The Queen of Tears (23 page)

SILVER KNIFE

chapter eight

-1-

I
n 1974, when Won Ju was nineteen, she left Fresno, California with her sixteen-year-old brother and moved to Las Vegas. She was sick of playing nursemaid to her stepfather and one-year-old half-sister. She was sick of assuming the role that her mother left her when she had fled back to Korea. She was nineteen, and the last thing she wanted to do was take care of a middle-aged ex-military man and his constantly crying infant daughter. Besides, she hated the city of Fresno itself. There was nothing but stuck-up whites, crazy Mexicans, and grape vineyards farther than the eye could see. She grew to hate grapes, and almost gagged just at the sight of them. She was no farm girl. She craved the city life. Besides, Elvis Presley performed in Vegas. She’d always wanted to see an Elvis show.

Her mother had just upped and left. Soong’d had another conversation with Henry about money, then fled to Korea the next day. Won Ju told herself she could do the same. She took care of the baby Darian by day, and bagged groceries at Safeway by night, earning enough money for the move. And she would have left alone, had her brother not been awakened by the fight she had with her stepfather and begged her to take him with her. She was used to taking care of Chung Yun, and felt sorry for him because he took weekly beatings at his high school for being a Korean with a bad accent. She remembered her own beatings had forced her to drop out, so, feeling empathy for her younger brother, she decided to take him with her.

Won Ju and Chung Yun took a cab to the Fresno Air Terminal. It was nine at night and the taxi whizzed by rows of grape vineyards. Passing the grapes by car always left Won Ju with an unsettling feeling. They looked like stilts walking rapidly, always keeping up with the vehicle. She felt like the grapes were chasing her. This night was no different. She tried not to look outside.

Chung Yun’s head leaned against the closed window. His thin body seemed too weak to hold up his round head. When she looked at him, he smiled. He seemed even happier to be leaving. Won Ju guessed why.

“Hey gook.”

“Hey jap.”

“Hey chink.”

Won Ju had heard it on a daily basis before. The only thing was Won Ju and Chung Yun were neither Vietnamese, Japanese, or Chinese. They were, for the most part, Korean. But to both the Mexicans and whites, it didn’t matter. All Asians looked the same. Won Ju shook her head. Ignorant farmers. Did they not know Asia, like Europe, like America, was filled with different nations that were not only different, but had despised each other for centuries? Their calling her and her brother “gooks” was just as stupid as calling a Frenchman a “kraut,” or calling an Apache a “wetback.” But to them, it didn’t matter. Once she or her brother opened their mouths and spoke their rotten English, it was like the ringing of the Pavlov bell for the other students.

“What are you, a retarded jap?”

“Why don’t you learn our language, you fuckin’chink.”

“My father died in Vietnam, gook. Now I’m going to
take it out on your ass. It was probably your commie dad
that killed my pops.”

Won Ju checked the window. The grape stilts were still following her. She imagined them whispering, “Where are you going, you chink? You can’t hide from us.” She turned her attention back to her brother, who was still glowing. She spoke in Korean. “Don’t look so happy, brother. Las Vegas is still America. Las Vegas has a high school. And I expect you to go to that high school.”

Chung Yun’s smile didn’t break. “I don’t care.”

“Then why are you so happy?”

Chung Yun looked at his sister. “I don’t know, but I am.”

Won Ju was curious. She fully understood that this new life they were beginning was not going to be easy. They would have to find a place to stay; she would have to find a job which would hire her despite her bad English. And Chung Yun would have to enroll in school. All of this would have to happen in the first week, or the money she’d saved would not be enough. “You’re scaring me.”

“Maybe I am happy because I think I will never see Mother again.”

“Why should that make you happy?”

Chung Yun’s smile disappeared. “I hate her.”

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“She left us like she always did. Career first. Money first. She does not care about us. I say I hate her not to hurt you or her. I say I hate her because I do.”

Won Ju turned back to the window. Beyond and above the horizon was a dark empty place. The Fresno sky was empty. There were no clouds, no stars. It was often like this. It was like the city itself. There was nothing bright, nothing moving. To the nineteen-year-old Won Ju, it was limbo. And her mother had taken her to this place and left. Perhaps she hated her mother, too.

When they emerged from the grapes, and entered what Won Ju considered a pathetic joke of an airport, she paid the Mexican cab driver and unloaded her suitcases. She and Chung Yun carried the suitcases to the one-story terminal and approached the ticket purchasing line. A few men wearing cowboy hats and flannel shirts stood in front of them. When she got to the counter, Won Ju reached into her purse to pull out her checkbook. A folded piece of paper flew out and landed on the ground. Won Ju knew what it was. Her stepfather Henry had made her take it with her. It was her mother’s phone number in Korea. She decided to leave it where it fell. Now came the part that Won Ju dreaded. She cleared her throat and prayed she’d get it right. “Two going Las Vegas?”

She realized she did not request it, but asked for it. She cursed herself. Americans did not ask for things they were going to pay for. The blue-haired Caucasian woman behind the counter gave forms for Won Ju to fill out. This part Won Ju did not mind. Her writing in English was better than some of the people she had gone to high school with. She was born with a fit mind, but unathletic tongue. She rapidly filled out the forms, trying to make up for her verbal mistake, and handed them to the older, red-scarfed woman. The woman smiled. “You know, you are very pretty. You’re Chinese, right?”

Won Ju smiled while writing the check. “No. Korean.”

“Is that your brother?”

Chung Yun was sitting on a suitcase a few feet away from her. Won Ju felt herself nod rapidly and subserviently. She hated herself for it. “Yes. He my younger brudder.”

The ticket lady smiled. “Such a handsome boy.”

Won Ju smiled so hard she thought her cheeks would pop. “Tank you, tank you.”

As the woman processed the paperwork, Won Ju wondered at her inability to control herself when talking to Americans, especially older white ones. Here was this over-painted, overweight white woman serving her, and yet Won Ju could not help but to look for her permission and approval. When the woman handed her the tickets Won Ju smiled and waited. Finally the lady said, “Oh. Check in your luggage, then you can go. Gate four is that way.”

Won Ju bowed slightly. She bowed! Even after six years in America, she bowed. At this point, she despised herself. She motioned for Chung Yun to bring the suitcases. He stood up and dragged them to the counter. He stopped to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen out of Won Ju’s purse. The edges of his palms were red from the weight of the luggage. “Here,” he said.

Won Ju just wanted to get out of there. She stuffed the phone number into her purse and rushed with her brother to the gate. Won Ju noticed that he kept looking back towards the counter where they’d checked in their luggage. “Why do you look back?” she asked.

He laughed. Then in English he said, “Seem stupid, yeah?”

She smiled, then replied in English. “Yeah, no look back. Fuck dis place.”

She was proud that she could pronounce the word “fuck” perfectly. For her, “fuck” was easy, along with “shit,” but “asshole” sometimes came out “assahole.” She figured she’d better learn how to cuss well considering they were going to Sin City. “Chung Yun,” she said in Korean, “perhaps we should try to only speak English to each other. I think we will learn the nuances of the language a lot quicker that way, even with my clumsy tongue.”

Chung Yun put his carry-on down in front of the gate. He sat down and sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Once we get on the plane, no more Korean. And also, I want to change my name.”

Won Ju sat next to him and frowned. It was the last flight out, and the gate was empty except for them and a group of quiet older gentlemen in suits. She was glad about that. She turned to her brother and, thinking about his name-change proposal, she asked, “To what?”

“Something American.”

She thought about it. “What about Henry? Henry like our stepfather.”

“No thanks.”

“Well every name should have significance, American or not. And everything that has been important to us, besides our stepfather, has been Korean.”

“What about Don?”

“Why Don?”

“I don’t know. It seems like the American version of ‘Dong Jin.’You remember, our real father.”

“I like it.” Won Ju smiled. Chung Yun was still a baby when their father died, and she only remembered bits and pieces. She remembered waking up and seeing him one night, and after that, never seeing him again. It was strange to think that the death of a man she could hardly remember completely changed the course of her life. She also thought about an American film that she’d taken Chung Yun to a couple of years earlier. There was that dignified man that everyone in the film referred to as “The Don.” It seemed like such an adult name. Then she remembered an American song that she used to hum at school constantly called, “Where is the Love?” It was a brother and sister. She thought the brother was gorgeous and remembered his name. “That sounds like a fine idea. But maybe ‘Donny’ instead. Like Donny and Marie.”

Chung Yun frowned. “I don’t like him.”

“Girls like him.”

“In that case ‘Donny’ it is.”

They laughed. Then Chung Yun asked, “So what about you?”

Won Ju thought about it. She’d been teased enough about her name in high school to despise it at times, but trying to remember her father made her feel guilty about changing it. It had been one of the only things he had a chance to give her. “I’ll stick to ‘Won Ju,’” she said. “I’m afraid if I change it, and someone calls me by my new name, I won’t answer. It wouldn’t be a good way to start a new job. People will think I’m stupid enough because of my poor English.”

Chung Yun laughed. “Remember, once we get on the plane.”

When they finally boarded, they spent the flight trying to get through conversations in English. They were laughing so hard, tears welled in their eyes. Watching each other fumble with the language was like watching children run down grassy hills, falling and tumbling down. They watched each other tumble and tumble until the plane descended over the neon-lit city. They both stopped tumbling to watch the artificial shine of their new home. The vastness and density of the lights intimidated Won Ju. Chung Yun leaned over her to look out the window. “Cool,” he said.

She smiled. His new name matched him perfectly.

-2-

Won Ju had left California only to find herself working in the California Hotel and Casino several months later. After working in some of the worst dives in downtown, gaining waitress experience, she was glad to get the job. When the new casino opened, she was one of the first to apply. But spending these months in Vegas brought her to the conclusion that besides the neon lights and all-night gambling, it was as if she hadn’t left the state of California in the first place. There were the same hick whites and Mexicans all around her. There were the same racist comments and ogling eyes of men looking for a little geisha. She had never considered herself attractive because she knew her mother was beautiful and she did not look like her. And she had felt even uglier when boys in high school catcalled to her because no truly beautiful woman was treated that way. Her mother was never treated that way. Only trash was treated that way.

But the best job she could find was cocktailing at the California. The name itself made her shudder and think of the grape stilts following her all the way to Nevada. And when she’d seen the uniform—black pumps, fishnet stockings, a bathing-suit bottom, and a white tuxedo shirt—she felt the sudden urge to feed the baby Darian. Better a surrogate mother for your baby half-sister than bait for men who thought of you as foreign trash. But she’d taken the job. She decided she would not go crawling back to Fresno, no matter what.

Besides, Donny, formerly Chung Yun, seemed to like Vegas a lot. His English was improving day by day, he made friends at school, other kids who were either dragged or escaped from Southeast Asia, and he seemed to have money to throw around. A couple of times, Won Ju wanted to ask him where he got the money, but he seemed happy for the first time in his life, so she stopped herself from looking into it. Besides, she wasn’t his mother.

So she worked graveyard shifts and slept during the day when Donny was at school. As she walked through the aisles between “Blazing Seven” dollar slots where the blue-haired ladies sat and pushed buttons like hungry rats hoping a pellet would drop, and the blackjack tables where men with cowboy hats and big bellies held two cards in one hand and sipped whiskey with the other, she envied her sleeping brother. When she walked past the spinning roulette wheel with her round tray, and a young man would slap her on the butt and wink, she envied her male brother. Some of these young men were like the old ladies in that they were mindlessly pushing buttons in hope that a pellet would come out. This was the second place that she’d lived in America, and her opinion of Americans was continuously spiraling downwards.

Occasionally, there would be tourists from Hawaii. These were the best customers. Some Hawaiian, some Japanese, these guys from paradise were always politely joking around and always tipped well. Sure, they hit on her, but it was usually not a hands-on approach. They would smile and joke in their peculiar style of speaking, and they would whisper in each other’s ears when she walked away with their orders, but they would rarely touch. Besides, they actually looked like they had fun gambling. Their hope of winning seemed more optimistic. Cigarettes dangling from their lips, lame jokes for the dealers, these guys were actually having fun even when they were losing their shirts. Won Ju appreciated this optimism and wondered, even dreamed, what this place Hawaii must be like. She knew her stepfather was from there, but she figured that time in Korea and Fresno must’ve simply jaded him. Who could be unhappy when they lived in a place surrounded by white sandy beaches and crystal-blue oceans? Even though Won Ju didn’t know how to swim, she wanted to go to this place. Surfers and hula girls, even a potential drowning victim could appreciate it.