Seoul Survivors (9 page)

“Yes, in a way, it is.”

Behind them, the drinks machine softly rattled. The
ajummas
returned to the
mog yuk tan
, letting a warm billow of moisture into the locker room. Da Mi wiped the lip of the honey bottle with a tissue, re-corked it and returned it to her purse.

Everything seemed strangely normal, more than it had for months. “So you're from the States, hey?” Sydney asked.

Da Mi set her cup gently on the table. She had perfectly manicured, taupe-colored nails. “I was brought up in Los Angeles. But I've been living in Korea for the last fifteen years.”

“That's a long time.” Sydney toyed with her mug, trying to think of something to say next that wouldn't be too dumb. Jin Sok had told her that
kyopos
had different reasons for returning to Korea: some were second-generation immigrants wanting to explore their roots; others were orphans who had been adopted by foreigners. Even though the term meant “one of our own,” they often found it difficult to be accepted by native Koreans. Jeez, she didn't want to get into all that. “So you don't miss America then?” she ventured.

“Not at all—but what about you, Sydney? Is that a Canadian accent I detect?”

“Yeah, I'm from Vancouver. Well, near there, anyway.” Sydney relaxed; Da Mi was so nice. And whether it was the
makkoli
or the honey, she was starting to feel a bit chatty. “I was working in Vancouver and met a modeling agent. He got me a contract here.”

“I thought you looked familiar—you're in that lipstick advertisement, aren't you?” Da Mi almost purred with approval.

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that's me: flavor of the month just because I'm blonde.
Ajummas
in the subways pull my hair out sometimes, you know.”

“Don't take offense,” Da Mi chuckled. “They'd tuck your bra strap in too, if it were showing. Your hair is in wonderful condition. It's just so unusual here. The color is natural, isn't it?”

“Well, with highlights.” Sydney stroked her hair. She had an appointment with the stylist tomorrow. He'd probably scold her for not patting it dry the way he had told her to. “To be honest, Da Mi,” she confided, “modeling's really hard work. I love it, but I have to look after every little bit of me, and I have to stay super-thin. That's why I didn't want to drink that
makkoli
.”

Da Mi tilted her head. “You look lovely. I wouldn't want to see you get much thinner. It was good to see you have a healthy appetite.”

“Oh, I love eating! It's the one thing I have in common with my boyfriend—my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, I mean.” Sydney blurted out a laugh, and the warmth in her chest flared like a sunburn.

Da Mi didn't smile. There was a small, stiff pause. An unexpected lump swelled up in Sydney's throat.

“Things aren't going so well?” Da Mi's voice was cashmere-soft.

Sydney scowled down at her lap. Her right knee was throbbing, and her heart was juddering weirdly in her chest. What was wrong with her? She'd been wound up tighter than an OhmEgo halter-top for ages, and now she'd fainted. It was because Johnny was such a jerk. Like this morning, trying to bully her into going to Seoul
Land. He thought she didn't have any friends, didn't he? Thought she couldn't make it here on her own. But she
could
. Koreans were amazing: it was never any trouble for them to look out for her—to take
care
of her. Not like him.

“Hmm?” Da Mi prompted.

Sydney shrugged. “We got on okay at first,” she muttered. “He helped me start out here and stuff. But now I have the money for my own place, and my Korean friend is going to help me move. It's just that I work for Johnny too, and he'll be pissed if I go, so I haven't told him yet. Plus some days I hardly eat, and I've got insomnia, and I look like
shit
.” Her lower lip trembled. Embarrassed, she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.

“Oh, dear.” Da Mi's small breasts rose and fell as she gave a sympathetic sigh. “It sounds very stressful. Here”—she picked up Sydney's mug and pressed it into her hands—“have a little more of the honey drink. It's very soothing.”

Sniffling, Sydney took another gulp of the mixture. Who cared about the calories? She did feel less tense now, warm from the honey, and the ache in her knee was subsiding.

“Sydney,” Da Mi said firmly, “I'm not a GP, I'm a research scientist, but I'm telling you, you must eat sensibly. Don't worry about putting on a pound or two.”

“But if I want to get work I have to fit into Korean sizes, and they're all so tiny.” Sydney heard herself whining, but Da Mi shushed her kindly.

“Oh now. Your look is very exotic here. I'm sure the designers would alter the clothes for you. And there's plenty of other work available for foreigners in Seoul.”

On the wall behind Da Mi there was a poster of a Korean palace, its tiled roof framed by cherry trees in blossom beneath a bright blue sky. Sydney stared up at it.
Blue sky thinking
. That was one of Jin Sok's top English phrases. Why couldn't she just relax and enjoy being made a fuss of here?

“I'm sorry, Da Mi. I'm just on edge today,” she confessed.

“Have a little more of the honey drink, sweetie. And do talk about it, if you want. I know it can be lonely when you're new to a country.”

Sydney tipped back her mug, draining the last slither of the warm liquid. The humming in her body rose like a chorus.
Go on
, it seemed to be singing,
you know you want to
. “The thing is, Da Mi—” She hesitated, but then it all poured out of her: “This is just about the most important day of my life. I've never really had a proper
job before, y'know? I was a waitress for a bit, and then I got into—well”—she tossed her head—“escort work, which is how I met Johnny. I know that sounds sleazy, and I guess it was, kind of. The other girls were nice, and I never got into the drugs, but most of the guys were real losers, and I don't want to go back to that kind of work ever. So now I've got this amazing chance, an exclusive contract with
OhmEgo,
and Johnny's being totally horrible to me.” She felt the tears rising again, and with them a hard tinny voice in her head.
What the fuck did you do that for?
it berated her.
Now Da Mi knows you're a slut, she's going to pick up her Prada purse, make some lame excuse and leave
.

But Da Mi was still there. “Oh
dear
,” she tutted. “What's been going on, sweetheart?”

Sydney rubbed at an invisible spot on the table with her finger. The doctor couldn't possibly understand her life. She was just being nice to her because she'd fallen. But at the same time, Da Mi was listening to her like no one had done in months. Jin Sok was great, but all action and jokes. Annie and the other agency girls hardly even said hi anymore. Yeah, even if she never saw Da Mi again, she needed to talk now. What did she have to lose?

“We had a fight before I came out,” she whispered. “It was scary, actually. Since I got the contract, it's almost like he wants to hit me sometimes.”

“Oh, now, that is
not
good. No, I don't like the sound of that at all.”

Sydney looked up, surprised. Da Mi actually sounded mad. She was frowning and
tsking
, her eyes flashing, her lips pursed. Then, with a tiny shake of her immaculate bob, her expression melted into one of pure concern. She reached out and placed her small hand on Sydney's wrist. “Darling, do you need a place to stay?”

“No!” Sydney jerked her arm away. Jeez, what
was
she doing, spilling her guts to a total stranger? “We're definitely breaking up—I'm leaving tomorrow when he's on a business trip. I don't
care
if that's mean. I don't
care
.” It was such a relief to have finally said it, she was buzzing. She set the mug back down on the table. The echoing ring lingered in the air.

“He'll get over it,” Da Mi said briskly. “He must meet lots of pretty girls in his line of work. And your future should be yours to choose. Goodness, it's actually all very exciting, isn't it? OhmEgo's a
very
up-and-coming label. You'll be a Korean celebrity in no time!”

Da Mi still liked her. Was on her
side
, even. Wow. For a moment, she felt light and wavy, a silk scarf blowing in a breeze.

Nice as she was, though, the doctor wasn't an industry prophet. Sydney wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It's just a foot in the door, that's all. I'm taking a big risk, really. What if I fall flat on my face?”

“Don't worry, Sydney,” Da Mi said firmly. “I'll help you, no matter what happens. Here, let me give you my name-card.” She opened her purse again and handed Sydney a glossy business card.

Fuck Johnny. She'd made another amazing new friend. “Thanks, Da Mi,” Sydney said eagerly, examining the card. It was embossed with a glowing green spiral and lettering in English and Hangul. “Genetic Research International Productions,” she read, slowly. “So, what do you do there?”

The scientist snapped her purse shut. “Mainly I help people have children, but we also have more general research interests—some of our projects require test subjects or donors, and we pay well. You'd be very welcome to take part if you ever have time between your contracts.”

Sydney fingered the edge of the card. “I dunno . . . you're a really smart scientist, you don't want some dumb street kid hanging around. I mean, I never even finished high school.” Even as she said the words, she wished she could swallow them back down.
What was getting into her today?
Was that honey drink some kind of truth serum?

“Sydney, look at me.” Reluctantly, Sydney obeyed. The scientist's voice was calm, her eyes mellow. “You've had some hard times, but they're over now,” she said. “You're smart and ambitious and lovely, and you're clearly doing well for yourself. But you're also a guest in my home country, and we Koreans, we look after our guests. Okay?”

Sydney flushed. Da Mi was super-nice, so why was she being such a dolt?

“Okay.” She nodded. “I mean,
for sure
. I'm sorry, I'm just totally stressed out today.”

“I know—and one of my jobs is to find a cure for stress, so how lucky is that?” Da Mi smiled. Then she popped Sydney's empty mug into her own and got up, her black wisp of pubic hair level with Sydney's face for a moment. “Now I'm afraid I have to get back to work. Are you staying?”

“No, I should get going too.” Sydney scrambled to her feet and followed the doctor back to the lockers. As she slipped back into her clothes, she realized how relaxed she felt—warm, floaty, even a bit
taller. It must be good for you to be totally pathetic and unburden yourself to a stranger every now and then.

Da Mi did up the top button of her gorgeous Icinoo tunic. “Goodbye for now, Sydney,” she said. “And don't forget to invite me to a top fashion house party!”

“Sure!” Sydney giggled, and leaned down to kiss the doctor goodbye. An electric shock sizzled between her lips and the doctor's smooth cheek. Both women jumped.

“Koreans say that's the sign of destiny bringing two souls together,” Da Mi said.

Sydney fingered her faintly burning mouth and watched the scientist pad to the door in her stockinged feet. What kind of shoes would she slip into outside in the hall: Manolo Blahniks? Jimmy Choos? Oh, she
so
had to introduce Da Mi to Jin Sok.

For the first week in the hotel, Mee Hee lay curled up on her bed, almost too tired to breathe. She opened her eyes only to sip at her
congee
, gratefully swallowing the thin slices of vegetables swimming in the thick rice porridge or slowly chewing the shredded morsels of chicken or pork. The food was so delicious she could never speak while eating. Su Jin ate reverently in silence too, and it became their habit not to disturb each other for a long while after each meal.

As well as
congee
, the nurses also brought them fruit: apples, mandarin oranges, watermelon slices, and after Dr. Tae Sun removed her IV tube the cooks started adding
banchan
to her tray—little side dishes of
odang
, potatoes, bean sprouts,
kim chi
, seaweed. The nurses were Chinese, but the cooks were Korean, Su Jin said. Chinese food was very good, and
congee
was excellent for people suffering from malnutrition, but as they got stronger, it was important to keep their meals close to home, so they would not confuse their stomachs or their spirits.

When she wasn't eating, Mee Hee slept, waking only to let the nurses wash her and change her sheets, or to see the doctors, who visited twice a day. Dr. Tae Sun came in the mornings, when Su Jin was out socializing or exploring the neighborhood. He would tend to her bruises, daubing them with ointment as she lifted her nightdress up over her ribs. He also gave her acupuncture to calm her nerves and improve her circulation, teasing her when her veins twitched. Once, he gave her a hand massage to finish off her treatment, kneading her palms and pulling her fingers, joking that he was going to take them away with him. Soon, his footsteps in the hall were a signal to sit up straight, plump the pillows, smooth her hair.

In the afternoon, Dr. Dong Sun took her pulse and examined her throat and ears. He prescribed pills to help balance her energies, and clove-oil for her gums. He advised Su Jin to use the oil too, on her fingertips, to help her stop biting her nails, and when she showed him some noticeable growth he brought her a South Korean fashion magazine, all the way from the train station. She barely said thank you, but she stayed up late into the night reading and re-reading
it, the glossy pages snapping and sighing as Mee Hee drifted off to sleep.

Gradually, Mee Hee grew stronger, and as the days passed, she was able to eat more often, without making her stomach feel so bloated and sore. She couldn't tell if she was putting on weight, but her bruises were fading and shrinking, and her gums had stopped bleeding when she brushed her teeth. She was still too weak to walk, but as soon as she could sit up in bed for a few hours at a time, the other women began to visit her. They would arrive in groups of three or four, bringing their own chairs; the metal legs scraped against the tiled floor as the women clucked and exclaimed, telling stories of the suffering in their villages, the deaths of their children and husbands. The most frequent visitor was Older Sister, who had lost three sons in six months and was now eating so much she had begun to look almost stocky.

“Women from the Diamond Mountains are built to survive,” she would say gruffly as the others admired her thick arms. Apart from Mee Hee, the thinnest woman was Little Sister, whose quiet modesty made her seem much older than nineteen. Following the deaths of her parents, she had become a devout secret Christian, like her mother.

“Jesus fasted for many days in the wilderness,” she said to Mee Hee at their first meeting. “I thought of his beautiful strength whenever my stomach cried out.”

Six of the other women were Buddhists. Two had always meditated, they said, despite the Wise Young Leader's orders not to worship false prophets. The others were only now beginning to learn about the religion, praying with bracelets of beads they had bought in the markets outside the hotel. Two more women wore crucifixes around their necks, but neither spoke about Jesus as if they knew him, like Little Sister did.

The visits were full of kindness and noise, and Mee Hee soon began to look forward to them. None of the women pressed her to speak, and if they did dwell on the subject of their lost children, a warning look from Su Jin had them quickly fussing over Mee Hee's health, before her room-mate shooed their sisters away.

At last, Dr. Tae Sun said she was allowed to try to walk. A nurse brought slippers and a dressing gown and Mee Hee sat on the side of the bed, slipping her arms into the sleeves, her feet into the blue flannel. She thought the nurse would help, but Dr. Tae Sun himself stepped forward and put his arm around her.

“I'm all right by myself,” she whispered, embarrassed, but her knees were weak and she let him help her stand. As they walked together across the room she clutched at his hand around her waist. In the morning she walked to the bathroom with Su Jin, who washed her hair and scrubbed her skin in the steamy shower stall. When they came back, Mee Hee asked if she could sit on Su Jin's bed and look out of the window.

“Of course!” She helped Mee Hee kneel on the blanket. They peered out between the curtains into the roar of the traffic, the loud pop music of the cassette salesman on the corner and the harsh cries of the street vendors.

“
Oh!
” Mee Hee clutched the sill and raised herself higher. She hadn't known there could be so many people in the world, so many different kinds of clothes: young girls in school uniforms; gentlemen in suits with silk ties; women in flowery blouses. And look—“People are selling food on the street!”

“Smell it.” Su Jin reached up and opened the window and a fragrant gust of burned sugar billowed up from the doughnut stand outside the hotel. Across the street a man was ladling out what looked like stew; beside him a woman was frying grasshoppers.

Mee Hee's mouth watered. “The Chinese must live to eat,” she whispered.

“The bean cakes are delicious. I'll buy you one later.” Su Jin said. But Dr. Dong Sun wouldn't let her interfere with Mee Hee's diet, so she arrived back with a brooch instead, a glittery blue bird.

“The messenger of the Gods.” Mee Hee stroked the enamel.
He can send my love to Song Ju
, she thought.

“For us, yes, the blue bird is a spy.” Su Jin took the brooch from her hand. “But in Russia, the blue bird means hope. I read it in a magazine.” Su Jin pinned the bird to Mee Hee's blouse. As she did so, Mee Hee coughed and the sharp point of the pin pricked her breast. She flinched.

“Oh! I'm sorry!”

“No, it was my fault.”

“Don't be silly. Here, look at how pretty you are.” Su Jin passed Mee Hee the mirror. Almost frightened, she peeked at her reflection. The brooch was beautiful, but behind it, she saw a plain, ordinary woman, with broad cheekbones and a snub nose. There was flesh on her face now, but she would never be pretty like Su Jin.

“Do you have hope?” Mee Hee asked timidly.

“Of course.” Su Jin frowned. “Don't you?”

Mee Hee laid the mirror down. She knew she couldn't give the right answer. Hope meant wanting things to get better. But she prayed every night that her life would stay exactly as it was now.

“You must have hope, or you wouldn't have come in the truck.” Su Jin's voice was determined, almost giving her an order. Mee Hee thought back to that moment in the rice paddy when her heart had fluttered in her chest.

“Dr. Che,” she whispered. “Che Tae Sun, he gives me hope.”

“Well, I've seen more handsome men, but those two are worth recovering for, I suppose.”

Mee Hee paused. “Which do you prefer?” she asked, terrified of the answer, but desperate to know.

“They're as alike as two soy beans!” Su Jin laughed. “Well, Dr. Dong Sun is a little more muscular. Yes, I think I'd have to take a honeymoon with him.”

Mee Hee felt a surge of energy run through her. Was this hope? “Oh no, they're very different,” she insisted. “Dr. Tae Sun is very gentle and sensitive. And his looks are . . . more refined.”

Su Jin flashed her sharp little teeth. “If you're feeling well enough to fight over the doctors you should come downstairs for supper tonight. You can't just lie here mooning over your Doctor Prince!”

“I do not!” Mee Hee protested, a blush sweeping over her face.

“You mustn't brood over the past either. Come downstairs and watch TV while supper's being made.”

So that evening, holding tightly onto Su Jin's arm, Mee Hee tottered down to the lobby of the hotel, where a dozen women sat cross-legged on the floor, their faces bathed in the spectral light of the television. They applauded Mee Hee's arrival, and Younger Sister plumped up a cushion for her. Then the women began to squabble over a shelf of slim plastic boxes with colorful sleeves.

“They're dee-vee-dees,” Su Jin explained, pronouncing the foreign word slowly. “Like books for television.”

“It's my turn to choose,” Older Sister announced, and she deftly lifted a golden disc from a sliding drawer below the TV screen and replaced it with another, making a coarse joke about how easily the drawer slid in. Mee Hee sat silently. She had seen televisions before, of course, and even videocassettes, when Education Units had come to the village to inform them of the Wise Young Leader's latest achievements. But she had never seen a dee-vee-dee casually glinting in the callused hands of a peasant woman.

“Oh good,
Castles and Queens
.” Su Jin murmured knowledgeably. A rapt hush settled over the room as the television sprang alive with swirls of golden light and a fanfare of trumpets. Older Sister, sitting beside Su Jin, pressed a button on a black rectangular unit (“It's a remote control,” Su Jin whispered) and a Korean woman's face filled the screen. Her make-up was flawless, her skin smooth, her gold jewelry tasteful and discreet; she was older than any of the women in the room, but more beautiful than anyone Mee Hee had ever seen. Despite the immense care that had obviously gone into her appearance, however, there was nothing distant or artificial about her expression. Her face was so tender that for a moment Mee Hee felt as if she were looking up into the face of her own mother.

“Hello.” The woman's voice was as full and creamy as her lips. With her lush, painted mouth and soft brown eyes, she smiled into Mee Hee's soul. “My name is Dr. Kim Da Mi. Welcome to
Castles and Queens
.”

Mee Hee gripped Su Jin's arm. “Is that—?” she asked in disbelief.

Su Jin nodded as a woman in front of them turned her head and whispered, “Shush.”

Mee Hee needed no further instruction to sit still and watch, entranced, as Dr. Kim's heart-shaped face dissolved into a scene of rolling green hillsides. The camera zoomed in on a stone castle with round turrets and fluttering triangular flags. There were more trumpets, and then Dr. Kim's warm, melodious voice began narrating a story about Queen Eleanor, who lived in the top rooms of the castle, ruled over two different lands and had given birth to three kings.

Queen Eleanor was brave and wise. She wore long, brocaded robes and presided over lavish banquets. Her trestle tables strained under great platters of food: roast beef, peacock and lamb, massive pork and pigeon pies, enormous wheels of cheese, trays of honey-glazed vegetables, mountains of fruit, huge bowls of rich, creamy puddings, and flagons of wine made from wildflowers and berries. Seeing the king and queen lick their fingers as they ate the lamb was shocking—how could anyone eat a baby animal that had been so cruelly taken from its mother?—but still, as she watched the feasting, Mee Hee longed to taste from every plate. And in the tournament scenes, when Queen Eleanor's knights jousted for her favors, she gasped and gripped her cushion, cheering with the other women when one rider toppled the other and cooing over the beautiful ornate dresses of the ladies of the court.

The film didn't really have a story, but it didn't have to. It was pleasure enough just to marvel at these rich, splendid images, bask in the stately music, lean against Su Jin and giggle over which knight was the most
refined
. When the film was over, Dr. Kim's peaceful face appeared again on the screen. She thanked them for watching and said she hoped they had enjoyed the program, and all the others in the series. Immediately, the women began arguing again.

“Queen Son Dok!”

“No, the one about Seoul!”

“Yes, the restaurants in Seoul!”

Mee Hee sat shyly, still enveloped in the television's luminous glow. Her heart was aching, a sweet ache that reminded her she was still alive, was still the same girl who had sat on the mountainside staring at the sunset, hoping and longing to wrap its red and orange ribbons around her waist and fly into another world.