10,081 words.
Hae-jin and his sister didn’t fight much. They had the occasional spat. But nothing the likes of this. They hadn’t spoken for over a week. It takes some effort to not speak to someone when you live under the same roof. Especially when that roof is over a small one bedroom, one kitchen, apartment tucked inside a small alley way, on a cramped, over-built mound called an island.
Their relationship wasn’t especially close, but it was very practical. Functional. Particularly after their father had died 10 years before. They’d certainly never had a problem like this.
His sister grabbed her bag, slammed her feet into her shoes and stomped out the door, closing it hard behind her. It was already 6:20 a.m. She couldn’t be late. She had to be at the market by seven. In one month she’d already been late six times. It wasn’t like high school, where you might get yelled at or smacked on the head if you were late.
The door opened again and she ran back in the house without taking her shoes off. Hae-jin could hear her scrambling to get something and running back to the door. She slammed the door harder. As if to blame Hae-jin for whatever it was she forgot.
As she walked down the hill toward the bus stop, small drops of sweat gathered on her forehead. About half way down she veered into a small alleyway next to an old Kimchi soup restaurant and pulled out a cigarette. The steam pouring out of a window was her cover. She looked at her watch. She couldn’t be late, but she needed the cigarette more.
She drew it toward her mouth and took a long, hurried drag. Her hands were in shreds. Hundreds of small cuts. They were becoming slightly less-frequent as she became more adept with the knives. But still. Her hands always ached. Little cuts, punctures from fish bones. Always cold, no matter the weather.
Her boss was a cunt. A Si-bal nyun. In a year the Si-bal nyun’s son would be making enough money to retire and sell her stall to Hae-jin’s sister. Every Korean working mother’s dream. She would inherit the fish guts, the pink rubber gloves, the surly fish salesmen, the bent-over-washtub back ache. She would also inherit her own mother’s fate. A life sentence. Six days a week. Twelve hours a day. Unless she married a rich man. As time went on, that looked less likely.
She’d found the little cigarette nook on her third day a few weeks before. She’d been stopping to smoke there since. There was a view of the harbor. And she liked the way her cigarette tasted next to the steamy kimchi soup smells of the restaurant. It was her refuge.
She stared at the large rusty orange, blue and red shipping containers next to the docks. Weathered ships, that looked like they could sink with the slightest nudge, sifted and an out of the harbor. Some going to China, other to who knew where. She wanted to get on one and lie down in the bottom of a container. Fold her arms over her body. Like a coffin. She looked at the clock on her phone. She was going to be late. She threw the cigarette in the direction of a sewage drain and half-jogged down the hill as the smoke slipped from the corner of her mouth.
Once his sister was clearly gone, the steady stream of feet shuffling and drawers opening and shutting stopped, Hae-jin felt a little more at ease. The trucks had finished their pickups at the docks and drove away. The megaphones barking out morning exercise orders at the nearby steel companies had ended. The sudden quiet was loud, save the occasional ship coming to port and the odd car honk in the distance. During the afternoon Yeong Island was silent. Everyone was working.
He started his late morning prayer, closing his eyes and clasping his hands in front of his heart. His prayer lasted 30 minutes. He sat down on the floor with rice, kimchi, and the broth his mother had prepared. He ate.
Despite the quarrel with his sister Hae-jin’s mind was at ease and for that he was also thankful to God. Such peace had been hard to come by during the past year. But he had faith it would get better. He was always thankful to his pastor, who a few days before had gently reminded an angry Hae-jin that he should never hesitate to turn to prayer. For anything. No matter how difficult the situation. Even a fight with his sister. Pray for his sister. Pray for his sister’s anger. Pray for his anger. He looked around the room as he leisurely ate his breakfast. It was nearly noon. He stood up and grabbed his backpack. He was relaxed as he walked down the hill. He caught the #88 bus out of Yeong Island and rode it across the bridge and into Busan.
The tension had been building for weeks. They both knew a blowup was coming. In a way it was surprising it hadn’t happened earlier. From his point of view it boiled over when she started her job at the fish stall. She didn’t want to work. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to work in a fish market either. But he’d found his calling. Everyone had their own calling. His was the church. Hers was the fish market. If it’s God’s plan then its God’s plan he told himself.
Besides, no one said she had to do the job forever. He’d told her that once he became a pastor he’d pay for her to go back to school. She could finish her childhood education major, become a teacher. Get married. She’d just have to wait a few extra years.
But the job was hard. Long hours. Ham hock hands. Her back felt like an accordion played too hard for too long. That couldn’t fully expand anymore. To say nothing of her boss or the other rude, bitchy, ugly women that worked there. To say nothing of the smell that didn’t come out even after an hour in the shower.
Often, her only savior was meeting some of the other young women from the market after work. They’d get some food, drink some beer and soju. Scream and yell about customers. Distributors. Husbands. That’s where she’d picked up smoking. She’d come home drunk a couple of times. Hae-jin wasn’t happy. Not many older brothers would be. But she didn’t care. Screw him. He gave up his rights of being an oppa, an older brother, when he decided not to work and support she and her mother. Why did she have to work so he could go to church? How did that benefit anyone besides him? How could Hae-jin fly in the face of their mother’s Buddhist faith? Their father would be mortified. Their mother was silently crushed.
The longer Hae-jin took finding a job, the more he went to church. The more he went to church the more he changed. He gave up smoking. Drinking. He stopped playing computer games. Then he gave up TV. He spent more and more time at his church. He went to church twice a week. Then four times a week. Then every day. It was his full time job. A full time job without pay.
She was waiting for him. She’d been waiting for months. Waiting for him to cross that line and act like the big brother. The big Christian brother. He hadn’t said anything. Perhaps, they both thought, out of shame. How could he not feel shameful? She was waiting for him. Every time she walked by him she was waiting. With every cigarette she smoked she hoped he would find her. With every drunken step she took on the floor, past his sleeping body, she hoped he’d stir. Say something.
For Hae-jin his relationship with Christ had very little to do with his sister. His church was small and not actively recruiting members. They didn’t stop people on the street or do any of that door-to-door stuff like other Korean churches. His church was the underdog, the small fish in the pond. Even its location was understated. Second floor of an old unkempt building from the 1970s. The kind with exhaust dusted tiles from the busy street outside. Wires strewn about up and down the sides of the building. To its east was one of the oldest churches in Busan, a Catholic church originally founded by French Missionaries during the 19th century. To the west a recently relocated ultra-modern Presbyterian church with one of the largest memberships in the city. Hae-jin’s church liked to view itself as overlooked and forgotten. But determined to be accounted for in the end.
The morning of the fight Hae-jin started by making it clear he was speaking to her not as a Christian, but as her older brother. He rarely spoke to her directly. He was a little nervous. He said he’d noticed the changes in his sister’s behavior since she’d stopped going to school. He’d enjoyed drinking when he was young, and there was nothing wrong with her drinking once in a while. He’d lived his wild years too. But it was wrong to be doing it every night. Late into the night. She’d been smoking too. He hadn’t seen it, but he’d smelled it. What effect would that have on her future baby? He’d bit his tongue for some time. He spoke to her in an even tone, occasionally extending his open palm to emphasize his point. He added that if theirs was a typical Korean older brother/younger sister relationship he would have gotten angry long before. He might have even hit her. He chucked to emphasize he’d never consider such a measure. But, he still had his duty as the man in the household. Surely it would be their father’s wish.
As Hae-jin spoke his sister could feel a smile creep across her face. She wondered if Hae-jin could see or feel it. See the laughter in her eyes. She could feel it. She let him give his speech. He sternly, but carefully, explained his position. The more he spoke the more excited she became. She waited for the right moment. When she sensed his conclusion was winding down. All the frustration. Her job, her drinking, the pain in her meaty hands. Her cloudy mind. She could feel her head cock back like a snake. Waiting for the perfect pause. To strike.

It had been over a year since Hae-jin returned from Livermore. He’d gone there to study English. He lived with his Uncle and his family who’d had immigrated there nine years before. Indeed, Hae-jin’s English had improved a great deal while he studied in America.
In Livermore he went by the nickname of Ricky. As he adapted to a new country and learned a new language, he was happy to adopt a new personality. He was no longer Hae-jin, the painfully shy boy excepted from military service because of psychological problems related to his father’s death. Whose right eye trailed off when he became nervous. Who spoke in a high tone of voice. Who had pimples. In America he was Ricky, just another guy from another country. But being an average guy was more than enough for someone who’d spent his entire life being far below average. Ricky thrived in America.
His mother had never imagined sending him abroad to study English. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. Nearly every Korean parent fantasized about giving their child such an opportunity. She knew it could be a vital tool in Hae-jin securing a good job. It would be to her benefit in the long run. But she simply had no money. When Hae-jin was in high school and his sister in middle school their father had been smashed to death under a shipping container dropped from a crane. This was before workers compensation or life insurance was common in Korea. The employees of the company raised some money amongst themselves to help support the family, but that ran out after a year. Wives of the employees brought by side-dishes, but that also stopped in time. Hae-jin’s mother scraped whatever money she could, selling vegetables at a local market, and doing the odd job as a spiritual healer.
Hae-jin’s mother had rarely spoken to her brother since he moved away just months after her husband died. He was hesitant at first, but he couldn’t deny his older sister’s request. He knew of Hae-jin’s problems. He pitied the entire family. So long as she could pay for his basic expenses Hae-jin could come live in Livermore.
She looked at sending Hae-jin to America as an investment. If he could speak English he could get a good job. If he could get a good job he could support she and her daughter. They had to depend on him. He was the only man in the family. She made very little money. She had struggled for nearly 10 years and her family was still poor. They still lived in the same shitty apartment her husband had bought when Hae-jin was five. She had wanted nothing more than to relocate. To give herself the chance to forget. To start over. Instead, they lived inside the constant reminder of a life without progress. While the rest of Korea surged economically her family was still stuck in first gear. Inside the apartment where that phone call came that summer evening. The apartment that taunted her with every broken pipe, decayed piece of wood or leak in the ceiling, as the fog horns blared in the background.
Hae-jin was nervous to go to America. But once he was there he was soon overwhelmed and forgot much of his life in Korea. The people were friendlier than he’d been led to believe. He liked the food more than people had led him to believe. And maybe most importantly, he met a girl.
For Hae-jin living in another country wasn’t a challenge, Steering clear of his Uncle was. His Uncle was a born again Christian and insisted that Hae-jin come to Sunday service each week. Hae-jin had never been inside a church. He, like everyone in his family, was Buddhist.
But Hae-jin’s Uncle was a tyrant. He beat his kids for getting bad grades or coming home too late. He almost hit Hae-jin just a couple of days into his stay for accidentally breaking a gate hinge in the backyard. There was no arguing about going to church. If Hae-jin was going to have anything to do with his Uncle’s family in America he was going to church. So Hae-jin went.
He disliked church the first couple times. His English wasn’t good. He couldn’t understand the service. The environment was sterile. The band played silly smiley songs about Jesus. Mostly he just sat and watched the pastor smile and make the same hand gestures again and again. He wondered why people always smiled in church. He didn’t believe them.
Mostly he stared at the paintings on the walls and wondered what food might be waiting after. He’d stare at the lifelike portraits of the crucifixion, trying to piece it together. When that got boring he made up his own stories.
However, his fourth time Hae-jin found his reason to go to church. It was the usual service. The pastor had talked about forgiveness. That was about all Hae-jin could understand. Quotes from the bible. People laughed and nodded. Some singing, some standing. Then, finally, food in the back parking lot. The one drawback, however, was talking to the other people from the church. At that time, his English hadn’t improved. Worse, were the rote questions and comments from the church members. Yes, he was Asian. No he wasn’t Japanese. No he wasn’t Chinese. No he wasn’t from North Korea, he was from the South. Yes he liked America. Yes he liked the food. No, he wasn’t sure if he’d like to live in America. Mostly he tried to keep his mouth full so people wouldn’t approach him.
There were 15 or 20 Koreans in his Uncle’s congregation. After service, and after mingling with the others, the Koreans naturally drifted into their own corner of the parking lot where they one by one started speaking their mother language to one another.
Hae-jin had just said goodbye to an Indian couple who’d been talking to him about his adapting to the food in America far too long. As he started to edge his way over to a group of six or seven Koreans shielded by a Land Rover, he saw Min-ju for the first time.
He was wearing a name tag that said “Ricky” written in green felt tipped pen. When he saw her he could do nothing but trust her. Her face had warmth and honesty he had never imagined existed.
For a moment he watched her. She was drinking juice then eating a cookie. He didn’t move, but his senses, one by one, became enhanced. It was the kind of moment where one instantly feels comfortable with someone without speaking as much as a single word. He wondered if he could ever tire of that face. Even when it was weathered and wrinkled. Soon, without realizing it, he was walking toward her. He didn’t know what he would say. Only that he’d figure it out by the time he got there. He just started walking. Without thinking.
Hae-jin could have never done it in Korea. He’d been obsessed with one girl for nearly three years. But she’d never considered him. Since he had never entered the military, he’d never even participated in the ritual prostitute sex than ensures no Korean man enters the military a virgin.
He was, as Koreans say, “a new one.” However, when he reached Min-ju, his past was thousands of miles away. He comfortably smiled. He already knew her.
“Hi Minnie,” he said in English, reading the name on her nametag.
It was the perfect icebreaker. They both giggled.
“Hi Ricky.” She paused and laughed a little. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” then, their laughs became one. “And you?”
They spoke with exaggerated Korean-accented-English. It would be the only non-studying English they would ever semi-seriously speak to one another, again. As they burst into laughter she touched his hand. It was the kind of contact that reverberated. As if the other person were still there, touching them in the exact same place later that night.
Unlike Hae-jin, Min-ju was alone in America. She was from Seoul. Her family, as Hae-jin quickly figured out, was rich. She had her own studio apartment in the downtown Livermore area not far from the English school they both took classes at. She was lonely. She’d been in Livermore two months and spent more time in an Arcade near her apartment, writing emails and chatting with friends back home, than anything else. She told Hae-jin she always ate ramen in her apartment, because she was ashamed to eat alone in public. Basically, she went to school, came home, studied, slept, and did the same thing the next day.
Min-ju was a year older than Hae-jin. This shocked him at first. But any hesitation he would about such a situation in Korea was out the window and up to the sky in the smoke from their Marlboro lights. Min-ju received a large stipend of money from her father every month and she usually paid for Hae-jin. Since she was a year older than him, she liked to joke; it was her duty.
Min-ju didn’t know or care about whether Hae-jin’s family had any money or not. By virtue of him being from Busan she assumed he wasn’t wealthy. She also assumed that because he was from Busan he was old-fashioned and conservative. That was one thing she liked. He picked up on it and emphasized it accordingly. He was protective, even domineering at times, in a way that made her feel secure. Especially in a foreign country. She told Hae-jin she doubted if a man from cosmopolitan Seoul could make her feel so comfortable. This bolstered Hae-jin’s ego. It made him feel like a man. He’d never felt that way before.
With his new confidence he lobbied his Uncle to let him move in with his cousin, who was about Hae-jin’s age and had his own apartment not far from Min-ju’s. Once agreed Hae-jin spent nearly every night thereafter at Min-ju’s apartment. It was like a palace. It had a bedroom, a full kitchen, a living room. It was larger than the apartment he’d lived his entire life in on Yeong Island. It was right in downtown Livermore, not far from restaurants, bars, and the arcade. And from the window was a view of an authentic American-style 24-hour donut shop. Right across the street. During the night the light from the Donut Wheel sign gave Min-ju’s room a light blue hue. It was magical. It was like a movie.
They were both alienated and enthralled by being in America. They were vulnerable and they knew it. They allowed it to draw them closer. They kissed in public and made out in movie theaters. They went to scary, dirty bars where people drank during the day and fell off stools at night. They ate fried food that was delicious and nauseating. They ran home drunk singing Korean world cup soccer theme. They’d make love until the break of dawn, when Hae-jin would sprint across the street in his robe and bring donuts and coffee back to bed.
In letting Min-ju come to America by herself, she promised her father to faithfully attend church every Sunday. Unlike most Korean families, hers had been devoted to Christ for several generations having converted just before the Japanese colonial period. Min-ju herself was a strong believer and encouraged Hae-jin to accept Christ.
For Hae-jin, becoming Christian wasn’t so much a question of whether he believed in god or not. He had been brought up by his mother as a Buddhist. She was devout. She went to temple every weekend and was very superstitious in a way that many Korean Buddhist housewives of her generation were. But other than fixing him seaweed soup before a school exam for good luck or making him carry some red paper in his wallet to ward off evil spirits, his mother rarely pushed Buddhism on him.
One night after sex Min-ju asked Hae-jin if he accepted Jesus Christ as his savior. Hae-jin wasn’t sure what the question even meant. Did he believe in god? Did he believe in the Christian God? After Min-ju explained it to him he thought about it. After having sex he would say or do almost anything Min-ju wanted. He had already fallen in love with her, though like a real Busan man, he tried to not show it too readily. He didn’t answer immediately. After a moment of gazing around the room he calmly said “I guess.” Min-ju’s eyes lit up and Hae-jin was baptized at church the following week.
Min-ju was an excellent student. By virtue of having grown up in Seoul’s public school system her English was already passable even before coming to America. After living in Livermore four months she spoke very well. This in turn motivated Hae-jin to study hard. It was clear to him that if he was going to have any future with Min-ju he would have to make a great deal of money. The first step of this would be to learn English, so he did.
Hae-jin’s mother was so happy to hear about his progress she couldn’t help but brag to all her friends at the marketplace. Her son was living in America. He was speaking English and becoming more responsible. To top it off he had met a girlfriend, from Seoul. And, she would add as a humorous aside, her family was rich.
What she didn’t mention to her friends was the fact that her son had been going to a Christian church. This was in part, because he’d barely mentioned it to her. She and nearly all the women in the marketplace was Buddhist. It’s not that she was embarrassed by it. But in the face of Hae-jin’s accomplishments, him in taking America by storm, it seemed out of context to talk about. In her mind Hae-jin was becoming the savior of the family that she had hoped for. He was finally blossoming into a man. Her gamble to send Hae-jin to America had paid off. Her savings had been well spent.
As Min-ju’s time in America ended Hae-jin was more in love with her than ever. He had known for some time that Min-ju would be leaving two months before him. He was able to put it out of his mind, not wanting it to ruin any of the time they did have together. In private though, in the few moments they weren’t together, he was deeply saddened. He couldn’t help but worry that things might change once they had returned to Korea. He and Min-ju would go from spending every moment together to seeing each other once a month. If they were lucky.
During church he started praying that he and Min-ju could stay together. He never revealed this to Min-ju. He tried to emphasize to God that Min-ju had become the most important thing in his life. He promised to ask very little of God thereafter. He promised to be a good Christian husband if he’d allow them to marry. He clasped hands tightly. “Please,” he would mutter to himself, “Just let me have this one thing.”
Hae-jin felt he needed to show Min-ju he would be able to lead them. He formulated a life plan and rehearsed it several times before telling Min-ju one night after sex. Min-ju would return to Korea first and find a job as an elementary school teacher. Hae-jin would go back to Busan two months later and begin to find work at a trading company. They could visit one another on weekends. Or, hopefully, Hae-jin would find a job in Seoul. If not, he would work wherever he could find a job and they could continue their weekend visits for a couple years. By then he would start his own trading company and would definitely move to Seoul. They could marry and start a family then.
There was nothing wrong with Hae-jin’s plan itself. His intentions were good. Min-ju loved the plan and with tears in her eyes told Hae-jin he was the love of her life. That she would follow him no matter what.
But there was a problem. During his transformation in America Hae-jin had truly forgotten who he’d been in Korea. In the short term it had been a benefit. But in the longrun, a curse. Along with his shyness, he had also forgotten that he’d been a poor student at a low-level university. He had forgotten he knew very little about trading companies or basic economics for that matter. He had even hid the fact that his family was by any stretch of the word, poor. In many ways he had created a persona that, in his return to Korea, would be nearly impossible to live up to.
And in the back of his mind he knew this. But he was still far enough from the reality to feel it. He continued to convince himself there was a possibility of it working itself out. Why? He had new weapons on his side. God. Faith. Anything was possible. While he wasn’t convinced these things would be enough to ensure his fortune in Korea, he did have hope.
But even Min-ju, when outside of their bed and the strong grip of Hae-jin, wondered if his plan was plausible. But she had little to lose. She was happy to be returning to Seoul. Hae-jin had cured her of her temporary loneliness. But there had never been anything temporary about her friends and family back home. Anxious to see her family and friends. Her newly honed English skills would most certainly help her get a top job in a top elementary school. Of course she would miss being around Hae-jin all the time. But she was confident that God would reveal the proper solution in time.
For Hae-jin it was much more of a gamble. In the moments after he winced the tears back at the gate of the San Francisco International Airport he knew something was different. The emptiness spawned a burden, and it grew inside of him like a tapeworm. He grew lonely with each passing hour and eventually he started to question things. He fought back with prayer. Anytime his mind started to waver he stopped whatever he was doing and said a prayer. Just a small message. To keep in touch with God. To remind him of his interests.
He tried to live his life normally, but it was difficult. When he spoke to Min-ju long distance he could feel the miles between them. He couldn’t stand it. He was determined to keep his image in her mind. He sent her several emails a day. He lived his life as if she were still at his side. He made lists of what he did each day so he could tell Min-ju later in an email or phone call. After English class he’d stand in front of the donut shop for 10 minutes, just so he could tell Min-ju about what he saw there. He wanted to prove to her that everything in Livermore still existed despite her not being able to see it.
It was then he forgot his previously stoic stance, which Min-ju thought was odd. She missed Livermore and Hae-jin, but she was happy to be home in Seoul. Happy to be eating dinner with her mother and father. To eat homemade kimchi, good Korean rice, or things like gopchang, cow stomach, which you could hardly buy in America.
Amidst his uncertainty Hae-jin drove head first into Christianity. It became the single part of his life he could absolutely control. During his remaining months in America Hae-jin steadily devoted himself to Christ. He started attending two bible groups four days a week. He attended both Sunday services at his Uncle’s church and volunteered for the church’s chapter of Meals-on-Wheels.
As Hae-jin not so subtly revealed his dedication to Min-ju it initially impressed her. While it didn’t make up for the miles between them or the relative uncertainty of their future, it did, in her mind, at least bring them closer together spiritually.
When he flew into Busan Hae-jin’s mother and sister met him at the airport. In their embrace he could feel something different. They held him tighter. The new Hae-jin had come back to Korea to be the leader they had needed for so long. Although he had some indication of this before returning, he could easily see his mother and sister’s expectations of him had even grown beyond the image he himself had created.
They giggled and asked when Min-ju from Seoul might visit. They asked if he had any job leads yet. For the first time in years his sister treated him as an older brother, calling him “oppa.”
All this didn’t exactly make him nervous. Despite Min-ju distracting him, he was still excited in some ways to return home. He had a surge of confidence, having more than survived his time in America. He still had faith he could carry out his plan.
Part of his plan entailed immediately finding the local chapter of the church his Uncle had introduced him to. It was a small church. On the second floor of an old building. As he first walked up the old stairs, full of cracking plaster tiles that needed to be replaced, a feeling of dread overcame him. He wondered what Min-ju would think of the church. He imagined her church in Seoul. Brand new. Sparkling.
He entered the church and, as he had near the end of his time in America, immersed himself in its activities. He was surprised how dedicated the members were compared to those in America. It was normal for the members to attend service not once, but several times a week for three or four hours at a time. The mood was one of reverence, not jubilation, as had sometimes been the case in America. There were no potlucks or outdoor get-togethers, only somber worship, often by candlelight, in an unheated and small room.
Getting a job in Seoul was immediately out of the question. Companies wouldn’t even interview Hae-jin. He had several interviews during his first month in Busan. But even with his above average English speaking skills companies weren’t interested in hiring him. He had poor grades. He hadn’t done his military service. He didn’t present himself with confidence. All the things he’d prayed would be overlooked or ignored were bubbling right to the surface.
His prayers became more desperate. He was determined to not be angry at God. But it was difficult. He read the bible more, hoping an answer would reveal itself. He prayed more. Both in the morning and at night. He even went to sleep hoping God would appear to him in a dream. To give him some indication of what he should do.
After a few rejections he began to look and act more like the old Hae-jin. He could feel his confidence wearing away. Even as he assured himself it was part of God’s plan. It seemed like the more companies he applied to, the less interested the others became in hiring him. It was then he first considered becoming a pastor.
Soon his mother and sister could see that Hae-jin wasn’t as confident as when he’d first returned. But by then they had already invested their belief in him. They couldn’t afford to waver in their support. They continued to treat him as their savior. Making him whatever food he wanted to eat. Not allowing him to help with any of the household chores. Allowing him to focus on getting a job. But bit by bit they could see his confidence shrinking, despite their attempts to lift his mood.
The love Min-ju and Hae-jin shared in Livermore, started to feel further and further away. For both of them. For Min-ju, returning to Korean had made Hae-jin much more ordinary. There was nothing he could do to interrupt that. In America, she had been lonely and vulnerable before she met him. Now, she was safe and comfortable in her parent’s high-rise apartment in an expensive area of Seoul. Hae-jin’s plan had comforted her before she left America. She hadn’t wanted their love to change either. But it was inevitable. They were different people in Korea and no disguise, no number of lies, and no amount of praying could change that fact.
Still, Hae-jin tried. He made himself less emotionally available, trying to appear aloof and even disinterested. He told Min-ju she was calling him too much. He told her to not be so nostalgic when she spoke of things that happened in America. She responded by eventually agreeing. Becoming less available herself. In return he tried to become more controlling. More like an oppa. He tried to make her feel weak, even crazy. But Min-ju could hardly accept this from someone who couldn’t even find a job.
In a last ditch attempt to save their relationship Hae-jin bought a train ticket for Seoul. To get the money he lied to his mother and said he had a job interview. She gave him the money, but even she was suspicious at that point. He sat in his seat with his eyes closed, for the entire 3 hour trip. He implored God to please save their relationship. In his mind he was almost screaming the prayer. To give him one more chance. To will it into being.
Just before the train pulled into Seoul station he took out a plastic sandwich bag. It was the “Ricky” nametag that he had kept from the first day he and Min-ju met at the church in Livermore. As he slipped it out of the bag he felt a pang. Not only for the nametag, but for the sandwich bag itself. For the kitchen the bag was in. The backyard behind the kitchen. The well-lit street his Uncle lived on. The Wal-mart across the street from the subdivision his Uncle lived in. The freeway next to the Wal-mart. The church next to the freeway. The Main Street not far from the freeway and the donut shop across the street. How he missed it all. The comfort. The warm comfort in leaving his life behind.
Emotion started to rise from Hae-jin’s stomach. He smoothed the name tag on his chest, took a deep breath, and said a final prayer.
As he got off the train his legs wobbled below his body. He tried to straighten up. To walk with purpose and vigor. In his right hand he carried a bible from which several green, orange, and pink florescent page markers proudly peaked out. When he first saw her his mouth began to water and he wanted to cry. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered. He felt as though he were seeing her for the first time again. Seeing her for the first time and knowing her all his life. He wanted to fall to his knees. To kiss her hands and feet.
Min-ju thought the nametag gesture was cute, especially in light of how controlling and distant he had been trying to become. But it hardly changed her mind. She gave him a polite hug. When she pulled away he kept his arms stretched out. As if he was waiting for the real contact to begin. It was then, as he noticed his own empty arms hanging aimlessly, he knew the end was at hand. It was just a matter of waiting for the blade to fall.
They ate sam-gyup-sal, barbequed pork, and for 10 minutes engaged in awkward conversation. During their meal Min-ju continuously received text messages. Hae-jin wondered who was sending them. But sadly, he knew he was in no position to ask. Min-ju nervously excused herself to go to the bathroom. She seemed even more nervous upon her return. “This is it,” Hae-jin intuited as she sat down. “This is where she breaks me.”
Though obviously flustered Min-ju managed to tell him she had met a man at the school she was recently hired at. While she hadn’t cheated on Hae-jin, she had strong feelings for the guy and felt she’d be doing herself a disservice if she didn’t follow her heart.
And just like that it was over. Hae-jin nodded and looked down, first at his hands and then at his bible. With his eyes he slowly traced the gold lettering on the front. For some time neither of them said anything. The only sound was the meat sizzling on the barbeque and a group of young businessmen arguing about their ideal type of woman.
Eventually Hae-jin finally looked up. He started with some chatter about his life, his job prospects, and then lied and told her he had been having some questions about their compatibility anyway. That in Livermore he’d sensed that eventually their differences would break them apart. At one point, he even insinuated her love for God was relatively weak, which would certainly lead to problems as he studied to become a pastor. He looked at her as he said it. When he stopped talking he was overcome by the urge to push Min-ju’s face onto the grill. Min-ju stared at the grill, nodding in agreement, mostly in the hope of hastening her exit. His mention of becoming a pastor was a surprise. But she merely noted it, as she lamented the end of their relationship and surely their friendship. Hae-jin told her he was sorry to see her go, but that she knew in his heart that she would be happier. Then he told her he forgave her. He took her hand from across the table and pulled it toward him. He wanted to hold it against the grill. To hear it sizzle like the meat. But instead he said it was important to forgive people and that after all she’d done he forgave her. He told her God would also forgive her. He let her hand go with some flair, so there would be no question in her mind that she’d been released.
That part about God forgiving her surprised Min-ju a little. But by then she could see their contact was coming to a close. She stayed silent as Hae-jin continued to mutter something for another minute. They finished eating. She paid. She walked with him to the train station and told him good luck, telling him she would never forget their time together in America. He nodded indicating he wasn’t sure if he would forget or not. This hurt Min-ju a little.
After saying goodbye Hae-jin then realized he had bought a ticket back to Busan for the following day. He tried to change his ticket, but was unable to. He started to panic, but felt it was important to pretend like nothing had happened. As if he’d come to Seoul to do some shopping. As if he’d never met Min-ju. He thought this, even as the emotion started to swell from the bottom of his stomach. He found a relatively warm seat at the station and with shaking hands he opened his bible. He thrust the highlighter into his mouth to take the cap off. As he bit down, he exhaled and made a soft whimpering sound. A sound so sad and unmistakable it in itself made him want to cry. As a train roared into the station it started to screech to a stop. He exhaled forcefully, making a half-crying/half-screaming, atonal groan that was in tune with the screeching breaks. When the train had finally stopped, he took a breath in, adjusted his legs, focused on the page, and settled in for the night.

When she was sure he had finished his reprimand, his sister calmly picked up a small soup bowl which contained the remnants of seaweed soup Hae-jin had been eating for breakfast. Hae-jin watched his sister. He was awaiting a vocal response to his lecture. He wanted to have a discussion. Not a fight. Surely she had her side as he had his. He started to add this point, but stopped as his sister dumped the contents of the soup bowl onto the floor.
When she brought the soup bowl over her head he was still thinking about the fact that she’d dumped soup on the floor. Only as the bowl flew in the air towards his head did he consider his sister might be angry.
The bowl glanced off his right ear and broke into several large pieces on the wall behind him.
Even then it was hard for Hae-jin to catch up to his sister’s actions. As she picked up a glass of water, Hae-jin only noticed the glass was half-full as the water itself was splashing on the floor next to his sister’s bare feet. Once he’d digested there was both soup and water on the floor, the second object was glancing off his shoulder and shattering on the same wall behind him.
It wasn’t until the fourth object had been thrown that he had the sense to stand up and run out of the room. Out the front door. And onto the small street in front of their home. There he waited, still trying to comprehend what had happened. He heard his sister’s feet slowly coming toward the door and he finally had the sense to brace himself for another hurled object. But instead she quietly pushed the door shut and snapped the lock shut.
Hae-jin could feel where he’d been hit on the ear and shoulder, but it didn’t hurt. He looked down at his bare feet on the concrete. At that point it all came together. His sister didn’t like what he’d said.
Their mother didn’t know the details of the fight. She found the shattered dishes that no one had cleaned up. She swept them up. She could guess something had happened. But she didn’t think much of it. Her children weren’t speaking. Moreover, they were acting like the other didn’t exist. She tried to ask them what had happened, but it was clear neither wanted to talk about it. She didn’t usually have the extra energy to deal with family squabbles. So she normally steered clear.
But in her heart she could guess why her daughter might be angry. It was hard for her to be angry at her own son, but she was disappointed.
When Hae-jin first told his mother of his plan to become a pastor she started crying. At first Hae-jin thought they might be tears of joy, but as time went on, it was clear they weren’t. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Right in the middle of the kitchen. She dropped her knife and started to cry.
Hae-jin watched her, not saying anything. Eventually she looked up. She looked in his direction, but not at him. She was looking at her own future. The years of trudging down the hill to the bus. To sell the same vegetables. The same fruit. Building fires in used cooking oil tins scavenged from restaurants. When the dark cold feels like it could snap bones. The chatter. The hustle. The drunken old men hailing insults in the afternoon. The 10th and 11th hours, sitting on the same red plastic stool. Bending over with an arthritic back again and again. Haggling over a few cents with the same customers and sellers. Endlessly. And it was her fate. There would be no respite. She would live that until the day she died.
But it wasn’t anger she felt at Hae-jin or life. She would endure like she had always endured. She had faced more difficult things in her life. She couldn’t be angry at her son.
But what angered her was the prospect of her daughter leading a life similar to her own. Her son was always the most important child, but in her heart, she had been determined to give her daughter a chance in life. A chance to escape the course she herself had been forced into. Unfortunately that chance depended heavily on Hae-jin. It wasn’t something she could control herself. This also made her angry. She felt helpless to save her own children. For a mother there is no worse feeling.
A week after the silence had started Hae-jin’s mother took it upon her self to do what she could. When she phoned Hae-jin he was at his church. He’d just finished his afternoon prayer. As usual the pastor had given him a list of odd jobs and errands to be completed that day.
On the phone his mother calmly asked him if he would come to her cousin’s house in Gupo that evening. That night, when he met his mother at the subway station she didn’t say anything about where they were going. She just stared at him for a moment, then, as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod, she grabbed his arm and led him toward the subway.
Hae-jin had no idea what his mother was up to. As they sat on the subway, his thoughts went in a pattern all too familiar to him. Eventually, no matter how hard he tried to do otherwise, his thoughts led back to Min-ju. On the subway, he considered what his mother might be up to. He finally asked her. She looked at him and patted his leg and nodded.
It reminded him of when he was 13 and his mother had taken him to get circumcised. That day she had taken him to a local amusement park and treated him to a delicious dwegi galbi, pork rib soup, lunch before saying they had to make one more stop. At that time, he’d asked Then, he’d asked her the same question. And she’d similarly patted him on the leg, nodded, and pulled him off the bus in front of a hospital. As if nothing was wrong.
Thinking of his own circumcised penis inevitably led him directly to Min-ju. He’d told her his circumcision story while they lay naked on her bed during one of those blue-hued early mornings.
Hae-jin closed his eyes and started to recite the Lord’s Prayer. He tried to push Min-ju out of his mind, but she wouldn’t go away. His stomach had knotted as they pulled into Gupo subway station, the anger at Min-ju, and to a lesser degree, his sister, started to make him frustrated at his mother. She grabbed a tight hold of his arm.
Coming out from the subway they immediately went onto a small side street. Hae-jin’s mother shuffled left and right with a steadfast determination. He struggled to keep his balance on the uneven pavement.
His mother disappeared into a doorway. It was then he recognized the familiar bamboo and colorful plastic balls hanging next to the entryway. He realized what was happening. His mother had brought him to a Kut, a traditional shamanistic ritual, preformed in Korea for hundreds of years, and accepted by many Buddhists as part of the practice. He rolled his eyes.
His mother was greeting several people. She was cordial. Focused and resigned. She kept looking over her shoulder to locate Hae-jin. As if he might run from the house.
She was partly right in worrying. Hae-jin recognized several family members he hadn’t seen since he returned from America. They were friendly to him. But also nervous. He had the sinking feeling he was the subject of the Kut. He politely bowed to people. Occasionally glaring in the direction of his mother, who was busy preparing cups of rice wine.
He never thought seriously of trying to run away. One of his mother’s cousins grabbed a hold of his arm. There was something in her touch that made him certain the Kut was for him. The woman was preventing him from leaving. She led him onto the back patio, near the food table. She prodded him to eat, telling him he hadn’t eaten enough Korean food recently as she stuffed pieces of rice cake into his mouth.
A plump woman he didn’t recognize struck an hourglass drum. Another distant relative summoned others from the house. The Kut was about to begin. One woman brought in a tray of food, offerings for the spirits. Several strays exited the house, hurrying and giggling, so as to avoid whatever awakening spirits that would soon arrive. Another cousin took Hae-jin by the arm led him to a place on the ground where he could watch with an unobstructed view.
There was now no doubt the Kut was for him. He wanted to leave. For an instant he worried what Min-ju would think of such a silly, outdated, un-Christian spectacle.
It was then Hae-jin pulled out his phone. As he slipped it out of his pocked a feeling of dread came over his body. He knew what he was doing, but he seemed powerless to stop it. He told himself “stop,” but his hand and his brain wouldn’t listen. Maybe she missed him too was all he could think. Maybe she wanted to hear from him. Maybe she was lying on her bed, listening to music and thinking of him at that same moment.
“How are you?” he typed. “Miss you. On my way to church!”
For a moment it felt good to text message Min-ju. To forging some attempt at contact. It made him feel hopeful. Like praying sometimes did. As he typed he even said a small, meek prayer to God.
But as he pressed send his heart dropped. Now, he could only wait. Wait and hope. In knowing that, he felt empty. He put his phone back in his pocket. He waited for the vibration of the return message in his pocket. He adjusted his leg twice, so he’d be sure to feel the vibration.
He put his hand on the pocket of his jeans. But as quickly he let it slip back to the ground. Why did he do that? Why had God let him do that?
He tried to think of something else. He wondered where his sister was. She was, mostly out of deference to their mother, a Buddhist. While she didn’t believe in the more shamanistic aspects of it herself, she readily indulged in them. Because their mother believed in it.
But once he’d considered the whereabouts of his sister, he was back to Min-ju. Did she get the text? Was she reading it and laughing just then?
The plump woman struck the drum again, signaling the official start. Another woman clanged a cymbal and yet another announced that the Kut had been called by Hae-jin’s mother. Someone behind him put their hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t sure who it was, but the person massaged his neck slowly. As if to calm him. It worked.
“There is an evil spirit in this house, there is, there is!” the announcer said. Hae-jin recognized the announcer as a woman who sold eel at the marketplace where his mother, and now sister, worked at. The woman had retired when her son had become a public official. He had met her a few times and knew she was one of his mother’s best friends.
The woman pulled out a dried fish and broke its head off on the ground with her foot. She picked up the head and flung it over the heads of some of the onlookers, who in turn emptied their rice wine glasses in the same direction. She then picked up the body of the fish and flung it to the ground.
“The fish points to the house! There are still bad spirits inside!”
The cymbals clanged and the drummer slammed a wild beat on her drum. The leader of the Kut quickly poured several cups of rice wine, taking a sip of one, and splashing the rest in the direction of the house. She then picked up the body of the fish again and threw it on the ground.
“The fish points away from the house! The spirits are gone!”
Hae-jin’s mother, along with most of the others laughed and cheered loudly. The woman then invited several other spirits to enter the house. As she did Hae-jin’s mother lit several candles which had been placed on offering trays. She pulled two 10,000 won bills from her pocket, placed them next to the trays, and bowed several times before sitting down again. She looked over at Hae-jin with urgency. Checking, hoping, that it was working.
Hae-jin watched the event with some amusement. The event seemed so silly. So outdated. Not practical. He felt slightly embarrassed for his mother. He focused on his phone. He prayed for it to vibrate.
His mother, however, was still completely focused on the task. She cheered as if she were watching the fate of her family being battled for. Right on her cousin’s back patio in Gupo.
He had only seen a Kut one other time. After his father had died. He had been 16. Tormented by the loss of his father. But had been mystified by the way he had lost himself in the ceremony. He was both fascinated and terrified by it. But for an hour or so, he had forgotten the sad circumstances of his father’s death. It had given him a release. Even if just for an hour. It gave his brain a rest. He had felt much lighter when it was over.
In Livermore, when he and Min-ju had attended church together he had a similar experience. When he had become lost in prayer he felt free.
But now there was no release. No forgetting. No rest. Even as he watched his mother and the leader of the Kut. No matter how loud the cymbals and drums were, Min-ju was not far away. Her image appeared in his mind at random. First in a chaste pose, singing a hymn during church or bending over and pressing her nose against the glass counter at the donut shop. Then, she would be in her bedroom, writhing above him in a fit of sexual ecstasy, his hands cupping her breasts. There was no controlling it. Even as he began to whisper the Lord’s Prayer.
He watched the Kut and found himself praying to God that the Kut would work in the way it had before. He sat calmly, but his mind was racing. Please. Let me go. God, let me go. Min-ju, let me go. Someone let me go. Leave me in peace.
Hae-jin prayed to God. Then he prayed to the Kut. He didn’t care at that moment. He wanted something to work. Anything. He wanted something to change. He wanted to be shown something. To have something revealed. A sign. An indication.
The woman opened her fan before Hae-jin’s mother, who started the ritualistic process of laying 10,000 won bill after bill on top of it. Hae-jin recognized this part from his father’s Kut. ”Make us rich!” Hae-jin’s mother shouted, just as she had 10 years ago.
“But your clothes are much nicer than mine,” the women ceremoniously retorted.
Hae-jin’s mother eagerly laid a 10,000 won bill on the fan, “Make us all rich!” she screamed at the woman, “Make us all rich! Make us rich!” His mother was now in rapture. Her eyes were wide and trance-like. Her hands shook as she laid bill after bill on the fan. “Make us rich! Make us rich!” she screamed, louder and louder.
Finally she collapsed on the ground. The woman with the fan nonchalantly took some of the bills and stuffed them in her pocket. The woman left Hae-jin’s mother, who remained on her knees, and made her way from spectator to spectator. She held out the fan each time. Hae-jin was stunned by the amount of money the woman was stuffing into her pockets. He would never make that kind of money in one day, he thought.
As his mother writhed on the ground he imagined Min-ju in her family’s apartment in Seoul. What was she doing at that moment? He looked at his watch. It was 6:20 p.m. He imagined her mother in a modern, well-lit kitchen. Scooping rice from a modern digital rice cooker into small bowls. Her father sitting on the couch watching television on a state of the art plasma screen. He saw her lying on her bed, a window overlooking the modern sprawl of Seoul behind her. Listening to music on an iPod and studying. He imagined her breasts, encased in those well-padded white bras she always wore. That he had learned to unlock with clever twist of his hand.
No! He screamed in his own head.
Don’t think of her. She is dead to you.
He didn’t pray to God. But he intuited something. They weren’t words. It wasn’t a prayer. It was a feeling. A feeling of anger. Of hate. Of frustration. It wasn’t meant for Min-ju. It wasn’t meant for his sister. It was meant for God or whatever might be directing him on this torturous path with no end. It was pure anger, not articulated. Just a bestial, black, angry clenching of his teeth that he honed and hurled to the sky and below. It radiated in all directions.
Hae-jin opened his eyes. The Kut was winding down. Then it stopped. It was over. Hae-jin looked around him. He took a deep breath. Did he feel different? He mentally checked his faculties. Had he changed? He felt the same. He was determined to not think of the phone in his pocket.
The Kut ended. Everyone shuffled out into the small street. People came by and offered encouragement. He was aware of his phone, but he didn’t think about it directly. Actually, he thought, he felt a little better. A little lighter. Maybe the Kut had worked. He smiled and said goodbye to everyone.
A couple hours later Hae-jin and his mother walked up the hill to their home. It was night, and the only sounds were their shoes, deliberately scraping against the pavement. They hadn’t said anything to one another on the subway ride or the #88 bus that took them back to Yeong-do.
Hae-jin’s mother was comforted. The Kut had never failed her in her life. She saw no reason that it would now. She remembered Hae-jin transfixed at the spectacle at the Kut she held following the death of his father. The Kut had smacked him back into orbit she had remembered. His grades improved. His outlook on life had improved. Almost immediately. There was no reason the same thing couldn’t happen again. For a second, she even wondered what she might do with her life if she didn’t have to work at the market.
They walked into the house. Hae-jin heard an unfamiliar voice. As he tried to piece together who it might be, a woman who he recognized as one of his mother’s friends from the market came running to greet them at the door. It was the woman his sister was now working with.
“Your daughter had an accident!” she said, grabbing Hae-jin’s mother by the shoulders. His mother flipped off her shoes and ran ahead into the bedroom. A moment later Hae-jin’s mother shrieked and started to wail.
Hae-jin quickly slipped off his shoes and made his way into the room. His sister was lying on the floor under blankets. She was pale. Her face was devoid of emotion. As her mother gently picked up Hae-jin’s sister’s heavily bandaged right hand she looked as if she had no idea anyone was even touching her. Hae-jin could see a small spec of blood coming through the white bandage.
The woman explained that during the afternoon she’d received a large order for a dinner party and that the two of them had to hurry and clean and prepare 50 fish. Hae-jin’s sister had already slit the gills and thought the fish was in shock, but it suddenly jerked, and in trying to keep the fish down and simultaneously cut the head, she had cut straight through her pinky finger. Just below the knuckle.
As the woman recounted other bits of the story Hae-jin stared at his sister. Her face was white and she stared up at nothing in particular. After a few moments her eyes shot in the direction of Hae-jin. His heart jumped a beat. He slowly swallowed. He waited for his heart to slow back down.
There was a rage in her eyes that told him, that in her mind, the accident was his fault. She looked at him like she wanted his head to explode at that moment. Like if she were able, she’d walk across the room at that moment and kill him.
Hae-jin quickly left the room. Part of him felt badly for having tried to stop his sister from drinking and smoking. It was her life. From now one she could live it. He paused and thought about nothing in particular. He could hear his mother crying as the woman detailed what the doctor had said.
“If it’s God’s plan, it’s God’s plan,” he muttered to himself. “It’s God’s will to change things or not change them.”
As this message appeared in his mind he nodded his head. Something had been revealed. He felt sorry for his sister’s pain, but at that moment he felt sorrier for her anger. His becoming a pastor might not have been their desire, but he had found his calling. Maybe it wasn’t what they wanted. But it was what he needed. He’d found the path of God. He would not be easily diverted. Not by a Kut, not by a horrible accident. For him, God was no longer a choice. It was part of him. It ran through his veins. Breathed into his lungs. Pulsated in his chest.
Hae-jin got his bible from his bag and went into the corner of the living room. Where’d he’d prayed earlier that morning. Just before he knelt down he pulled out his phone. He checked to make sure he hadn’t missed any calls or messages. He hadn’t. He placed the phone in front of him, just a few inches away from the top of his bible. If it vibrated, he wanted to be sure to hear it.