongingsinablackcanvasbagfromwhichshepulledouthercellphone.Readingherscreen,shestumbledoutofthenave,oblivioustohersurroundings.
MargotsignaledtoMiguel,andtheyfollowed,maintainingtheirdistance.Beforeexitingthebuilding,Mrs.Baekturnedanddescendedaflightofstairsintothechurch’sbasement.Steppingasquietlyaspossible,MargotandMiguelwentdownintoadustystorageareaandwaitedbehindseveraltallcolumnsofcardboardboxes.TheycouldhearMrs.Baekspeakingwithsomeone,amaninKoreanwhosevoicesoundedfamiliar.
“Youlooksonicetonight,”hesaid.“Letmetakeyououtfordinner.It’sChristmasEve.”
MargotandMiguelglancedateachotherastheycroucheddownlowertotheground.
“Howdidyougetmynumber?”Mrs.Baekasked.
Themanlaughed.“What’swrongwithyou?Comehere.”
“Stayawayfromme.Don’tevercallmeorcomehereagain.”
“Ithoughtmaybeyoumightbelookingforajob,”hesaid.“Icouldhelpyoufindanewone.”
“Idon’tneedanythingfromyou.Whywon’tyouleavemealone?”
“Shhh,loweryourvoice.You’relikeananimal,”hesaid.“Ha,that’swhatwomenarelikewhentheydon’thavemenaround.They’relikeanimals.”
Mrs.Baeksaidsomething,whichMargotcouldn’tunderstand,throughherteeth.
“Whatdoyoumeanbythat?”heasked.
“Mrs.Lee.”Hervoicecracked.
“Ha,whichone?”
“LeeMina.”
“Idon’tevenknowwhothatis,”hesaid.“Comehere.”
Swiftly,shegrunted.Heyelpedinpain.
“Don’ttouchme,”shespat.“I’llkillyou.”
MargotpeekedaroundtheboxestoseeMrs.BaekrushingoutandMr.Parkfollowingher,cradlinghisshin.
“Shit,”Margotsaid,lookingatMiguel.“Let’sgo.”
Theyranupthestairsandoutofthebuildingintothecoldnight,whichhadrapidlyblackenedintoastreetalmostemptyofpeople.Attheotherendofthechurch’sparkinglot,Mrs.BaekslammedthedoorofherbatteredgrayToyotaCamryanddroveoff.Mr.Parkhaddisappeared.
“She’sprobablygoinghome,”Margotsaid,catchingherbreath.“Weshouldmakesureshe’sokay?”
Whydidshesayhermother’sname?Didhekillher?
DrivingtowardMrs.Baek’sapartment,Margotrememberedthestacksofbooksandmagazinesinthelivingroom,thelayersofpaperandtext,tenuousskyscrapers,andMrs.Baek’sfacewithoutmakeup,thewashofpaleskin,andtheeyes—intense,defiant,alittleterrified.Asteadyandslowstateofshock.Shehadimaginedherinthatapartment,poringoverbooks,completelyalone.
ButMargothadbeenwrongaboutbothherandhermother:theirlonelinesswasnotspecial,oranyworsethananyoneelse’s.Infact,theyeachhadtheirownuniverses,smallbutconstructedintheirownway.Whowastosaythatintheirdevices,intheirplots,theyweredifferentfromotherpeople?
Margot,whocouldonlyseehermotherastheimpossibleforeignerwithherrapid-fireKoreanandembarrassing,haltingEnglish,whocouldonlyseeherasanoppressivepropinMargot’sownstory,realizedmoreandmorethat,inactuality,hermotherwastheheroine.Shewastheonewhohadbeenmakingandbreakingandremakingherownlife.Andintheend,shemight’vepaidforit.
Mina
Fall2014
ONTHESATURDAYPRIORTOTHANKSGIVING,ALMOSTonemonthafterMr.Kim’sdeath,Minaenteredherdaughter’smustybedroom,foldednewspaperinhand.Shehadattemptedtosnagacopyofthepapereverydayonherwaytoworkwhilestoppingforinventoryatoneofthewholesalebusinessesdowntown.Sometimestherewouldbeanunreadnewspaperonacounterthatshewouldslipintoherpurse,orshewouldaskifshecouldtakealookinsideforanobituary.Afriendhadjustdied.Finally,oneofthebusinessownersofferedherastackofnewspaperthathehadkeptfromthepastfewmonths—savedforthebottomofhisbirdcageathome.Insideofherparkedcar,shescavengedthroughthepileuntilshefoundtheonefromOctober,theonewithMr.Kiminside.
NowontopofMargot’sdesk,whereMinamostlystoredherownrecordsandbills,shegrabbedapairofscissorsfromawideplasticpurplecupjammedwithallthepenstheyhadcollectedovertheyears.Sheimaginedpeeringovertheshoulderofherdaughter,sittingatthisdeskhunchedoverasketchbookwithpencilinhand.
Minalaythenewspaperonthatdeskandflippedcarefullythroughthepagesuntilshefoundagaintheblack-and-whitephotoofMr.Kim,KimChang-hee—aslightlyyoungerbutmuchmorevibrantmanifestationofthemanwithwhomshehadtraveledtotheGrandCanyontwomonthsagoinSeptember.
Handinhand,theyhadstaredatthelargestchasmtheycouldfind.
Darkshadowspressedagainstred-andsand-coloredrockstripedoverbillionsofyearsbywindandwater.Thepurestgoldenlightsaturatedlargeswathesofthegreenbrushandtreesclingingtowallsofhardmineralagainstasoftandhazyazuresky.Thewarmbreezesmelledofpine.Theearthwasrich.
Thiswaswhatshehadalwayswanted—areturntofeelingminuscule,tinyyetsafesomehowagain.Hereshewassosmallthatshecouldeludethecrueltiesthatshehadendured.Hereshecouldgoundetected.Natureinitsmostextremeformstaughtusthattherewasadesigngreaterthanus,andwecouldunburdenourselvesbrieflyfromourindividualityinthisworld,ourself-importance.Wasn’tthattherelief?
TheclosestproximitytowhichshecouldattainthisfeelinginhereverydaylifemusthavebeenunderGod’sroofinacathedral,wherethevaultedceiling,thatarch,wasarefugeinwhichtheentireuniverse,intheformofprayerandsong,hummed.Beautywassafety.Beautykeptusfromharm.
Cumuluscloudsaboveprojectedshadows,darksilhouettes,deepeningthedramaofthepeaks.Theornatestriationsofcolorandlightmadethespectacleofyesterday’sovernightstopinLasVegas—whichtheyhadfinallyexperiencedtogetheragainafteralltheseyears—laughable.Standinginfrontofthischasmwaslikelookingupatheavenandintothedeepestpartoftheearth—itssoul,theviolenceandagonyofitsbillionsofyears,andtheresultingsplendor—atonce.
AndthenthreeweekslaterinearlyOctober,hehaddeliveredinacleanmanilaenvelopetheinformationonthewhereaboutsofherparents,papersthatshenowstowedinasafety-depositboxalongwithwhatshehadleftofherpast—afewphotographsfromhertimeattheorphanage,heroldidentificationdocumentsinKorea,theonlyimageshehadleftofherhusbandanddaughteronthatdaytheyhadgonehikingtogether.
Herenowinfrontofthisblack-and-whitephotoofMr.Kim—hisfacestillglowing,eyeswarmandsoft,thegentlecurveofhiscrookedsmile—sheexperiencedanunburdening,arushofreliefasthisobituaryconfirmedwhatshehadknownwhenhehadstoppedansweringhisphoneweeksago:thathewasgoneforever.Now,shecouldreassembleherlife,placingMargot’sitems—anyphotographsormementosofhersthatMinahadhiddenfromMr.Kimthesepastfewmonths—wheretheybelongedbeforeMargot’snextvisit.
Margotwouldneverknowhehadbeenthere,orwhohewas.Andviceversa.
Carefully,Minacutaroundtheedgesoftheobituary’stext,thestraightlines
Intheirfewmonthstogether,despitehisweakenedcondition,despitethefactthattheirbodieshadchanged,hersroundingandsoftening,andhisrevealingmoreboneandangles,theylovedeachother.Hekissedheronthemouthinherbed.TheyfeltyoungagainasiftheyhadjustmovedtoAmerica,asiftheyhadalwaysbeeninlove.Theycouldsomehowerasethepast.Shehadforgivenhim.Shedid.Shewassorelievedtoforgivesomeone.
ButnothingcouldprepareherfortheholethatMr.Kim’sdeathcouldleaveinherlife.
Shefoundanemptyenvelope,foldedtheobituary,andslippedthepaperinsideforsafekeeping.Sheopenedthedrawerandslidtheenvelopeunderneaththetrayofherdaughter’sartsupplies.Toherknowledge,Margotneverwentinsidethatdeskanymore.Minahadactuallynotseenherdaughtersketchanythinginaverylongtime.
Sheclosedthedrawer,satonherdaughter’schair,andweptontopofthenewspaperthatremainedspreadonthedesk.SheloweredherfaceontotheemptyrectanglefromwhichshehadremovedMr.Kim’slife,soakingtheprint,gentlystampingthesideofherfacewithsmearsofink.
“MINA?”MRS.BAEKSAIDONTHEPHONE,RELIEVEDANDangry.“Wherehaveyoubeen?I’vebeentryingtoreachyoufordays.Haven’tyoubeenlisteningtoyourmessages?”
Forthepastweeksinceshehadcuttheobituaryfromthenewspaper,Minahadbeenignoringthephone,thesoundofwhichmadeherheartpoundinherchest.Shehadbeenovercomebythemostprofoundexhaustion,recallingallthosedaysofrelentlessgrief,yearsandyearsagowhenherhusbandanddaughterdied,likesomanywaves,poundingagainsther.
Mr.Kimwasgone.Thistruthhadknockedherdownintotheicywater,tossedherbodyaround,andshefoundherselfgaspingforbreathontheshore.Sheneededsleep.Sheneededrestandwarmth.
“Youhaven’tbeenatworkinwhat—aweek?”Mrs.Baekasked.
Untiltoday,theweatherhadbeenbalmy.Intheseventiesandeightiesduringtheday.Outsidenow,theskywasblack,andthegroundshimmered,wetwithrain.Theseasonwasturningagain.
“I’mfine,”Minasaid,rubbingthespacebetweenherbrows.
“Areyousure?IthoughtmaybeyoumightbewithMargotorsomethingforThanksgivingbut…it’sbeentoolong.I’vebeenworriedaboutyouthesepastfewmonths.What’swrong?Canyoutellmewhat’swrong?”
“You’vedoneenoughforme,unnie.”Mina’svoicecrackedassheremembered,allthoseyearsago,Mrs.Baekrushingthroughherbedroomdoor,helpinghertothebathroom,thetoilet.HowmanytimeshadMrs.Baekheldherhand?“Pleasedonotworryaboutme.Ijustneedsomerest.I’mverytiredthesedays.I’llbebackatworktomorrow.Ipromise.Wecantalkaboutitthen.”
Silenceontheotherend.
“Hello?”Minaasked.
“No.No.I’llcomeover,okay?Haveyoueatenanything?”Mrs.Baek’svoicesoftened.“Yousoundweak.”
“No,Idon’tneed—”
“I’llbringyousomefood.I’llbeoverinanhour,okay?Waitforme.I’llbetheresoon.”
AstheysatonMina’scouch,thebrokenfigureoftheVirginMarywatchedandMina,finally,aftertwenty-sixyears,sharedwhyMr.Kimhadfled.ShetoldMrs.BaekaboutwhathadhappenedtoLupethatday—howthesupermarketownerhadassaultedherandMr.Kimintervened,causinghimtodisappearforfearofdeportation.MinaconfessedaboutMr.Kim’sreappearanceinherlife,theiraffairoverthesummer,theirtriptotheGrandCanyon,theinformationhehadgatheredaboutherparentsbyusingaprivateinvestigator,hisdeath.
“DoesMargotknow?”Mrs.Baekasked,pickingupaframedphotoofMargotasachild,sixorsevenyearsold,herbangsstraightacross,onthecouch’ssidetable.
“No,shedoesnot,”Minasaidwithaheavinessinherchest.
“Idon’trememberthisphoto.”Mrs.Baekscannedtheroom.“There’sanotheronethere,too.Irememberthinkingthatyoudidn’thaveanyphotosofMargot—thefirsttimeIcamehere.Inthesummer.”
“Ihidallofthem.Ididn’twantMr.Kimtoknow.”
“Younevertoldhim?”Mrs.Baekappearedconfused.
“No.”
“Allthoseyears,”Mrs.Baeksaid,eyeslingeringonthephotoinherhand.“ButMargot.Lookatthatface.Don’tyouthinkshewouldwanttoknow?Don’tyouthink—”
“It’sbetterthisway.”Minamusteredallthestrengthshecouldtosaythosewords.Didshebelievethem?Shehadbutnowshewasn’tsosure.
Mrs.Baeknodded,settingtheframedownonthetable.Scrunchingherbrows,sheappearedlostinherownthoughts,herownmemories.Adeafeningsilencebloomed.
WhatwouldMargotgainfromknowingthatherfatherhadreappearedanddied,onlymonthslater?Margothadalreadygivenuponhimlongago.ShehadmovedtoSeattleandapparentlywasdoingjustfinewithouthim,withoutMina,too.ButwhatifMinawaswrongaboutherdaughter?Whatif—
Abruptly,Mrs.Baekstood,pacedbackandforth.Shestopped,turnedtowardMina,andasked,“Theownerofthesupermarket,theonewhoattackedLupe—whateverhappenedtohim?”
“Mr.Park?”Minasighed.“Nothingtomyknowledge.AfterIhadMargot,Ileft.Ineverwantedtothinkabouthimagain.”
“HisnamewasMr.Park?”
“Yes,why?”MinanoticedthequickeningofMrs.Baek’sbreath.“Areyouokay?”
“Ijustrealizedsomething,that’sall.Ineedsomewater.”Mrs.Baekrushedtowardthekitchen.Minaheardhergrabaglassfromthedryingrackandfillitfromthetap.AmoanofsadnessescapedMrs.Baek’smouth.
Minafoundherslumpeddownonthelaminatefloor,leaningonthecabinets,andMinawasstruckwiththefeelingofstaringataversionofherself.Howmanytimeshadsheleanedonthosecabinetsalone?
“Unnie,”Minasaid,bendingdowntothegroundbesideMrs.Baek.“What’swrong?”
Coveringherface,Mrs.Baekwept.MinahadneverseenMrs.Baekcrybefore,andshehadthesuddenurgetoholdher,towipethetearsfromherface.
“Unnie.”MinagentlyhelpedMrs.Baektoherfeet.“Unnie,pleasehaveaseat.Sitinthelivingroom.”
Mrs.Baekrestedagainonthecouch,leaningforwardwithherheadinherhands.
“I’msorry,”Minasaid.“I’msorryifIsaidsomething,I’msorryifIsaid—”
“No.It’snotyou.”Mrs.Baekshookherhead.
MinagrabbedarolloftoiletpaperfromtherestroomandhandedittoMrs.Baek
“Ijust—Ijustrealizedsomething,”Mrs.Baeksaid.Terrified,nostrilsflaring,shelookedintoMina’seyes.“Mr.Park.”
“Yes?”
“Ithinkhe’sthesamemanwho’sbeenfollowingme.”Shebreathedthroughhermouth.
“Followingyou?”
Mrs.Baeknodded.“He’sbeenmakingmylifehell.Whenyousaidthatheownedthesupermarket,Irealizedthattheman—themanwho’sbeenfollowingme,he’sthesameMr.Park.Hetoldmeaboutit,thesupermarketsthatheowned.”Hervoicegrewhoarse.“Forwhateverreason,Icouldn’tconnectthatwithwhereyouhadworked—backwhenyoufirstcametoAmerica.”Tearsstreameddownherface.“Ineverconnectedthatuntilnow.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Don’tyoujusthatehowsmallthisworldis?”Mrs.BaekaskedwithadepthofsorrowthatMinahadneverseeninhereyes.Herredlipstickhadbeensmearedtotherightofhermouth.Minahadtheurgetoeraseitfromhercheekwithherthumb.SheknewexactlywhatMrs.Baekmeant.
“HeboughtHanokHouse,youknow?”Mrs.Baeksaid.“That’swhyIleft.”
Minagasped.“Mr.Park?Ithought…Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Ididn’trealize,Ihadn’tmadetheconnection—”
“No.”Minashookherhead.“Whydidn’tyoutellmethatsomeonewasfollowingyou?”
“Icouldn’t.Ifiguredit’dbebesttonotinvolveanyoneelse.Ididn’twantyou,oranyone,toworry.Orwhatif—whatifheretaliatedagainstmeifIdid,orifsomeoneelsecalledthepolice?IthoughtIcoulddealwiththisonmyown.”Sheblewhernose.“I’vebeenthroughworse.”
“Doesheknowwhereyoulive?”
“ImovedafterIquittherestaurant.Ihadtochangemynumber,too,earlierthisyear.I’vebeenhiding.Ican’twalkaroundtheparkorthelakeanymore.Idrivefar—allthewaydownWilshire—togotothepharmacy.Igotothegrocerystoreduringoffhours.I’malwayslookinginthemirrorbehindme.”Hereyesopenedwide.“Idon’tevenknowwhy…It’slikeheonlywantsmebecauseIrejectedhim,becauseIsaidno.”
Minaclosedhereyes,rememberingthefearonLupe’sface,howMinahadtheguninherpurseatthesupermarketthenextday,howshecould’vekilledhimbeforeshequit.Shecould’vefinishedhimbackthen.
Shewentintoherbedroom,wheresheswitchedonthelight.Trembling,musclestense,sheretrievedthegunholster,whichshehadrecentlymovedtothedrawerbesideherbed.Shehadneverintendedtouseit,butinthedarkaftermathofMr.Kim’sdeath,shehadbecomefascinatedwithitspower,itssmellofbrownleather,thewayitfeltinherhands.Shecouldhearnothingbutherownbreath.
OnthetourbusbackfromtheGrandCanyon,thesidesoftheirbodiespressedagainsteachother,theirfingerslaced,Mr.Kimhadasked,“Whatdidyoudowiththegun?”
“Istillhaveit,”shesaid,heartracing.“Ineverknewhowtogetridofit.”
Henodded,staringaheadatthebackoftheseatsinfrontofthem.“Doyouknowhowtouseit?”
“No,Idon’t.IalwaysthoughtIcouldfigureitoutmyselfifIneededto.”
“Youmightwanttotakeittoashopandgetitcleaned,checkedoutoneday.Justincase.Icouldhelpyoudothat.Icouldshowyouhowtouseit.”
Nowinherhands,thegleamingbrownleatherappearedmadeforaman—belthooped,redolentofcowboys,theWest.Althoughstillstrangeandforeigntohertouch,thegunanimatedherwiththoughtsofrevenge.Shecouldbeanyoneshewantedtobewiththisgun.Shecouldbeyoungandpowerfulagain.Inthiscountry,itwaseasiertoharmsomeoneelsethantostayalive.Itwaseasiertotakealifethantohaveone.WasshefinallyanAmerican?
MinarememberedthetendernesswithwhichMrs.Baekfedheronthatnightyearsago,beforeMr.Kimhadcalled,leavingherinthemorning.Thatnight,shehaddraggedherselftoherroomwhereshelaydownandwept.
Sorrytowakeyouup,Mrs.Baeksaid.Ihaveyourporridge.
MinahadtriedtostandintimetomeetMrs.Baek.Butherarmscollapsedbeneathher.
Here,takeabite,shesaid,holdingthespoonuptoMina’smouth.
Turningtowardthebedroomdoor,MinanoticedonherdresserthelastprintedphotographshehadtakenwithMargot,theoneofthemtogetheratherhigh-schoolgraduation.HowproudandterrifiedMinahadbeenthatday,knowingthatMargotwouldsoonbeonherown—allthewayinSeattle.Thesepasteightyears,theyhadrarelytakenanypicturessincealloftheirtimetogetherhadbeenworkingattheswapmeetovertheholidays.Maybethisyear,theywouldnotonlyposeatherstore,butshewouldaskthatMargothavetheimageprintedandmailedtoheronceshereturnedtoSeattle.Minamissedhavingsomethingphysicaltohold.
Sheenteredthelivingroomwiththeholsterinherhand.
Atthesightofthegun,Mrs.Baekgasped,jumpingtoherfeetfromthesofa.ThebrokenVirginMary,whichshehadbeencontemplating,felltotherug.“Whatareyoudoingwiththat?”sheasked.Hereyeswerewhite.“Putthataway.”Hervoicerose.“Haveyoulostyourmind?”
Mrs.Baekseemedtobetalkingthroughwater,gulpingforair.TheholstergrewheavyinMina’shand.Abombwhistledinherhead.Herearsrang.Shecouldsmellthesulfurousearth,thebloodthatdrippeddowntheheadoftheman,astrangerwhocarriedheronhisshoulders,theflashofred.Mrs.Baek’slipstickwasstillstreakedonhercheek.
“He’sstillthesame,”Minasaid.
“Mina,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Mina,pleaseputthataway.”Mrs.Baekclosedhereyes,mouthtrembling.
“Whoknowshowmanypeoplehehashurt?”Somethingjostledinsideofherlikeanearthquake.Hervoicewastheglassesrattlinginthecabinets.“Youneedthisnow,unnie.Toprotectyourself.Iwantyoutoprotectyourself.Don’tyouthinkyoushouldprotectyourself?”
Shecouldn’tloseonemorepersoninthislife.
Theacidroseinherthroat.AlongtrailofantsdevouredasnailthathadbeensmashedoutsideofLupe’sapartment.Thespoonathermouth.Backthen,shehadimaginedthethrillofkillingMr.Park.Shehadimaginedcorneringhimatthesupermarket.Shecould’veendedhiminfrontofeveryone.Whoknewhowmanyhehadterrorized?Howmanyhehadcannibalizedforhisowngain?Howmanyofthemhadhehurt?Howmanymorelivescouldheruin?SheneededMrs.Baektosaveherself.
Thelustofthecarnivallightsflashing.Thesaltairandthesmellofhotchocolateonthebreath.SheandMr.Kimrising.Astage.Buttheydidn’tneedanaudience.
Andthenagainunderneaththewhiteglareofalamp,theysatonthatbenchattheendofthepier,likestrangers.Themoonglowed,shimmeringonthewater’ssurface,andsherealizedthatlifebeneathacertainlight—despiteitssadness,itstragedies,itsdisappointments—wasoftenstillstirring,arousingthegermofafreshseedlingthatmight,withenoughwarmth,unfurl,likethetipsofMr.Kim’sfingersashedroppedthechangeinherhand.
Holdingthegunholsterstill,Minasaid,“It’sloaded.”Itwasthefall,nearlyonemonthbeforewinter.Butherhandstrembledlikeabranchpushingthegreenbudsoutoftheflesh,offeringitselftotheworld.Together,theycouldfinishhim.“Letmeshowyouhowitworks.”
Margot
Winter2014—2015
OUTSIDEOFMRS.BAEK’SDOOR,MARGOTSTOODTOthesideofthefisheye,heartinherthroat.ChristmasEverevelersinthenextapartmentlaughed,blastingbandamusic.Sweatglideddownherface,neck,andback.Sheknockedagain,thistimewithmoreforce,asifpoundingonadrum.Paintfleckedontothefloor.Inthebasementofthechurch,Mrs.BaekhadsaidtoMr.Park,I’llkillyou
MargotandMiguelhadwastednearlyfifteenminutesfindingaspotfortheircar.Theevening—itsvoluptuousmixofsermonandsong,smokeandincense,housesnettedbystringlights—felturgentasifanexithadbeenclosing,trappingMargotinthedark.
“Whoisit?”Mrs.Baekyelledfromadistanceinsidetheapartment.Hervoicegrewcloser,askingagain,“Whoisit?”
Margotsighedwithrelief.Mrs.Baekwashome.Mr.Parkhadn’tfollowedher.
“UPS,”Miguelsaid,startlingMargot.“Ineedyoursignature.”
“Leaveitatthedoor.”
“Ineedyoutosignthis.”
“HowcomeIcan’tseeyou?”
Thelockunlatched.Thedoorcrackedopen.
MargotpushedherselfintotheapartmentasMrs.Baekscreamed,stumblingbackwardtowardthecoffeetable,revealingalongbeigeslipunderthesamegraydove-coloredrobe.Margotsprungforwardtohelp.Shooingheraway,Mrs.Baekwrappedthethickfleecearoundherbody,tightenedthebeltatherwaist,andgroaned
“Youhurtme.”Sheclutchedherhandandwrungitwiththeother.Shehadremovedherlipstick,mouthstillflushed,buthereyebrows,thedarkcrescents,remainedintact.
“Sorry,”Margotsaid,catchingherbreath.Miguelshutthedoorbehindthem.
“Ican’t—Ican’tdothisrightnow,”Mrs.Baeksaid,squeezingherhandstogether,knuckleswhitening.
Twoolive-coloredsuitcasesweresplayedopenonthefloor,filledwithshoes,clothes,andbooks.Theapartmentstillsmelledofpaperandinkanddust,butthestacksofnewspapersandnovelshaddisappeared.Onlythefurnitureandsomemiscellaneousitems—aCDboombox,theflat-screentelevision,emptyglassvases—remained.
“Areyougoingsomewhere?”Margotasked.
“Noneofyourbusiness.”
Miguelstoodbythedoorandshrugged,unsureofwhattodonext.
“Ifyou’regoingtoleave,”Margotwenton,“couldIaskyousomequestionsfirst?”
“I’minahurry.”
“CanIcontactyou?”Margotasked.
“She’sdead.”Mrs.Baek’sfacegrewglossyandredassheshookherhead.Tendonsinherneckpulsed.“Whatdoesanyofthismattertoyou?”
“Ifoundasafety-depositbox.”TheacheinMargot’schest,themortar.“Somephotos,photosofanotherfamily.”Tearsgatheredinhereyes.Theapartmentblurred.“Mymotherwithanotherfamily—ahusband,achild—inKorea.”Shecouldn’tbelievethosewords:anotherfamily.Howcouldhermotherhavekeptthisinformationfromher?Whydidn’thermothertellheraboutthisfamily,orherfather’sobituaryinthedrawer?Couldthepasthavehurtthatmuch?
Mrs.Baekwincedfromthepainofherhand.“Holdon.”Inthekitchen,sheopenedthefreezerwithasuctioningsound.Shereturned,ploppingherbodydownonthehuntergreencouchwithabagoffrozenpeasandcarrotsforherhand.
Margothalfsatonthearmattheoppositeend.Miguelwaitedbythedoor,swayingalittletotheChristmasmusicplayingthroughthewallsoftheneighboringapartment.
“Therewasanotherfamily,”Margotsaid.“Beforeme.Doyouknowanythingaboutthem?There’saphoto.”Shewipedhereyeswithasleeve.“Ahusband,alittlegirl.Itmusthavebeenintheseventies,ortheearlyeighties—beforeshecametoAmerica.”
“Itmakessense.”Mrs.Baeksighed,closinghereyes.“Sheneverwantedtotalkaboutthepast.Ialwaysfigureditwasbecause…shewasanorphan,thewar.”SheopenedhereyesagainandlookedatMargot.“Butshementionedahusbandonce,thathediedinanaccident.”
“What?”
“That’sallthatIknow.Ididn’tpressitanyfurtherthanthat.Sheonlybroughtituponce.”
“Doyouthinkthatshecouldstillbealive?Thedaughter?”
“I—Iwouldn’tknow.”Mrs.Baekrubbedbetweenherbrows.“Werethereanypapers?Withthephoto?”
Margotnoddedyes.
“TheonlythingIknowabout—youpromisetoleavemealoneafterthis,right?Shefoundsomepapers.Yourfatherhelpedher.Heworkedwithaninvestigator.Hehelpedherfindsomeinformationonherparents,theonesshehadbeenseparatedfrominthewar.”
“What?Herparents?”Margotasked,breathless.Hermotherhadneverspokenofthem,asifshehadgivenup.Butshehadn’t.Shehadfoundthemafterall.
“Hermothersurvived,Ithink,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Yourmotherhadthesepapers.That’sallIknow,okay?Weretheyinthesafety-depositbox?”
Margotnodded,rememberingthepagesofKoreanwords,illegible,insidethatmanilaenvelope—forms,documents,handwrittennotes.
“So,shehadanotherfamily,”Mrs.Baeksaidtoherself.“AhusbandandachildinKorea.Thatmakessense.”Shetossedthefrozenpeasandcarrotsontothecoffeetableandsqueezedherfingersasiftheystillached.
MargotrosefromthecouchtofindsomethingforMrs.Baek’shand.Inthenarrowkitchen,whichjitteredunderthefluorescentlightandsmelledfaintlyofbleach,shefilledaplasticbagonthecounterwithicecubesfromthefreezer,emptyexceptforsomedumplingsandstiffgulbi.Asshewalkedbytherounddiningtablebesidethekitchen,shenoticedaredsatchelhadbeentippedover,exposingitscontents—apassport,lipstick,pens,awallet.
Margotpickedupthepassport.Neithershenorhermothereverhadoneoftheirown.Mrs.Baekhalfsmiledinthephoto.ThenamereadMargaretJohnson
“Who’sMargaretJohnson?”Margotasked.
“Noneofyourbusiness,”Mrs.Baeksaid,lungingtowardMargot.“Getawayfromthere.”MiguelcameforwardfromtheentrywayandgrabbedMrs.Baek’sarm.“Getawayfromthatbag.”Hereyesflared.
“MargaretJohnson,”Margotrepeatedinalowvoice.“But…isn’tyourlastnameBaek?AndyourfirstnameisMargaret?”
ShesnatchedthepassportoutofMargot’shand.“It’smylegalname.IneverlikedthenameMargaret,butmyhusbandthoughtitwasagoodname…MargaretlikeMargaretThatcher.”
“Yourhusband?”
“Yes,but…IalwayslikedthenameMargot.”Hereyessoftened.“Ihelpedpickyourname,youknow.Iguessyouwouldn’tremember.”
Margotshookherhead.Theironyofbeingnamedbyawomanwhohadbeennamedbyaman.Howmanynamescouldonepersonhave?AndwhydidshenowrefertoherselfasMrs.Baek?Wasithermaidenname?Orafake?CouldshehavebeenhidingfromsomeoneelsebesidesMr.Park?
“Remember,welivedtogetherinthesamehousewhenyourmotherfirstmovedtoAmerica.Ihad…IhadjustleftmyhusbandinTexas.”
TheSoutherntwang.Anotherlifeentirely.Almostanothercountry.
Margotsatwithherelbowsonthediningtable,foreheadpressedintoherpalms.“Whathappened?Youjustdidn’tgetalongwithyourhusband?”
“No.”Sheshookherhead.“Hewastheworstkindofperson.”
“AndMr.Park?Weoverheardyoufightingwithhim.Atchurch,”Miguelsaid.
Mrs.Baekgasped,stunned.
“Hashebeenfollowingyou?”Margotasked.“Whydidyou—whydidyoumeethimdownthere?”
Mrs.Baekburstintotears,coveringherfacewithherhand.“Youwerethere?”sheasked.
“Yes,weheardeverything,”Margotlied.
“Iwantedtotellhimonceandforalltoleavemealone.”Shegatheredherself,wipinghereyeswiththesleeveofherrobe.“Ididn’tthinkI’dbe…inanydangeratchurch.Ididn’teventhinkhehadmynumber.Ichangedit.Butduringtheservice,Igotamessagefromhim,lettingmeknowthathewasthere,thathewantedtotalktome.”
“Isthatwhyyouclosedthestore?Isthatwhyyou’releaving?”Margotasked.
Mrs.Baeknodded.
“WasmymotherwithMr.Park?”Margotasked.“Onthenightthatshedied?Doyouthinkitcould’vebeenMr.Parkwhopushedher?Heseemslike—”
“No,no.”Mrs.Baekcoughed.
Margotsteeledherself.“Thelandlordofmybuildingsaidthathehadseenyou—andMr.Parkfollowingyou—attheapartment,mymother’sapartment.Hecouldn’trememberwhen.InSeptemberorOctober.”
“What?”Sheopenedhereyeswide.
“SoMr.Parkknewwhereshelived,”Margotsaid,voicerising.“WasshewithMr.Park?Doyouthinkshecould’vebeenwithMr.Parkonthenightthatshedied?”
“No.No.”Tearsspilleddownhercheeks.
“Idon’tthinkshewasalonethatnight.Heheardyelling,thelandlordthoughthehadheardherfightingwithsomeone.”Margot’sheartraced.“Couldhehavepushedher?”
AgrimaceofpainappearedonMrs.Baek’sface,shattered.
“Maybehewastryingtofindyou,”Margotsaid.“Hecould’vepushedher,right?”
Mrs.Baektossedherpassport,slappingthesurfaceofthetable.Shethrustherhandintotheredpurseandpulledoutablackhandgun.
Margotjumped.Thelasttimeshehadbeenthisclosetoagunwaswhensheandhermotherhadbeenrobbedastheyhadparkedinfrontoftheirapartment.Hermotherhadsurrenderedherpursetothestranger,whosefacewascovered.Anywrongmovewouldresultinbullets,bloodsprayedonshatteredglass.Attenyearsold,Margothadremainedinthebackseat,frozen—stillasadeerswallowedinheadlights.
Sherememberedhermothershakingandcryingafterthemanhadleft.Herarmsfoldedoverthesteeringwheel,herheaddown,herhairdisheveled.Margothadbeentooterrifiedtocomforthermother,whocouldnevercallthecopsforhelp.Shecouldnevertrustthepolice,neverknewwhatshecouldbedeportedforandwhen,whatcouldhappentoMargotifsheweretakenaway.Shehadworkedsohardinthiscountryforsolittle,whichcouldbedestroyedatanymoment—eitherbycriminalsonthestreetormeninuniforms.
“Lookfamiliar?”Mrs.Baekasked,checkingonMiguelbehindher.Holdingthegun,herhandtrembled.“Doyourecognizethis?”
Margotshookherhead.
“Thiswasyourmother’s.”Hervoicecracked.
Ofcourse.Whoelsewouldprotectthembutherself?
“Shewantedmetokeepthisincase—incaseMr.Park—”Mrs.Baekwept,herfacebrightred.
“What?”MargotglancedatMiguel,immobilebythedoor,frozenwithfear.
“Shetriedtogivethistome,toprotectmyself,”Mrs.Baeksaid,gentlysettingthegunonthetable.Theroomrelaxed.Margotcouldbreathe.“Theyallworkedatthesupermarkettogether,beforeyouwereborn.Mr.Parkwastheowner.”
“Thesameonewheremyfatherworked?”
“Yes.”
“SomymotherknewMr.Parkfrombackthen?”Margotstaredatthemuzzleofthegun,lyingdownbutpointedinherdirection.
“Oneday…therewasawomaninhisoffice.Shehadbeenscreaming.YourmothersaidthatyourfatherstoppedMr.ParkashewasattackingawomannamedLupe.Yourfatherhithim.”
Margotcoveredhermouthwithherhands.
“YourfatherleftLAafterthat.Hedidn’twanttogetintrouble.”Mrs.Baek’seyesmetMargot’s.“Hedidn’thavehispapers.MaybeMr.Parkmight’vereportedhim.”
AbeatofsilencepassedasMargottrieddesperatelytoabsorbthisinformation.Finallysheasked,“DidyouknowtheentiretimethatyouweredealingwiththesameMr.Park,thesameMr.Parkfromherpast?”
Mrs.Baekshookherheadasshesatdownatthetable,wherethegunrestedbetweenthemlikeaborder.Margotjoinedherandsatononeofthediningchairs.Shehadtheurgetoturnthegunsothatitfacedthewallinsteadofher.Butatthesametime,theideaoftouchingapotentiallyloadedweapon,reachingforit,andhowthatmightcauseMrs.Baektoreact,unnervedher.Thegunremainedwhereitlay—silentandvolatile.
SweatbeadedonMargot’sface.
Miguelbackedhimselfontothecouch,abouttenfeetawayfromthem.
“WhendidshefindoutaboutwhatMr.Parkwasdoingtoyou?”Margotasked.
“Afteryourfatherdied,shefinallytoldmeaboutherrelationshipwithhim.Howtheyreconnectedthissummer,whathadhappenedtohimandherandLupebeforehedisappeared.Shenevertoldmethatstorybefore.Idon’tknowwhy.Maybeshewasashamed?”Sherubbedherforeheadwithherfingers.“ItoldherthetruthaboutwhyIhadleftHanokHouse—Mr.Parkboughttherestauranttobeclosertome.”
“Didyouevergooutwithhim?”Margotasked.
“Wewentonafewdatesatthebeginningoftheyear.Ineverreturnedhiscalls.Heboughttherestaurantandstartedshowingupeverywhere—downtown,theparkwhereIusedtowalk.SoIquitworkingatHanokHouse.”Shegroaned,exhausted.“I’vespentsomuchofthepastninemonthslookingbehindme.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellherearlier?”Margotasked.“Maybeshecould’vehelpedyousomehow?Haveyoutoldanyone?”
Mrs.Baekshookherhead.“Wehadn’tseeneachotherinovertwentyyears.Whatcouldshedo?Allshewoulddoisworryaboutme.Iwantedhertobehappy.Iwantedus…tostartoveragain.”Sheplacedherheadinherhands,elbowsonthetable.“Butafteryourdaddied,andshetoldmethetruth,yourmomandI—werealizedthatitwasthesameperson.Mr.ParkisthesamemanwhotriedtorapeLupeyearsago.Whoknowshowmanypeoplehehashurt?”Hervoicebroke
Sheliftedherface,revealingthedepthofhowcrushedshehadbeen,howsomuchofherlifehadbeenaboutfindingbeautyandwholeness,thekindofmeaningthatstoriesgaveus,gluingherselfbacktogether—theperfectlylinedredlips,thedarkcrescentsforbrows,theshimmeringbrowneye-shadowonherlids—afterbeingsmashedbythecircumstancesofherlifeoverandoveragain.
Margotclosedhereyes.Howeachofthesewomendeservedsomuchmorefromthisworld.
“Shetoldmetotakethegun.”Mrs.Baekwipedhernoseonthesleeveofhergrayrobe.“But…everytimeIlookatit,I—Ifeelsick.”Hervoicegrewhoarse.
Margot’sheartthumped.Ifshecouldreachforthegun,whatwouldshedowithitinherhand?Shehadneverheldaguninherlife.
“Shesaidshedidn’tneeditanymore,thatIneededittoprotectmyself,butIkepttryingtoexplain…Icouldn’texplaintoher…”Shecried,coveringherfaceagain.
“Whatcouldn’tyouexplain?”
“That…thatmyhusband…”Mrs.Baekloweredherhands.HereyesboreintoMargot’s.“Hewouldgetsoangrysometimes,soangryattheworld.Hewould—hehitmeintheface.”Shegrabbedherthroatasifprotectingherself.
“God,I’msosorry,”Margotsaid.
“Oneday,he—pointedagunlikethatatme.”Shestaredatthegunonthetable.“Itlookedexactlythesame.AndIgrabbedmypurseandran.Ineverwentback.Ileftforever.Hewasgoingtokillme.”
MargotimaginedMrs.Baekinhercarlikehermother,eyeshard,asshesteeledherselfforthelongdrive,thatlongdriveoncetoLasVegas.Mirrorsandglassobscuredbyfilmsofdust.MargothadneverbeentoTexas,butshecouldpicturethebrightandwidelandscape—allyuccas,breathtakingmountains,ocherland,andsage—asMrs.Baekfledforherlife.
Therewasasuddenstillnessasifthewholeroomwasholdingitsbreathatonce;thesilencebeforeatidalwavecrashesdown.
“Howdidyouendupwiththegunifyoudidn’twantit?”Margotasked.ShereachedforwardtotouchMrs.Baek’shand,butshepulledaway.
“Iwastryingto…Shewasreachingtowardme,togivemethegun.”Mrs.Baekclosedhereyes,herfacecrumpling.“Ichangedmymind.She…shewassostubborn.”
“Didyoupushher?”Margotasked.
“Ididn’tthink…Itallhappenedsoquickly.”Hervoicebroke.
“Didyoupushher?”Margotrepeated.
Mrs.Baeknoddedyes.
Margotburstintotears.
“Andyoulefthertheretodie?”Miguelasked,wipinghiseyes.
“Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Ineverwantedto…Icouldn’t…”Shesobbedweakly,coveringherfacewithherhands.“Therewasnowaytosaveher.Shewasgone.”
Margotfinallyknewthetruth.Ithadbeenanaccident.
“Andyoutookthegun?”Miguelasked.
“Ididn’twanttoleaveitthereincase…itwouldlooksuspicious.”Mrs.Baekhiccupedthroughhertears.
Margot’searsrangintheexhaustedsilencethatfollowed.Shewasbothheartbrokenbyhermother’sdeathandMrs.Baek’slifeandrelievedtoknowthat,intheend,Mr.Parkhadn’tharmedhermother,thattherewasnomaliciousintent.Inaway,hermotherwasnowfree.Shehaddiedtryingtohelpsomeonesheloved,herfriend.
“Whatareyougoingtodonow?”Margotasked.
“Idon’tknow.I’mleavingtown.”Defeated,Mrs.Baekstaredattheground.“Margot,I’msosorryaboutwhathappened.Ididn’tthink—shenevermentionedthatyoumightbecominghome.”Shesniffled,wipinghernoseonhersleeve.“IfonlythatMr.Parkwould’vejustleftmealone.”Shegrittedherteeth.“Thisisallhisfault.”
“Shouldwecallthecops?”Margotasked.“Imean,afteryouleave.Wecan’tjustlethimgetawaywithdoingthistoeveryone.YouandLupe,youcan’tbetheonlyones,right?”
Mrs.Baekshookherhead.
“Ithinkwehavetocallthepolice,”Miguelagreed.“Wedon’thavetosayanythingaboutyourmom’sdeath.Itcouldjustbeabouthim,hisstalking,hisbehavior.Wecouldjust—”
“Youdon’tunderstand,”Mrs.Baeksaid.“Itdoesn’tworkthatway.”
“Idon’tthinkyouhavetoleave,”Margotsaid.“It’dbebetterifyoustayed.Wecoulddothistogether.I’msurethere’sotherwomen,maybeatHanokHouse,orfromthesupermarketbackintheday—”
Mrs.Baekseizedthegunwithtwohands,knockingthediningchairdownbehindherasshestood.ShepointedthebarrelatMargot,thenbackedherselfintoacorner,armtremblingfromtheweight.ItwastheshakingofthatarmthatterrifiedMargotthemost,asifMrs.Baekwasmusteringallherstrengthtonotshootthemallrightnow.
Margotheldherbreathasifunderwater.Sheimaginedthemallsubmerged,tumblinginthewaves,tryingtoholdontoeachother.Butthistimeshewasn’tworriedabouthermother.Shewasworriedaboutherself.ShewasworriedaboutMiguel.Shewoulddoanythingtosavethem.
“I’llfigureitout,okay?”Mrs.Baeksaid,gasping.“Ineedyouto—Ineedyoutoleavenow.”
Wasthatafaintsmile?Aglimmerappearedinhereyesasifshehaddesignedasolution.Asifthisgun,Mina’sdeath,hadbeenpartofherstory,itssymmetry,allalong.Itspurposewasclear.
Mrs.Baekloweredthegunandsaid,“Iamready.”
ADAYAFTERCHRISTMAS,MARGOTSTEPPEDOUTSIDEofherapartmentbuildingintoabrightyethazylate-Decemberlight—anatmospherewiththatspecificquietdeflationafteramajorholiday,asiftheairhadbeenletoutoftheworlduntiltheimpendingcelebrationonNewYear’sEve.Thesulfuroussmellofleftoverfireworksmixedwithexhaustaddedtotheafternoon’smalaise,liketheentirecitywashungover.
Margothadspentmostofyesterdayathermother’sapartmentwithMigueldiscussingwhattheyshoulddoaftertheincidentatMrs.Baek’s.Shehadagun.ShehadkilledMargot’smother.Buttheycouldn’tcallthepolice,couldthey?Itwasanaccident.AndMrs.Baekcould’veharmedthemifshehadwantedto,butshehadn’t.Instead,MargotandMiguelhadslidoutthedoorandrundownstairsintothecarparkedonthestreet.
Mrs.Baekhadclearlysufferedenough.Sheneededfreedom.Shedidn’tdeserveanymorepainthanwhathadalreadythreatenedtobreakher—anabusivehusband,astalker,adeadbestfriend.Crimeandpunishment.Shewouldhavetolivewithherselfsomehow,andescapeMr.Park,thiscitythatsometimeschewedyouupandspatyouout.
MargotwishedthatshehadgottenMrs.Baek’snumbersothatshecouldcontacthersomehow,makesurethatshewassafe.Butitwastoolate.Andalthoughshehadbeenrelievedtofinallyunderstandwhathadhappenedonthenightofhermother’sdeath,shestilldidn’thaveanswersabouthermother’slife—thesafety-depositbox.
Whowastheotherfamily—thehusbandandchild,pigtailedinaredT-shirtandleggings?DidMargothaveahalfsistersomewhere?Andwherewashermother’smother,Margot’sgrandmother,whoMrs.Baeksaidhadsurvivedthewar?Wasshestillalive?DidMinaevercontacther?WouldshewanttoknowaboutMargot,orwouldsheberuinedbythedeathofherMina,thedaughtershehadlostinthewar?
Nowhauntedbytheweightofthesequestions,Margotfinallyfeltlikeanadult.
Choosingifandwhenandhowtosharethetruthmightbethedeepest,mostpainfulnecessityofgrowingoutintotheworldandintoyourself.
Sometimeswewronglyguessedhowmuchotherscouldbear.Itwasinthecurveofaquestionmark—shouldIorshouldn’tI?—inwhichwealllived.Intheend,hermotherhaddecidedtokeepMargotandherfatherasecretfromthemselves,toprotectthemboth.Margotwouldneedtoforgiveallofthem—Mina,herfather,Mrs.Baek—sothatshecouldonedaybegintoforgiveherself.
Afterseveralminutesoffeelingthesunonherface,Margotuntiedhergrayhoodiefromaroundherwaist.Shewalkedwithpurpose,althoughshehadnoideawhereshewouldendup—whichdirectionandwhere.Likeafire,sheneededair.Sheevenhadtheurgetorunforthehellofit.
Shepassedasmallparkwithaplayground.Childrenrodetheswingshighorchasedeachotherdownslides,laughingandrunning,acommotionofjoy.Shewalkedinfrontofagasstation,thenaKoreangrocerystore,andfoundastripmallwithseveralbusinesses,includingasalon,hugepostersofwomenwith’80shairinthewindows.
HermotherusedtocutMargot’shairinthedimlightofthediningareanexttothekitchen.Shelaidsheetsonthefloor,drapedatowelaroundMargot’sshoulders,and,withacombandscissorsinhand,workedherwayaroundMargot’shead.
“Yourhairissoshiny,”hermothersaid.“Sosoft.”
Margotneverknewhowtoreceivehermother’scomplimentsbecauseshehadgrownaccustomedtoherbarbs—aboutheracne,herwrinkledclothes,hercreaselesseyelids,thebeginningsofadoublechin.Itwasasifhermotherbelievedthatanyegoatallwouldbetoobigforthishome,toobigforthisfamily.HerfundamentalresponsibilitywaskeepingMargotincheck.
Buteverynowandthen,hermotherwoulddirectherattentiontoherself,brandishingaquietanddevastatingmemory—acoldinjection,almostarelief,areprievefromhergaze,intoMargot’sveins.
“Whenthenunscutmyhair,theynevercared,”hermotheroncesaid.“Theynevermadeitpretty.”
Or:“Therewasagirlattheorphanagewhowouldbeatme,”shesaid.“Shetoldmethatshewasgoingtodestroymyface,setfiretoit.”
Margotneverknewhowtorespondtotheseintensesuddenofferingsoftheself,bottomlessandrare,asifthestatementshadbeenattheedgeofhermother’spsyche,theedgeofhermother’ssurvival,andanyfurtherconversationcouldpushheroverthebrink,plungeherheadunderwater.Instead,ashermothercutherhair,Margotwaitedinsilenceforthesignalthatshehadfinished—removingthetowelasacape,brushingMargot’sshoulders,pickingoffthebitsstucktoherface.AndthenMargotwastemporarilysetfree.
Insideofthesalon,whichsmelledvaguelyofhairdyeandperms,aslimyoungwomanwithchestnut-coloredhair,aFrench-stripedshirt,andtrendychunkywhitesneakers,greetedhereagerly.Margotsatinthewaitingareawhereshenoticed,amongtheone-inch-thickbeautyandlifestylemagazines,acopyofthelocalnewspaperinKorean.OnthecoverwasanimageofMr.Park,sympathetic,genialwithhisPaul-Bunyan-teethsmile.Margotseizedthepaper,tryingtodecipherwhatshecould—thephotographofhimandtheimageofasilverMercedessedanparkedonadirtroad.
“I’mreadyforyounow,”thestylistsaid,bothgraciousandcuriousaboutMargot,likeavisitorfromaforeignplanet.Sheneverpaidmuchattentiontoherlooksanditwasobvious.
Margotheldoutthenewspaper.“Didyouseethis?Doyouknowwhathappenedtothisguy?”
Thestylistpeeredatthefrontpageandsaid,“Oh.Theyfoundhimdeadyesterdayafternoon.”
Margotgasped.“OnChristmas?”
SherememberedMrs.Baek’sarmtremblingfromtheweightofthegun,Margotholdingherbreath.Hersmile,theglimmerinhereyes,asifshehadfiguredoutthesolutiontothismess—Margot’smother,herfrienddead,astalkerwithapastofterrorizingwomen,abusinghispower.Iamready,shesaid.
“HewasretiredbutownedarestaurantinKoreatown.Arichman.”ShemotionedforMargottorise.
“Whathappened?”Intheblackpleatherchair,Margotfacedherselfinaclearmirror,wideandceiling-high.
ThestylistdrapedagraycapeoverherbodyanduntiedMargot’slonghair—releasingthetangledmessthatithadbecome.Shegrabbedawide-toothcombandtriedtobreakaparttheknotswithouttearingtoomuch.
“AjoggerinGriffithPark.Shefoundsomeclothesontheroad,awallet,keys,cellphone.Soshecalledthepolice.”
Margottiltedherhead,followingthemotionsofthecomb.Herheartraced.
“Theyfoundhisbody.Hewaslessthanonemileaway,inthebushes.”Thestylistraisedherbrowsandsmirkedasifamusedbythecalamitiesofmen.Margotlikedthiswomanatonce.
“Thebushes?”Margotasked.Sheimaginedthedensegrayvegetationinthehills—themixedchaparralandsagescrub.Thesunbakedandherbaceousscent.Thedryfuel.
Thehairstylistloweredhervoice.“Naked.”
“What?”Margotcringed.
“Hewasnaked.”SheescortedMargottothesinktowashherhair.“Someoneshothimintheleg.”
“Intheleg?”Margottiltedherheadback.“Buthowdidhe—”
“Theanimalsatehim.”ThestylistadjustedthetowelunderMargot’sneck.“Oneofmycustomerssaidthathiswholeface,arm,almosteverythinggone,”shesaid,beforetheblastofwarmwater.
Margotcouldfeeltheywerebothtryingtheirhardestnottolaugh.Yes,deathwassometimesfunny.MaybeitwasaKoreanthing,butaftertheseweeksofpainandstress,shecouldn’thelpbutdelightintheabsurdityofitall.Itwasalmostapieceofperformanceart.
Bravo,Mrs.Baek.
Standingonthesidewalk,MargotcalledMiguelassoonassheleftthesalon—hairanglingdowntowardherchininasharpbob.Thesunhadbegunitsdescent,blastingwildlyfromthewest.Sheshieldedhereyeswithherhand,inhalingtheexhaustofcarszoomingby,kickingupthedirtandbitsofdriedleavesthatwouldsticktoherskin.Araggedpalmtreeacrossthestreetbaskedinthelastofthegoldenlightbeforethecitybathedinasoftdreamofpinksandpurples—changingandfleeting—andthebrashglareofstreet-andheadlights,theadrenaline,thethousandsoffeetonthegas,ruinedtheromance.
AftershefilledMiguelin,hesaid,“TheyfoundhisbodyonChristmasDay?Lord.Shefedthoseanimals.”
“Imean,ithadtobeMrs.Baek,right?”Shehurrieddownthestreettowardhermother’sapartment.“Nottobemessedup,but…I’mgladwedidn’tcallthepolice.”Sheduckedunderascatteringofpigeons,wingsflappingtreacherouslyclosetoherhead.“Iamstillworriedabouther,though.”
“Whatdoyouthinkhappened?”
“Sheluredhimsomehowtotakeherupthere.Hewasnaked.Ugh.”Sheshudderedattheimage.“Maybeshetrickedhimintothinkingthatshechangedhermind,thatshewasinterestedinhimandwantedtohookuporsomething?Peoplegoupintotheparkforthat,youknow.”
“Whatelseisnaturefor?”
Shelaughed.“Maybeshetoldhimthattheyhadtogointothebushes.”
“Andsheshothimintheleg?”Miguelasked.“Thisstoryisagift,Margot.”
Shecrossedtheroadbeforeacarcareenedinfrontofher.
“Andnooneheardhiscries?”heasked.
“Maybeitwaskindofremote.Inthemiddleofthenight,”shesaid,catchingherbreath.
“Andtheanimalsatehim?”Miguelasked.
Shetrippedonanunevenpartofthesidewalkandcouldn’thelpbutlaughatbothherselfandtheabsurdityoflife.ShehadforwhateverreasonimaginedaDisney-animatedversionofallthewildlife—SnowWhite’sfriends,roundandwide-eyed—flittinganddancingaroundMr.Park’sbody.
“Andtheyhaven’tcaughther,right?”
“Nope,notfromwhatIcantell.Igoogledit.Heparkedhiscar,gotout,andremovedhisclothesatsomepoint.Someoneintheonlinecommentsthoughtitmightbethemoboragangorsomething.Anyway,Ihopeshe’sokay.”
“Whatareyougonnadonow?”
Thesundisappearedbehindthebuildingsandtheworldappearedtobemeltingaroundher.Bathedinthesharpairoftheoncomingnight,Margotinhaledthefaintaromaofaleftoverporkpozolereheatedonastovethroughanopenwindow.Shestilldreadedreturningtotheapartment.
“I’mprettyexhausted,”Margotsaid.“IthinkI’llsleepuntilthenewyear.”
“DoyouwanttogooutonNewYear’sEvenextweek?”Miguelasked.
“Idon’tknow.”ApartofherwantedtoheadbacktoSeattleassoonasshecouldgetridofeverything.Shecouldtakethecontentsofthesafety-depositboxwithher.ShehadMrs.Kim’sphonenumber;shecouldalwaysreachherlatertofindoutmoreaboutherfather.Shedidn’tneedtostayinLAanymore.
Buttheotherpartofherlongedtoremaininthiscitytorecoversomethingshehadleftbehind—notjusthistoryorherpastorhermother’s,butwhomshehadalwaysdreamedofbecoming.Shehadabandonedthatsideofherselfhere,too.
“Maybeyoucoulduseadistraction?”Miguelasked.“ThisguyImetinvitedmetogodrinkingdowntownwithsomefriends.I’mthinkingdancingafterwardatthesalsaclub.You’llcome?”
Margotstoodoutsideoftheapartmentbuildingastheskyglowedsapphire,andsheturnedtofindthesliverofamoon.Shecouldseeinsidepeople’slivesthroughwindows—theflickeringoftelevisionsets,bodieswalkingbehindcurtains,alittleboy’smouth,fishlike,pressedagainstthefingerprintedfogofglass.Shecouldimaginethegillsonthesideofhisface.Shelaughed.
“Nah,Idon’tthinkso,”Margotsaid.“Thisisallyou.”
Hepaused.“Iknowyou’vebeenthroughalot,butit’llbefun.Youshouldcome.Iwantyoutocome.Iftheguyturnsouttobeadud,I’llneedsomeonetodancewith,right?”
“Youalwaysdancewithstrangersanyway,”shesaid.
“ButIwanttodancewithyou,”hesaid.Thesweetestwordsshehadheardinalongwhile.
Sheclosedhereyes.Shefeltasifheunderstoodher,theyunderstoodeachother,preciselyatthatmoment.
Therewasnothinglefttosayexcept,“Okay.”
Wasn’tthatthethingwithwords?Itwasn’tjusttheirsurfaces—sometimessereneandshimmering,othersviolent,crashing,andbrash—butwhatthey,whencarefullyconsidered,conveyed:wearemorethanfriends.We’refamily.
ONNEWYEAR’SEVE,MARGOTLOADEDUPONSNACKSandboozeatthenearestKoreansupermarket,whatevershecouldgetherhandsontofeedthecrewthatwouldcomeover—Miguelandhisnewfriends,agroupoffiveorsixpeople.Insteadofimbibingatacrowdedbar,they’dhangoutathermother’smostlyvacantapartmentandcarpooltothesalsaclubafterward.
Growingup,sheandhermotherhadneverinvitedpeopletotheirhome.Therewashardlyanyroom,bothphysicalandspiritual,forentertainingwhenhermotherhadspentsixlongdaysoutoftheweekatwork.Theseventhdaywasalwaysforrunningerrands—groceryshopping,preparingmeals,mailingpaymentsforbills,orwaitinginlinesatthebank.TherewasnevertimeforrestorcelebrationandMargotnowwantedtochangethatifshecould.
Shemaneuveredacartthroughtheproducesection,whichfeaturedboxesoffruitasgifts,ampingupthevolumeandvarietythistimeofyear.ShepackedseveralAsianpearsinaplastictear-offbag,thenmovedontothemostperfectFuyupersimmons,smooth,orange,andfirm.Shehadalwaysbeenembarrassedwhenhermotherhadgivenpeoplesuchoddandpractical“Koreangifts”—theboxesofapplesorevenlaundrydetergent—wheninreality,outsideofAmerica,theseobjectsmighthavesomerichsymbolicrelevancethatperhapsMargotdidn’tunderstand.
Ifshethoughtofthelaborandresourcesthatwentintoeachpieceoffruit—thewater,thelight,theearth,thetrainingandharvestingofeachplant—aboxofapplescouldbespecial,asacredthing.Perhapsinthislandofplenty,ofmythandwide-openspaces,trucksandfactories,massproduction,welosttrackofthat:themiracleofanobjectassimpleasapear,nutritiousandsweet,createdbysomethingasbeautifulasatree.
AsMargotconsideredthelargepileofnapacabbage,thegroovedwhitetopalegreenheads,ahandreachedoverinfrontofher.ShejumpedbackandturnedtoseeOfficerChoithere.Helookeddifferentinhiscasualclothes—aheathergrayV-necksweater,acollaredshirtunderneath,andapairofdarkbluejeans.
“Oh,I’msorry.Wasthatyourcabbage?”Hesmiled.
“No.Actually…yes,thatwasmycabbage.”
“Here,allowme.”Hegrabbedthehead,placingitinabagforher.
“Wait,thatonewas…Idon’tknow,notcabbageyenough.Howaboutthatoneoverthere?”
Helaughed.“Okay.”Hepickedupthecabbagehehadplacedinhercart,putitinhisown.Hepalmedanotheroneatthetopofthepile.“Thisone?”
“Actually,OfficerChoi—theotherone,theonewithalltheleaves.”
“Oh,Isee.Theonewithalltheleaves.”Hecrossedhisarmsacrosshischest.Helookedcleanandhandsome,likeaJ.Crewmodelthatwasn’ttoosnobbyandalsoworeHanes.Boxersorbriefs?Sheblushedatthethoughtofhisunderwear.
“CallmeDavid,”hesaid.“Iquit.”
“What?”Shegazedathimand,forasecond,forgothowtouselanguageentirely.“Thepolice?”
“Imean,itwasn’teasy,but…newyear,newme.”Heshrugged.
“Howcome?”sheasked,relieved.
“Iwaskindaburned-outanyway.”Heinsertedhisthumbsintohispockets.“Andsomethingaboutwhatyouhadsaidtome…IrealizedwhyIjoinedinthefirstplace.”Hescratchedthebackofhisneck.“Youwereright.”
Herthreefavoritewords.“Really?”
“Thatfirstphonecall?Rememberhowupsetyouwere?”
Shenodded,rememberingmostofthewords.Youmightthinkwe’resomekindofburdenonyourworkload,butmymotherworkedherassoff,andshepaidtaxeslikeeveryoneelse…Peoplelikemymotherholdupthisshamasmuchasyou.
“Becauseyouwantedanswers,andyoudidn’tfeellikeyouweregettingany,”Davidsaid.“Andthatyourmotherdeservedbetter.”
“Yes,Iremember.”
“Shedid.Shedoes.”Heavoidedhereyes.AnahjummanudgedhershoppingcartintoMargot’s.Theymovedawayfromthenapacabbageasshepassedwithahmph
“Whydidyoujoin?”Margotasked.
“IhadanolderbrotherwhodiedwhenIwasateenager.Everyonethoughtitwassuicide,but…Icouldn’tbelievehekilledhimself.SoIwantedtohelppeopleifIcould.Thereweren’talotofKoreanofficers—atleastnotbackthen.AndIthoughtthecopswerejustblowingmyfamilyoffbecausemyparentsdidn’tspeakEnglish.”
“Isee.I’msorry,”shesaid,aheavinessbuildinginsideherchest.
“That’sallright.”Hesighed.“I’vespentthelastcoupleyearsdoingboring-asspaperwork,bustingpeoplewhoaretrying—maybeinnotthemostlegalor‘moral’ways,buttrying—tosurvive.Iwasn’thelpingpeopleinthewaythatIwantto.Andtobehonest…I’mtiredallthetime.Reallytired.”Heshookhishead.“Anyway,thisiswaytoomuch—”
“No,it’snot.I’mgladtoknow.I’mjusthappythatyourealizedallofthis.”
“Whataboutyou?”
Whatshouldshetellhimnow?“IthinkI’m…acceptingit.Mymother’sdeath.I’mgettingthereatleast,knowingwhatIknowaboutmymomnow.Igotakindofclosurefromallthis.Maybeanopening,too.”
“Good.”Herestedhishandonhiscart.
Silencegrewbetweenthemandtheyexhaledatonce.
“Areyoumakingkimchi?”heasked,pointinghischintowardthecabbage.
Shecouldmakekimchithisweek?“Ha,Iwasn’tplanningonit,butIguessnowIam?Iwasn’tevensurehowlongI’mstaying.”
“Where?”heasked.
“Koreatown.”
Shepaused.Aroundthem,last-minuteshoppersperusedandcollectedvegetables—yellowandwhiteandgreenonions,chilipeppers,knobsofginger.
“Areyouhostingtonight?”heasked.AnotherahjummabumpedhercartintoMargot’s.
“I’vegotfriendscomingover,”shesaid.“Whataboutyou?”
“Idon’thaveanyrealplans,soI’mgoingovertomyparents’house.Myotherbrotherwillbetherewithhiskids.It’llbeniceandchill.”
HowdoesOfficerBaenothaveanyplans?“Howmanykidsdoeshehave?”
“Two.Youwouldn’tbelievethathe’sactuallyfouryearsyoungerthanme.”
Twograndmothersturnedovertheheadsofnapacabbage,disappointed.Oneofthemtoreoffapieceofleaf,poppeditinhermouth,andnodded.Herhandswerepowerfulandwrinkled—somuchlikehermother’s.HowmuchMargotlovedthosehandsthatwouldcreatethelongpeelofskinbeforeslicingthefruitforher.Howmuchshemissedthosehands.
“Well,I’vegotafewmorethingstopickup,”hesaid.“Itwasniceseeingyou.”
“Likewise.”Shecouldn’thelpbutsmile.
Hefreedhimselffromatrafficjamofcarts,bowedhisheadtoothershoppers,excusinghimself.
“David,”shecalled,self-consciousaboutherloudEnglishvoiceinthisspace
“Yeah?”
Startled,anahjussishotthembothdirtylooks.Thosevoices.Americankids.Howrude.
Smiling,sheabandonedhercarttemporarily,threadedherselfthroughthecrowd,andstoppedacouplefeetfromhim.“Nowthatyou’reunemployed—couldIaskyouafavor?”
AfterexchangingphonenumberswithDavid,whocouldhelphertranslatehermother’sdocuments,Margotpaidforhergroceriesandheadedbacktowardtheparkinglotwhereamberfloodlightsilluminatedcarsandcustomerspushingcarts.Shehadonlyafewhourstocleanandprepareforherguests,whowouldarriveatnine.Sherushedtowardhercarwithasenseoflevity,agiddinessaboutthenewyearandthepossibilityoflivinginLosAngeles.
She’dfindanewplace,asmallerone,maybeastudioinKoreatownorEchoPark,orshecouldrentaroominasharedhousejustlikehermotherwhenshefirstmovedtoAmerica.She’dflytoSeattletopackupallherbelongingsandshipwhatsheneededdown.Butthethrillofstartinglifeoveragainanimatedher.
Shecouldn’tquiteseeherselftransplantinghersamebehaviorsinanofficejobfromonecitytothenext.Shealwaysknewthatshewasn’tcutoutforit—thehoursindoorsinfrontofascreen,thedataentry,thefiling,thewatercooleroutsideherdoor—butwhatelsecouldshedowithsolittleexperience,noconnections,andanEnglishdegree?She’dhavetodosomethingfresh,reinventherself.Shecouldworkatacoffeeshoporarestaurantorinretailwhileshewentbacktoschoolforart.
Margotwasstruckbythememoryofholdingthecornerofthenetouttothesky,upagainsttheshapeoftheFerriswheel,imaginingallthetinysilverfish—likehermother,shimmeringandliquefied—thatwouldswimthroughitsweave.
Butsheandhermotherwerenowbothfreeyetforeverwovenintoeachother.Theycouldbeboth—separateandinseparable.Theywerenotarottennetbutsomethingmoredeliberatelikethreadsofcolor,variationsofblue,plaited,oneaftertheother.Hermother’sdeathwasnotaknotbutatemporaryundoing.Hermotherhadbeencarryingtheburdenofsomuchtruth,truthsthatshehadprotectedMargotfrom,andnowMargotknew:she,likehermother,couldhandleanything—evenlove,evenfamily.
ACCELERATINGONTOTHE10INAFRIDAYNIGHTSNARLoftrafficinthemiddleofJanuary,shewonderedifmovingbacktoLAwas,infact,aterribleidea.Shehateddriving.Shegazedatthesaddiscooftaillights,withhermother’sashesinthepassengerseat,thinkingaboutMrs.Baek,wherevershewas,drivingofftostartalloveragain.Whatifshehadn’tmadeitanywherefar?Shecouldhideinthiscity.Itwaseasytobeanonymous,tofindsomenookwithinoneofthesuburbs,orevenindowntownLA,tolielowuntilthetroublehadpassed.Howwouldanyoneknow?
Margotthoughtabouthowshecouldonedayrunintoher,thatperhapsdrivingdownthestreet,shecouldglanceatacarstoppedbesideherandnoticeawomaninthedriver’sseatandwonderifthatwasMrs.Baek.
AfteradinnerofkimchifriedricetwoweeksagoathisapartmentinEchoPark,Davidtranslatedsomeofthedocumentsfromhermother’ssafety-depositbox.WiththehelpoftheinvestigatorhiredbyMargot’sfather,hermotherhaddeterminedtheidentityandlocationofherparentsinGunpo,acitysouthofSeoul.OnlyMina’smother,nowninety-twoyearsold,survived.ButwhatwasnotobviousfromthedocumentswaswhetherornotMinahadeverreachedouttoher,orwhetherknowinghermotherlivedwasenough.
“Wouldyouwanttomeether?”Davidhadasked.
“Idon’tknow.”Margotstaredatthegrainofhiswooddiningtable.Thewhorlsremindedherofthumbprints.
“Wecancallthisinvestigator,Mr.Cho.”Hestudiedthepapers.“Maybe,ifnotaboutyourgrandmother,maybehehassomeinfoonthisotherfamily?”Hiseyeswereglossy.“Thelittlegirlwiththepigtails,ifshe’sstillalive.”
“Oh,God,Idon’tknow.I’dhavetositwiththisforabitfirst.”
Afterward,shedrovehomeandcriedforhermotherandfather.Shecriedforhergrandmother.Whydidthisworldbreaksomanypeopleapart?Whywasitsohardtobetogether?Wouldhergrandmotherberelievedtoknowwhathadhappenedtoherdaughter,orwouldshebestruckbythekindofgriefthatcouldkillher,too?Howdidwedecidehowtolivewithoutbreakingeachother?
Sheweptfordaysandcouldhardlyeatatall.Thefollowingweekend,MigueldeliveredgroceriesandmadeadinnerofenchiladasforthemattheapartmentwitharedmolesaucethathehadpurchasedfromtherestauranttheynevermadeittoonChristmasEve.Theysatinsilencemostly,whichwasjustwhatsheneeded.Allthethingsshefeltwereterribleandheavy.Allthethingsshefeltweredifferentvariationsofpain.
ShehadthenfinallymusteredthecouragetocallMrs.Kim,whohadatfirstnotanswered,butreturnedhercalltwodayslater.
Sittingonhermother’scouchinthelivingroomwhichwasnowmostlybareexceptforthemostnecessaryoffurniture,Margotasked,“Doyouthinkthatmaybe…Doyouknowanythingaboutwhathappenedtomyfatherafterheleftmymom?Thiswould’vebeeninthelateeighties.”
“WemetinChicagoin1990or1991,”Mrs.Kimsaid,voicescratchyandweak.“Hewasatthattimeworkingathiscousin’simportandexportbusiness,andhehadboughtasmallsupermarketthereeventually.HeneverreallytalkedaboutwhathislifehadbeenlikeinLA.Ifigureditwasbecausebackintheday,whenhewasinhistwenties,hehadawifewhodied.”
“Anotherwife?”
“Yes,thatmusthavebeenintheearlyeightiesso—beforeyou,beforeyourmom.”Shecoughedawayfromthereceiver.“Hedidn’thavehispapers.Afterwemarried,hegothisgreencard.Buthehadnevertoldmeaboutyourmomorwhathadhappenedbetweenthetwoofthem.”Shepaused.“I’msorry.I’mafraidI’mnotmuchhelp.”
“HowdidyoubothendupbackinLA?”Margotasked.
“MyfamilyisinOrangeCounty.”
“Isee.”Margotsighed.“Maybeyoumightbeableto…tellmemoreabouthim?Atleasthowyoumet?Whathewaslike?Ijustwanttoknow.”
“Sure…okay.”Mrs.Kimpaused.“DoyouwanttomeetsomewhereinKoreatown?Ihaven’tbeenthereinyears.I’mtryingtolearnhowtodriveagain,somaybeafterItakemylessons.OrIcanhireacar.”
“Whathappenedtoyourdriver?”Thepushatthedoorstep.Thesmelloffresh-cutgrasswiththatundercurrentofsomethingfoul—manureorcompost.Thetasteofmetalinhermouth.
“Ihadtogetridofhim.”
“Really?”
“Yes,it’sallveryunfortunate.”Shebreathedintothephone.“Hewas…stealingfromme.Youcannevertrustamanwholookslikethat,Iguess.”Shecoughedagain.“Hewastryingtogetalltheseideasintomyhead.Ifoundhimsnoopingaroundmycomputer,lookingthroughbankaccountsandstuff.It’sbeen…I’vehadareallyhardtimelately.”Hervoicebroke.“Iguessweallhave,right?Nothingseemsrightthesedays.It’shardtoevengetoutofbed.”
“Yes.Yes,Iunderstand,”Margotsaid.
“Maybeyoucouldcalltheinvestigator?”Mrs.Kimasked.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’vefoundatyourmother’shouse.ButIbethecouldsharewhathealreadyknows.Maybethatcouldhelpyoufillinsomeofwhatyou’remissing.Haveyoutriedaskinghim?Yourfathergavehimalotofbusiness.Hewasverygoodathiswork.”
Thenextday,MargotcalledDavidandaskedifhecouldcontacttheinvestigator,whomostlikelyonlyspokeKorean.TheinvestigatorrevealedthathermotherhadbeenmarriedinhertwentiesandhadadaughterinKorea,whowaskilledwithherfatherbyacarspeedingintheroad.Theyhadbeenwalkingtothegrocerystore.Hermotherhadbeenathome.
Herhalfsisterhadonlybeeneightyearsold.Hermotherhadonlybeenfourwhenshehadlostherparents.Thesechildrenhadbeenlosttotheirparentsthroughrecklessnessandwar.
Perhaps,despitethedistancesbetweenthem,thedifferencesintheirexperiencesasamotherandadaughter,asindividuals,aswomenofacertaintimeandplace,whathadmadethemafamilywasnotsimplybloodbutneverfullygivinguponeachother.Forgivenesswasalwaysapossibility.Oneday,youcoulddiveintothedarkwaterandfloatbecauseofalightnessinyourlifenowthatyouhadtakenoffyourclothes,abandonedallthosestones.Youwerefreefromeverynet.Yourelaxedlikeyouhadneverbeenabletobefore.
Shehadsomuchinformationnow.Shehadsomuchtocreate.Whatwouldhergrandmotherwanttoknow?Shewouldbetheonlyaudiencewhomatteredatthispoint.
AndnowMargotinchedthecardownthepier,nervousabouthittingoneofthepedestriansinthecrowdthatfunneleddowntotheend.TheFerriswheelflashedhot—redandwhite.Shecrackedopenherwindowstothecacophonyofvoices,ofdifferentlanguagesandlaughter.Thewindseemedtoattackherassheclimbedoutofthecar,shivering,zippingherjacketclosed.
Throughthesmellofcarnivalfoods—cheeseburgers,nachos,funnelcake,hotchocolate—andthebodies,jostling,walking,andlingering,handsoutstretchedforselfies,shewalkedonthewoodenboardsofthepier,carryinghermother’sashesandaplasticgrocerybagwithasingleHoneycrispappleandabottleofsojulikeanoldKoreanman—allsadnessandyearning,darkhumorfermentedinside.
Attheveryend,shesatonabenchwithhermotherbesideher.Maybeonedayshewouldspreadherasheshere.Itwasprobablyillegal,butwhocared?Fornow,sheinhaledthesaltair,staredintothemostdistantwater,withthemoonwaxingripeandbright,andbitintotheapple.
Shepickedupherphone,andwithinonering,awomananswered,voicegravellyandworn:“?????”
TearsstreameddownMargot’sfaceasshewondered:HowmuchweightcanIbear?Shewasnothermother.Shewasweak,spoiled,American.Thewhistleofabombdropping,anexplosionblastedinherhead.Sheclungtothatrope—nowinsideofher,too—thebraidtheyhadmadewastheapplethatshesqueezedinherhand.
“????”thewomanrepeated.
Margotcouldhearthewoman’sbreathontheotherend,itswarmthlikethesunonherface,abedfullofseeds.
“I’mMina’sdaughter.??.?,”Margotsaid,buttheshakingofhervoiceimplored,Please,pleaseunderstand
Acknowledgments
MYEDITOR,NATALIEHALLAK,SUPPORTEDTHISNOVELwithherkeenintellect,imagination,andwarmth.ShehasbeenanexceptionalpartnerandithasbeenadreamtoworkwithParkRowBooks.Myagent,AmyElizabethBishop,isnotonlyincisivebuthilariousandkindineveryway.Shehasbeenatremendousadvocate,andbybelievinginmywords,shechangedmylife.
TeachersandmentorsDavidWongLouie,whopassedawayin2018,RussellLeong,King-KokCheung,MayaSonenberg,ColleenJ.McElroy,ShawnWong,AlexanderChee,andRandaJarrarcreatedpathwaysformyworkthroughtheirgenerosityanddedicationtostorytellingandcraft.TheUCLAAsianAmericanStudiesCenterprovidedmewithasenseofplaceandhistory;AmerasiaJournalpublishedthefirstshortstoryIwrote.
Editorsandliteraryjournalssustainedmebysharingmywords:LosAngelesReviewofBooks,Guernica,AsianAmericanWriters’Workshop’sTheMargins,ApogeeJournal,TheRumpus,ElectricLiteratureandTheOffing.
Familyandfriendsnourishedmethroughtheyearsofwritingthisbook:inparticular,EvaLarraurideLeon,TaliaShalev,theLeeandKimfamilies,theGoodmanandRobinfamilies,CorinneManning,EverJones,KeikoandNaomiNamekata,GabrielleBellot,AncaSzilágyi,andPaulaShields.Mywritinggroupsharedwisdomandmagic:IngridRojasContreras,YalitzaFerreras,MeronHadero,AmberButts,AngieChau,TanyaRey,andMelissaValentine.
Iamindebtedtomymotherasamodelforhowinfinitelycomplexandwondrousasinglelifecanbe.ShetaughtmetodefinesuccessthroughhowIfeelaboutmyselfandtheworld.Iwouldhavebeenlostwithoutherandhercourage,herstorytelling,andtheexceptionalmealsthatshemakes.
Myhusband,Paul,stoodbymethrougheverydraftandlivedwithmeandmycharacters,whichrequiredendlessfaith,resilience,andasenseofhumor,foryearsunderoneroof.EachtimeIexperiencedasetback,heremindedmeofwhereIwasandhowfarI’dgone.Thisnovelwouldn’thavebeenwithouthim(andourdogs).
Thankyouallformakingthispossible.
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TableofContents
CopyrightPage
AbouttheBook
AbouttheAuthor
Contents
Dedication
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Summer1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Fall1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Fall1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Fall1987
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Winter1987—1988
Margot:Fall2014
Mina:Winter1988
Margot:Winter2014
Mina:Spring2014
Margot:Winter2014
Mina:Summer2014
Margot:Winter2014
Mina:Fall2014
Margot:Winter2014—2015
Acknowledgments