Fox Girl (29 page)

Fidgeting, I decided to inch out the door and flinched when she breathed into my ear as I brushed past her.

After a long exhale, she whispered: “What am I gonna tell him when he sees you're gone?”

“Tell him he owes me.” I took a breath. “Tell him: a baby for a baby. A life for a life.” I willed myself not to run and not to turn back.

For years after that night, I believed she must not have seen me take the money; she wouldn't have let me go without a fight. Only recently have I let myself think of the possibility that she watched me steal the money and, in remaining silent, gave me a type of gift. I don't know what to think about that, about how it changes the way I thought of her. I wish I had allowed myself to look back, to catch a last glimpse, a final clue as to her true face. But she remains shielded from my gaze, wreathed in shadows and darkness and time.

I knew Lobetto would come looking for me, not because he wanted me back—though I provided good income. But because I had stolen from him. His money and Myu Myu, his connections to America. I had to keep moving. I spent the following nights with Myu Myu on my back, walking the streets, not sleeping until late morning.

 

I hadn't meant to return, but I was tired, hunted, and went back home out of habit. Instinct. Half-asleep on my feet, I found myself on the road that led to my father's shop. I watched from around the corner, waited for the sun to lift above the wall of America Town. When I saw his wife shuffle down the steps and head toward Chinatown, I stumbled forward. Standing at the threshold of the shop, I almost called out the words familiar from childhood: “
Appah,
I'm home!” But I caught myself in time. Instead, like a customer, I offered a tentative “Hello?”

My father rushed into the storeroom, head bowed as he tied an apron across his waist. “Welcome, welcome,” he said, a shop-keeper's good manners. When he looked up, his smile froze, then dripped downward. “Hyun Jin?” he whispered. He stumbled forward, hands out like a blind man's, then stopped before touching me. Stunned, he scanned my hair, face, clothes.

I felt dirty and shut my eyes, not wanting to see myself reflected in his. “Father,” I croaked. I thought I felt his touch on my cheek, but it was so soft, I wasn't sure if I had imagined it or not. When I opened my eyes on him, his hands were at his sides. He seemed older, more stooped and gray than even a few moments ago.

“You can't be here,” he said, looking wildly around the store.

“Don't worry.” I spat out the bitter words. “She's not here.”

“Still.” Wiping his palms on his apron, he fixed his gaze at my shoulder, on Myu Myu. “Oh no, Jin Jin,” he moaned. “You didn't.”

“Please,
Appah,
you don't understand.” I untied the baby from my back and swung her into my arms. “I'm going to America.”

My father sucked in a quick breath. “You are . . . are you . . . married?” He spoke slowly, with care, as if not wanting to call me a liar.

Myu Myu gurgled, her hands waving at the bright colors in the store. His eyes still studying her, my father rummaged through the pockets of his apron and pulled out a purple candy. Myu Myu lunged for it and grabbed my father's fist. Startled, my father stilled, letting her gum the candy from his hand. A smile played at his mouth. He cupped his free hand and cradled her face. “I see a little of you in her,” he murmured, then flicked a glance at me. “What of her father?”

I stuck out my chin. “I'm not married,” I said. “I'm going to Hawai‘i as a worker. I have a job lined up.”

Frowning, my father growled, “Not bar work, I hope.”

I stared at the spot where his brows furrowed, joining at a point over his nose. “So what if it is?” I shrugged as if I didn't care what he thought of me.

“No! Hyun Jin.” He pulled away from the baby and stared at me. “Don't do that. Don't go. You could do so much more with yourself, with your life. You are so smart, so—”

“
Appah,
stop!” I shouted. When he cringed, I lowered my voice. “What else can I do? Are you going to take me back? Take this girl in?”

My father's jaw dropped. He sputtered, his mouth moved, but for a long moment no words came out. “I . . . I can't,” he sobbed.

Feeling mean, I thrust Myu Myu at him. “Why not? It'd just be for a little while.”

My father backed away, his gnarled hands held out in front of him. “Your mother will be back soon,” he said.

I stepped forward. “And what will
my mother
say when she finds me—us—here?”

My father stopped, bent his head. “Please, Hyun Jin, try to understand. Don't you see your baby will never be accepted—not by my wife, not by most Koreans? Leave her to the Americans; they have places for children like her.” He lifted his head, and I was startled to see tears in his eyes. “Then, maybe, you could come home . . .” His words died and I knew and he knew that that would never happen.

Bending forward, I shifted Myu to my back. “It's better that we go,” I said. I felt tired, empty.

“Wait.” My father touched me on the head, then rushed to the Coke display. He reached under it, his fingers tapping, feeling their way through years of dust, and pulled out a thin stack of envelopes. He patted the letters, blew the dirt from them. “Here,” he offered, handing them to me. “I used to dream that we could leave, too, and make a new life, a better life for you.”

Confused, I shook my head and squinted at the name scrawled in the corner of the top envelope: Lee Synang Man. Same name as the old president. For a crazy moment, I thought my father was passing me confidential political letters. Then I noticed the address underneath the name: 94-789 Waikupanaha Street, Waimanalo, Hawai‘i. “What?” I scowled. “Who is this?”

My father shoved the packet to me. “Take it,” he urged. “Synang Man is your uncle. He can help you, if you need it.”

I folded my arms across my chest, knowing my father had no brothers. “My uncle?” I sneered, glaring at him.

His eyes skittered away from mine. “Your mother's—my wife's—brother. He went to Hawai‘i just after World War Two. At first he sent letters, promising to return to take care of the store, take care of the family, take care of her. But then he stopped writing and he forgot about coming home. She never forgave him for that.” He shrugged, then tried to tuck the envelopes into Myu Myu's blanket. “Still, he's family.”

Twisting away from him, I knocked the letters to the ground. “Your wife is not family to me. He's not family to me. And now, you're not family to me.” I kicked at the packet and walked out the door.

“Hyun Jin,” my father called, and I could hear grief cracking his voice. “Jin Jin. Little Fox.” But I refused to slow my step. I refused to turn around.

 

I had to chance a visit to Club Foxa to leave a message for Yoon; I didn't want Bar Mama to tell her my disappearance meant that I had changed my mind about leaving for America. From behind the garbage dump in the alley, I watched that back door of Foxa until closing time, when the bar was clear of GIs and the bringers who might know Lobetto. Then I rushed into the kitchen.

“Eh, Kitchen Auntie,” I panted. I shook out one leg that had gone to sleep while I was in the alley.

Kitchen Auntie gave a small scream as she spun around to face me. “Why you got to scare somebody like that?” she scolded. Then she looked at me. “You look like shit. I barely recognize you.”

I eyed her up and down. “Well, you look like shit, too.” I sassed back. “Same as always.”

Kitchen Auntie cackled. “I always liked you,” she said.

“Listen,” I told her. “Tell Yoon's people that I'll be at the airport on time.” I dug into my jeans pocket for some coins, and pressed them into her palm.

She nodded. “Sookie said that you would be. Bar Mama thought you found a better deal with some Joe.” Jiggling the coins in her palm, she added: “And Lobetto's been coming around every night, telling me to keep an eye out for you. Never thought you were so popular.”

“Shit.” I pushed away from her, fumbling for the door. “Listen. Do not let anyone know I was here. Just pass on the message, okay?”

Kitchen Auntie clucked her tongue. “Wait, wait, let me get something for the baby.” She shuffled toward the stove. “She don't look so good either.”

“She's tired, that's all,” I said. But I stayed.

Kitchen Auntie busied herself with scooping leftover rice into a small plastic box. “Why would you cheat Lobetto like that?” she scolded me as she added a mound of kimchee and a few thin strips of
bulgogi.
My mouth watered at the sight of the beef that I knew would cost Kitchen Auntie some of her own pay. “Lobetto's a good boy. I've known him since before he was born, from the time his mama worked the clubs.”

“I've known him almost as long,” I retorted, “but I never thought he was good.”

Kitchen Auntie tightened her lips, trying to flatten out a smile. “He said he wants the baby. He said he loves her.” She looked for something to flavor the rice and reached for a cup of blackened sesame seeds.

“I've got to go. Now,” I muttered, shifting from foot to foot. My heart beat faster than she sprinkled, urging me to run.

Kitchen Auntie held the box toward me, but when I grabbed it, she wouldn't let go. “Hold on a minute,” she said. “There's someone inside been wanting to see you.”

“No!” I shouted. “Don't tell Lobetto I'm here.” I grabbed the box and ran out the door.

“Wait, wait,” Kitchen Auntie called after me. “It's not Lobetto.”

I pretended I didn't hear her and rushed down the alleyway. I ran blindly, without thought. I imagined Lobetto about to catch me. I struggled for speed while balancing Myu Myu on my back, but I knew Lobetto was gaining on me. I could hear how close he was by the echo of his footsteps behind me. When his hand gripped my shoulder, I dropped to my knees, pressed Myu against the wall and covered my head with my hands.

And then Sookie's arms were around me. “Hyun Jin,” she wheezed. “Hyun Jin, I've been worried about you. I didn't want you to blow this chance to get out of this place.”

“I—I—I . . .” I gulped air that burned my lungs.

She patted my shoulders, my arms, my head, as if to make sure I was unhurt. She avoided touching the baby, who had begun to mewl weakly. “Lobetto has been crazy since you left,” she said when she could breathe normally. “Is it true? You stole his America money?”

I shifted forward, my knees slipping on a stream of sludge that smelled of sewage. I stroked the baby's legs, then with shaking fingers, worked at the knot on the sling. “It's all right, baby,” I crooned. “You're okay.”

“Where you been?” Sookie asked.

Ignoring the question, I unwrapped Myu Myu, cradled her in my arms. “Sookie,” I panted, struggling to my feet. “I've got to get out of here before Lobetto catches up to me.”

“But where're you going to go?” Sookie persisted. She tugged at my elbow to help me up. “It's not safe for you around here.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” I snapped, and pulled away, shielding Myu with my body.

“I'm just trying to help.” She sniffed. “You stink.”

I rubbed Myu Myu's back, trying to soothe her and myself. I wanted to find a safe, secret place, maybe under one of the piers, to feed her and sleep a while. My knees, dampened with sewage, cracked when I took a step.

“Hyun Jin,” Sookie said, following me. “You look tired. Why don't I take you to Duk Hee's? You can sleep there for a little while. Lobetto won't expect that.”

I stopped. My head felt thick, and the sun, dim though it was this early in the morning, was strong enough to burn my eyes. “Duk Hee's?” I asked. “She won't mind?”

“Come,” Sookie murmured. “Rest. Eat. Sleep. You'll be safe.”

 

Duk Hee was in one of the few cubicles that hadn't closed their curtains. Stripped to bra and panties, head drooping and legs splayed, she sprawled in front of the glass door. When she heard our footsteps, she lumbered to her feet, calling, “Last chance, good time. Last chance, good time.”

“Pathetic,” Sookie muttered, and pounded on the door.

Duk Hee squinted into the sun's glare, her painted face garish in the morning light. “You ladies got any smokes?” she slurred.

“Duk Hee,” Sookie shouted. “Open up.”

Duk Hee opened her eyes wider, frowned, and then grinned. “Sookie?” She stumbled forward to unlock her door. She hurried to her daughter, trying to gather her into her arms. “I didn't recognize you at first. Imagine a mother not recognizing her own child!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sookie mumbled as she pushed past Duk Hee's attempt to embrace her.

Duk Hee stared at me, polite but distant, as I sidled in. I waited, part of me wanting her to fold me into her arms as well, to love me as a daughter. Part of me was relieved she didn't. “Hyun Jin.” She nodded. “You look like an old lady. Old and worn out as me.”

I scowled at her pasty skin, her bony chest, her graying hair, and said, “I doubt I look as bad as you.”

Duk Hee coughed out a laugh. “You were always so funny.”

I stumbled through the narrow space, to the back where the cot was pushed against the wall. Sookie had pulled the stained sheets off the mattress and piled them onto the floor. She jerked her head toward the bed. “Sit,” she told me, and lit a cigarette.

The quick flare of the match illuminated her face and I looked more closely. Her makeup was starting to bleed away, and under it, I could see a string of bruises from her temple to the baseline of her jaw, mirroring my birthmark.