This Burns My Heart

Chapter fourteen

“Aren’t the renditions beautiful? Almost like art,” said Gi-yong, pointing at the pictures on his walls. Gi-yong and Soo-Ja were in his office, in Myong-dong, a few miles from her hotel. Behind his desk, Gi-yong had put up two posters of the land south of the Hangang River: one set, marked “Now,” were photos of the land as it was in the present—empty, mere fields, grass dried out by the sun and the cold winds; the other set, labeled “The Future,” was an artist’s drawing showing the land in the way Gi-yong expected it to be eventually—an urban landscape, with gleaming glass surfaces, high-rises, and billboards advertising Coca-Cola. “You came in the nick of time. I don’t know how much longer I could have held your spot.”

“Actually, I don’t have the money yet. I came to ask if I could have more time,” Soo-Ja said, clutching her purse, looking at Gi-yong from across his desk.

“Mrs. Choi,” said Gi-yong sternly. “You know I have other investors interested in the land, with cash on hand to pay me. I’m waiting for you as a favor. I could sell the last lot tomorrow if I wanted to. Do you want to give up? Should I just go ahead and sell it to someone else?”

“No. I still have two weeks left,” said Soo-Ja. “And you gave me your word. I’ll get the money. I’ll have it for you by the time we agreed upon.”

“I don’t doubt that. I have a feeling you’re the kind of woman who always gets what she wants,” said Gi-yong.

“Actually, I hardly ever do, but I can feel my luck changing,” she said, faking a smile.

“Yes. It must be frustrating for you to have to work in that hotel. A woman with your beauty needs a man to take care of her.”

Soo-Ja did not blink. “Great. I’ll tell my husband that.”

Gi-yong laughed. “You must think I’m a pig, don’t you? I’m not, I’m just direct. Look at your hands. They’re beautiful. They’re not meant to scrub things. They should simply rest on top of beautiful, very expensive marble countertops. The kind I happen to have in my house.”

Soo-Ja shook her head. “Mr. Im, I’m not interested in being a rich man’s wife. I don’t care about marble, or onyx, or any of that. That’s not why I want the land.”

“Really? Then what do you want?” asked Gi-yong, leaning forward.

Soo-Ja thought for a moment. “For one thing, I would like my daughter to have her own room, in our own house, far away from all the men who stay as guests in the hotel.”

Gi-yong nodded slightly. He dropped his leer and gazed at her the way he might a sister or a mother. “I get a feeling, Mrs. Choi, that you’ll get that—and more—very soon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Im.”

After a brief silence, both of them rose from their seats, and Gi-yong and Soo-Ja shook hands. “Two weeks?” he asked.

“Two weeks,” she replied.

It seemed petty to pray for won, when others might be praying for food, or health, or love even, thought Soo-Ja. But every night that week she prayed, asking God to help her, and it may or may not have been a coincidence when, on the third day, she received a phone call from her old friend Jae-Hwa, asking if she could visit her at the hotel. Soo-Ja had not seen Jae-Hwa in three years, though she often thought of the night she had helped her leave her husband. Jae-Hwa had married again—miraculously, to the owner of the electric fan factory where she worked. Soo-Ja had not gone to their wedding—she did not have days off at the hotel—but Jae-Hwa forgave her, and often sent letters talking about how Soo-Ja had saved her, and that if she had a good life now, it was only because of Soo-Ja.

Soo-Ja had no doubt that Jae-Hwa would lend her the money. In fact, she imagined them investing together, buying adjacent acres of land, calling each other with news of each year’s favorable jump in value. Jae-Hwa would never say no to her. That, in essence, was Soo-Ja’s mind-set before she saw her friend, and it may, in the end, have been the thing that got her in trouble.

“You look exactly the same! Not a day older than when we were in college.” Jae-Hwa gasped at Soo-Ja, her arms outstretched, coming into the hotel. Soo-Ja quickly moved out from behind the counter and embraced Jae-Hwa.

“You look wonderful, too!” said Soo-Ja, directing her to the chairs in the waiting area, where they sat down.

“How old are you now?” asked Jae-Hwa. “Thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”

“Jae-Hwa, you know we’re the same age—thirty-four. But thank you. You look wonderful, too.” She did: Jae-Hwa had a well-rested look on her face, pleasantly plump, with that paleness that was in fashion at the time, one that indicated not a day spent laboring under the hot sun. Jae-Hwa wore a light pink suit-jacket with an embroidered white round collar, and a white cashmere hat.

“No, I’m serious. I’m witnessing a miracle. Your skin does not have any lines. You are the modern woman. You work hard, you cry, you suffer, but at the end of the day, you always remember to put on Pond’s night cream over your face.”

Soo-Ja laughed, partly because she found her funny, but partly to tell her how happy she was to be with a friend. Friends seemed like such a luxury these days, to be savored like the rare pieces of chocolate smuggled into the house during the war. “You talk about my so-called beauty more than most men I’ve known.”

“Women always notice these things more than men. Because it affects us more, I suppose,” said Jae-Hwa, sitting close to her, her knees touching Soo-Ja’s. “You’ll never know what it’s like to be me, you’ve always been the prettiest girl in the room.” Jae-Hwa said this matter-of-factly, without resentment.

“You have no reason to envy me. Things turned out so well for you.”

“Only because of you, Soo-Ja. If you hadn’t dragged me out of that first marriage, out of that vile drunk’s house, I would never have met Woo-suk.”

Soo-Ja waved her gratitude away. “Don’t credit me with that. You would have left him eventually.”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” said Jae-Hwa, and Soo-Ja could tell she meant it. “I didn’t have the courage. Lucky for me, Woo-suk doesn’t hit me. I don’t think he has the energy.”

“Jae-Hwa! You’re going to shock all my guests. How long are you in town for? Do you have time to go to a coffeehouse?”

Jae-Hwa gave her the broadest of grins. “Only if the time is spent wisely. Let’s speak ill of other people!”

“Excellent. Let me just tell Miss Hong to watch the front desk. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Jae-Hwa smiled, with her lips sucked in, as if holding her breath, then began tapping her purse with her gloved fingers while Soo-Ja went looking for the chambermaid. Miss Hong was not in her station, or in any of the guest rooms, and Soo-Ja did not see her housekeeping cart anywhere. Soo-Ja then realized she had not seen her all morning, and some of the rooms had not been cleaned yet. She was about to walk to the second floor and look there, when she decided, out of some instinct she hoped would be proved wrong, to check her own room instead.

When she neared the door, Soo-Ja could hear her husband’s voice. He spoke in a familiar manner, without the honorific -io at the end of each sentence, as if talking to a social inferior.

“I do a lot more around here than people think. Just today, I went to the bank to deposit some checks. And the day before, I ran some errands for Soo-Ja. She acts like it’s all on her shoulders, but it’s just part of her martyr act. She loves playing the victim.”

Soo-Ja abruptly slid the door open. Miss Hong was there, indeed, and looked quite startled to see her. Min sat next to her on the floor; they were playing a game of baduk. It looked like Min was winning, his black pieces surrounding Miss Hong’s white ones on the wooden board. Or was it the other way around, and Miss Hong’s white pieces were the ones actually encroaching upon the black ones? Soo-Ja could never tell, looking at the game like this, with all the pieces next to one another. Both Min and Miss Hong looked at her like small children, sheepishly.

“Please don’t keep Miss Hong away from her duties. She has better things to do than to entertain you,” Soo-Ja said to Min, coolly, before turning to Miss Hong and telling her to watch the front desk in her absence.

When Soo-Ja turned the corner, into the hallway, her mask of confidence slipped, and she felt her anger rise to the surface. It was one thing to know in her head, and something else entirely to catch them together like that. She took a deep breath and fought back her tears.

So they really were sleeping together.

Soo-Ja felt humiliated. Had Min done this to get back at her? And to get back at her for what, exactly? Soo-Ja wondered. She supported him financially, gave him money for alcohol and cigarettes. She knew they didn’t make love very often—Soo-Ja was terrified of getting pregnant—but if he were to have an affair, did he have to choose someone so close at hand?

As Soo-Ja walked back to the front desk, she tried to put on her best smile and pretend nothing had happened. She wanted to be fun and light, and entertain Jae-Hwa on her only day with her in years. And she didn’t want Jae-Hwa to lend her the money because she felt sorry for her.

But when Soo-Ja got back to the front desk, she could feel her face drop with disappointment, and an ominous feeling came over her. Jae-Hwa was talking in an animated manner with, of all people, Eun-Mee. They were holding each other’s hands like old friends, though she knew they must have just met, and their heads were thrown back in raucous laughter. When they saw Soo-Ja, they looked almost sorry to be interrupted.

“Soo-Ja, I didn’t know you had such charming friends here in Seoul! The wife of a doctor!” Jae-Hwa exclaimed, impressed.

“And you, the wife of a manufacturer!” echoed back Eun-Mee, the two of them establishing an instant sorority.

“And I, the wife of—” Soo-Ja trailed off, smiling sardonically.

Jae-Hwa looked at her, a little embarrassed, while Eun-Mee seemed to be not at all sorry. Soo-Ja reached for her coat and her purse. “Are you ready, Jae-Hwa?”

“Yes. And oh, by the way, do you mind if Eun-Mee comes with us? She said she loves coffeehouses!” said Jae-Hwa.

Soo-Ja was amazed that the two could strike up a friendship so quickly; once again, she had underestimated Eun-Mee’s charm. She was like a mugger with a gun, but instead of your wallet, she wanted your affection, and she could get you to drop it in front of her in seconds.

“Eun-Mee, could I please speak to you in private for a moment?” asked Soo-Ja.

Eun-Mee made buggy eyes at Jae-Hwa, to signal her puzzlement, before following Soo-Ja into her office. Once in there, Eun-Mee smiled at Soo-Ja coquettishly, like a bad student trying to avoid her teacher’s dressing-down.

“This is not just a friendly outing. I have things to discuss with Jae-Hwa,” said Soo-Ja, hoping to reason with her.

Eun-Mee nodded slightly. “Does this have anything to do with the rumor that you’re trying to buy land from Gi-yong Im?” asked Eun-Mee innocently.

Soo-Ja tried to hide her surprise. How did Eun-Mee know about that? Had she listened in on one of her phone calls?

“Your friend doesn’t seem like the kind who likes risky investments, though,” Eun-Mee continued.

“How did you hear about—”

“Oh, I don’t care. I’m just bored, and desperate for social activity,” Eun-Mee interrupted. “I promise to take long powder-room breaks at the coffeehouse, in order to give you ample time to bore Jae-Hwa with your plans.”

“Eun-Mee!” called out Soo-Ja behind her, trying to stop her. But it was useless. Eun-Mee had already sauntered out of the office and rejoined Jae-Hwa in the lobby.

Jae-Hwa rushed toward them. “Are we ready? I’m feeling left out! And you’re all right with Eun-Mee coming, of course?”

Soo-Ja could tell from Jae-Hwa’s eager eyes that she could not refuse, and if she tried to, Jae-Hwa would bring Eun-Mee anyway.

Soo-Ja was not much of a coffee drinker, nor was she a great fan of tea, though she drank yulmucha, boricha, and ginseng tea sometimes. She liked yulmucha for its thickness—it reminded her of soup, and when she drank it, she enjoyed its warmth tickling her throat. Boricha looked a bit like dirty water, which she sometimes suspected it was—it barely tasted like anything. But if she couldn’t sleep, it was what she turned to. She drank a cup and almost dropped to the ground, so fast was its effect on her. She liked ginseng tea the most, and loved stirring the teacup, watching the thin white layers of circles appear and disappear, as if they wanted to hypnotize her.

The three women were sitting in the middle of the coffeehouse, Soo-Ja drinking tea and both Eun-Mee and Jae-Hwa drinking espressos. The coffeehouse, which had an English name, “Room and Rumours,” was fairly crowded, either because of all the shoppers from the adjacent shopping mall, or because, like Soo-Ja, all of these men and women had small residences and preferred to meet guests in teahouses or coffee shops. They came for the convenience of a second home, and the establishment in fact looked like your average abode, with long-leaved Chinese happy plants in the corners, wooden-boarded walls, and practical fluorescent lights above. The only differences were the small oak chairs and tables (they did not sit on the floor there), and the sound of trot singers crooning their sad ballads from the jukebox.

“I wonder if they have American music in the jukebox,” said Jae-Hwa. “I just got back from New York last month, and I love what they play on their radio stations.” Jae-Hwa had taken her white hat and gloves off, and Soo-Ja could see she had an emerald ring on her finger. Sitting next to Jae-Hwa, Eun-Mee looked elegant in a form-fitting burgundy dress with a high, upturned collar and sleeveless arms. Soo-Ja found it too formal, but Eun-Mee did not look out of place there—people often stopped in for a drink of coffee before heading to the theater or a party. Now used to seeing her every day, Soo-Ja knew of Eun-Mee’s habit of dressing up for no reason. She suspected Eun-Mee’s motto might be Look the part, and you’ll win the part. Soo-Ja wondered if she herself came across as the other two women’s maid, in her simple zebra-striped housedress, and her long dark hair held back only by her ears. She could tell it bothered Eun-Mee, though, that as men walked by, it was Soo-Ja’s eyes that they tried to catch the attention of.

“I love America!” proclaimed Eun-Mee. “But I don’t like Americans. I love shopping in Manhattan and on Rodeo Drive. This purse is from a store there”—she pointed to her Fiorucci bag—“but the people! Especially in California. They have such pink faces, and the men look like the women, and vice versa—long hair and long eyelashes and lazy grins! I hate them!”

“Don’t be shocking now. What if there was a serviceman sitting right behind you?” asked Jae-Hwa.

“I’d tell him to go home already! And to stop staring at my neck!” Eun-Mee replied.

Jae-Hwa laughed.

“I’m sure they would love to go home,” Soo-Ja interjected, “but they’re here to protect us. We should be thankful to them.”

“They’re not really here for that reason,” said Eun-Mee, rolling her eyes. “Why do you think they chose to be stationed in Korea? They have an eye for us Oriental ladies! Yes. That’s why they come here, and stay here. I would not be caught dead near an army base. I wouldn’t be safe. They would drag me in and caress me, and tear my clothes off, and ravage me, a room full of them, taking turns at me. Those men, they haven’t seen a woman—a real woman, not a prostitute—for ages. They have stored up all this passion, all this hunger—they would tug at my breasts like wolves, those blond-haired boys, mouths still wet from suckling mother’s milk.”

Jae-Hwa smiled at Eun-Mee. “I’m tempted now to kidnap you and leave you by the border, just to see what they’d do with you.”

Eun-Mee lightly slapped Jae-Hwa’s wrist, and Jae-Hwa turned her palm up and playfully squeezed Eun-Mee’s hand. “Don’t joke like that. I’m just explaining how I feel about the Americans, who are so different from the Europeans. Have you been to Switzerland?” Eun-Mee asked Jae-Hwa. Jae-Hwa nodded, and Eun-Mee continued. “It’s like being home—all those mountains! When the snow covers up all the signs and the streets, I do not know where I am anymore. And I love that first night after the first flurry, when the sky is white and clear, and you can almost read outside. Have you been to Switzerland?” Eun-Mee asked Soo-Ja, as if remembering her presence suddenly.

“No, I’ve never been.”

“Have you never been to Europe? No London, no Paris, no Istanbul?”

“No,” Soo-Ja said, smiling.

“What about America? New York? Los Angeles? Boston?”

“I’ve never been there, either,” Soo-Ja said, still smiling.

Jae-Hwa placed her hand on Soo-Ja’s arm; Jae-Hwa had a warm smile on her face—the kind you reserve only for people you’ve known for a long time. “When we were in high school, Soo-Ja always wanted to travel. Before any of us did. She almost went to diplomat school in Seoul. She was going to be a diplomat, and travel to every country.”

“And did you?” asked Eun-Mee.

“No, it didn’t quite work out that way,” Soo-Ja replied.

“You must not have wanted it badly enough. You probably gave up too easily,” said Eun-Mee.

“Yes, that was probably it,” Soo-Ja said, trying to end the conversation.

Jae-Hwa started patting her hand, as if apologizing for Eun-Mee.

“See, if you want something in life, you have to go after it!” Eun-Mee exclaimed to Soo-Ja enthusiastically. Soo-Ja nodded lightly and gave her a half smile. “You can’t be tentative. That’s how I got married to my husband.”

Soo-Ja turned her head toward her. She had to hold herself back, resist the temptation to say, Go on. Tell us more.

“I’m sure he proposed on the first day he met you. A woman like you wastes no time,” said Jae-Hwa.

“I knew at once when I saw him, standing with a group of men outside Pusan University Hospital,” said Eun-Mee, smiling, glad to be holding her audience’s attention like fish in a net. “He wore a Western suit and pleated pants, so incredibly handsome and confident, and I thought, I would like to be your mother!”

“Eun-Mee!” Jae-Hwa cried out, laughing.

“I want to tuck your shirt in, and feed you soup when you’re sick, and help you with your homework!” said Eun-Mee, waving her arms in front of her. “That is when a woman knows she is ready to be a wife—when she decides to mother!”

“I would strongly disagree with that, but go on,” said Jae-Hwa. Neither of them noticed Soo-Ja’s silence.

“Anyway, I invited him to come to a pageant I was in and after that we began to date a little bit, going to music rooms where we’d sit side by side on the soft velvet chairs while we listened to Bach recordings. We didn’t do much—he was as chaste as Chunhyang in that fairy tale, and I call it a fairy tale because who would wait so long for a lover who gives no sign of returning?”

“There must’ve been somebody else. Was he courting another girl at the same time?” asked Jae-Hwa, and for a second Soo-Ja turned to her nervously, wondering if she knew about her and Yul. But she couldn’t; Soo-Ja had never told her.

“No, there was nobody else. Just a memory. He’d talk about this girl he met while he was in medical school in Daegu. He talked about her like a country he had been to once and always intended on going back to. He claimed she was just an acquaintance, but I knew better. Whenever we were together, I could feel her presence between us, no matter how gay or loud I became. She was always there.” Eun-Mee stopped, her expression uncharacteristically distant. The entire room seemed to grow silent, out of sympathy.

It was strange, for Soo-Ja, to hear her story from Eun-Mee’s perspective. She sounded so powerful, when in fact she had been so helpless all along the way. Soo-Ja would have given anything to switch roles with Eun-Mee, just so she could have Yul’s body, and be able to feel his weight against her. It was nice, thought Soo-Ja, to hear that she had had Yul’s thoughts, but his thoughts alone could not warm her on a cold night, could not fit into her. Now that she knew how extravagantly Eun-Mee had had his touch—every night, for years!—Soo-Ja felt starved for it.

“Did you get him to forget this other woman?” asked Jae-Hwa. She took a sip of her coffee, but put it down immediately. It had grown cold.

“Of course! It was hard, but I did it. It was like fighting the sun—he saw her everywhere.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jae-Hwa.

“It’s hard to explain. First love leaves a deep mark. Fortunately, I know how to medicate such wounds.”

“Did you ever meet her? The woman from Daegu?” asked Jae-Hwa.

Soo-Ja turned her face away, lest her eyes confess for her.

“No, I never met her,” said Eun-Mee. “For a long time I couldn’t look at the face of beautiful women I walked by on the street because I would always think it was her. It drove me mad. Is that her? Or is that her? I felt that any day she’d come to my house in Pusan and take Yul away from me. Pick him up like a lost piece of luggage. Can you imagine what it’s like to live like that? That’s why in the beginning I hesitated to have children. I didn’t want them to have a crazy and neurotic mother. Anyway, I forgot about her eventually, and years went by. And then one day, it was as if I had hopped on a train—things started to happen, they started moving forward fast. We had to leave Pusan suddenly. We had to leave for reasons that, well, I shall share another time—” Eun-Mee trailed off before continuing. “Anyway, I came into his office unannounced, and as soon as I came in, I saw him hide a piece of paper under a notebook on his desk. He didn’t think I saw it, but I did. It was a woman’s name and phone number. Now, my husband isn’t the cheating kind. I figured out at once who it was, and I thought, All right, it is time for us to go to Seoul. It is time for me to meet this woman.”

Then Eun-Mee turned to Soo-Ja, and Soo-Ja saw it in her eyes: she knew. She knew it was her. How had she found out? What a naive question, thought Soo-Ja. Lovers always know. Eun-Mee had not said a word, keeping Soo-Ja in the dark, maybe to enjoy that competitive advantage. But how long had she waited to drop a hint, whisper in her ear: I know who you are. Soo-Ja felt a chill run through her body—she had seen this kind of chill described before in ghost stories; Eun-Mee’s tale turned out to be just that.

Soo-Ja felt trapped in this very large, very public coffeehouse. The last three weeks, when she had practically lived with Eun-Mee, were suddenly taken away from her. Soo-Ja felt like an actor who has been reciting words from the wrong play, and realizes this only in her last line. She had been so caught up with seeing Yul again, she had not noticed Eun-Mee’s barely concealed jealous glances at her. But looking back, of course the signs had been there all along. Eun-Mee’s hostility and aggressiveness, which Soo-Ja had assumed to be simply part of her personality, were in fact a direct response to her. And yet, Eun-Mee had confided in her, maybe even tried not to hate Soo-Ja. Eun-Mee wanted Soo-Ja to disappear, but she wanted her there, too, in case her absence weighed heavier than her presence. Eun-Mee was as trapped as Soo-Ja, just in a different dark room.

“So what are you going to tell her when you finally see her?” Jae-Hwa asked.

“I will tell her that I will fight to protect what is mine. That she should not get any ideas. Men do not leave their wives to pursue old crushes. She should keep to her own husband, look to her own roof,” said Eun-Mee, looking at Soo-Ja, her voice as sharp as the end of a needle.

It was only the second time since they had sat down that Eun-Mee looked directly at Soo-Ja’s face. Soo-Ja rose and excused herself to the ladies’ room—she could no longer bear the throbbing in her head.

The small ladies’ room fit only one person at a time, and Soo-Ja locked the door behind her as she went in. She walked to the sink, ran warm water under her hands for a long time. The mirror above fogged up a little, and as she wiped it with the back of her hand, she imagined she saw Yul reflected there, standing right behind her, looking at her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and he wiped them off with the tip of his finger. He held up his hand afterward, as the wetness lingered for a second, and then his skin absorbed her tears, and absorbed her.

Soo-Ja pictured Yul hugging her from behind. He buried his head in her hair, and she could feel his nose nuzzling against her neck. She turned around and let him kiss her, his tongue caressing the soft, raw parts of her underlip, then reaching deeper, stroking her tongue with his, until they could not breathe without intruding on the other. He embraced her, with every part of her body coming alive, instantly bound to his. One hand pressed against her neck; another against her waist. His mouth emerged for air and lingered over her ears, his warm breath entering her again. His solid frame melted, bending like clay, molding to her frame like a perfect pillow.

Soo-Ja heard knocking on the door. She was tempted to tell the person to go away, but then she heard Jae-Hwa’s voice asking her if she was all right, and telling her she had to go back to her husband soon. Soo-Ja was reminded, amid all this, that she had business to take care of, and that she had never gotten to ask Jae-Hwa about the loan. She didn’t have much time left. She splashed some water on her face, turned the faucet off, and told Jae-Hwa she was on her way out.

When Soo-Ja came back to the table, she found Jae-Hwa holding her purse and waiting for her, but Eun-Mee had already left. She had to take care of some business having to do with the new house she was renovating, Jae-Hwa told her. Apparently it was almost finished. Soo-Ja knew, though, the real reason she had left. Things between the two of them would always be uncomfortable from now on.

Today, with Jae-Hwa, Eun-Mee had found the perfect opportunity to confront Soo-Ja. They could never have had that conversation on their own, not if they wanted to keep up the pretense that they didn’t know about each other. Jae-Hwa had been essential, an unknowing witness, a midwife of tales, though the tale was not intended for her, but for Soo-Ja. Soo-Ja also noticed that Eun-Mee had taken great pains to draw Jae-Hwa’s sympathy. She cared what Jae-Hwa thought of her. But why?

“Jae-Hwa, before you go, I need to ask you something. You know that I don’t like to ask for things, but this is very important.” Soo-Ja told her about the loan she needed, emphasizing it was only a loan, and she’d pay her back, and that yes, Jae-Hwa was the only person she knew who could help her. When she finished, Jae-Hwa looked at her strangely.

“Did you two time it? You must’ve planned it this way. Is that why you were in the bathroom so long? To give Eun-Mee her time? So that’s why Eun-Mee left early. So you could have your turn.”

Soo-Ja looked at Jae-Hwa, a little surprised by the briskness in her voice. She was so different, this Jae-Hwa, from the diffident girl who had always been glad to be a satellite to her sun; foolish was the one who expected to touch the same river twice. “I’m a little confused,” she said. “What do you mean?”

“Eun-Mee asked me for a loan as well, and I already agreed to it. She’s a safe bet, being a doctor’s wife and all. Oh, Soo-Ja, if only you had asked me before! I can’t lend money to both of you, my husband would kill me. And I already gave her my word.”

“When did she ask you?” Soo-Ja could sense her own face turning ashen. I can’t believe I left Jae-Hwa alone with Eun-Mee.

“Just now, while you were in the bathroom. Oh, Soo-Ja, I’m sorry. It sounds like a good investment. But come here and give me a hug. It was so wonderful to see you again.”

As Jae-Hwa embraced Soo-Ja, Soo-Ja’s chin dropped and her body stiffened. It had taken less than a second for Soo-Ja to realize exactly what Eun-Mee had done to her, and what she would continue to do.

That night, the watchman Soo-Ja had hired to stay at the front desk did not show up, and when she went looking for Min in her room, she saw he was already asleep. She did not want to wake him up (she had always been partial to sleep—it was the only time they were truly free, truly without worries—how could she begrudge Min that?), and so she returned to the front desk, to watch it herself. After a couple of hours, around one in the morning, she decided to make herself some coffee. It was then that she saw Yul come to the front desk, wearing a thick dark blue robe over his pajamas. They were the only people awake in the hotel, it seemed, and it felt a bit like having it to themselves.

“You can’t sleep?” Soo-Ja asked him.

“I was hoping to catch you alone,” he said, leaning over the counter. “Eun-Mee told me what happened with your friend Jae-Hwa today.”

Soo-Ja felt her blood boil at the mention of Eun-Mee’s name.

“Why would she tell you that? To make me look bad?”

“Why didn’t you just ask me for the money?” asked Yul, reaching for a small bonsai tree sitting on the counter. “I could lend it to you.”

Soo-Ja glared at Yul, feeling as though he had just stepped on her heart. “Please don’t insult me by saying things like that. I don’t need your help.”

“There’s no reason to be proud—”

“If you don’t drop it immediately, I’m going to leave,” said Soo-Ja, taking the bonsai from his hand and putting it back on the counter. “You can stay and talk to yourself.”

Yul nodded gravely, as if to an officer of the law, and put his hand up to signal his acquiescence.

“You can’t sleep, and I can’t stay awake. Would you like a cup of something?” asked Soo-Ja, changing the subject. “Here, I’ll make you a cup of tea. It’ll lower your body temperature and help you fall asleep.” Soo-Ja led him to the kitchenette in her office. “How are the house renovations?”

“Almost done,” he said, following her into the alcove.

“Oh, I see…”

So he was about to disappear from her life for the third time. Soo-Ja wondered if this was what they were doomed to do: meet every four or five years for the rest of their lives, launching into the same cycle, like those events in nature that recur under the right atmospheric conditions. Were they like those fissures that open in the ground to release some pressure, only to close again and remain so for a few more thousand turns of the earth around the sun?

Soo-Ja placed the kettle over the gas flame and turned her head a little so Yul couldn’t see the disappointment on her face. For the last three weeks, she had enjoyed living so close to him. She saw him sometimes in the morning, as he left for work, and sometimes in the evening, as he came back. It felt normal, their version of normal, and she could forget—for a second or two—that they were not married, and he was just a guest in the hotel.

“When will it be ready?” she asked.

“Next week.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” said Yul, looking at the floor, as awkward as a child. He might be a respected doctor during the day, but right now he was just a little boy, and Soo-Ja felt her heart swell with love for him.

“Are you happy with how it looks?” Soo-Ja asked.

“Yes. Both the contractor and the decorator stayed very close to what I wanted.”

“So Eun-Mee didn’t make the decisions?”

“No. I asked them to build the house I always wanted to live in. Well, the house I always wanted to—” he trailed off. The house I always wanted to live in with you.

“What? What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

Soo-Ja poured the hot water in the teacup, and as she did so, she could feel its warmth rise and caress her face, as if it were Yul’s own hands touching her.

“What is the house like?” she asked.

“The house is like you, Soo-Ja.”

He said nothing more.

“Drink your tea, Yul.”

They stood quietly for a while, Yul drinking his tea, she sipping her coffee. They drank the night, too, and all its silences.

“Would you like to go outside for a moment and have a smoke?” Yul finally asked.

“You smoke now? You’re a doctor.”

“I’m a self-destructive doctor,” said Yul, pulling out a packet of Pleasure Lights.

“You just heal other people.”

“Yes, you give those people a place to sleep, and I give them healthy bodies to sleep in.”

“Don’t you dare romanticize me, Yul. I’m doing this to keep a roof over my head. Before we go, do you want to check on Eun-Mee?”

“She’s in her room, and she’s asleep. Everyone’s asleep. The entire world. We’re the only fools who don’t get any rest.”

They walked outside and felt the night chill envelop them. They stood side by side, incongruous, Soo-Ja wearing her purple windbreaker over her housedress, and Yul in his fine robe, the legs of his flesh-colored pajamas visible underneath. They had lit only one cigarette, and simply passed it back and forth between them. It was past curfew, and there was nobody out. Beyond, neon lights, once flashing, now dormant, advertised coffee shops, noodle houses, music rooms, beauty parlors. Soo-Ja put his cigarette in her mouth, drew in smoke, then placed it back on his lips. When she did so, because the cigarette was so small by then, she ended up touching his lips with her fingers. But she did not move her fingers away as he inhaled. She let him take a drag, then put it back on her lips again.

“Does Eun-Mee like the house?” Soo-Ja asked.

“Yes, especially the refrigerator.”

“Yes. It’ll make her housework easier, not having to go to the farmers’ market every day.”

“We have a maid, too. A teenage girl from the countryside.”

“Oh.”

“Actually, Eun-Mee likes everything but some of the decor. She hates the ink paintings I put up on the wall. She wants Western art, full of color and drama. But I’m not going to put my paintings away.”

“Ink paintings? Who’s the artist?”

“Actually, it’s only one. It’s the painting of plum blossoms that you gave me, back in 1960.”

“You still have it?”

“You seem surprised.”

“I am.” Soo-Ja could not hide her delight. “It’s been so long. I thought something would have happened to it by now.”

“No. It’s just as it was then. Intact. Nothing’s changed.”

Soo-Ja thought of the plum blossoms. The almost tender way the long, dark leaves gave way to the small, round flowers. “The plum blossom is associated with spring, a time for hope. It celebrates perseverance.”

“If you’d like, I can give it back to you,” said Yul.

“No. Keep it,” said Soo-Ja, smiling back. She was looking at the sky, and for a moment, she thought she could see the stars linking, forming the stems, the leaves, and the circles of the flower buds. It was as if she were painting again, and her strokes could link different constellations together. When Soo-Ja glanced back at Yul, she could see him staring intently at her. She immediately guessed what he was thinking.

“No, Yul.”

“How do you know what is on my mind?” he asked.

“The way you are staring at my lips,” said Soo-Ja.

“Mouths were made for kissing.”

“They were also made for talking.”

“Maybe if I didn’t kiss your mouth. And I just kiss… your shoulders,” said Yul, his lips pecking her clothed shoulders, and moving up from there, “and your neck, and your ears, and your nose.” He kissed each of those parts, and she felt a slight shiver each time. She closed her eyes, letting the soft touch of his lips press her recalcitrant skin. He rested his hand lightly over hers—half hovering, half grazing—and she found its weight to be at turns alarming and reassuring. She knew it was wrong—this closeness—but the night had a dreamlike quality to it, the promise of forgetfulness. With her eyes shut, Soo-Ja pictured Yul kissing her—he’d kiss her like a sigh, his love filling her lungs. But when he tried to do so, she opened her eyes and pulled away. His face remained in midair—homeless, orphaned. It hurt to say no, when there was nothing she wanted more than to hold him and have him hold her, to kiss and be kissed back. Soo-Ja thought he’d head inside after that, but Yul remained on the same spot, standing next to her. They were like teenagers trying to figure out what to do with lips and arms and hips. They stood side by side, with their arms pressing together. Soo-Ja rested her head on Yul’s shoulder, and they said nothing more.

The next night, Soo-Ja and Yul met again. This time, the two of them grew adventurous and decided to break curfew. They slipped out of the hotel, again like teenagers, watching for police officers in the distance. At first, they moved a bit surreptitiously, constantly glancing over their shoulders for informants. But then they realized that the streets were empty, and they began their walk, their steps slow and leisurely, looking at their own neighborhood with the interest and curiosity of tourists abroad. They passed by colorful toy stores and candy markets, all built without an inch of free space between them; took in the smell of spicy soups and fried seafood still lingering in the air.

“By the way, have you ever wondered if Hana is yours?” asked Soo-Ja, smiling mischievously.

“How could she be mine? You and I have never made love,” said Yul, stealing glances at her as they walked. The night was cold, and they could see their white breaths bending and coiling in front of them.

“Still, I wonder,” said Soo-Ja, shrugging her shoulders lightly, her hands inside her pockets.

“I like that you do,” said Yul, smiling.

“You know, I never thought I’d see you again after I left you that night in Pusan, and here you are. You are here! I spend so much time thinking of all the different ways I don’t have you, but you’re right here.”

Yul turned to her, his eyes glowing with impishness. “Do you want to list all of the ways that we don’t have each other?”

Soo-Ja laughed. “Oh, Yul, you’re not good at being vulgar. And trust me, you wouldn’t enjoy making love to me. I just lie there.” Soo-Ja was surprised to hear the words slip out of her mouth. But the combination of the night being so still and so theirs, and being able to enjoy it alone with Yul—all of it had made her a little tipsy.

“It would be different if you were doing it with someone you loved,” said Yul.

Soo-Ja laughed again, turning her head sideways. “Really?”

“I’m sorry. I just feel like I can say anything around you. I feel completely free around you,” said Yul.

“I feel the same way. That means we’re good friends,” said Soo-Ja. Even though the temperature seemed to drop with each block they passed, she did not feel cold. She could have walked all night with Yul, waking up to the dawning sun, her body next to his on a bench, the moistness of morning in her breath.

Yul shook his head. “Why is it so hard for you to say that I mean more to you?”

“You’re being awfully presumptuous. What makes you think you mean so much? Maybe I can barely stand you,” said Soo-Ja, smiling.

“Is there anyone else you talk to this freely?” asked Yul, suddenly stopping.

Soo-Ja kept walking, leaving him behind. She then stopped, too, and waited for him to catch up with her. When they were next to each other again, they resumed walking. All this was done with the precision of a dance, the movements carefully modulated, the counts invisible but steady.

“I used to. With my father.”

“Why do you say ‘used to’?”

“He and I don’t talk much anymore,” said Soo-Ja, growing a little forlorn. “Every time I do, I can’t help thinking, I ruined the life of someone I care about.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Only because he gave me all his money and it went to pay off my father-in-law’s debts.”

“Then you didn’t ruin his life. You gave him the chance to show his love for you.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at it. But in reality, I just avoid the topic. I avoid him, actually,” said Soo-Ja, looking straight ahead. The strip of shops had ended, and they could see a walled-in park ahead, the tips of magnolia trees arching over the red brick walls.

“You should talk to your father. Don’t let things be awkward between you. He would be glad to have his daughter in his life again. And when you make a fortune from your investments, you can pay him back.”

Soo-Ja smiled at him. “How do you always know what to say to me?”

“Because I care too much,” he said, with a hint of playfulness in his voice. They were developing quite a repertoire that night, creating an act to take on the road, like the old clowns of yesteryear, who would travel to villages doing mask dances and comic routines.

“And why do you care ‘too much’?”

“Because you were my first love,” he said, taking the edge off the word by lingering on it. “Don’t you know, from the movies you see, that you never forget your first love?”

“It’s too bad you were never able to love anyone else,” said Soo-Ja teasingly.

“What makes you think I was never able to love anyone else?”

“Are you saying you love Eun-Mee?” asked Soo-Ja, in disbelief.

Yul laughed at Soo-Ja’s certainty. “In the beginning. She was a different woman when I met her.”

“Then maybe you should be talking to Eun-Mee right now,” said Soo-Ja, the sharpness in her voice half contrived, half real. “Should we head back?”

“No, wait,” said Yul.

The temperature seemed to drop further, and Soo-Ja could hear the howl of the wind as the cold lashed at her. It would be nice, she thought, if he put his arms around her. It would distract her mind; it would make the cold dissipate.

“Are you ever going to say it? How you feel about me?” asked Yul.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Soo-Ja, though she did.

Soo-Ja and Yul stood in front of each other, waiting for the other to speak first, each afraid to break the moment. Then, sirens began to soar in the distance, announcing the end of curfew. Citizens would now be able to leave their homes and go to work, drive in the streets, and eat in restaurants. Soon roads would be filled with cars and pedestrians and smoke billowing out of buses. But for now, for those fleeting minutes, all was quiet, everyone still asleep. If they kissed, or embraced, no one could see, no one would have to know.

“Let’s head back,” said Soo-Ja.

In the morning, Soo-Ja grew bold and decided to do something she’d always wanted to do. She went into the hotel kitchen and made a lunch bag for Yul to take to work. She cooked her own recipe of japchae—mixed vegetable noodles, and fried gyoza—and placed them in a hot steel container. She did not say anything to Yul, but simply left it outside his door, without saying it was from her. At night, the brown bag reappeared outside her own door. She opened it and was happy to see it was completely empty—it meant he had enjoyed it and eaten it well. The next day, she cooked something else—pokum bab—fried rice with egg, ham, and peas, topped with some strips of meat. Once again, Soo-Ja left it by his door. Eun-Mee never saw the bags, as she always slept in. At night, they reappeared on her own doorstep, always empty.

Soo-Ja pictured Yul eating in his office, enjoying his food. It would make him glad, not having to ask one of the receptionists to fetch him lunch. No, not today, I have it, he’d say, and the receptionist would reply, Good, Dr. Kim, everyone here always felt so bad for you, we all always have our lunch bags, except for you.

One morning, as Soo-Ja dropped the bag off in front of Yul’s room, she rose from the mat to find a pair of eyes peering at her. Unmistakably curious and full of disapproval, the eyes belonged to Hana. Soo-Ja did not speak, but knew that her own surprised reaction would tell much of the story. Hana said nothing, and Soo-Ja knew instinctively that her daughter wouldn’t tell Min. But in the moment that passed between them, Soo-Ja feared that her daughter would swallow up a piece of her mother’s ache, and hoped that it would not damage her.

“Hello, this is Hotel Seine,” Soo-Ja said into the receiver in the morning, hiding a yawn.

“You sound so tired! You really need to get that husband of yours to help you more.” It was Jae-Hwa, with her familiar, singsongy trill.

“Jae-Hwa, did you make it back to Daegu all right?” Soo-Ja asked, glad to hear her friend’s voice.

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me while I was in Seoul. I loved it, although now I have so much dust in my lungs! Too bad the vacuum cleaner doesn’t reach inside my throat.”

Soo-Ja laughed. “It was good to see you, too.”

“So you’re not mad at me for—”

“Of course not,” Soo-Ja cut her off, feeling bad that she had worried her friend. “But let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“But how’re you going to find the money?”

“To be honest with you, Jae-Hwa, I’m beginning to accept the fact that I won’t,” said Soo-Ja, half sighing. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I had money growing up, and it only attracted trouble.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Jae-Hwa, what is it?” Soo-Ja asked, concerned.

“It’s just—well, I lied to you. I said I couldn’t lend you the money, but I could. In fact, the amount you asked for isn’t even that much for me.”

“Jae-Hwa, you don’t need to explain. It was wrong of me to put you on the spot like that.”

“No, it wasn’t wrong. You always lent me money when we were young. Actually, when we’d go out, you always paid for things. And never asked for anything back.”

“I didn’t mind helping you back then,” Soo-Ja said, playing with the long, beige coiled phone cord. She imagined Jae-Hwa at the other end, sitting in one of the brocaded sofas in her living room, probably dressed in her usual cashmere. “I got pleasure out of giving you things.”

“Soo-Ja, the reason I didn’t give you the loan was because… well, when I came to visit you, and saw the hotel, and saw the little rooms you and your family were living in… I thought, she’s not asking me for money to make an investment, she’s asking it so she can make ends meet.”

Soo-Ja felt her face fall. “Jae-Hwa, I’m poor, but I’m not that poor. And I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know. But I looked at how you were dressed, and I thought, There’s no way she’ll be able to pay me back. And that’s why I didn’t give you the money. Because I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to pay me back. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Soo-Ja curtly. In that moment, Soo-Ja decided she did not want Jae-Hwa’s money. What did she take Soo-Ja for? A beggar? Even if she had called to offer her ten times the sum, Soo-Ja wouldn’t have taken it.

“This doesn’t change anything, I hope? I mean, money shouldn’t come between friends,” said Jae-Hwa.

“Of course not,” said Soo-Ja, her lips tightly pursed.

They would never be friends again. The difference in class made it impossible.

Soo-Ja held the telephone in her hands, not ready to dial the numbers. In a moment or so, she’d call Gi-yong Im to let him know that she wasn’t able to raise the money to buy the land. In a moment or so, she’d thank him for waiting for her, and for giving her the opportunity. In a moment or so, she’d hang up the phone, and then it would be over. And because it would be over—taking her hopes with it, and replacing them with the ring of defeat—she hesitated before calling.

“My favorite investor, Mrs. Soo-Ja Choi,” said Gi-yong, in his animated voice, when he answered the phone. He was always selling—a place, an idea, an emotion. “How are you?”

“I am well. I could be better, of course. Which is why I’m calling you,” said Soo-Ja, holding the phone close against her face, her hand made into a fist brushing against her cheek.

“If you’ve changed your mind, it may be too late. The money has already been routed to my account, and once it gets in there, it’s awfully hard to pry it out of my fingers,” said Gi-yong jokingly.

Soo-Ja thought she could hear him tapping against his desk with a pen. “Yes, the money. I’m sorry I don’t have the money. That’s why I’m calling you. To let you know that you’re free to sell the land to someone else. I did the best I could, but I couldn’t get it.”

“Mrs. Choi, the land is yours,” said Gi-yong calmly, and she could hear him leaning forward on his desk, becoming more attentive. “Your money has been deposited, and the contracts have been drawn. I thought that’s why you were calling, to set up a time for the signing.”

Soo-Ja stood confused for a moment, as if Gi-yong had been speaking a foreign language, and it took her a few extra seconds to translate the words, one by one. “Did you say, ‘your money has been deposited’?”

“From your silent partner,” said Gi-yong, a little impatiently.

“My silent partner?”

“Yes, and he’s so silent I don’t even know who he is. All the arrangements have been made through his accountant and me. His accountant reached my office this morning, and informed me that he was making his line of credit available to you. The transfer has been successful, and the deal has transpired quite smoothly.”

There was only one person in the world who would do this for her, thought Soo-Ja. Yul, you stubborn mule! How many times do I need to tell you I don’t want your money?

“Mr. Im, I’m afraid there has been a mistake,” said Soo-Ja, with asperity in her voice. “Please cancel the deal. Right away.”

“Don’t be silly! You wanted the land so much and it’s yours now!” said Gi-yong, in his trademark high spirits. Soo-Ja could hear the squeaky springs of his leather chair as he leaned back against it.

“Mr. Im!”

“Send your husband here to sign the papers tomorrow morning,” Gi-yong interrupted. “Although I’d prefer if you came.” He did not try to hide the leer in his voice. “I can imagine you’d prefer to sign papers yourself, in your name, but I know you’re too clever a woman to emasculate your husband like that.”

“Mr. Im, I’m serious. That money—”

“Oh, before I forget,” Gi-yong interrupted, “your silent partner asked me to relay a message to you. He wants you to know that this is only a loan, and you’ll have to pay him back.”

Soo-Ja closed her eyes, taking this in. Yul knew that was the only way she’d accept his help. But I’d rather have the man than the money. Is there no way to have an exchange?

“Anyway, I do have to say I was surprised that you pulled through. You said you’d come back by the end of the month, and indeed you did, with three days to spare. Now, you may be interested to know about certain rumors circling around city hall. As I mentioned before, my original estimation was that they’d start building on the land in fifteen to twenty years, and that’s how the lots have been valued, and priced. But…. there are rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” Soo-Ja asked, furrowing her brow.

“I can’t talk about it,” said Gi-yong, his voice growing a little hushed. “I don’t want to raise anyone’s hopes if it doesn’t happen. But the people are getting restless. New elections are inevitable, and the President’s under a lot of pressure to do more for the cities. This whole saemaul undong movement to improve the countryside sure sounds nifty, but the government can’t expect people to stay away from the cities. You know the saying, ‘If you have a son, send him to Seoul.’”

“Well, that sounds very promising,” said Soo-Ja, and she could hear the understatement in her own voice.

Gi-yong laughed. “By the way, are you going to tell me who your silent partner is?”

Soo-Ja swallowed. “Good-bye, Mr. Im.”

Soo-Ja knocked lightly on Yul’s door. When she got no answer, she hesitated, and then pulled out her master key. She went into the room, only to find it dark, with no one inside. Yul was gone, and so were his things. Before she could grasp what happened, Soo-Ja saw her daughter appear next to her, touching her arm lightly. Soo-Ja looked at her daughter’s oval face, her eyes shining intently at her.

“They checked out a couple of hours ago,” said Hana.

“They’re gone?” asked Soo-Ja, taking in the emptiness of the room.

“Yes. Yul left this for you.”

Hana handed her mother a note, and when Soo-Ja opened it, she read the words Don’t forget me. Trembling, Soo-Ja closed the note again, the meaning of the words etching themselves into her skin.

As she exited the room, Soo-Ja noticed that Hana looked upset. She wondered how much her daughter knew about Yul and her. Children, Soo-Ja believed, had a sixth sense about such things. Soo-Ja tried to think of some explanation to offer her. It had to serve many purposes: it had to keep her from going to her father; it had to prevent the wound from scarring; it had to get her to forgive her for a deed she hadn’t done.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” said Hana. “I don’t like him.”

“Why don’t you like him?” Soo-Ja asked cautiously.

“He cheated on his wife, Mom,” said Hana. In her voice, Soo-Ja could hear she was half accusing her and half testing the words.

“No, he didn’t,” Soo-Ja corrected her, deciding that she wouldn’t pretend not to know what Hana was hinting at. “He was loyal to her.”

“He is a bad man,” said Hana.

“Don’t say that, Hana. It’s not true. He’s a good man. Don’t say bad things about Yul, please,” said Soo-Ja. She realized she would not get a chance to thank him. She’d just have to add that to the list of things she’d never get to say to him.