The Ohana (2 page)

"Three days," she replied as she gave him more water to drink.

"You came to find me after giving birth?" Chaul Roong was amazed by her strength and courage.

Dok Ja poured some cold ginseng tea into a cup and let him sip on it. The grains of rice in the cup helped to fill the cavity in his belly. "My child will not be an orphan. And we have yet to have a son."

Overwhelmed by her selfless gesture, Chaul Roong said, "You're a good wife. Better than I deserve. If I live, I'll give you a son."

Her tears surprised him. He knew it was the kindest, most loving thing he had said to her during their three years of marriage. At this moment he felt the closest thing he ever felt to love for her. It seemed she loved him already.

Dok Ja looked around. The soldier guarding him was sound asleep, drunk on sake. The troops had been celebrating tomorrow's beheading.  Chaul Roong vaguely remembered hearing that it was his head which was to be hacked from his body. At the time he didn't care. He only wanted the agony to stop. Hopefully he had acquitted himself honorably so that his next life would be a better one. He was ready.

Dok Ja sawed off the ropes that kept him bound to the stake. He followed her to a stand of trees far from the camp where they stopped to rest. She gave him rice balls and dried fish from her pouch. When he ate his fill and quenched his thirst, he reached out and touched the soft black down atop his daughter's head.

"She sleeps so soundly," he marveled.

"I gave her something to quiet her," Dok Ja admitted.

"What did you name her?"

"I didn't give her a name. I waited for her father to do so," Dok Ja paused. "I like the name Soon-yi."

 "Then Soon-yi it shall be," Chaul Roong leaned down and kissed the top of his daughter's head. "Soon-yi, you will be the first of many children."

Dok Ja wept.

The bushes beside them crackled. A Japanese soldier carrying a gun stood gaping at them. He looked very young. Chaul Roong guessed him to be no more than sixteen. His dark, frightened eyes were unusually round and in the moonlight, flecks of copper glistened in his black hair.

Still wobbly from being tied for so long, Chaul Roong stood.

The teen soldier dropped his rifle and pointed to the right. "That way is safe," he told them in Japanese.

Chaul Roong nodded and gestured to Dok Ja.

"Don't listen to him, he's Japanese," Dok Ja said the last in a voice dripping with contempt.

"His eyes are honest," Chaul Roong replied.

Before they melted into the shadows, Chaul Roong turned and bowed. "
Arigato
," he said.

The Han family ran until they could run no more and stopped to rest under a tree. Dok Ja handed her husband a cloth-tied bundle she had strapped to her back along with the baby.  

"What is this?" Chaul Roong asked as she handed it to him.

"Some clothes and money. You cannot stay. The intruders will kill you. There is a ship docked in Pusan that sails tomorrow morning. It's taking laborers to the Islands of the Sun. They say the streets are paved with gold and there is untold wealth to be made."

Chaul Roong took her hands in his, "I can't leave my family."

"You must," Dok Ja squeezed his hands. "Don’t worry. Your mother will stand by us. We are the only family she has left. The Japanese will not be here forever. You will come back a rich man or send for us when you have enough money."

"Dok Ja …" He didn't know what to say.

"
Yobo
, you must go before they find you're gone. Please." She began to weep again.

Not knowing what else to do, Chaul Roong took her in his arms and kissed her.

Chaul Roong thought he was dying. He hadn’t been able to hold down any food for a week. The cave-like cold of steerage, the ship’s dungeon, wrapped around him while thoughts of death crept into his confused mind. Suddenly the ship pitched violently and men were thrown out of the hard, wooden shelves that were their homes aboard the ship. Cold seawater poured through the cracks and the ship shuddered. All around him, men screamed and cried. Some of them scrambled up the ladder to the locked hatches and pounded on the metal until their hands bled. The ship heaved again, tossing some off the ladder.

Feverish and shaking, Chaul Roong tied himself to a rope fastened to a rusty iron ring imbedded in the wall of the ship next to his pallet. The ship rolled to the right and he threw up. Right before he passed out he saw his little sister's face. Behind her he saw his little brother leaping and spinning in the air. His mother was right - his younger brother was the true
Hwarang
warrior in the family.

When Chaul Roong awakened to the putrid smell of vomit and the cold of dank wood scraping his back, the rocking had stopped, but the smell of vomit and fear filled the air. He heard moans and muffled cries of despair. The man across him lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Everyone was wrapped in their own misery. Shivering, Chaul Roong pulled his knees up to his chest and thought about Dok Ja. He owed her, and the Japanese soldier who showed them the way, a debt he could never repay. 

Chaul Roong returned to his cabin from ten hours of work on his first day at the plantation too tired to bathe or prepare dinner. From six in the morning to four in the afternoon, the sun scorched his back and drenched him in sweat. After a day of brutal work, a centipede infested wooden shack and a hard, wooden bed were all he had to look forward to. The thought of working like this six days a week made him turn his head to the wall.

Someone nudged him and he turned to see
Harabeoji
, one of the men who lived in the company cabin with him. He was called
Harabeoji
, or grandfather, because of his age. But, he was a tough old man, used to the sun and hard work.
Harabeoji
handed him a kim chee sandwich he’d made him. Chaul Roong rose on his elbow, thanked him, and then shoved it – bite by bite – into his mouth.

“The first day is hard,”
Harabeoji
warned, “and you’ll feel worse the next few days. “Your body must fight the pain after so long in the boat without exercise.”

“I practiced
Tae Kyon
whenever I could,” Chaul Roong replied between mouthfuls.

Harabeoji
shook his head. “You’ll still feel the pain. Do you have any money?”

Chaul Roong nodded.

“Then buy yourself a hot bath in the
jjimjilbang
. It will be worth it.”

Chaul Roong yawned. “Let me sleep awhile.”

Harabeoji
grabbed his hand and hoisted him up. “You won’t wake up if you do.”

Chaul Roong took
Harabeoji
’s advice and steeped in the hot water, reflecting on the path that brought him here. Unlike the others, he didn't come because he believed the promises the white men made to the unsuspecting immigrants. Money didn’t flow and wealth didn’t happen. The men in his cabin laughed bitterly. They, too, had once believed the sailor’s lies. The truth was, the old-timers told him, it was paradise only for the whites, who the people in Hawaii called
haoles
. The Hawaiians had become second class citizens in their own land. Not unlike the Koreans who were ruled by Japanese intruders.

Chaul Roong missed his country. Going back any time soon was not an option. Besides, it would take years for him to save the passage money back to his homeland. Like it or not, he was stuck in these miserable islands. He almost wept as he thought of his connection to the universe—the mountains of Jirisan.

Kohala, Hawaii –1913

Most evenings Chaul Roong practiced
Tae Kyon
in the dirt courtyard separating the rows of cabins where the bachelor laborers lived.
Tae Kyon
kept him connected to his roots. Going through the movements, he concentrated on
ki
and internalized his pain and disappointment.

The men of the Korean camp watched and clapped as he moved to the imaginary rhythm of bamboo flutes and drums. His surroundings disappeared, he became a
Hwarang
warrior. His mind emptied as his muscles stretched and strained until all pain was released, leaving only the beauty of the warrior’s dance. He disciplined his body to attain new peaks of performance.

About a dozen young men joined him and he taught them the three steps of
Tae Kyon
. The first step,
honja ikhigi
, set the foundation for legs of steel flying through the air, striking opponents with dazzling footwork. In
maju megigi
, the men practiced more difficult techniques as their hands and legs moved in concert with bodies. Having mastered that, they were ready for the final step,
gyeon jugi
, sparring. Since betting on sparring matches had thrown
Tae Kyon
into disfavor with the neo-Confucionists of the Chosun Dynasty, he did not allow gambling.

Soon most of the men in the camp, even the old, participated in
Tae Kyon
. It empowered their bodies and spirits. Before they began the exercises, they repeated the tenets of Korea’s oldest fighting art: “We will serve our king with loyalty. Look after our parents with filial piety. Treat our peers with trust. Withstand enemy attacks with courage. Terminate life with discrimination.”

“Perfect harmony is created when body and soul work in unison,” Chaul Roong taught.

On Sundays, his only day off, Chaul Roong made extra money reading and writing letters to and from Korea. The men of the Korean camp lined up in front of his shack with pennies in their hands. Many of them wrote to marriage brokers requesting wives. Although the passage and broker fees were expensive, most of the men realized they were never going home. Once, they had hoped to return to Korea rich men. Without money, going home meant a return to servitude under the Japanese imperialists and poverty. It was as unacceptable now as it was when the men first decided to immigrate.

Chaul Roong and his best friend Chong Bok Nam spent many evenings sitting on the porch of their plantation cabin, smoking cigarettes, playing cards, and talking with the rest of the bachelors. Chickens clucked around the dirt yard and the camp dog plopped himself next to anyone who would pet him. Far better than sitting in their unpainted, two-room cabin where plank walls were lined with newspapers to keep centipedes from crawling in and biting them. Inside each cabin was a table with four chairs and beds of wooden planks piled with blankets and pillows.

One day fifty-three-year-old Bok Nam approached Chaul Roong outside his cabin. “I want you to send a marriage letter for me. I’ve been alone too long.”

Chaul Roong knew Bok Nam arrived in Hawaii ten years ago with the first group of Korean immigrants. It was amazing he was granted entry at what Chaul Roong considered his advanced age when twenty-four other Korean young men had failed the physical examination.

In the letter he wrote for his friend, Chaul Roong exaggerated Bok Nam’s qualities in order to impress the marriage broker.

“Do you have a picture?” Chaul Roong asked.

Bok Nam didn't look at him as he handed Chaul Roong a yellowed snapshot of himself as a young man. Chaul Roong glanced at it before stuffing it into an envelope. He was used to most of the older men  sending pictures of themselves as young men.

Six months later, Bok Nam ran across the cane field waving a picture and letter in his hand. He showed Chaul Roong a picture of Song Tae Ja. The accompanying letter said she was seventeen-years-old and she thought he looked pleasant. 

Chaul Roong stroked the picture with his finger. “She’s beautiful.”

Bok Nam sighed. “You should get a wife. You’re still a young man.”

Chaul Roong never talked about his wife in Korea. He decided to now, “I already have a wife.”

Bok Nam raised his eyebrows. “You do?”

“My wife and a daughter live in Korea. Dok Ja's a good wife who cares for my mother. Soon I will send for her.” Five years had gone by since he saw them last. Thinking of his wife and daughter only reminded him of the painful circumstances of his leaving Korea. He wanted to block it out, but remembering the enormous debt he owed his wife, he sent money home to her every two months.

“A man should have his family with him,” Bok Nam said.

Chaul Roong nodded.

Chaul Roong and Bok Nam pushed through the crowd in the hot, airless room where the picture brides clutched photographs in their hands while anxiously scanning the sea of people. Bok Nam tugged at Chaul Roong’s sleeve and pointed his finger at a slim figure in a
chogori
made up of a
chima
, a sheer red wrap-around skirt over a
sokchima
, a bright, yellow underskirt. The sleeves of her
jeogori
, short jacket, were embroidered with threads of gold. Her black hair was parted in the middle and twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. High cheekbones beneath almond-shaped eyes lent her round face strength and character. Her skin was like ivory cream, blushed a muted rose over full lips.

Everything disappeared around Chaul Roong as their eyes met. She looked from him to the picture in her hand, then up at him again. When she tilted her head and smiled, he felt something he never felt before stir inside him.

He walked toward her and stopped two feet away. “Song Tae Ja?”

She nodded and cast her eyes down. Her eyelashes fluttered as she modestly covered a tiny smile with her hand.

“I’m pleased to meet my husband at last.” She bowed.

“I’m Han Chaul Roong.” The words came out of him slowly. “May I present my good friend Chong Bok Nam.” His hand shook as he gestured behind him, where Bok Nam waited.

Tae Ja looked up quickly, then returned her eyes to the ground. “Most pleased to meet you.”

Chaul Roong looked from Tae Ja to Bok Nam, then back again. The merciless years of labor in the cane field left deep creases in Bok Nam’s brown, leathery face. His thin, gray hair made him look like her grandfather.

As Chaul Roong fell into the web of her youthful vibrancy and dark, intelligent eyes, a distant image burst into his thoughts. He saw Dok Ja's tears and the sweet face of his sleeping daughter.

He turned to Bok Nam and congratulated him.

For several weeks Chaul Roong avoided his old friend and his new wife. Finally, Bok Nam approached him in the fields during lunch break. “Why do you stay away? My being married shouldn’t make such a big difference. Have I made you angry with me?”

Chaul Roong pretended to look down at something. “I thought I would leave you alone to enjoy your happiness. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Bok Nam patted his arm. “Perhaps seeing all the brides reminded you of your wife. Maybe she'll join you soon. Meanwhile, I want to invite you to our home as a guest. Tae Ja is a wonderful cook. I told her you’re the smart one who wrote the letters.” Bok Nam smiled. “I miss your stories, and I know my wife would like them too.”

Knowing he couldn’t stay away forever, Chaul Roong agreed.

Chaul Roong handed Bok Nam a bottle of rice wine at the door of the Chong’s two-room cabin. Bok Nam thanked him and led him into his house. The men walked past a mattress with a brightly colored blanket neatly spread over it, then out the back door and down a well-worn path to the kitchen which was in a separate building near the outhouse.

The kitchen was dominated by the safe, a tall, screened cabinet where food was kept. It stood next to the sink and a kerosene stove topped by a wooden box used as an oven. Plumeria flowers were strewn on a crude wooden picnic table set with dishes and chopsticks. The smell of
kahl bi
cooking made him homesick.

Tae Ja stood at the stove, her round, smooth face flushed from the heat. Her dark eyes lit up when she saw Chaul Roong. Bowing, she said, “So wonderful of you to grace our house.”

Bok Nam handed her the wine.

“How very kind and generous of you.”

Chaul Roong shook his head. “It was kind of you to invite me.”

“You are most welcome.” She smiled, eyes fluttering downward.

During dinner, Chaul Roong entertained them with tales of his ancestor, the
Hwarang
Warrior and the Original Flower who became his wife. Although he hid his nervousness with laughter, he couldn’t help watching Tae Ja when he thought no one was looking. Once she caught him as she stood behind Bok Nam, taking an empty plate from him. Her hand went to her throat and her sparkling eyes widened for a fleeting moment before she turned away.

Chaul Roong saw his attraction returned for one brief moment. It was enough.

Chaul Roong became a regular visitor to the Chong’s home. Bok Nam’s genuine pleasure at seeing him made Chaul Roong hate himself even more. But he was caught in a web of desire. Tae Ja’s every gesture and look mesmerized him. The way she put one small hand to her mouth when she laughed, the curve of her arm when she rolled up her sleeves, the dark strands of hair that fell across the nape of her neck and forehead, the tilt of her head when he said something interesting, and the lilting sound of her voice, like honey blended with wine.

One night Chaul Roong heard a tap on his window. He looked out and saw Tae Ja’s face glowing under the full moon. She put a finger to her lips. He slipped outside and she led him to a little clearing beside the banana grove.

Holding a dark blanket in her arms, she spread it on the ground. Sitting on the blanket, she looked up at Chaul Roong, her lips parted. Dropping to his knees, he took her in his arms. He kissed her and their lips melted together with a sweetness he had never tasted before. They became one. A fire began inside him yet he couldn't help being poignantly aware no matter how much he wanted this, it was wrong.

As he held her from him and gazed into her hopeful face, he knew he should stop. But desire won over conscience. They kissed again. He tried to forget he was a
Hwarang
warrior committed to doing the honorable thing. But just because he knew a thing was right didn’t mean he was capable of doing it.