Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story (21 page)

T
HIRTY-SIX

Ten years later. November 1964; Seoul, South Korea

I
sat at
a low table in my new apartment and watched with pride as Soo-bo grabbed her book bag, pulled on her coat and headed for the door. Soo-bo would be fifteen soon and, though she was still thin, she had filled out like a woman. She would never be strong like me, or brilliant like Jin-mo, but she worked very hard at school and had progressed in her studies. 

It hadn’t been easy to get her into school. Since Soo-bo did not have a father, she was unable to get a family registration. I’d had to go to the local elementary school and pay a bribe to get her admitted. Then, on her middle school entrance exam, I made Soo-bo study long hours and she had passed. The middle school administrator had assumed that Soo-bo had a family registration and let her in. Soon, she would take the exams for placement into high school and I hoped Soo-bo would pass again. But the exam would be more difficult and in high school, the officials would be careful to check for a family registration. Without one, they would not admit Soo-bo and her formal education would be over.

“Soo-bo,” I said as my daughter opened the door to leave, “shouldn’t you say goodbye to your mother?”

“Oh,” Soo-bo said, “I’m sorry,
Ummah
.” She bowed. “Goodbye, mother. I am going to school now.” She hurried out the door.

I watched Soo-bo leave and smiled to myself. At her age, the only education I’d had was from my mother who taught me to read and write in Hangul, Chinese, and Japanese. If it weren’t for my skill with language, I would have stayed poor as South Korea flourished after General Park Chung-hee overthrew the corrupt government of Syngman Rhee. Now, South Korea was hard at work building a modern nation while our children went to school. In a few years, Soo-bo would come to adulthood in a nation with endless promise—but only if she passed her exams, and only if I could somehow get her admitted to high school.

I stuffed the translations that I had worked on the night before inside my bag. I was thankful that I had such a good job at the Gongson Construction Company. I worked very hard at it. I went to the library every week and checked out books in Japanese, Chinese and English. I read every night after work, just like I did on the farm. I watched foreign films whenever I could. With my language skills, I was a highly valued employee at Gongson. And I no longer thought of myself as a comfort woman. Yes, I'd let the Japanese exploit and brutalize me for two years, but that was no longer who I was. I was now one of millions of proud South Koreans helping to build my nation.

Today I wanted to get to work early. Gongson was expanding, along with the rest of South Korea and I had a lot of work to do. Before I left, I looked at the black and white photograph of my family sitting in a new frame on the table.

I picked up the photo. “
Ummah
,
Appa
,
Onni
,” I said to the images as I did every morning before leaving for work, “thank you for sending your spirits to help me. I will always do my best to honor you.” I set the photo on the table. I left the beige, eight-story apartment building and headed to work.

*

I greeted Mrs. Min in the lobby of the new glass and steel, four-story Gongson building. “Good morning, Mrs. Min. "Isn’t it a lovely day?” As usual, she pretended not to notice me.

When I got to my desk, Mr. Han, the senior attorney for Gongson, was already outside his office waiting for me. The gray-haired man wore his customary smooth blue suit and a worried look below his thick, gray hair. He held a stack of documents out to me and said we had to finish translating them today. “This is the most important deal our firm has ever done,” he said. “If we can get this loan at a favorable rate, we can expand into other industries and become a conglomerate, a true
chaebol
. Then you will see our company prosper!”

“Yes sir,” I said with a respectful bow. I took the documents to my desk. “Are we doing them in English when we are done with the Japanese?”

“No, we do not need them in English. We’re only dealing with the Japanese on this one. We want to keep the Americans out of it. Anyway,” he said slyly, “Diashi Bank is anxious to do business with us. Hopefully, they will give us a good rate.”

“I will get them done today, sir,” I said.

“Good,” Mr. Han said with a quick nod. “Oh, by the way, the bank’s negotiators will be here tomorrow morning. We need your help interpreting. You’re good at reading Japanese men.”

Mr. Han went inside his office and closed the door while I sat at my desk and seethed. Yes, I knew all about the Japanese. They were ruthless and cruel and arrogant and bigoted. Even atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and a seven-year American occupation did not subdue their conceit. And now that Korea and Japan had normalized relations, Korean businesses were turning to the Japanese to help build their industries. Why are we doing business with these people? I fumed. Don’t you remember what they did to us? Don’t you know what they did to me?

I closed my eyes and the images of the machine gun murdering the Korean girls in the comfort station courtyard burned in my mind. My stomach turned. I wanted to throw the contracts on the floor and storm out the door. I wanted to march into the South Korean Ministry of Foreign Affairs and tell them what the Japanese had done to me. I wanted to reach out to thousands of other women who I had heard the Japanese had also raped and tortured as
ianfu
.

Then I remembered Soo-bo and the long hours she had to study to pass her exams. I remembered how I had promised my ancestors I would honor them. So, I went to work translating the contract. I took my time and consulted my dictionaries and made sure I got everything just right. In the margins, I made notes where the language was ambiguous and where Mr. Han should be careful.

By mid-afternoon, I was done and gave the contract to Mr. Han. “Good work, Ja-hee,” he said. “Don’t forget, we need you to interpret tomorrow. Wear something the Japanese men will like. You know how they are.”

”Yes sir,” I said, taking care to hide my disgust as he disappeared into his office.

The telephone on my desk rang and I answered it.

“Ja-hee,” the caller said, “I want to see you after work. Can you meet me?” The caller was Choi Chul-sun, a senior manager at Gongson and I was sure he was in love with me. He was a friend of the founder’s son. We had been dating for nearly two years, going out to dinner and to the movies on the weekends. He was always painfully polite. Lately, he had been cautiously dropping hints about taking our relationship further.

“Chul-sun, I can’t see you tonight. I have an important meeting tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know about the meeting with Diashi Bank. But this is important, too.”

“I also have to get home to Soo-bo.”

“I will pay for a cab. You’ll be home at your usual time.”

“Well, okay,” I said. “For just a little while. Where shall we meet?”

He told me to meet him outside, at the corner in twenty minutes. I told him I would see him then, and hung up the phone. Over the next twenty minutes, I worked on a translation of a letter to an American subcontractor and put it in my ‘out’ basket. I put on my coat and headed to the lobby. On the way out, I passed the steno pool. Moon-kum, a thick, middle-aged woman looked up as I walked by. “Are you going to see Choi Chul-sun again tonight, Ja-hee?” she teased. “When are you going to marry him and make him a real man?”

The other women looked from their typewriters and smiled. “He is not so handsome,” Moon-kum continued, “but he makes good money. He will be a vice president someday. What more do you want?” The other women covered their mouths and giggled.

“Why do I need a man?” I said, throwing my head to the side. “I have everything I need. Men are nothing but a burden to a woman. And,” I whispered loudly, “they have bad odors.”

The women laughed careful to cover their mouths. I smiled at them and took the stairs down to the lobby.

When I got to the corner outside the building, Chul-sun was already waiting for me. As a senior manager in the accounting department, Choi Chul-sun was always well dressed but it didn’t help his looks. His expensive suit, white shirt, and red tie hung awkwardly on his boney frame. His skin was pocked and his thin hair was graying prematurely.

He blushed as I approached. “Ja-hee,” he said. “Seeing you pleases me.” He motioned down the street. The sidewalk was crammed with people heading home. The November air was dry, but not too cold. Chul-sun took my arm. “I thought we could go to Namsan Park,” he said. “I will pay a cab to take you home. It’s not too cold for you, is it?”

“No, I am comfortable.”

We walked six blocks to Namsan Park. All around, the city was under construction. Office buildings and apartment buildings were springing up everywhere. Workers laid new streets. Cars motored about. Seoul was pulsing with growth.

Chul-sun and I exchanged small talk as we walked. I could see he was nervous and I did my best to make him relax. It had been that way ever since we first went out two years before. That day, he picked me up in a cab and took me to an expensive new restaurant near the Han River. At first, he was terribly nervous and blushed a lot. But I used my skill at talking with men to put him at ease. Since then, we had gone out on dates nearly every weekend, and Chul-sun had become more comfortable around me. He told me that he was from a wealthy merchant family from Seoul and had gone to school for accounting after World War II. He had worked in procurement for the South Korean army during the Korean War and, for the past ten years, had worked for Gongson Construction. He was a proud, respected senior manager and had a bright future.

I had told him about my family farm outside Sinuiju, how the Japanese had sent my father and sister away, and how my mother had died. I told him about Soo-bo’s father and how I had escaped to the South. I told him how I got my job with Gongson. But I never told him about the two years I had spent in Dongfeng, or that I worked for the communists, or about the year I had worked in the
kijichon
. I prayed that he would never find out.

We entered the west end of Namsan Park. To the east, Mount Namsan rose gracefully in the low November sun. Young couples walked side by side over the gravel pathways. In an open field, an old man dressed in white, practiced
taekkyeon
with slow, graceful movements.

An old man in a shabby coat sat hunched on a park bench. He extended his hand for spare change as we walked by. Chul-sun kicked gravel at him and scoffed. “Why do they let these people in the park?” he said.

“He doesn’t have anywhere to go,” I replied.

“It does not look good for Korea,” Chul-sun said. “They should get rid of them.”

We walked on. Eventually, Chul-sun let go of my arm. “Ja-hee,” he said, his lanky frame tipping forward, “um… how was work today?”

“It was very busy. We reviewed the Diashi contracts.”

“Good! Good,” Chul-sun said. “That is an important meeting tomorrow.” We started walking again.

We walked in silence for a while longer. Finally, I said, “What is it, Chul-sun? You did not bring me here just for a walk.”

“Yes, there is something. Something very important I want to ask you.”

“I see,” I replied. “What is it?”

Chul-sun drew his hand over his balding head and he blushed. He scanned the path in front of him as if the question he wanted to ask was lost among the gravel.

I took his arm and turned him to face me. “Chul-sun, ask your question.”

He shook his head. “I want to do this right like a proper Korean man should, but you have no father so I can’t ask him first, so I have to ask you directly, which is not the way it should be done, and now I cannot remember what I was going to say.”

I gently touched his arm. “I understand. Just ask.”

He gathered his courage and said, “Ja-hee, I would be honored if you would marry me. I will make a good husband.”

I looked at Chul-sun and smiled to myself. I did not love him, not like I loved Jin-mo. But he was a good man and he wanted me very much. With him as my husband, I would have a good life in the new, prosperous South Korea. Soo-bo would have a family registration so she could go to high school. With luck, maybe she could even go to the university someday. Given my history, a man like Chul-sun was more than I could have ever expected.

I lowered my eyes. “Yes, Chul-sun,” I said with a respectful bow. “I will be honored to be your wife.”

T
HIRTY-SEVEN

T
he next morning
, I put on the dress that best showed off my slender legs. I applied more makeup than usual and carefully brushed my hair, flicking my wrist with the brush to make it curl at the end. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. At thirty-four, I was still able to turn men’s heads. But I was disgusted to have to put on such a display for the Japanese men. They made my stomach turn.

I walked out of my apartment along with Soo-bo. We said goodbye at the street and I watched my daughter march off to school. I pulled my coat tight against the November chill and headed for my bus. As I walked, I pushed aside my anger about dealing with the Japanese. After all, for the first time in my life, my future looked good. The night before, I had agreed to marry Chul-sun.

A block from the bus stop was a dress shop. I stopped at the window and peered in. In the back were colorful wedding
hanbok
s with long
chima
skirts and
jeogori
blouses. I spotted a red one. I always looked good in red. Off to the side were intricate ceremonial headdresses and wedding sashes with brightly embroidered flowers. I pressed against the window to get a better look. My heart beat a little faster as I tried to picture myself dressed in the red
hanbok
holding the arm of a proud Chul-sun in front of his family and our friends from Gongson. I smiled as I imagined an excited Soo-bo, wearing the blue
hanbok
, and the young men at the wedding staring at her when they thought no one was looking.

I heard the bus to Itaewon pull up a quarter of a block away. I ran and caught it as it started to pull out. I thanked the driver for stopping for me and then took a seat near the back. When I settled in my seat, I quietly laughed at myself for almost missing my bus to look at wedding dresses.

As the bus wound its way through the Yongdungp’o-gu district and crossed yet another new bridge over the Han River into Itaewon, I prepared myself for the meeting ahead. It was always difficult working meetings with the Japanese. They used word tricks and deception to gain an edge. Even though Mr. Han and the executives of Gongson spoke Japanese, they depended on me to read their counterpart’s body language and catch the nuances of what they were saying. I was good at it, and today, I was determined not to let the Japanese get away with anything.

*

The Gongson Construction Company had designed their fourth floor conference room to impress people. It had mahogany paneling, red carpeting and a western-style table that sat twelve people with enough room to spread papers around. I stood in the corner while the company’s executives took their places at the table. Mr. Han caught my eye and gave me a firm look to remind me how important this meeting was. I bowed my head to indicate I understood.

Three Japanese executives from Diashi Bank entered the room. I kept my eyes respectfully low as the executives greeted each other and exchanged business cards in a grand show of respect. I carefully examined the shoes of the Japanese bankers. One wore shoes that were coming untied and I knew he would be sloppy in his negotiations. Another had shoes that were smudged and unpolished and I knew that what he said would be inconsequential. The third wore shoes that were perfectly polished and tied tight. He would be the one to watch out for.

The executives took their places at the table. I stood behind them, keeping my eyes on the red carpeting. The meeting began with a short speech in Japanese from the president of Gongson, about how honored they were to have an opportunity to do business with a firm as respected as Diashi Bank. I cringed when he said Korea was lucky to have such good friends as the Japanese, but I pushed my disgust aside.

Next, the Japanese executive with the smudged shoes stood to introduce their head negotiator. I smiled to myself at their grandstanding. While Gongson’s president merely gave a speech, the Japanese had to introduce the head of their team. I had to admit, they knew how to take the upper hand.

I stepped forward, ready to interpret. “Gentlemen,” the junior executive said bombastically, “you are very fortunate to have one of Diashi Bank’s top executives to meet with you today. Normally, he would not get involved in a transaction this small. However, since you are a new customer, he has graciously agreed to be here. He is a man of great intellect and importance. I am pleased to introduce to you, Diashi Bank’s Senior Vice President, Mr. Tanaka.”

Every nerve in my body snapped to life. Had I heard the man correctly? Had he said, Tanaka? I slowly raised my eyes and watched as the executive stood to make his speech. When I saw him, my heart stopped. He had filled out in the past twenty years and his hair was gray and thinning. But he still had the pointed nose, the cold sharp eyes and the air of authority. It was my
Kempei
, Lieutenant Tanaka. I could almost see him slapping his black boots with his
shinai
.

I stood in the Gongson conference room with my eyes low and began to tremble. My breathing was difficult and the walls closed in. My legs ached where he had beaten me that last week in Dongfeng. I squeezed my eyes closed and forced myself to take a deep breath.

At the head of the table, Lieutenant Tanaka paced back and forth while he delivered his speech in his clipped tone, just has he had done in front of the Korean girls in Dongfeng. Only a few words of his speech registered with me; “You are fortunate… discipline… obey.” The
kempei’s
words swept me back to the comfort station. I could picture the terror in Jin-sook’s eyes when he tied her to the post that first day. I could hear the girls’ sobs as they lay in their tiny rooms at night. I could see Soo-hee’s ashen face as she lay dying on the infirmary floor. And there, standing in the opulent Gongson conference room, I was a comfort woman again.

I took another glance at the
kempei
strutting and posturing in front of his audience and another fear gripped me. I had never told anyone except Jin-mo about my two years in the comfort station. Lieutenant Tanaka could reveal my terrible secret or use it as an advantage in these negotiations. But I had been just a girl in Dongfeng and now I was a mature woman. Perhaps he wouldn’t recognize me. I struggled to keep my composure and kept my head bowed low.

Lieutenant Tanaka finished his speech and took his seat. I moved to a place out of his line of sight and the negotiations began. The Japanese carefully answered questions about the loan contract and they themselves asked pointed questions about how we would use and repay the money. Several times, Mr. Han asked me to clarify what the Japanese meant in a phrase or statement. Each time, as I stepped forward and answered, I glanced at the
kempei
. He never looked at me.

The meeting progressed, each side angling for an advantage and gaining none. After two hours, both sides agreed to the final contract language. They decided to reconvene later that evening to celebrate with drinks and dinner at Seoul’s most expensive restaurant. As they rose and bowed to each other, Mr. Han, standing next to Lieutenant Tanaka, motioned for me to come to them. I approached with my head lowered. Lieutenant Tanaka was talking to the president of Gongson with his chin raised and chest out, as he did to the girls in Dongfeng.

“Yes, sir?” I said softly.

“I want to be sure we are clear on the maturity dates. Please look them over in both languages. That will be all, Ja-hee.”

I froze. Mr. Han had said my name aloud. I glanced at Lieutenant Tanaka and our eyes met for a split second. He showed a flash of recognition. I quickly went to my place behind the executives. Soon, all the men left leaving me alone in the mahogany-paneled conference room.

I took a seat at the table to collect myself. I was sure Lieutenant Tanaka had recognized me. It was in his eyes. For just a flash, a look of surprise replaced his cold arrogance. And… what else did I see? Was it fear? Could it be that he, too, didn’t want anyone to know what had happened in Dongfeng twenty years earlier?

I quickly gathered my papers. As I was about to leave, the conference room door opened and Lieutenant Tanaka stepped in. He closed the door behind him. I lowered my eyes as he took a seat at the table and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“Namiko Iwata,” he said, punctuating each syllable of the name. “I suppose I should call you ‘Ja-hee’. Imagine my surprise at seeing you here.” He nodded toward the door. “I told Mr. Han that I wanted to talk to you alone about the contracts. They probably think I’m courting you for sex. How ironic.”

I kept my head lowered. I tried not to show any emotions, but under my dress, my knees shook.

“Don’t worry,”
Kempei
said. “It would be in both our interests if no one knew what happened in Dongfeng.”

“Yes
Kempei
,” I heard myself say.

“Good. As long as you hold your part of the bargain, I will see that your company gets a favorable rate on this contract. I will even tell them I am impressed with your work.”

“Thank you,
Kempei
.”

He slowly traced a circle on the table with his finger. “I have a wife now, and a daughter. Her name is Miwa.”

“How old is she, sir?”

“Fourteen.”

“That is how old I was when… when we first met.”

He stopped tracing the circle and looked down his sharp nose at me. “It was a war, Ja-hee. We had a duty to fulfill. I had mine, and you had yours.”

I looked up. “My duty,
Kempei
?”

“Yes, of course! The comfort women had a duty to the men, and to Japan.” He pointed his chin at me as if I should naturally agree.

I returned his stare. “Then why did you kill them, sir?”

There was a sudden blankness in his face. He blinked twice and said, simply, “I do not remember doing that.”

It took him a moment to come back. Then he rose to leave. “Do you still have that comb with the two-headed dragon?” he asked. “Colonel Matsumoto said he gave it back to you.”

I thought about the comb hidden under the windowsill of my apartment. I looked at my feet. “No,
Kempei
. I had to sell it to feed my daughter.”

“Too bad. I remember the dragon had five toes. I didn’t know what it meant at the time. But it does not matter, now. I hope you got a very good price for it.”

“I did,
Kempei
.”

“Good. I better get back. They’ll start to wonder what we are doing in here.” He turned to leave and then turned back. “One more thing,” he said. “Give my greetings to your sister. I always did like her. I trust she is well.”

I quickly lifted my head. “Sir,” I said, “Soo-hee died in Dongfeng. Didn’t she?” My knees stopped shaking.

A thin smile stretched across Lieutenant Tanaka’s face. He shook his head. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I don’t know about what,
Kempei
? Please tell me, sir.”

Lieutenant Tanaka laughed quietly and put his hands on the back of the chair. He told me that when the Japanese left Dongfeng, Doctor Watanabe insisted that they take all his patients to Pushun, including Soo-hee. No one thought she would make it, but in Pushun, Soo-hee had an operation and eventually made a full recovery. He told me that when he went home to Japan several months later, Soo-hee was trying to get back to Korea. “Don’t tell me after all these years, you never knew,” he said.

“No
Kempei
, I didn’t.”

“My guess is she’s in the North somewhere. So there you go. Your old
kempei
has given you valuable information to reward you for a job well done.”

“Thank you,
Kempei
.”

Lieutenant Tanaka regarded me for a moment. “Remember our agreement, Ja-hee. No one needs to know about Dongfeng.”

“Yes,
Kempei
,” I said.

Lieutenant Tanaka tapped the back of the chair twice and went out the door.

I lowered myself to a chair and stared at the door. Was it possible that Soo-hee was alive? Or was this a cruel joke by the cruelest man I had ever known? And why, I wondered, why hadn’t I screamed at him, scratched his eyes, cursed him for what he had done to me? Why did I have to be a good Korean and keep it all inside?

After awhile, I gathered my papers and left the conference room. It was possible my
onni
was alive. I hadn’t seen my sister after I fled from Private Ishida. And when I returned to the infirmary, she was gone. Lieutenant Tanaka might be telling the truth. I had to find out. But how? The North and South were bitter enemies with an impenetrable border between them. Yet, there were rumors of underground networks that families could use to pass letters to each other.

As I went back to my desk, I resolved to find my sister whom I hadn’t seen in twenty years.