Mr. Choy and Mr. Lee had arrived not long after Jasmine had shown the
Chosun
women the film. Gyong-ho went with Mr. Lee and Il-sun went with Mr. Choy; where, Cho did not know. All she had been told was that she was going to the alley shop with Jasmine to do her “night work.” Living on the streets had taught her to be fierce, but even so, she could not help but feel concern for the other two.
“We call him Runner, though I don’t know why,” said Jasmine, indicating the man at the door. “I don’t think he could run to the end of the block. He handles all the money and brings your clients to you. He is also here to protect you, in case anyone gets unruly. I have seen him break heads before.”
“How does this work?” asked Cho.
“We call this the meat shop. Basically, you just sit in the shop window like a slab of meat. Guys come along and look in at the girls through the windows. When they see something they like, they pay Runner, who brings them to you. Each girl sits in front of a door, which leads to a little bedroom. Literally just a room with a bed.”
“So, all you do is sit there and wait for clients?”
“Well, not exactly. You’re supposed to flirt with the guys as they walk by. Try to make them pick you. Mr. Choy wants you to flirt with everybody, but between you and me, you should be a little choosy. If you see someone you really don’t like, you can try to make yourself unappealing. It doesn’t always work, but it’s worth a try. But don’t let Runner see you do that.”
“Who comes here? I mean, what kind of clients?”
“We get all kinds. Mr. Choy likes to think that he is running a quality establishment, so he charges more than your average street-walker. That keeps the lowlifes to a minimum. Basically, we take anyone who can pay. We get a lot of American servicemen.”
“Americans?” asked Cho, concerned. It was known that Americans were inhuman brutes.
“Yeah, they smell funny, but they pay well. You get used to it. If you have any problems, have Runner come and get me. I’m working here tonight, too.”
Jasmine introduced Cho to Runner, who showed her to her window space. He was a man who tended to speak in grunts and head nods. Cho peeked inside her little room and was pleased to see that at least it was clean. She then sat on a stool in the window and waited for her first client.
So far, she reflected, things did not seem all that bad in the South. She had eaten well since arriving, had had a hot shower, had been given nice clothes to wear and an apartment with running water
and
a refrigerator. Considering everything, her life seemed to have improved, in spite of having been double-crossed by Gianni. The fact that she was not free to come and go as she pleased did not bother her too badly, as long as she had a warm place to sleep and plenty of food. It was only temporary anyway, since eventually Mr. Choy would help her get papers. With a private bed and someone else to organize the business, even the flower-selling business had an air of luxury to it. In the North, her business had been mostly back alley quickies for food or ration cards. Here, once her debt was paid, she would be making her own cash.
A group of young men strolled by the window, looking in. She stood up and passed them a steamy look, hiking her dress just over the top of one of her stockings, like Jasmine had shown her how to do. The men paused and kissed at her through the glass. She walked up to the window, put her hands on the glass and stood with one knee crossing demurely in front of the other. It was a calculated look of coyness while also showing off one of her legs. One of the young men mouthed, “
Saranghae,
” “I love you,” through the glass, causing his friends to erupt in laughter. They continued on their way, doubled over and pounding each other on the back.
The gesture stabbed unexpectedly at Cho’s heart. Tears rushed forward and she had to strain to keep them from flowing. She thought of the dead dream that would never be, of the soldier and the baby and the glory of
Chosun
. Would loving her, a prostitute, always be a joke? She was a woman whom men used for pleasure, then discarded. She was too dirty, touched as she had been by so many men. Could she ever be innocent again? But then she hardened her heart with the cold thought of survival.
What is love if you cannot eat?
Love was a luxury item unavailable to women with her low
songbun.
As the night progressed, the alley became a flurry of activity. Her first client was a married man in his sixties whose only desire was to watch her undress and to touch her naked breasts with his hands. Her second client was a serious-looking businessman in a fancy suit who thrust inside her exactly three times before climaxing. He never even took off his tie. The next man was drunk and slammed numbly into her for a long time before he finally passed out. She had to get Runner to escort him back out to the alley. She had seen a total of fifteen clients before the night was over—she had never seen so many in a day before. She was glad, however, because she knew she must be well on her way to paying off her debt to Mr. Choy. She was that much closer to freedom.
A little before dawn, Jasmine came to fetch her. They walked back into the building and Jasmine escorted Cho to the fourth floor. Thoughts of love were left behind to crust over and dry out on crumpled sheets. Razor unlocked the gate and let Cho in.
48
G
YONG
-
HO
WAS
LED
OUT
of the building by Mr. Lee and shoved into the backseat of a small green car. There was another young woman in the backseat with her, but Mr. Lee forbade them to speak. She was about Gi’s own age, maybe younger, and was dressed similarly, in a fancy gown and makeup. Gi counted exactly fifty-six sequins around the collar of her neck. The girl had a blank look on her face and did not acknowledge Gi when she got in the car. Mr. Lee climbed into the driver’s seat and drove off down the street.
After Jasmine had shown her the video, Gi felt sick to her stomach. Under the best of circumstances, she felt no desire to have sexual intercourse with a man. The mystery of their bodies held no allure for her—especially after seeing the raw, unfeeling way the man in the video probed the young woman on the screen. Was that woman like her—at the mercy of Mr. Choy, sold unwillingly and now only going through the motions to survive? How could anyone derive pleasure from watching such a thing? Would she, too, have to go through those same motions?
Mr. Lee drove to the end of the block and turned right. The world swirled again with numbers. Gi counted sixteen cars parked on the right side of the street, three of them blue; and eight cars parked on the left side, two of them white. They drove another block, seven cars passing them in the other direction, two of them red. They made another right turn and drove four blocks. By the time they double-parked in front of a dark building with heavy music pouring out its doors, red cars, blue cars and white cars had been passed and calculated, their sums and products and squares demystified and known. The colors of the
Chosun
flag, in numbers represented by cars on
Hanguk
soil, could not be distilled into any of the magic numbers that seemed to govern the laws of existence, like the square root of two or the ratio of a circle’s radius to its circumference.
Mr. Lee got out of the car and told the women to follow him inside. A large, muscular man stood at the blacked-out doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He nodded at Mr. Lee as they went into the building. The room was dimly lit and thundering with music. The sound hurt Gi’s ears. They went to the back of the building, past a lit-up bar with a harried bartender serving a thirsty crowd and a series of stages with poles at their centers. Women were dancing around the poles, taking their clothes off, and Gi wondered if that was why she was there—only to dance. She knew she would not be very good at it. Finally they went through a set of swinging double doors and the music was muffled. There was a row of booths on both sides of a long hallway, partitioned off by heavy black curtains.
Mr. Lee stopped and turned to the women. “The boss said that you two are going to be my hand-job and blow-job girls tonight. If any of your customers gives you extra money, you hand it right over to me, you got that? I’m going to search you at the end of the night, and if I find so much as a single
won
on you, I’m going to beat you until you’re bloody. Got it? You get the two stalls at the end. Sit in your stall and I’ll bring your customers to you. Get ’em off quick, because I don’t want there to be a line. Now off you go!” He turned on his heel and walked out.
“I don’t know what to do,” Gi said, panicking. “What does he want us to do?”
The young woman snorted and turned away without answering the question, and disappeared behind the curtain of her booth.
Gi peered into her own booth. It was small, maybe about two meters square, and very dimly lit with a red light. There was a small bench inside, a wastebasket, and a stack of paper towels. She sat on the bench and waited.
A few minutes later, she heard Mr. Lee leading a person into the hall. They went to the booth across from Gi’s, and Mr. Lee said tersely, “Blowjob.” He walked briskly out. Gi could hear the voice of the young woman, then some response from the man. She decided to risk taking a look.
She stole across the hallway quickly, and then pulled the curtain back just enough to look in with one eye. The young woman was on her knees, head bobbing up and down, her hands on the man’s bare buttocks. His trousers were bunched up around his ankles, and his right hand was clutching the back of the young woman’s head. The girl gagged and choked occasionally but did not stop. Eventually, the man let out a loud grunt, and the thrusting stopped. The woman pulled back and spit and coughed into a paper towel. She looked over and caught Gi’s eye, giving her a caustic look. Gi dropped the curtain and scurried back to her booth, mortified.
She felt a knot in her stomach as she realized that it was only a matter of time before Mr. Lee brought a man into her booth. Should she count the seconds? She wondered, if she focused hard enough, could she make time itself come to a stop? Could she escape somehow, maybe slipping unnoticed past the muscular man at the door? Where would she go if she could? The thought of being caught and turned over to the Americans for torture crossed her mind. Would their torture be better or worse than what she was expected to do in that booth?
She heard the swinging double doors open, and her stomach tightened. She heard two sets of footsteps coming down the hall. The curtain of her booth was pulled back and a man staggered in. Mr. Lee stood outside the booth and grunted, “Hand job,” and turned on his heel.
She steeled her courage and stepped out of the booth, and asked to his back, “Mr. Lee, I don’t know what hand job means.”
He turned around with a look of contempt, brought his hand to the front of his lap and made a back-and-forth gesture with his fist. He then stormed out the door.
Gi reentered the booth. The man standing there appeared to be in his midtwenties and reeked of alcohol. His eyes were glassy, and just standing there he was swaying as if off balance. He smiled at her, and even appeared a little embarrassed. “My name is Cha’an. This is my first time here,” he said, nervously.
Gi nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. She had not expected anyone to want to know her name. The thought of giving it to this man was vile, as if doing so would be a terrible violation worse than the sexual act she was expected to perform. Giving him her name would be like handing him a chunk of her soul which she would never be able to retrieve. If she told him her name, he would leave with it, and keep it with him forever, tying her to him in his memory. Even as she thought it, she realized that this man
would
be a part of her forever. This man would leave a stain on her that would never wash off. Suddenly it was not fear that she was feeling, or even nervousness. It was grief. It was not just this man, but an endless line of men over an undetermined period of time who would all be leaving their stains on her. All those men would always be a part of her, slowly pushing her out of herself, crowding the finite space of her soul until there was no room left for her. She was grieving the loss of herself.
The man stood there expectantly, but receiving no reply, he just shrugged his shoulders and unfastened his trousers. His pants fell to the floor, and automatically Gi’s eyes followed the movement.
“I’ll bet you’ve seen a lot of those,” the man said. It was the kind of stupid thing a person says out of nervousness, and he seemed to realize it. Gi just stood there, wondering what the consequence would be if she simply refused to touch him. His penis was ugly and wrinkled, and appeared to be shrinking. Aside from the video Jasmine had shown, this was the first time she had seen one. She was too frightened and appalled to be fascinated by the difference from her own anatomy.
“Aren’t you going to touch me? I already paid,” he said, whining.
Gi realized that her time was up. The seconds leading up to this moment had all drained away, and from this moment forward this is who she would be. Her fingers made contact with him, and he jumped back.