Fox Girl (31 page)

Duk Hee backed up. Her calves banged the back of her cot. “I did the best I could,” she protested. “I tried.” Sitting on the cot, she fumbled with the purse she kept tied around her neck. She pulled out a few wrinkled bills and reached for Sookie's hand. “Here, take this.”

Sookie's eyes narrowed on the money, then shot to Duk Hee's face. “I thought you said you didn't have cash.”

Duk Hee waved the money at Sookie. “Just take it. Doesn't matter how I got it.”

Sookie grabbed her mother's fist. “Were you the one who told Lobetto?”

Duk Hee looked up. “I thought you were in trouble. I wanted to help.” When Sookie flung her hand off, Duk Hee begged. “Please. I didn't know what he would do to her.”

“You think money is going to make everything better?” Sookie shook her head and without glancing back, walked out of Duk Hee's cubicle.

“Sometimes that's all a person has to give,” Duk Hee whispered. She stood, then moved toward me, holding her hands in front of her as if afraid I would run away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” she said. “I tried my best for you, too.” She didn't look at me, but at Myu Myu. “He said he loved her,” she murmured. “I believed him.”

“I think he does,” I said, my anger at her fading as I watched her watch Myu Myu.

She pushed the money at me. “Will you take this?” When I hesitated, she added, “For the girl. The baby.” Duk Hee folded the money into the cup of my palm, her gaze fixed on her grandchild, then lifted her hand to Myu's curls—a brief, light touch—before she jerked herself back.

I glanced at Myu, then held her up. “Would you like to hold her?” I asked.

Duk Hee placed her face next to Myu's and inhaled deeply, breathing her in. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she shook her head. “Nah, no need,” she said.

“Duk Hee?” I said, not sure what I meant to ask. I placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hyun Jin!” Sookie yelled from the doorway. “Let's go.” She leaned in, shuffling her feet outside, refusing to enter. Without looking up, she added, “See you, Duk Hee. I . . . I won't forget you.”

I turned to say goodbye to Duk Hee. She was already lying down on her narrow cot, her back curved away from me.

 

At the airport, I kept thinking I saw Lobetto. A glimpse of a battered army jacket slouched over a tall, wiry frame; a flash of heavy curls hanging over a dark, gaunt face, and my breath would catch. But in the end, he never showed up. The scenes I imagined where he grabbed Myu from my arms as we were about to board the plane never came to pass. Just as my fear of being stopped by immigration officials was never realized.

It was unbelievable how easy it was to leave Korea; it came down to a small thing.

A lie, a modest nod of the head, when they asked if I was visiting. They darted looks at me, trying to hide their morbid fascination at my multicolored face. The stark asymmetry made them uncomfortable, so what they focused on was the papers and the money I handed to them.

When the plane climbed into the air, Myu Myu whimpered. She arched her back, tugged at her hair, and screamed at the roar of engine in her head. I felt it, too, the earth's pull reaching in through our ears, endeavoring to drag us back down. There was a moment of pain, then a small, audible
pop
of release; we were free.

Next to us Sookie bounced in her seat, exclaiming over the seat belt fastener, the tray table, the windows, the earphones. She plugged into the radio and began singing aloud to the music. When the stewardess rolled a cart down the aisle and offered us peanuts and soda, Sookie narrowed her eyes and asked, loud enough to drown out the music only she could hear, “How much?”

“Complimentary.” The stewardess smiled slightly and plopped the bag of nuts on our laps.

“Complimentary?” Sookie echoed, sliding the earphones off her head. “Free?”

“Don't count on it,” I grumbled, shifting Myu Myu's weight across knees that were going numb. “Mrs. Yoon will find a way to make us pay.”

“That's why I'm going to enjoy it all,” Sookie shot back. “Coca-Cola,” she said to the stewardess, peering at the drinks in the cart. “7 UP. Orange juice. And that—” she added, pointing to a slender red-and-white can.

“Bloody Mary Mix.” The stewardess filled a plastic cup with ice and soda and another with thick red juice that Sookie refused to touch. Leaning over me and Myu Myu, she lined them up on Sookie's tray. When she noticed Sookie eyeing her cart again, she turned away and pushed it farther up the aisle.

I opened the bag of nuts and chewed one up. Spitting it out, I placed it on Myu's tongue. She wrinkled her face and gagged. Crushed peanuts came out in a long stream of drool, which I tried to catch in the small square of napkin the stewardess had handed out.

“Disgusting.” Sookie shuddered, adjusted the earphones, and turned her face to the window.

The smell of peanuts made my stomach lurch. After fumbling with the seat belt, I managed to unbuckle myself and stumble into the aisle. With Myu Myu on my shoulder, I made my way to the back of the plane. Behind the line of people waiting for the toilet, I paused, noticing the rear exit door. I stepped up to the small window, skimming the emergency release handle with my fingers. For a moment, my hand tightened with the urge to pull down, to open up, to float into that endless dream of blue and white, suspended between heaven and earth. I exhaled, fogging the glass with a cloud of breath, and forced myself to step away.

 

We filed off the plane like cattle, jostled into lines for processing. Our passports stamped, we shuffled through a corridor toward a glass door. A pack of people pressed close to a doorway that opened and closed as passengers neared it. Peering in, their faces eager, anxious, they waited. A woman behind me cried out and pushed past me, through the doors that parted like water, and into the arms of someone who could have been her sister, or mother, someone who loved her. Travelers were claimed, enveloped in garlands of flowers, their bags taken by other hands.

Yoon was there to claim Sookie and me. Her eyes widened, then narrowed on the baby I carried. “What the fuck?” she squawked, pinching me in the ribs when she pretended to embrace me. But she pasted a smile on her face as we passed the airport security.

“This way.” She took my arm, her nails digging into my flesh.

I gritted my teeth, forcing a smile as well.

Sookie sauntered up to the airport guard. “We so excited to visit this, the beautiful state of Hawai‘i,” Sookie said, rattling on in English as the guard, startled at her approach, stared at her. “I plan to feed fish at Hanauma Bay, climb Diamond Head, see Pearl Harbor. And, of course, shop, shop, shop at Ala Moana Center.”

Yoon turned on Sookie. “Shut up,” she said, shaking her arm. “There's no official here.”

Sookie pouted. “But I wanted to give my speech. I thought I would be asked questions; all they did was stamp here, stamp there. I memorized for nothing.”

Yoon shook her head and stomped away.

I looked at Sookie. She grinned and winked. We scrambled to keep up with Yoon's militant strides.

“And you,” Yoon hissed at me. “I don't know what game you're playing. How could you bring that . . . that child. You don't know how much trouble they cause—food, clothing, rent, school, doctors. It'll be a big problem.”

“I'll pay,” I said grimly.

“I'll make sure you do.”

Sliding doors opened and we stepped into sunlight, raw and bright. Bursts of color shot across my lids when I blinked. My eyes felt heavy, but I forced them open, wide as I could. I had expected to see the ocean, trees loaded with flowers, hula dancers. What I saw was gray asphalt that steamed with heat, concrete blocks and red dirt, chicken wire and tractors.

“Construction,” Yoon said, leading us into a fenced parking lot. “America is always getting better.” She stopped in front of a long blue car. “Nice, isn't it,” she boasted. “Cadillac.”

“Cad-o-lac,” I repeated, liking the way the word slid across my tongue. I liked as well the seats, soft and sleek, like the fur of a cat. I never before felt material soft as a baby's skin.

We fell silent during the ride, Sookie and I looking out the windows. Myu Myu played with a button on the door that made my window whir down and up. Each time the window slid down, the blaring noise of tires blasted in with hot air. Yoon grumbled and pushed a lever on her door that paralyzed my window. Houses, fat and white as lice eggs, dotted the dry, brown hills that rose above us; below, sprawled under the archway of traffic, squatted a series of buildings with laundry strung out on the balconies.

“This is U.S.?” Sookie whispered to me. “This is Hawai‘i? Looks like another America Town to me.”

Yoon heard and said, “This is America, not America Town. Here, without me, you're nothing. You could disappear, you could die, and no one would know. Officially, you don't exist.”

“What's new?” I said bitterly.

“What's new is me.” Yoon braked at a light and looked at us over her shoulder. “Listen to me, do as I say, and we can all make a lot of money.”

“If I can get a car like this,” Sookie said, “I'm in.”

Lips tight, Yoon smiled. “You're in already—for about fifteen hundred, American. That's the beginning of what you owe me. But don't worry,” she added in supposed encouragement. “Work hard and in another ten, fifteen years, you could have what I have.” She turned and pressed the gas. The Cadillac lurched forward.

After turning down several narrow lanes, we pulled to the curb alongside a squat two-story building. Its brown paint was chipped in places, revealing the concrete block walls underneath. Yoon unfolded herself from the car, adjusted her skirt, and motioned us to follow her.

Reaching the door at the end of the walkway, Yoon inserted a key in the lock and pushed. Something blocked her way. Yoon placed her shoulder against the door and pushed harder.

“Hey, hey!” a voice called from inside. “Wait just a minute, will you?”

Giving suddenly, the door swung open onto a darkened room. Yoon flicked on the light and snorted in disgust. “It's past noon,” she said.

Sookie and I crowded against Yoon in the only open space in the apartment, the floor of which was covered wall to wall with futons. Most of the sleeping mats were occupied by girls. The girl who answered the door rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Mrs. Yoon,” she gasped, stretching her large T-shirt over her knees. “We didn't expect you.”

“I told Lulu I was coming with two new girls,” Yoon griped, eyes flicking over the sleeping bodies.

The girl said, “Lulu never came home last night.” The girl spoke to Yoon, but spotting Myu Myu, couldn't stop staring. When her eyes jumped to my face she screamed:
“Aiigu!”

Yoon pursed her lips. “She didn't go home with one of my customers, did she?”

The girl shook her head, forcing her eyes back to Yoon. “No, no. She went to see a girlfriend, and then, and then went to get doughnuts.”

Yoon exhaled, long and slow, and eyed the girl. “That's . . . nice,” she said. “I don't like it when one of my girls breaks my rules about socializing outside the club.”

The girl bobbed her head, offered a hesitant smile.

“And I don't like it when my girls lie to me.”

The girl's smile fell. She glanced around the room, then gestured to one corner, where there was a sink and a small refrigerator. “Can I make you some tea? Coffee?” she asked, keeping her head down.

“No, thanks, Chinke.” Yoon wrinkled her nose. “I'll just leave the new girls with you,” she said, backing out the door. “Fix up that ugly one as much as you can and bring them to the club early.”

When the door shut behind us, Sookie and I followed the girl Yoon called Chinke, stepping over the bodies, to the kitchen area. Chinke poked at the girls sprawled in front of the sink and refrigerator. “Get up,” she said to them, “we need this space.”

“I heard,” moaned one, without opening her eyes. “I just didn't want to get up and face Yoon.”

“What's she thinking,” the other yawned, “bringing in more girls, packing us in like Vienna sausages?” This girl sat up, quickly folding her blankets and futon, then glanced up. “I'm Minnie—holy shit. You are fucked up! Double fucked,” she giggled, “your face and a baby!”

I hugged Myu to my chest, letting the curtain of my hair fall across our faces. Myu grabbed a handful of hair and twisted it in her fist. Eyes watering, I struggled to loosen her grip.

The girl next to Minnie sat up. She looked into and away from my face, too polite to comment. Instead she held up her arms and waved both hands. “Here, let me hold her,” she urged. “I left two of these at home.”

As I leaned past Sookie to hand over Myu Myu, Sookie looked at Chinke. “You from China?” she asked. “That why they call you Chinke?”

Chinke narrowed her small eyes. “No,” she said.

“We just call her that because of her eyes.” The girl laughed and, balancing Myu in her lap, pulled her eyes into thin slits.

“Shut your rubber-lip mouth, Froggie,” Chinke shot back. “We call her Froggie because of her big mouth.”

A girl lying on a mat in the back of the room near the bathroom called out: “No, we call her Froggie because when she drinks too much beer, she begins to belch like a love-sick bull-frog!” The girl let out a long burp.

Chinke laughed with the other girls, Froggie included, and opened a cabinet to pull out a teapot. “I bet Yoon shit when she saw the baby.”