Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story (24 page)

F
ORTY-TWO

I
t scared me
how weak Soo-bo became as her stomach swelled with the baby. It was as if it was sucking the life from her and I wondered if I had done the right thing when I talked her out of having an abortion. The doctors grew increasingly worried too, and insisted that Soo-bo end her pregnancy. She refused. She slept long hours and forced down food when she wasn’t hungry. Every morning and night, she did the breathing exercises the nurses had taught her. She studied books on how to deliver a healthy baby. I was so very proud of her.

One night after a meal of rice and vegetables, Soo-bo went into labor. As she held her stomach and tried to breathe like she did in the exercises, I ran to the payphone in the lobby and called a cab. It came in less than five minutes.

Earlier that afternoon, there had been a rain shower, and when I helped Soo-bo into the cab, the city lights twinkled off inky-black puddles. The rain had brought in cool air and everything smelled clean. As the cab wound through traffic on its way to the hospital, Soo-bo grimaced in pain from a contraction. I held her hand. “The doctor will give you something for the pain,” I said.

“It’s okay,
Ummah
,” Soo-bo replied. “It is a good pain.”

As the cab pulled up to the emergency room door, Soo-bo’s water broke. There was a lot of blood. A nurse helped her into a wheelchair. When she saw how weak Soo-bo was, the nurse called for the doctor immediately. She pulled me aside and asked how long Soo-bo was in labor.

The concern on the nurse’s face filled me with fear. “Less than an hour,” I said. “We came as soon as it started.”

“She shouldn’t be in this much pain,” the nurse said. “And there should not be this much blood.”

They wheeled Soo-bo inside a blue-tiled delivery room with a large bank of lights. The nurse stripped off Soo-bo’s clothes, dressed her in a hospital gown and laid her in a bed with stirrups for her feet. She gave Soo-bo a shot for her pain and spread a blue sheet over her. I stood at my daughter’s side and held her hand.

As another contraction started to build in Soo-bo, the doctor entered the room. He asked about Soo-bo’s condition.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” the nurse replied, “and she’s been in labor for less than an hour. Her blood pressure and heart rate are very high.”

As the doctor took Soo-bo’s pulse, he asked me, “What can you tell me?”

“Her heart is weak,” I answered.

The doctor dropped Soo-bo’s arm. “Yes it is,” he said gravely. He ordered the nurse to get a heart monitor and some help. “Now!” he barked.

As the nurse ran out, the doctor lifted the blue sheet and looked between Soo-bo’s scrawny legs. “The baby is breached,” he said, “and the mother has lost too much blood for a Cesarean.”

Soo-bo arched her back from a contraction and her body shook. The twisted pain in her face made me hate myself for making her have this baby.

“Breathe!” the doctor ordered from under the sheet. “Get her to breathe.”

I leaned over my daughter. “Soo-bo, you have to breathe. Deep breaths like the book said.”

Soo-bo closed her eyes and tried to take in deep breaths but she could only breathe in gasps. She gripped the bed with both hands. Beads of sweat formed on her head.

“Nurse!” the doctor yelled toward the door. “Get that heart monitor in here!”

I squeezed Soo-bo’s arm. “Breathe, Soo-bo. Please, breathe.”

After a few minutes, the contraction subsided and Soo-bo sunk into the bed. Her face was ashen and sweat matted her hair. The doctor put his stethoscope over her heart. “We need to turn the baby,” he said. “But the mother’s heart is arrhythmic. We have to change our approach before the next contraction. I’ll be right back.”

The doctor ran out of the room, angrily barking orders at the staff outside. Soo-bo blinked her eyes open and looked at me.

“Am I doing it right,
Ummah
?” she asked.

I stroked her sweat-soaked hair. “Yes, my daughter. You are doing it just right.”

“Good,” she said. “What should I name my baby?”

“Her name should be Ja-young.”

“Why should she be named Ja-young,
Ummah
?”

I leaned in close and wiped my daughter’s brow. “Because it is a royal name. She should have a royal name.”

Soo-bo smiled and nodded. “Ja-young. Yes, that is a good name. I will name my baby Ja-young.”

Then, as I held Soo-bo’s hand she asked, “Do you have the comb? I should hold it so the dragon will protect me.”

My heart stopped. In the panic to get to the hospital, I had forgotten to take the comb from its place under the windowsill in our apartment. I couldn’t give it to Soo-bo.

Suddenly the door to the delivery room flew open and the doctor and nurse rushed through. Another contraction began to build in Soo-bo. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her back arched high.

“We’re too late,” the doctor said from between Soo-bo’s legs. “We do not have time for anything else. What’s her pulse?”

The nurse held Soo-bo’s wrist, and answered, “I can’t get a reading.”

I watched in horror as Soo-bo’s body convulsed as if an unseen spirit was shaking her. She gripped the bed hard. Her eyes rolled back and her mouth opened. She did not breathe and neither did I.

“Her heart stopped!” the nurse said.

I stared at my precious daughter. “Soo-bo,” I whispered.

A second doctor and two nurses burst into the room with a heart monitor and oxygen. The doctor went to Soo-bo’s side and hooked up the monitor while one of the nurses slipped the oxygen mask over Soo-bo’s face. The other nurse took me by the arm. “You have to go outside now, ma’am,” she insisted. “Quickly.”

I looked at Soo-bo as the nurse led me to the door. “My baby,” I said. “Ye
deulah
.”

*

I was numb as I stared at the delivery room door. I didn’t know how long I sat there. On the other side, the doctors and nurses worked on Soo-bo. Medical staff rushed in and out. Time seemed to stop and I was afraid that I had made a tragic mistake. I had convinced my daughter to have her baby. I told her the dragon would protect her, but I didn’t know if it would. And sometimes it was hard for me to believe that Soo-bo and I were direct descendents of Empress Myeongseong, responsible to carry on the legacy of the two-headed dragon. Certainly, I believed in the spirits of my ancestors. I could feel them inside and see them in the people and land of my country. But if Soo-bo and I were a part of their grand scheme, why didn’t they help us? Why did we have to suffer and die for Korea? I prayed to my ancestors, to my great-great grandmother, the powerful Empress who gave her life for Korea, to spare my daughter.

Eventually, the doctor pushed his way out the door and slowly walked toward me. His clothes hung loosely on him and his eyes were sunken. He bowed to me. “We did everything we could,” he said. “Her heart just wasn’t strong enough. We could not save her.”

I was unable to move or to breathe or to see anything beyond his words. My sweet, sweet Soo-bo. The child I carried close in my womb, who suckled and slept at my breast, who I taught to walk and to read, who I loved so much that the loving hurt me inside. My daughter was dead and I had killed her because of the cursed comb and my duty to Korea. I wished I could go back and refuse to take the comb from Soo-hee in the comfort station. I had accepted it and it had cost me everything.

But there was still the baby. I heard myself say, “The baby?”

“She is fine,” the doctor answered. “Strong, in fact. A beautiful girl. Would you like to hold her?”

The doctor stepped aside and I saw a bundle wrapped in yellow in a nurse’s arms. Slowly, I rose to my feet. The nurse stepped forward and gave me the baby. I pressed her to my breast. Beneath the yellow blanket, I could feel her short breaths. I gently ran my hand over her smooth, warm head. With a finger, I traced the lines of her high cheekbones and her delicate nose. I pressed my finger into the baby’s hand and she gripped it with long fingers. I could feel the spirit of Korea strong inside her.

“She is an empress,” I said. “Her name is Ja-young. Be sure she is given that name.”

I held my gaze on the baby and reached to the depths of my soul for one last bit of strength. “And an empress needs a family where she can grow strong so that she can do what she must do.” I pushed down one last cry and held the baby out to the nurse. “Please,” I said, struggling to push the words out, “I would like to put my granddaughter up for adoption.”

F
ORTY-THREE

August 2008. Seoul, South Korea

T
he comb with
the two-headed dragon sits on the table between Mrs. Hong and me. The amazing comb with the gold spine and ivory dragon gleams in the evening light. Next to it are the
mugunghwa 
blossom and the photographs of Mrs. Hong’s family and her daughter—my birthmother, Soo-bo.

“Now do you understand why I sent you away?” Mrs. Hong says. “I had nothing left to give. I died the day Soo-bo died, just like my mother did the day Soo-hee and I left home. So I made the decision to have you adopted. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again. But I believed that if the dragon was true, if everything I had suffered through was part of a grand enterprise to make Korea great, then the spirits of my ancestors would bring you back to me someday. And here you are, my granddaughter, here you are. I believe in the two-headed dragon and I believe it is your destiny to have the comb.

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Mrs. Hong sighs and looks at me. “Why did you come to Korea?” she asks.

“To see where I was born. To meet my birthmother. To learn what it means for me to be Korean.”

“And what have you learned?”

I think of Mrs. Hong’s story and all the things I saw on our trip. Nothing adds up to any real answer. “I can’t say for sure,” I say.

“You should know about Empress Myeongseong,” Mrs. Hong says. She folds her hands in her lap. “Her name was Min, Ja-young. She was born in 1851 to a poor clan from Seoul. She was very beautiful and quite intelligent. At fifteen years old, her family arranged for her to marry Yi Myeong-bok, the boy king of the House of Yi. The king was lazy and incompetent, so Ja-young taught herself history, science, politics, and religion. She had a good ear for languages and learned to speak Japanese, Chinese, English, and Russian. Eventually, she acquired great power. She promoted education, modernization, freedom of the press, the arts, and equality for women. They say she modeled herself after Queen Victoria of England.”

Mrs. Hong puts her hands around the
mugunghwa
blossom and admires the purple blossom inside. “The Empress took power during a time when Korea was being fought over by the Chinese and Japanese. She was a skilled diplomat and was able to keep both powers in check. That is when she created the two-headed dragon. She employed skilled artisans to make artifacts with the dragon for members of her family. She had shamans instill magic in them.”

She takes her hands from the bowl and picks up the comb. “Isn’t it interesting that the Empress had a comb made for herself instead of a sword or some other kind of armament? Look at it. It is a woman’s comb. You can tell by the long tines. The Empress knew that if her secret got out, the Japanese would kill her and persecute her son. So she gave the comb to her daughter.”

“At the history museum, they told us she only had a son,” I say.

“You are correct. You were paying attention. Good. Yes, history books say she only had a son. But it’s not true. You see, back then, it was common for the royal family to say the first child died if it was a girl. Then, they would keep the girl cloistered in the palace. It turned out to be a fortunate thing. When the Empress learned the Japanese planned to assassinate her, she moved her daughter to our family farm and gave her this comb with the two-headed dragon.”

She sets the comb on the table. Her eyes narrow. “On October 8th, 1895, the shameful Japanese murdered my great, great grandmother, your fourth great grandmother. Assassins snuck into Gyeongbok Palace where the Empress was sleeping. They dragged her out of bed and hacked her to death. The assassination marked the beginning of Japanese dominance in Korea and our darkest hour.”

“When you learned about the two-headed dragon, why didn’t you just give the comb to the government?” I ask.

“Because it was as Mr. Han said when he dismissed me from Gongson Construction, my
yi
was what was most important. I have a duty Korea and to my ancestors and to my descendents.” She points to the comb. “Look at the dragon. The heads do not just look east and west. They also look backward and forward. It is a symbol they do not explain at the museum. You see, in Korea, when we look back, we see all of our ancestors all the way back to the Three Kingdoms to Tan’gun, the father of Korea who lived three-hundred years before Christ. Each of our ancestors has given us a duty that we must fulfill. And, when we look forward, we see the generations of our descendents. We love them like grandparents, but expect them to honor their duty to us as we have honored our duty to our ancestors. It is a single, unbroken chain. If I gave the comb away, I would have broken that chain and not fulfilled my duty to Korea.”

“And you think I have a duty to Korea too? But I’m an American, not a Korean.”

Mrs. Hong taps a finger at me. “Do you think because you were raised in America that you are not Korean? Then why did you come here? And why did you come to my apartment to hear my story? Just like me, you were born in the year of the dragon. The spirits of your ancestors are strong inside you. You have a duty to them—a duty to Korea. You must tell my story for Soo-hee, for Jin-mo, for Korea. And for me. As long as you serve Korea, the dragon will protect you.”

I run a hand through my hair and stare at the comb. The dragon stares back at me.

“Ja-young,” she says, “now that you have heard my story, you must decide what to do. You have to decide before you go back to America.”

Back to America. I check my watch. It’s 4:30P.M. “Oh, no!” I say, jumping up from the table. “Excuse me, ma’am. The bus has already left for the airport. Mr. Kwan said he’d arrest me if I miss my flight.” I grab my purse.

Mrs. Hong’s eyes plead with me. “I have sacrificed everything for Korea,” she says. “Take the comb. Tell our story.”

I shake my head. “I just don’t know.”

She puts her hand over her chest. “Ja-young... Anna, what does your heart say?”

I try to search my heart but I’m conflicted, unsure and afraid like I’ve been since Mother died. I look at the comb. It’s a Korean comb, made by Korea’s most important queen. But I’m an American and have been since I was a baby. I don’t know anything else. Yet in the mirror, I see the Korean woman. There is a yearning in her eyes. Her heart aches for something that I can’t explain.

I pick up the comb and hold it in my hand. I think perhaps it speaks to the woman in the mirror. I think she wants me to take it. I nod slowly. “Okay. I’ll take it. Maybe you should send it to me.”

“I am afraid that is no longer possible. Now that the government knows who I am, they will be watching me. You have to find another way.”

“They’re watching me, too,” I say. “But I have an idea.”

She takes the comb from me and gives it one more long look. Then, she ties the brown cloth around it and says, “I told you there were two things I wanted you to do for me. One was to hear my story. There is one more thing, as well.”

“Oh yeah. You never said what it was.”

“I want you to help me see my
onni
before I die.”

Of course. Mrs. Hong never saw Soo-hee after Dongfeng and now that she’s given me the comb, the only thing she has left to do is to see her sister again. “I’m not sure I can do that,” I say.

She says she believes I can and hands me the comb. I tell her I’ll try.

Then, I stand before her with the comb in my hand. Our eyes meet one last time, and I bow low.

*

I run outside and, thank God, my taxi driver is waiting for me. He complains that he waited for an hour and a half. I toss a hundred dollars at him and tell him to take me to the Kosney’s store by our hotel. “Hurry,” I say.

We speed through the streets of Seoul and when we get to the store, I tell my driver to wait for me. I run in the store and a clerk says something to me in Korean.

“What?” I say.

“I am sorry,” she replies in English, “we are closing soon, ma’am.”

I tell her I’ll just be a minute. I ask where the celadon pots are. She tells me they’re on the second floor and points to an escalator. I take the escalator two stairs at a time and find the area with the blue-green pots. I run up to the counter and a clerk greets me in Korean. I tell her I want to buy two pots.

“Two?” she asks in English.

“Yes. A large one and a small one.”

She takes my order and information and I pay for the pots with the cash Dad gave me. I grab the box and run back out to the taxi. I tell the cabbie to take me to the Sejong Hotel. When we pull up to the hotel, Dad is waiting for me at the front door with our suitcases.

“Anna, thank God,” he says. “Where have you been? The bus left over an hour ago. We won’t make our flight!”

“Get in,” I say waving him into the taxi. “We might still make it.” Dad shoves our suitcases in the back of the cab, and we cram inside the back seat. I put the box with the celadon pot between us. “Inchon Airport,” Dad says. “As fast as you can.”

The driver throws the car into gear and we race onto the street. Over the top of the box, Dad asks, “You gave the comb back, right?”

“No,” I answer.

His brow furrows. “Some government officials came to the hotel looking for it. They searched our room and asked a lot of questions about it. Anna, you’ll get in trouble. They might be waiting for us at the airport.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, trying to sound convincing.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the airport drop-off zone. The flight leaves in thirty minutes and we were supposed to have checked in over an hour ago. Dad jerks the suitcases from the trunk and pushes a hundred dollars at the cabbie. I take my celadon pot and we sprint toward the ticket counter. When we get near the counter, I freeze. There, waiting for us, is Mr. Kwan, Bruce Willis and several airport security guards.