My promise to myself before I met you was that I would never be in love with anyone. In love, as in at the mercy of emotion. In love, as in unable to leave you if I had to, even if you turned out to be abusive like my father. In love, as in unable to think about anything else when you’re not with me. In love, as in making a fool of myself and telling you everything, even if you’d think I was the worst person in the world. The wishing-I-weren’t-in-love kind of love; the desperate kind; the hook, line, and sinker sort of love; the out-of-control kind.
I told you we should break up. I told you to keep your distance. There were plenty of people on this tour, so we didn’t have to be beside each other. I told you we should do it now while it was still possible. And you looked at me and said, “Why?”
This was the fight we had after we visited the Emile Bell on the student tour. The “mommy” bell, the bell that celebrated the child thrown into the molten lava so her father could make a bell that pleased the king. The story of this child triggered something in me. I couldn’t tell you about my mother and father and what it was like to grow up in a house they fought in. Instead I told you I never wanted to see you again. And you said, “You’re kidding. Over what?” And I said, “You don’t understand. You’ll never understand.” And you said, “Try me.” And I said, “No.”
But the next day I waited for you outside your cabin, and I said I was sorry, and you said, “I still don’t understand.” And I said, “Even so, can you just forgive me for yesterday?” And you said, “I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.”
Three times in two weeks I said I’d never talk to you again. And each time I went back. There are songs about this kind of desperation. Fairy tales. Cautionary tales. Lloyd talked to me during those times. He said, “Jaesung doesn’t understand when people have to be by themselves. You need space. I get it.” And I said, “Look after him for me?” and he agreed he would.
After the third time, I had to promise you I’d never break up with you again. Not like this. “Promise me that. We’ll always be friends, even if you decide you don’t want to see me anymore. Not this kind of shutting the door. Not this way where you say we’ll pretend we don’t know each other. I can’t take that, I’m telling you. Promise,” you said. I promised. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t.
35
Lloyd cocks the handgun and holds it over Heather. YOU NEVER LIKED ME. AND SINCE WE’RE BEING HONEST, I NEVER LIKED YOU EITHER.
Negotiate. A voice is screaming in my head. Say something. Now. Negotiate, Yoona. You’d do that. My mother did that. Even Willa, in her own way, with her avoidance, was finding a way to handle our volatile father. Up until now I’ve resisted looking at Lloyd head-on. This isn’t going to end soon.
“If you shoot her, they’ll hear, and they’ll come in and kill all of us.” It’s Faye’s voice.
THAT MEANS THEY’D BE RESPONSIBLE FOR KILLING ALL OF YOU. I THINK THEY’LL TRY TO SAVE ONE OF YOU AT LEAST. He steadies his shaking hand and aims the gun at Faye on the bed next to me.
“Lloyd, okay, no bullshit, you’re right. Let’s be honest, I have that problem. You know what Jaesung said, I shut you out, and I was wrong. I should have gone with you. What are you saying about proof that Jaesung is alive?” I say as loud as I can.
I swear it’s nearly a smile on his face, a smile and relief. I’ve seen it before, and if I have to pretend one more time, I’ll do it. For my friends’ sakes, I have to do it. This has gone too far. Too far, and I can see that there’s no going back now.
He turns to me. I have to look straight back at him. There’s silence. Even Daiyu has stopped crying. They wait.
36
During the second week of the tour, we went to the DMZ. A man in a beige uniform greeted us and explained that there were thousands of US army, navy, and air force soldiers combined in one place on the southern side of the 38th parallel. “Together with our army, the North knows they can’t invade by land. But they will stop at nothing,” he said, his voice louder now. “We always have to be on guard. Which is why,” he said, “they try to get to our shores at night. Which is why they’ve infiltrated our universities and factories. Those communists will even go overseas to other countries to kidnap people who are on our side.”
He took us upstairs to a guard tower, where another man in a beige uniform handed us his binoculars. I looked across the field in the direction he pointed, at a town he’d said had been made up to look like a common village but was a stage set. Propaganda. You were quieter than everyone else. Lloyd was arguing with one of the tour guides, Mr. Kwang, about something North Korean. But you stayed away from them. You looked out into the distance and didn’t comment.
After that, the spokesperson said he wanted us to see how the North Koreans had begun to infiltrate—he was going to show us proof of it. They’d nearly made it all the way to Seoul, he claimed. We’d go down into the tunnels the South had dug to intercept the North’s tunnels. I didn’t need to see any more. All the uniforms and weapons and talk of invasions were making me nervous. What were we doing here?
At the entrance of the tunnel they led us to, I held my breath. The earth. The roots in it. As we walked, I stayed close to the middle of the tunnel, the tallest part. Away from the sides, covered with the root strands of the underbrush and trees. The tunnel widened as it leveled out. I told myself there was plenty of room for all of us and tried to keep moving. The guides were shouting at us to keep up. People around me were chatting, but it was in hushed tones.
I could imagine soldiers from both sides storming through these tunnels, coming at us with bayoneted guns while we cowered, trapped in the middle. I wouldn’t be able to go forward or backward. When I finally let out my breath, the smell of dirt and insects and sweat and smoke filled my nose, and a metallic taste filled my mouth. Was something burning? The walls suddenly felt close to me, as if they were by my ears—was that possible? Had they narrowed like that? I closed my eyes, but I could feel the wispy roots of trees and hear boots pounding through the tunnel, see men in uniforms with rifles pointing at me. I’d be shot and trampled. My feet stopped. I couldn’t go any farther. The rest of the tour group walked around me. Some walked into me, not knowing I’d stopped. How were there so many of us? I took a step backward, and someone protested before passing me. Soon they’d all pass me, and that thought frightened me as well. Which was worse? To be with all of them as we were killed together or to be caught by myself, trying to flee? I took a step backward.
“Ready to leave?” It was you. “I pretty much get the idea of these things, don’t you?” you continued.