She had noticed that when a kettle is full of boiling water, a similar vapor escapes the mouth of the kettle. She had also noticed that breathing on a mirror or window causes a moist fog to appear on the glass.
Maybe there is water trapped in the breath itself
, she thought.
When the water inside, warmed by the body, meets with the colder air outside the body, it somehow makes the water visible in the air. Maybe that is why the closer the temperature of the outside air is to the temperature of the body, the less visible the vapor is. But why does it become more visible? When water is very cold, it freezes. When water is very hot, it turns into vapor and rises away. But what happens when vapor gets cold? Maybe it turns back into water. So I wonder, is the breath that I see really just tiny particles of—
“Thanks for covering for me with the mistress last night,” Il-sun burst out suddenly.
“What?” Gi’s body shook.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Thank you for helping me last night.”
“Oh.” Gi had tried to forget it. She was feeling bitter.
“I know you don’t like doing that sort of thing. You know, lying.”
“It’s okay,” Gi replied, though she did not mean it. She knew that Il-sun wanted her to ask about her illicit adventure of the night before, the reason for her being so tired and unable to meet her quota at the factory. Gi felt like punishing her, and she let silence linger in the space of her expected response.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” said Il-sun after too many beats of silence.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know what.”
“No, I don’t.”
“About last night!”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, come on. Just ask,” begged Il-sun.
“Why don’t you tell me what you want to tell me and stop playing this game?”
“Because it’s more fun this way.”
“For you.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Just tell me and be done with it!” Gi had raised her voice. She almost never did that.
“You’re no fun,” Il-sun said, pouting.
“Maybe that’s true.” Gi was genuinely hurt. She could no longer hide her feelings from herself: She
was
jealous, but not for the reasons Il-sun believed.
The girls walked along in uncomfortable silence for a little while. Finally the storm passed between them and Gi gave in.
“Okay, I give up. What happened last night?”
“That’s more like it!” Il-sun grabbed Gi’s arm. “It was wonderful!”
“What was wonderful?”
“Everything!”
“Everything?” Gi felt embarrassed by her lack of sophistication. She knew that “everything” actually meant something specific, that it implied something that older people would make knowing eye contact about but never speak of directly. But she did not want to seem uninformed, so she said, “Oh,
everything
.”
“He met me on the street last night, and he took me on his scooter to a park overlooking the water.”
“On his scooter! Il-sun! You know that you can get into a lot of trouble for driving vehicles at night!”
“Relax, Gi. He knows a lot of people. He would never get in trouble. Besides, we drove with the light off so we wouldn’t be seen.”
“Are you insane? You could have been killed!”
“Really, Gi.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Can I tell you the story, or are you going to keep throwing a fit?”
“Okay, tell your story. I’m just glad you didn’t get killed. Or worse. Somebody could have seen you.”
“The moon was out and it was really bright outside, almost like daylight. He took me to a grassy area where we could see the outline of the city across the water. It was cold, but he had a blanket. He held me really close to him. Gi, he is so handsome!”
“You could see that at night?”
Il-sun either ignored her or wasn’t listening.
“He smelled really good too. He was wearing some kind of scent. I’ve never smelled anything like it before. It was so manly, I just wanted to bite him.”
Gi was unsure why anyone would ever want to bite a man, but she had stopped trying to figure out Il-sun’s little quirks.
“He brought a bottle of whiskey and he gave me a glass.”
“He had whiskey? Where did he get it?” Gi had heard of whiskey but had never seen it or known anyone who had actually tried it. She imagined it must be delicious, by the way people talked about it.
“He has a lot of connections. Really, Gi, I think he knows everybody.”
“How did it taste? Did you like it?” Gi did not think that she would have had the courage to try it.
“It was awful. It burns your mouth and throat. At first I thought he was playing a trick on me, making me drink gasoline or something. He told me it was an acquired taste. Anyway, it made me feel giggly.”
There was an expectant pause, and Gyong-ho realized that again she was supposed to prod for more information. This time she decided to play the game.
“So then what happened?”
“It was so wonderful, Gi! He had his arms around me, and I was feeling really good from the whiskey, and the water was lit up by the moon, and he smelled so tasty—and then he kissed my lips. I thought I was going to die! It was just like
John and Daisy
.”
No, not
John and Daisy
again
, Gi thought to herself. She wished they had never found that book.
“As soon as he kissed me, I melted. I couldn’t stop kissing him back. I felt so hot.”
Feeling “hot” was a
John and Daisy
term Il-sun had started using that didn’t mean what it was supposed to mean. Gi again felt embarrassed by her own ignorance.
“I think he was getting hot too. Did you know that they get big down there, when they get hot?”
Gi had absolutely no idea what she meant and was relieved that it was a rhetorical question. Il-sun continued.
“So we were kissing, and then he reached under my shirt and grabbed my breast. Under my bra!”
Il-sun paused for maximum shock value.
“You let him touch you there?” Gi could not imagine letting anyone touch her there, especially a man.
“At first he squeezed too hard and it hurt, but then I told him to be more gentle. It feels really nice, Gi! He sort of pinched my nipples with his fingers. I thought I was going to go over the edge!”
Gi flushed with sudden embarrassment. She would never be able to speak so freely about such personal things. “Going over the edge” was another
John and Daisy
term, and Gi had the feeling that even Il-sun did not fully understand it.
“It sounds awful to me.”
“That’s just because you’ve never tried it. Trust me, you’ll love it!”
Gi was pretty sure that she wouldn’t enjoy any of what was described, but she did have a curious sensation in her body hearing Il-sun talk about it. She felt like she wanted more of something. Maybe more of Il-sun’s story. Or maybe she was just hungry. There was something about the story that left her with a vague craving. It was different from other gossip.
“Then what happened?”
“That was it.”
“That was it?”
“Then I started to feel dizzy. He said it was from the whiskey. It was time to go home anyway, so he brought me back to the dormitory.”
Gi felt like there was something unfinished about Il-sun’s account, as if it weren’t supposed to conclude with getting dizzy and going home. The tale required something more punctuating and dramatic to feel truly complete. At the end of movies and popular fiction, the hero and heroine always exchanged pats on the back and then sang patriotic songs to celebrate their triumph. Getting dizzy and coming home was definitely not a satisfying ending.
They reached the orphanage in silence, Il-sun’s second wind spent. They signed in with the mistress and went directly to bed.
8
I
T WAS THE MIDDLE
of the night. There was a loud knock at the door, and Gyong-ho started awake. It had happened before. Normally it was just the
inminbanjang
asking if there were any unregistered guests staying at the apartment. There never were any. But this time it was different. This time there were three severe men in uniform, two of whom were carrying guns. They asked if this was the Song residence. Father bowed courteously. They said that they were there for an inspection, and for everyone in the apartment to line up against the wall outside the door. One of the men carrying a gun stood in front of Mother, Father, Grandmother, and Gyong-ho while the other two went inside. There was a lot of shuffling, sounds of ripping fabric, furniture being overturned. Eventually a man, the one without a gun, stepped outside and glared at them. Father was perspiring heavily. Mother was pale.
“A concerned citizen has reported that your loyalty to the state is in question. Upon inspection, we have found that you have failed to properly maintain the portraits of the Great Leader, Kim Il-sung, and his honorable son, the Dear Leader Kim Jong-il. You have failed to care properly for the icons representing the
juche
ideal. There is dust on the tops of the frames, and the portraits are not level. Your neglect indicates your lack of fealty and suggests that you are in danger of becoming involved in seditious activity. You are all hereby under arrest for failing to pay proper respect to the authority of the state.”
Mother gasped and Grandmother lowered her head.
“You are to be immediately removed from your home and taken to prison to await trial.”
“I have neglected my duties as homemaker,” Mother pleaded. “Please don’t make my family suffer for my unworthiness. Take me but leave my family!”
“No! I’m to blame, as the head of this household,” Father tried to bargain.
“It is not only the portraits. There are other charges against you, which you will learn about at your trial. We reserve the right to detain three generations for transgressions such as this. I see three generations here. You all must go.”
“No!” Father shouted. “We work very hard for the glory of our Dear Leader. We attend meetings with our work units daily. My mother takes care of our home. Look at her eyes. She can barely see! She gets confused sometimes. Please give us a chance.”
“You are still found wanting. You can give the circumstances of your case at your trial. They may see fit to be lenient with you, but that is not my decision.”
“No, please!” Father begged. One of the soldiers hit him hard across the face with the butt of his rifle. Blood rushed from his nose and he whimpered. Mother cried. They were led to a truck outside and never saw their home again.
9
W
ITHIN A WEEK AFTER
the mistress first met with him, Father Lee came to the back door of the orphanage with a large box of food. That was nearly six years ago. It contained mostly rice and beans, as well as forged ration coupons and some soap. It was not a lot of food, considering the many girls she was responsible for feeding, but, along with her state rations, it would keep them from starving. The mistress offered him tea, so as not to seem ungrateful or rude, but she hoped he would decline. Receiving illicit goods was grounds for imprisonment, and she did not want to be caught accepting them or fraternizing with a Christian. To her frustration, he accepted.
Every layer of
Chosun
society was organized and stratified. The
inminbanjang
was a neighborhood watcher, of sorts, who was responsible for keeping tabs on the coming and going of her neighbors. She was expected to report anyone in her district who engaged in suspicious activity or failed to participate in social events. The orphanage was considered its own independent district, and by default the mistress was made
inminbanjang.
Technically, the
inminbanjang
was supposed to attend extra meetings and training, but that would have meant the mistress’s superiors having to stand in for her at the orphanage. For her they waived the requirement.
Being the
inminbanjang
meant that the mistress was beyond scrutiny from below; and because her superiors preferred to ignore her, she was practically invisible from above. It seemed that there was a tiny hole in
juche
itself in which she fit perfectly, obscured from the eyes of the Republic that otherwise could see everywhere. Still, the presence of Father Lee, who was intent on lingering, made the mistress nervous.
“I cannot thank you enough for giving this food to us,” she said, impatience pushing at the restraint in her throat.