Sonju, page 21
“California.”
“Oh, California. West,” Sonju said. “What do Americans eat?”
“We eat meat, chicken, fish, and vegetables.”
“We too,” Sonju said.
“Yes, but cooked differently,” Dr. Williamson said. “I will take you both to an American restaurant and show you.”
The next time he came, he brought three sets of silverware and napkins. After Sonju and Miss Im watched him use forks and knives, they practiced. When Sonju was cutting bulgogi with a knife and fork, one piece flew off the dish and smacked Miss Im on her cheek and fell onto her napkin. Sonju giggled covering her mouth watching Miss Im recover from the sudden slap then laugh while wiping the brown marinade off her cheek with her napkin.
The following Saturday evening, Sonju and Miss Im met Dr. Williamson at the Eighth Army Headquarters in Yongsan. While Dr. Williamson was talking to a soldier in the booth, Sonju looked around trying not to appear to gawk at the Americans, most of them in uniform, a few in civilian clothes. A man and a woman were walking leisurely, their arms around each other’s waists, just as she had seen in the magazine pictures. Ah, the Americans, the objects of her envy.
At the restaurant, Dr. Williamson explained each dish on the menu to Sonju and Miss Im. When their food arrived, Sonju watched and followed him, and with a polite smile planted on her face, tried to disguise the small nervous tremors in her fingers.
Afterwards, in the taxi, Miss Im said, “Don’t you think it’s barbaric to butcher the slab of meat and eat it with miniature farming tools? I think cutting the food before cooking and using a spoon and chopsticks is a lot more civilized.”
“The dessert was too sweet for my taste,” Sonju said.
“What was that? One whole unpeeled potato plopped on the plate?”
On the fifth anniversary of Kungu’s death, the wind howled and wailed like an angry child, whipping fallen leaves all around. Every year, Lady Cho remembered the date and sat with Sonju quietly in the back room looking out at the enclosed garden. Sonju had written to Misu when she moved to her house and Misu wrote that she would visit one day, but Sonju hadn’t seen her.
In December, Sonju detected a new softness in the teacher’s voice, an eagerness to please Miss Im when correcting her English, and adoration in his eyes when she spoke.
Lady Cho said to Miss Im, “I have the impression that Doctor Williamson is quite taken with you.”
Miss Im casually replied with a lilt and a smile, “Oh, in that case, it would be one-sided.”
The women at The Hall regarded the man’s ardor with excited interest. He was a Westerner after all. The first week in March, nine months after the English lessons began, Miss Im had agreed to a Sunday date with him. On Monday, Sonju asked Miss Im how her date went, but Miss Im was not telling. At least she was smiling.
After several more dates, Miss Im started spending more time alone in the bedroom. Then one Saturday afternoon in July, Miss Im pulled Sonju into the room and insisted on going somewhere. She had something to tell Sonju. In spite of pelting monsoon rain, they went to a tearoom nearby. While waiting for tea, Miss Im said, “Last Sunday, Dr. Williamson told me he loves me. I told him I don’t love him.”
“How did he respond?” Sonju asked.
“He said he will wait however long it takes for me to fall in love with him.” Then she asked, “How do you know when this thing … love … happens?”
“When you think about him all the time and want to be with him all the time and start imagining the future with him. That’s how it was with me,” Sonju said.
Miss Im’s eyes drifted a bit before she said, “When I’m out alone with Roger, even though I don’t act or dress anything like a prostitute, people automatically take me as one and give me these loathing looks.” She mimicked the look of disgust. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I hate it.”
Those were strong feelings, but Sonju knew Miss Im. Miss Im was an intense person. She cooled down fast, too. Sonju cocked her head. “Roger?”
“Yes, that’s his name, remember?” she said with a petulant tone.
Sonju said, “People stare because he is an American, because he is different from us.”
Since then, every time Miss Im found Sonju alone, she talked about Roger. Constantly. And about the different mannerisms, ideas, and expressions she saw in Roger that she called “Americanness.”
Sonju was in the back room reading when Miss Im said, “Roger is very attentive. He asks me what I prefer. He stands behind me instead of in front of me. He is thirty-six, five years older than we are. Don’t you think it’s strange that he has not married yet? So, I asked him if his parents pressure him to come home and get married and he said he is a grown man and what he does with his life is not up to them.”
Sonju envied Roger his freedom to dictate his own life, more so because his words seemed so casually uttered as if that freedom was a given and natural. “What do you think about that?” she asked.
“It’s so different.” Miss Im tilted her head slightly to the side, raised her hand and combed her hair in a slow sweep. “Before him, I thought, who would have me, a barren woman who was once married. I told him everything. He wasn’t bothered by it.”
Something akin to tender sadness filled Sonju’s heart. Under all that bravado, her friend was a fragile woman, unsure of herself. She took Miss Im’s hand. “You are full of life and beautiful. Why shouldn’t he be attracted to you?”
“Thank you,” Miss Im said with an uncharacteristically shy smile.
For over a year since, Miss Im was the source of entertainment for the women at The Hall with the stories of what Roger said or did or what she learned about America. Sonju could tell Miss Im was becoming more comfortable with American ways, even the food she had been so critical about only two years ago.
One day, Miss Im blurted out unprompted, “Roger kissed me.” She must not have noticed the shocked looks on the women, because she went on, “What a strange custom. I didn’t know what to do with his tongue in my mouth. Don’t you think that’s strange?” When Miss Im looked at Sonju and the women, their laughter bubbled out of their covered mouths as if they were about to explode. “Never mind,” she said. “Go on and laugh.” They did, and Miss Im huffed and went into the bedroom.
When Dr. Williamson came to teach English that Saturday, Yunghee and Gija came out of the kitchen, giggling. Miss Im glared at them until they fled back to the kitchen, choking with giggles. Miss Im said no more about Roger.
Revolution and Coup, 1960, 1961
On the front page of the newspaper was a photograph of a fragment of grenade sticking out of a skull. The article revealed that on the previous day, 1960 April 11th, the bloated body of the high school student who had been missing since March 15, the day of the protest, had been found in the harbor in Masan by a fisherman. His skull was split by a tear gas grenade thrown at close range by the police during the riot.
Sonju was still haunted by the murdered bodies she had seen during the war, but something about this image of a brutalized head provoked a primal horror. Perhaps it was the head peeled to the bone still holding the grenade to tell a story.
Guessing by her absence in the living room during their reading time, Miss Im must have read the news already. She had gone to high school in Masan and was already furious about the earlier report of police shooting when violence erupted during a protest against the rigged presidential election. According to the report, there had been about a thousand protesters including many high school students.
After she collected herself, Sonju went to the back room. Lady Cho looked up from the newspaper. Sonju nodded and went toward the window. Standing there she studied all the pock marks and protrusions on the centuries-worn rocks in the garden. Then she felt Lady Cho’s presence next to her and heard her say, “This is strictly between you and me. This is not going to end well.”
On the 19th, the weather was perfect as expected in April with the bright sun and the temperature just so. Sonju arrived at The Hall earlier than usual to have breakfast with the women in celebration of Yunghee’s birthday. Miss Im was practicing “Happy birthday to you” in English. Sonju picked some azalea blossoms from the front garden for the table. After breakfast, while Yunghee sat beaming in her new dress, Lady Cho presented a white cake with pink decorations. Miss Im sang. After tea and cake, the cook and Gija returned to the kitchen.
When the telephone rang, Lady Cho rose to answer it. “Ah, Assemblyman Kim. How are you? We are all here to celebrate Yunghee’s birthday. What …?” Lady Cho gasped. After a long pause, she said, “Yes. Thank you for calling.” Lady Cho hung up the telephone and turned to Sonju, Miss Im, and Yunghee. “There is a student uprising nationwide. Assemblyman Kim advised us not to leave The Hall today.”
“My maid …” Sonju had no way of contacting her.
Yunghee cried, “Oh, what does this mean?” She covered her cheeks with her hands, her eyes darting from Lady Cho to Sonju, to Miss Im.
The cook scuttled into the living room. “What happened?”
Gija followed, took one look at Yunghee and asked, “What is it this time, Yunghee?”
Lady Cho said, “There is a massive uprising going on right now. Assemblyman Kim told me yesterday that Korea University students protested in front of the National Assembly and that I would read about it in the morning.”
Sonju grabbed the morning paper. “Yesterday the students protested police brutality and demanded new elections. But today …”
They heard the repeated popping sounds of gunshots. Everyone froze.
Yunghee’s voice trembled. “It can’t be. No one has guns. It’s against the law.”
Gija waved off Yunghee and pointed to outside. “I see smoke going up over there.”
Some distance beyond the fence, dark and light grey smoke was rising.
“I’m going up to the roof to look.” Gija left the room. The cook followed her out. “I’ll hold the ladder.”
Sonju turned on the radio. Lady Cho, Miss Im, and Yunghee crowded around. They heard screams, the angry shouts of a mob, the staccato sounds of guns. Rapid, breathless words of the radio announcer poured like storm water: tens of thousands of university and high school students demanding the president’s resignation, the protest growing, bodies lying on the street, wounded students being carried away. Yunghee startled at the gunshot noises coming over the radio, shut her eyes, and grabbed Sonju’s hand. Lady Cho turned off the radio.
Gija returned to the room with the cook and said, “Smoke is coming from the police station.”
The cook clasped her hands and squeezed. “My son may be one of the protesters.”
Everyone quieted down. The sounds of gunshots were moving into the distance.
With the gate securely locked, they stayed the night at The Hall, each restless on the yo.
The next morning there were no bus noises, no taxis honking, no street vendors yelling out their wares.
“I’m going to see what’s going on.” Gija unlocked the gate, and after peeking, she stepped out and closed the gate behind her.
Yunghee paced in the courtyard waiting for Gija.
About fifteen minutes later, Gija returned. “The streets are empty except for soldiers in full gear standing by sandbags piled high every so many meters along the street.”
Martial law was declared. Of over 100,000 protesters, 180 were killed and thousands wounded.
The morning papers arrived late. They showed photographs of bloody students in and on top of taxis, medical students hovering over the wounded on the roof of a taxi, their white medical gowns blowing.
After breakfast, the cook left to go home. Lady Cho stayed.
Sonju was worried about the maid. She stepped out of the gate and found the streets eerily quiet. Buses ran nearly empty. The taxi driver told Sonju, “We transported the dead and the wounded all day. When it got dark, people were trying to go home after being trapped in buildings and shops for hours avoiding the mayhem.”
When Sonju unlocked the gate, the maid came running and let out a sigh and said, “I’m glad you’re home.”
“I was safe, but how did you get home yesterday?” Sonju asked walking to the living room with the maid.
“I didn’t know anything was happening. I left here, and as I turned the corner before the bus stop, I saw a line of police shoulder to shoulder running up with guns raised. I dashed into a store. Almost bumped into the owner. He let me stay there until the police cleared out of the area. This morning, I didn’t find you here, so I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Maybe I should have a telephone installed.”
“To call me? No, it’s too expensive. Even stores don’t have telephones,” the maid said.
Touched by the maid’s concern for her finances, Sonju smiled and said, “Promise me then, you will stay at your home or stay here if something like this happens again.”
Not knowing when the clients would return, Lady Cho, Sonju, and the cook arrived at The Hall every morning as before. The women ate, talked, and played cards to while away the time. Miss Im took off all the buttons on her cardigan and re-sewed them back on. She said it took her mind off what was happening outside. She mumbled something about Roger.
The son of the Vice President killed his family and shot himself. President Rhee resigned one week after the uprising after twelve years of dictatorship, and on the following day, he exiled himself to Hawaii. The first republic collapsed.
Two weeks after the uprising, Assemblyman Kim, Professor Shin, and Chairman Park returned to The Hall. Within a few days, other businessmen, politicians, and government officials came back as well. All the women knew some of their clients would not return.
In the ensuing months, newspapers articles gave Sonju the feeling that she was living in a nation on the brink of collapse again. Following the overthrow of the first republic by the student protesters, an interim administration ruled for a short period until an election was held in July and the second republic was established. Under the new republic came more freedom, but also came the purging of a large number of government officials and military and police officers for corruption. Dissatisfied with the government’s lack of progress in meeting their demands, the students continued to demonstrate in the midst of political and economic instability.
When the cook returned from the market, she complained, “Grocery prices have gone up again.”
“It’s not just groceries.” Yunghee pointed at her cream-colored shoes. “I paid double what I used to pay.” She bent down to rub a thin black mark off of one shoe and said, “I want the demonstrations to stop. They make me nervous.”
Another year began with no sign of stability under the new republic. People were so hopeful after the revolution the year before, but now with resignation, they watched the government getting steadily weaker.
In the biting cold, Sonju visited the middle schools starting with the best schools—Kyunggi, Ewha, Sookmyung, and Changduck. At each school, she joined the crowds of parents at bulletin boards near the school gates where the names of students who had passed the entrance examinations were posted. She didn’t find her daughter’s name anywhere. She tried the second-tier schools, then the third. Jinju must be living in another city with her father. In that case, it was useless to ride the train now. But where was her daughter?
When the next Sunday came, she dressed to go to the train station almost by habit. Slowly she took off her scarf, gloves, and coat, and let out a sigh that sounded more like a moan.
On May 16th, Sonju woke up and heard a report on the radio that tanks had crossed the Han River Bridge toward Seoul early that morning and that the military had taken all three branches of the government.
A coup d’état, this government takeover by the people with guns—just the thought of it made her heart pound with fear and powerlessness. It had been only a year and a month since the April Revolution. As tragic and horrible as it was, the revolution was driven by the will of the masses not by the will of the guns.
This bloodless coup ended the democratically elected but incompetent government of the Second Republic. The military declared martial law, which lasted until May 27th, and in June, established the Korea Central Intelligence Agency. Under the leadership of a two-star general, Park Chung-hee, freedom of expression and the right to assemble were drastically curtailed.
The oppression was more severe under the military regime than under Syngman Rhee. Sonju could tell by observing The Hall’s clients during the succeeding weeks and months. They didn’t speak of the coup d’état, of the generals, of arrests and imprisonments, of the dismantling of civilian institutions, or of the purging of government employees by the tens of thousands. They didn’t mention those who no longer came to The Hall. They had been victims of purging. Most of the key positions in the government were held by generals now, and it appeared that the military regime would be in power for a long time.
No one had to point out that The Hall was not as robust as it had been since the April Revolution the year before, but the situation worsened after the coup. Yet in spite of significant decline in membership, Sonju’s pay was the same as before, and Miss Im didn’t mention her pay being cut.
In September, Lady Cho purchased a large tract of land south of the Han River and hired an architect to design the gallery and its satellite structures. The women talked more about The Hall’s closing in two years. Gija had owned a small house for two to three years now and had been renting it out while she lived at The Hall. Sonju had acquired a few more properties since she bought her house. Miss Im and Yunghee preferred to hold onto their cash savings.
