Blood Sisters Read online

  I wonder whether Hyunwoo thought of me as “her.”

  Before he and I were estranged we used to listen to The Beatles together. We were in middle school then. He used to sing “Hey Jude,” his favorite song that he could actually sing. When the song reached the part that is playing right now—“Better better better, OH!”—he sang along with his eyes clenched shut, building up to the high pitch by screaming, playing air guitar along with the music. He was usually so withdrawn. Making those big movements while blasting the loud music through his headphone was the best he could do to let himself loose. When I told him my favorite Beatle was John Lennon, not Paul McCartney, he said he used to feel that way too but not anymore. I should have granted him his wishes. If I had, would he still be alive?

  My stepbrother, Hyunwoo. It’s weird to think to him in the role of brother. Is that who he was to me? Brother? Today I keep catching myself thinking about him. I find myself thinking about him whenever I decide that I, in fact, want to live. Or when I’m tasting something delicious and want to share it with him, or when I decide to leave where I am for somewhere else. No, I’ll be honest. I don’t know if there is a pattern to my thoughts. He keeps popping up in my mind regardless of time and space and now, with Jimin gone, they take turns appearing. I feel responsible for their deaths. I am a killer. I murdered the two people I loved most last year alone. So I sing to myself:

  Hey Yeoul, don’t you dare dream

  You have no right to enjoy your life.

  No way, no way, no way, oh.

  Plastic Fish

  The road before us forks. We pause, deciding which way to take. The path on the left is lined with flowering trees, the trees sprinkled with fuzzy magnolia flower buds and red camellias. On the right leads to the ever-widening sea. One of us makes an unusual suggestion of splitting up to explore both ways, and we learn that both ways are part of the same loop that lead back to the same spot. We start walking toward the sea. A few people are jogging. A middle-aged man in a form-fitting yellow jumpsuit with a black stripe down the side stares at us as he jogs by.

  “Does he think he’s Bruce Lee or something?What kind of outfit’s that? Why is he staring at us?” Eunyong grumbles. My right leg limps, Sol’s left leg limps, Eunyong’s belly balloons under her chocolate-colored shirt (which reminds me of Nana’s fur), and a man in a clean suits walks beside us. We add up to a strange assembly. No wonder the man stared. My head feels heavy. I want a cigarette.

  “Keep going. I’ll catch up after getting myself a pack of cigarettes.”

  As I turn around, Jihyun shakes his hand to stop me. “I think I saw a convenience store next to the ticketing office.That shop is too far back. You shouldn’t walk that far. Can’t you hold off? Smoking is bad for you anyway.”

  “No, I can’t hold off. I gotta have one.”

  “Okay then. I’ll go get it for you.”

  Watching Jihyun running back to the shop, Sol speaks with a sneer. “Even though he pretends to negotiate with you, he always ends up doing what you want.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Anyway. How does it feel to come back from neardeath?” Sol changes the tune.

  “I’m feeling tired,” I admit.

  Sol points. “Let’s sit there for now.”

  There’s a little garden with some sort of monument, and we sit on its marble platform. A squirrel is startled by us. The platform is cold, so I turn to tell Sol to sit on my lap, but she sits on the rock across from me.

  “Are you going to his place tonight? Are you moving in with him?” Sol asks abruptly and urgently, as though she’s been holding back this question, waiting for this moment.

  “I dunno.”

  “Are you guys officially dating now? You guys even dropped the honorific, I guess you really are going to live together, huh?”

  “I really don’t know. Stop saying things as though they’re decided.”

  “If you aren’t moving in with him, why else did he buy all that stuff?”

  “What stuff?”

  “I saw him buying several packages of frozen bone broth from the restaurant earlier. It’s supposed to be good for bones, right? He’s clearly thinking about feeding you.”

  “I didn’t know about any of that.”

  “I don’t like how you’re all,I dunno, I dunno. You seem so passive. Even defeated! Yeah, I know you’ve been struggling, and yeah, things are rough. But are you just gonna go with him like you’re a piece of gum that got stuck to his shoe?”

  “Is that how you think of me? You don’t take me or my life seriously!” I’m pissed and I jump up to my feet.

  Eunyong, who’s been staying out of the conversation, minding her own business in the distance, comes back to intervene. “Whoa, my friends. Please don’t fight. If you want to fight, at least make it physical, grab each other’s hair, make it fun. Don’t do it like this.” Eunyong is in a good mood for some reason and picks a flower from the bush, pins it to her hair, and giggles to herself. She stops giggling when she walks up to the monument and reads its plaque: “‘On December 24th 1970, four men from the Army Corps, Construction Unit 1203, died in an accident while blasting the cliff to build this road.’ Fuck. They were working the soldiers on Christmas Eve? Sheesh!” Eunyong’s brother is in the army, which might be why she’s upset by it. Somehow I sense that there might be more to her sudden fury.

  “Here.” Jihyun is back and hands me the pack of cigarettes. I open it, but then feel too awkward to smoke in front of the monument. It seems disrespectful. I don’t want my cigarette smoke to bother these poor men’s souls. When I put the pack of cigarettes into my pocket, I find the letter I’d been meaning to read.

  “Read this for me,” I pass the piece of paper that I folded up in the shape of a kite to Sol.

  “What is this? Is this for me? Should I read it now?”

  “No, let’s go to the lookout point first. I saw on the map there are coffee shops and an observatory up there. Let’s read it there.”

  Unlike in the movies, walking along the winter beach is not very romantic. It’s too cold, and my shoulders are shivering. Jihyun takes my hand and guides our hands into his pocket. His persimmon-colored jacket is soft and smooth. I suddenly feel a small, malleable object in his pocket.

  “Eek, what’s that?” I jerk my hand out of his pocket, and Jihyun pulls out a plastic orange goldfish.

  “Huh? You bought a fish?”

  “The supermarket had it. I thought it was cute. I promise: I will always be at your side until this fish comes to life and swims.” Jihyun acts like a little boy confessing his love and turns bright red. I didn’t see this coming.

  “What’s going on over here?” Eunyong snatches the fish out of my hand and tosses it up and down, throwing it higher than her head. “What’s this? A plastic goldfish? I guess that’s cool. Wish you bought us some fish-waffles instead.”

  Jihyun jumps up and down to take the fish back from Eunyong. “You give that back, and I’ll get the fish-waffles or whatever you’re talking about. Do they sell it in the bakery?”

  “You’re too rich to know anything about street food, hm? I’m sure you can’t even tell fish-waffles from flower-waffles.” Eunyong sticks her tongue out and runs off with the toy in her hand. Jihyun pursues her.

  Why does he like me? Does he think we live in some kind of fantasy land where plastic fish swim in the pond, and toy soldiers shake hands with elephants, and he is a prince on a white horse rescuing the damsel in distress? The seagulls flock in distance, and the sea is calm. I’m like an injured fish that needs to spend a night in his safe aquarium. Tonight would be that night.

  Crossword Puzzle

  We arrive at the lookout point with the observatory. Instead of looking out to appreciate the landscape in awe (or confusion), Eunyong looks up into the wide-open sky. The sky is empty, and I suddenly feel like it matches my prospects. Sol puts a coin into the binocular stand’s coin slot and presses her eyes against the viewfinder. All t
here is to see is the ocean and the clouds. Sol always seems to be interested in the things that one can’t see with the naked eye, she wants to see more, to look under the surface.

  I restlessly pace around the observatory and run into a large sculpture at the center of the lookout point. The sculpture takes the shape of a mother holding a child in her arms, and you can trace the visitors’ touch by the hand marks. It’s hard to tell what kind of face the mother is making. It’s not sculpted delicately, so it’s not very detailed. Or perhaps the worms of time slowly ate away her pupils, nose, neck, and fingers. I feel an odd sensation of déjà vu. I feel like I’ve seen this mother-child sculpture before. I’m certain that I have. But this is my first time in Taejong Beach. Am I confusing that sculpture with Michelangelo’s Pieta, which I’m obsessed with? It can’t be. The woman doesn’t look anything like Mary, or the son like Jesus. Where did I see this sculpture before?

  We follow the arrows pointing to the lighthouse coffee shop. The arrows guide us to climb down a spiral staircase leading to the basement. The place looks like an old tea shop. The lights are dim, and melodramatic Teuroteu music is playing. The miniskirt-clad clerk greets us.

  “Do you have mango juice?” Eunyong asks.

  “We only have orange juice.”

  Eunyong orders juice anyway and the rest of us order hot cocoa.

  “Sol, could you read the letter I gave you? Out loud so we all can read it together. The hospital director gave it to me.”

  Sol unfolds the paper that I folded tight, and reads the letter sing-songily:

  Dear Yeoul,

  It was hard to be stuck in the hospital for a week, wasn’t it? You will be discharged tomorrow. I’m so glad you are recovering well. Even after you’re released, don’t forget to come every Wednesday to be tested and to get meds, okay? I told Dr. Yoon to take special care of you, so if you think you’ll need physical therapy or need to consult with anyone, go to him. You’ll be done with the cast in no time as long as you walk regularly.

  I’m flying to Verona tomorrow. Jihyun’s father is feeling very ill. When he describes the symptoms to me, I suspect he might have stomach cancer, but he is a stubborn man and won’t go to see a doctor. Jihyun wants to spend a few more days in Korea before visiting him—I think he cares about you a lot. I wonder how you feel about him. I don’t mind if you decide to stay with him at our place for a while. I trust you two.

  Yeoul. I think of you as my own daughter. I was there when you were born. You were born prematurely, and it was a difficult delivery. When you were an infant, I took care of you; when you cried, I comforted you. You were a lovely little crybaby. Despite this past and our fateful connection, I didn’t actively look for you until you arrived at the hospital. Even then I didn’t immediately recognize you. I’m sorry. You’ve grown up strong and beautiful, perhaps more so than people whose parents looked after them. I believe that some sort of Presence has been looking out for you. I don’t know much about the Mystery and all that, but your mother always talks about the power of prayer.

  Your mother and I were best friends in middle and high school. Your mother was the prettiest and smartest girl in the town of Masan. On the street passersby would turn to stare at her, that’s how pretty she was. It’s all in the past, I suppose. I went to college in Seoul, but your family was financially struggling, so your mother couldn’t. My parents offered to lend some money to your family for the tuition, but your grandfather didn’t allow her to take the offer, so she stayed in the town, took care of the family. Not long after, your grandfather didn’t come back after sailing out into the ocean. I don’t believe that your mother’s life was held back by her father or husband. She said she was happy, happier than most people. She told me she loved her life. I haven’t seen her since Christmas two years ago, but I’d like to think that everything is going well for her. No news is good news. My best friend, your mother, is a proud woman and she never reaches out first. Other than how distant she can get, your mother has a perfect personality. Not having been in touch with her, I haven’t gotten around to telling her that I coincidentally and miraculously met you, or about your hospitalization, or your relationship with my son. I’m curious how she’d react, but I’m not sure it’s my place to be the first one to tell her.

  I wanted to tell you all this in person, but it’s hard to talk about it, so I wrote you a letter. Sorry about the smudges on the letter. I’m feeling a little emotional. I hope you understand how I feel. I’m including your mother’s address and I hope you two can catch up. I love you.

  Busan, Yeongdo District, Sinsun, San 58-4. Gang Jinae.

  —1988 March 5th, Inja Kim.

  Upon finishing the letter we grow silent, and the ambient sounds grow louder. The café’s crappy sound system plays an old song, and it sounds like mice are gnawing on something in the ceiling while the singer sings.

  Life moves on like a traveler, a cloud—goes on without a refuge. Life, we all arrive empty-handed and naked …

  I’ve heard this song before. Is this the song my pathetic father sang when he was drunk?

  “This is crazy. So your doctor turned out to be your missing mother’s best friend? Is a coincidence like this actually possible?” Sol mumbles as though she’s asking herself.

  “I can’t believe it either,” my voice is barely audible.

  “The address is near here. Are you gonna go see your mom?” Sol presses on.

  “Dunno.”

  “You’ve been all,I dunno, I dunno this whole time. Did you get a concussion when you fell down the stairs?”

  “What do you want from me? I don’t know what I should do!”

  “Have you ever met her before?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mom, of course.”

  “I haven’t seen her since she took off. I don’t even remember what she looks like. And I think the woman she’s speaking of isn’t my mom.”

  “What?”

  “Gang Jinae. That’s not my mom’s name.”

  “Huh?”

  “My mom’s name is Jongok. Gang Jongok. I know that much.”

  “Then … is this whole thing her confusing you with someone else?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ahh! This is too confusing. I don’t know what to make of all this. Gimme that again.” Sol reads over the letter, mumbling to herself.

  “Um,” Jihyun starts tentatively, “I’m pretty sure the Gang Jinae my mom writes of is your mom. My mother isn’t the kind of person to make hasty conjectures.” He pauses, as if weighing whether to go on. “She and I talked about this last night, and I’m convinced she got it right. About the name not being different … well, think about it. Nobody gets the name one chooses, so some people change their name when they feel like they’ve changed. The poet Kim Sowol changed his name. He was originally Kim Jongshik, and the poet Yi Yuksa, that name isn’t his original name, either. There’s a chance that Yeoul’s mother changed her name too.” Jihyun speaks like a gentle high school teacher, gazing deeply into our eyes.

  “Are you just guessing all that? Or did your mom say something about Yeoul’s mom changing her name?” Sol asks.

  “No, she didn’t say anything about that when we talked. She just told me she is friends with Yeoul’s mom, and that that’s why she was so nice to Yeoul. This letter is new to me, too. So maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s unusual for my mom to tell me anything about her life—we barely eat together, each of us being so busy and all.” All our faces darken. Maybe even if I had known my mother I wouldn’t really know her.

  We face the letter gravely, as though we will only be released from it if we navigate its twisted maze, solve this crossword puzzle. I didn’t mean to bring us down like this, but I couldn’t face the letter on my own. My head aches. It feels like worms writhing inside my skull are trying to find their way out. I’ve been feeling achy and obsessive ever since I received the letter last night.

  Eunyong suddenly claps loudly and announces, “A
lright, alright, cheer up, you guys. Nothing’s that complicated here. Let’s go to this address and fact-check! What, this isn’t like 3000 Leagues in Search of Mother. We’re so close, and the address is right here in front of us.” Eunyong has seemed changed ever since she got pregnant—she used to sneak food from the kitchen like a little girl and slack off on her duties at any given chance. Does a woman grow stronger once she’s carrying a life in her? Or did Sol toughen her up?

  “Let’s do this.” Sol rises from her seat, and everyone follows her out of reflex. Jihyun pays the bill, and I sluggishly climb the stairs to follow them.

  Spare Tire

  The sunset spreads across the sky to the west like watercolor. The whites of Sol’s eyes glow red like the sun. The free parking lot we are walking to feels like it’s a million miles away. The ocean wind is freezing cold. I take back my earlier “The wind is rising, we must try to live!” thing. Who says I have to be consistent with any thoughts I had this morning to last through the night? My eyes well up at the blasts of cold wind. The magnolia flower buds break off their branches as if they’re being decapitated.

  “Brrr, quick, turn the heater on. What’s wrong with this weather? Winter is supposed to be over!”

  “Well, there’s a saying, isn’t there? The spring chill of March kills the unsuspecting elders.” Jihyun often comes up with aphorisms that seem too perfect for the situation and it kinda gets on my nerves. I’m glad I’m sitting with my friends in the back seat this time. Sitting by Sol makes me feel calmer. The relentless crashing waves of my heart are quieting down.

  After driving for about ten minutes in silence Jihyun says, “I think there is something wrong with the car. Sorry, hold on.” He pulls over to the shoulder, opens the hood of the car and looks in, but doesn’t seem to find anything. He looks all around the car then kicks a tire, making a thunk thunk sound.