Midnight and the Meaning of Love (70 page)

“Immediately,” I said. “Akemi and I are not gonna be here in Korea for long. I have to return also to my mother and family. But it will be better for all of us to know the truth.” He offered.

“We’ll make the appointment tomorrow. I’ll bring her father, Jung Oh, to the hospital. You bring Akemi.” I said.

“I need a favor,” he added. “I know that you will be taking your Akemi home with you. But for my wife, Sun Eun, for her health, could you allow her to spend some time with Akemi, just those two? Maybe for two or three days? This way my wife will not have to go through such a painful blow when Akemi leaves Korea. If they make some memories together, have some time together, when you take Akemi home, hopefully you will allow them to stay in touch.”

Dong Hwa and I were two men in the same position. We both had beautiful wives. We both loved them a lot. We both wanted to remove a type of obstacle from their lives, so that we could go on
receiving sweeter love and attention from them and give them our love as well. We were both suspicious of one another and from two separate parts of the world, and of different generations as well, but we were smart enough to tolerate one another. We both were sensible enough to know we had to.

“Okay, two days. But you need to lead us to her grandmother. Where is she?”

“Seoul,” he said.

“Does she live there?” I asked, feeling misled.

“No, we all live together in the same apartment, here in Busan. She is a very important woman. She travels around giving presentations about her former life in North Korea. She lectures at colleges and at government and corporate gatherings. This week is special for her. She went to address a group of North Koreans who have recently escaped and safely arrived here. She is part of the training course that allows the incoming North Koreans to adjust to a completely new way of life living here in South Korea. She is quite a smart woman, strong and very powerful.”

“When will she return here to Busan?” I asked.

“Next weekend sometime,” he said.

“Does she know that Akemi is here in Busan to meet her?”

He hesitated, and then admitted that Akemi’s grandmother did not know.

“It is better if they meet face to face, especially now that you have informed us about Joo Eun’s ashes,” he said. I understood.

* * *

Dong Hwa and I spoke together for two and a half hours. Piece by piece, I was pushing the puzzle into a complete picture and weighing every advantage and disadvantage I had. As specific thoughts came to me, I outlined what I needed him to do. He did the same. Before leaving the spot, he gave me his business card. He was a professor of history at Busan University. We agreed that I would contact him tomorrow and he would let me know when the hospital appointment was set up. At the conclusion of the tests, Akemi would spend the weekend with his wife. I had no objections to Akemi and her aunt remaining in contact for the rest of their lives.

We put a drunken Jang Jung Oh in the taxi to his home address.
Che Hwa and his twenty-year-old son rode in the same cab as well. Dong Hwa and his two sons, who I now knew were twelve and thirteen, and me walked the steep hills back to their building.

“How did you meet your wife?” I asked him.

“I volunteered at the training center where she was received and held by our South Korean government. They hold all of the ones coming from the North for some months. I saw her my first day working there,” he said, smiling and seeming as though he was remembering.

“The war between North and South Korea is quite bitter. I don’t know what you may know about it, probably nothing at all? You know, when we were young we were told crazy things about the North Koreans by our schoolteachers and even on the television. We were taught that they were stupid, illiterate monsters who wanted to kill every South Korean. We were told that the North Korean women were like men and not soft and beautiful like our South Korean mothers and sisters. We were told never to talk about the northerners with one another. In fact, if any South Korean even mentioned North Korea, he would become a suspected enemy of our South Korean government and our people. If we encountered North Koreans even in our travels out of the country, we were told not to even walk on the same side of the street with them. Most importantly, we were taught never to talk directly
with any North Korean person.
Some South Korean college students had even been accused of being traitors and spies for simply raising the idea that students ought to be allowed to discuss ‘the North Korean problem.’ ” He inhaled and sighed.

“When I first saw North Korean Sun Eun, for me, she was the truth, and from then on, everything else I had learned and been told about North Koreans had turned into a lie. She was the irrefutable evidence. I found out that when you’re in love is the only time that you are willing to risk it all. If I had never seen and experienced Sun Eun, maybe I would be just like most South Koreans, unaware and afraid of my own people because we are separated by a border our governments drew between us,” he said, placing his hand on top of his younger son’s head as we walked.

“I was determined to marry her. I had to work so hard to change my family’s idea about North Koreans. It was strange trying to prove that we should be friends with our own people.” His face looked pained for some seconds.

He was right, I did not know anything about the battle between the north and south of Korea. I preferred to ignore or maneuver around politics. My father dealt in politics and he is an honorable man in a business that had no honor. Yet even in the Sudan, I did know that there were bitter battles between the north and south, the same as it was for the Koreans. But I was like Dong Hwa in this way, I guess, or maybe more like his sons. My father was born in the south of Sudan, my mother was born in Northern Sudan, and according to Umma, theirs was a forbidden love, a Sudanese epic.

“Your Japanese name will not be popular here in South Korea,” Dong Hwa said to me, suddenly interrupting my thoughts. “Your true name would be better. If you knew the history between the Japanese and our Koreans, you would understand why.”

“Oh yeah?” was all I responded.

“Even Akemi should have a Korean name. That would be better,” he said, not looking toward me and not seeming to be looking for a real response.

“Her mother, Joo Eun Lee, named her Akemi,” I said.

“Joo Eun had no choice. I know that without ever having met her. Korean mothers will sacrifice everything for their children. Joo Eun accepted the Japanese way, I’m sure, because she was carrying Akemi in her womb.”

“All mothers will sacrifice everything for their children,” I corrected him, thinking of my Umma.

“Ask me one day before you leave about
jeong
,” he said.

“Jeong?”
I repeated. “Is that a person?” I asked him.

“No, some other time,” he said. “You are here in Korea now. Keep your heart open. When you and I speak about
jeong
, you will know then that Korean love is unlike any other, because we have
jeong.
”

“Are you the only one in your family speaking English?” I asked him.

“All Korean students are learning English. Most don’t use it, or have the confidence to speak it with foreigners. I speak Korean because it is my mother tongue. I speak fluent Japanese because it is my enemy’s tongue. I speak fluent English because it is my money tongue.” We both laughed as his sons stared, searching for our meaning.

She wanted to run on the beach with me, had on her kicks and sweats and pretty smile.

“Nah,” I told her. “Not happening!” But she followed me out of Bada Ga and into the sand. It was late night. I gestured to her, making the shape of a pregnant belly. She laughed and held up two fingers to show me that the twins were tiny.

“How many months?” I asked in Japanese.
“Ni,”
she answered, meaning “two.”

“Do yoga!” I told her. When I turned to start my run, she walked behind me. I sped up to see what she would do next. She just kept walking my way but she did not run, because I told her not to. This was something simple that I loved about her. I ran back to her, which made her smile widen and then burst. Instead of jogging, I worked out on the beach. She did yoga sitting in the sand beside me under the moonlight.

We were underwater for sunrise, swimming with warm waves that were cold just minutes ago. Her body moved smoothly like a sea creature and I liked that she was unafraid of the fish and the depth of the sea. We came up for air wiping water from our faces and both gasping at the pink sky. She dived back under and I followed her of course.

On the shore she collected shells. When the sky pink turned yellow and then slowly became white, I wrapped her in a huge towel and carried her back to the motel. It was Ramadan and this was the most that I could do. It was enough. Our nights had each been passionate.
No one could have peeled us apart. In fact each night was better than the night before and we were completely happy.

In my room I showered and slept.

When I woke, I decided to read Quran and remain in my room for the daylight hours. Reading Quran was good for me. To do so, I had to clear my mind of the maze it had created around my wife’s family situation.

Two hours into the sacred pages, I eased the book closed. Thoughts began to emerge: I wondered why even with a book of guidance as meaningful and clear as the Quran, everywhere in the world there seemed to be so much confusion. The simplest everyday matters of man and woman were spelled out in these pages. Yet it seemed clear that most men did not want guidance, and definitely not instructions. Each man wanted to live life his own way as though his way could ever be superior to the path Allah created for all. And the world was divided into separate empires, it seemed, without global translation to lead us all to any one consensus.

When I called Akemi’s room, her line was busy. That brought my mind back to maze mode. Who was she talking with? She had agreed not to phone Josna until we arrived in the US. Of course she would never call Nakamura and tip him off that the two of us were here in Korea. Maybe she was speaking to her aunt Sun Eun, I persuaded myself, no problem.

The clock read 4:30 p.m. I remembered I had to contact Professor Dong Hwa. I phoned him.

“Yumahseyo,”
he answered his phone.

“It’s Akemi’s husband,” I said. He chuckled.

“Agahsimidah,”
he said, and then continued. “Oh yes, I understand, sorry. You caught me right between classes, excellent timing. Uh, we’re all set for tomorrow. I spoke to my
sunbae.
He’s a doctor at Busan University Hospital. It seems that there is no reason for her father and her to be tested at the same time. So Jung Oh is up there right now submitting his sample. Akemi can go tomorrow morning, if you agree. My wife, Sun Eun, will meet you two there. And she and Akemi can spend the weekend together.”

“Sounds aight,” I said, agreeing but already missing my wife, and she hadn’t even gone anywhere yet.

“I’d like to invite you to come up to visit the university tomorrow. Fridays are slow on campus. I’ll show you around,” he offered. Automatically I thought that he was inviting me up there to make sure our wives would be alone. I didn’t sweat it. In a short time, he would find out that I’m a man of my word. After writing down all the info for the hospital and doctor and the college, I hung up. I called my wife’s room. Her phone was still busy. I grabbed my keys, shot out and down to her.

When I walked through the door, she was lying down talking, in Japanese. She was relaxed and smiling.

“Who are you talking to?” I gestured and asked her.

“Take,” she said, handing me the phone.

“Yeah, whassup?” I said calmly. “Who’s this?”

“Ryoshi,” the raspy sweet voice responded softly.

“Chiasa,” I said, slowly and stupidly, smiling naturally. But then I found myself not saying nothing at all.

“Akemi called me. She seems to like me,” Chiasa said.

“How about you?” I said.

“How about me what?” she asked.

“Do you like her too? Or is she bothering you?” I asked.

“She’s very easy to love. And I have her diary, remember? So it feels like we are close.”

“Did you tell Akemi that you have it?” I asked Chiasa.

“No, my client didn’t authorize me to do that,” she offered a clever reply.

“Your client told you to introduce yourself to my wife. Say anything that you want to say. Remember?”

“True.” She paused. “Sometimes waiting for a guy to make the first move is like waiting for spring to come again, in the summer season,” she said softly.

It was her indirect challenge to me. I understood, and I felt it. Of course I felt it, but could I give myself permission to think about Chiasa and care for her or to bring her to me in the middle of the storm where me and my first wife now stood? Could I love Chiasa while loving my wife so intensely and to an extreme? Could I have Chiasa? Should I have her? Or was I like a man who, after the greatest five-course meal, still requests the pecan pie for dessert? And she was Chiasa, a whole woman, not a half. She could not be rightly compared
to dessert.
She is a separate five-course meal, or maybe even seven,
I thought to myself.

“It must be hard for you to speak, Ryoshi. Let’s talk after sunset when our fast is finished for the day,” she said, and my heart moved. Was Chiasa actually still fasting?

“Are you fasting still, Chiasa?” I asked her.

“You said one month. It hasn’t been one month yet. I always do what I say,” she answered softly. Her words rocked me inside.

“Let me speak to your wife,” she said.

“I’ll talk to you tonight. Can I call you late, around eleven?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. I handed Akemi the phone.

Akemi began speaking to Chiasa while her eyes were analyzing my every gesture and penetrating through my thoughts too, perhaps. They were big, pretty, curious eyes, not filled with accusations.