It was already past six thirty when she arrived at the café. Even under the circumstances, she was enveloped by the comfort of its familiar decadence, the intimate air of everyone knowing everyone. But the café had changed since Japan began clamping down harder in the peninsula, spurred by its conquest of vast Manchuria. The guests were whispering in subdued voices, and even the music sounded softer. Jade remembered her first visit to the café, when she’d marveled at the crystal ashtrays on every table. “Aren’t these a little too fine to be left around like this?” she had asked the poet-owner. He had answered cheerfully, tapping his cigarette smartly on the side of an ashtray: “Why, Miss Jade, that’s what true luxury is—using fine things in a casual way.” Those ashtrays were now gone. But more changed than all those things was Jade herself, with her tired skin and unfashionable clothes.
There were only a few women in the café, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that Lotus was not among them. She felt the energy give out from the back of her knees; she’d walked everywhere in Seoul for a good seven hours. She collapsed onto the nearest booth and folded her head over her arms. Warm tears were prickling her eyes, as much from missing her friend as from the fatigue. I’m not going to break down. Not here, she thought, taking a deep breath. Raising her head, she spotted the poet-owner across the room, weaving through the blur of the blinking candles. She waved at him, but he didn’t see her. He slid into a booth, which was curious, Jade thought. Although he often chatted and danced with his guests, he never sat with them. His face was turned toward Jade, and the one guest at the booth—a man—was facing the opposite way. The poet-owner was sinking deep into his seat with his hands down, and she realized that he was passing something to the man under the table. They appeared to chat for a few more minutes, then the guest rose. As he turned around to head for the exit, his eyes met Jade’s and she inwardly staggered in recognition. It was JungHo.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Jade said as he sat down next to her and she clasped her hands around his.
“The owner is a friend of mine . . . Are you okay?” JungHo replied, deliberately changing the subject.
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” Jade said, her panic finally rushing out in his presence. “Lotus is gone. She’s been missing for three days. I went everywhere looking for her.”
“Hey, slow down. Everything is going to be okay,” JungHo said, rising. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk while looking for her.”
Jade explained from the beginning: how cruel and indifferent the housekeeper had been, how President Ma was already preparing the house for his new mistress (JungHo blushed a little upon hearing Ma’s name, but listened without interjecting). Most terrifying of all was the fact that Lotus was out wandering Seoul with little money and even less presence of mind, without having told any of her friends.
“She’s really gotten herself in a bad way,” JungHo said when they’d been walking in silence for a while.
“I knew for a long time, but a lot of people do it,” Jade replied, feeling calmer in JungHo’s presence. The sun was sending its last rays through the breaks in the buildings. There was a sense that all visible things in the world were the shadows of a truth, which radiated out only through the chinks. “Without alcohol or opium, how would they cope? There’d be even more suicides than now,” she said, thinking of the deaths that had become as common as a cold. “Sometimes people just seem to get up one morning, have breakfast, and decide to hang themselves.”
JungHo stopped walking and turned to her. “Hey, don’t talk like that,” he said, a bit roughly. She felt offended until he resumed walking and added:
“I’ve been within an inch of death countless times in my life. Do you know what happens then? You can actually feel it physically. Sometimes it’s like a heavy blanket, when you’ve been starving and there’s not an ounce of strength left in you. Sometimes it’s like a dog, lurking in the corner and ready to attack.” He squinted his eyes at the sun’s last outburst.
“Each time, I knew it would be easier and less painful if I just let it take me. No one is holding their breath wishing me a long life, you know? And each time, at the last moment, do you know what happens?” he asked. Jade shook her head, frightened.
“You get one, clear chance at giving into it, or refusing. And I’ve said No every time. I don’t know why—but the more reasons I have to die, the less I want to give in,” he said. “Even when the sky is falling down, even when no one will miss you, life is still better than death.”
It was Jade’s turn to stop and stare at him. “I wish you’d stop saying that no one cares if you die. What am I, then?”
“If you care, that matters more than everyone else in the world combined. I just might never die!” He chuckled, and she laughed with him, feeling at ease for the first time in a long while.
“Hey, I almost forgot,” Jade said, nudging his ribs. “What were you doing in there?”
“What do you mean?” He shrugged. “Now and then, I like to have coffee.”
“Don’t even try, JungHo.” She snorted. “You think you can lie to me? To me?” She poked playfully at his side again—then stopped walking, seeing his changing expression. JungHo looked around; once he was sure they weren’t being watched, he opened his jacket just an inch to reveal the muzzle of a revolver. She blushed, realizing with a start that she had been elbowing the gun.
“Was that what he gave you under the table?” Jade whispered as they started walking again. He nodded.
“A Japanese officer got too drunk one night and left it behind. It’s been harder and harder to source weapons within the country—every single gun counts,” JungHo said softly. It had never been very clear to Jade what he did; she knew this was to protect both of them. But just then, under the fresh darkness of the sundown, she felt his urgency to share a little of his secrets before it became too late.
“With the crackdown getting worse, we don’t know how much longer we can keep up the resistance, at least in the peninsula itself. It’s frustrating. I wish I could be of greater service than being the delivery man . . . But for that I would have to read and write better, and speak some Chinese besides. No matter how hard I try, my mentor doesn’t think I’m ready.” He bit his lips in bitter disappointment. Jade didn’t know how to comfort him, so she reached out and patted his arm. That seemed to soothe him, as always.
“I thought the owner was just a dandy,” she said after a long pause. “Soft hands, pretty hair.”