If You Leave Me Page 4

  “You think that’s Uncle?” I asked.

  Kyunghwan shook his head and pointed at a hole in the wall. We could see Uncle in the room he shared with Kyunghwan. He was wrapping rope around the back carrier he used to haul firewood.

  “I should go in and see how he’s doing,” Kyunghwan said.

  “Thanks for today.”

  He nodded, and then asked, “What does this mean? Don’t you need to wait for your parents’ approval?”

  I looked at him, surprised. I would marry Haemi. Focusing on this goal steadied me, but it wasn’t worth articulating for Kyunghwan. He thought ahead to the next day and no further. I saw his future clearly. He would become one of those college students who married by accident.

  “She’s real good-looking, don’t you think?” I joked.

  Kyunghwan smiled. “She’s smart, too. Stubborn, though, if she’s anything like she used to be.” He whipped me with his soggy strip of husk. “I have to study. Enjoy your chicken.”

  “Haemi will.”

  He pretended to kick me from his door. “Lucky bastard.”

  The fields that surrounded the Lees’ home appeared hopeful from a distance. Flooded with amber light, the barley swayed in the wind. On closer inspection, it was clear how brittle the stalks were, and how slight the house with its cracked mud walls and ragged straw roof, its splintering wooden beams and poles. No gate guarded the property. Everything in Busan was made of shit. Even the rooms I had secured for Uncle and Kyunghwan weren’t much better, though they weren’t as pitiful as the corrugated metal shacks littering the streets, crammed with too many families.

  I’d come for Haemi after the war. We would find my family and live together in a proper hanok home. We would return to a life with ondol floors, tutors, imported toothpaste, and white rice. We’d help Kyunghwan and Uncle settle in Seoul, too.

  “Hello?” I set the jar of chicken soup on the ground between my feet. “Auntie Lee?”

  Haemi came to the door. She wiped her hands on a washcloth and looked at me with that tilted head. I wanted to know what she was thinking. I could tell she was the kind of girl who evaluated before giving consent, and that she didn’t yet approve of me. I liked that. I would prove my worth.

  “The view’s pretty here, isn’t it?” She gestured at the sky, which had turned red and orange with dusk, then pointed to a small figure cutting a path through the fields. “Mother’s coming. We’ll wait.”

  “You think I’d enter your house without your mother present?”

  “Who knows with you? You could be bringing meals to all the girls in Busan, for all I know.”

  I laughed. Haemi had arched eyes and a sly, skeptical mouth. I liked how curved her face became when she smiled.

  This meal would do it. I would win her.

  “Is that Jisoo-hyung?” Hyunki skipped past Haemi. “Jisoo-hyung! My friend is here!”

  “Oh, he’s your friend now?” Haemi teased.

  Ignoring her, Hyunki ran to my side. “What’d you bring for us?”

  “Don’t be rude,” Haemi said.

  “It’s all right.” I picked up the jar and removed the cloth cover so Hyunki could see. Red, bloated jujubes floated around a perfectly boiled chicken.

  “Chicken?” Haemi asked. “You bought a chicken? How?”

  “This is the best thing I have ever seen!” Hyunki yelled. “The best thing I will ever eat!”

  Haemi edged closer and sniffed the center of the jar. “You’re really showing off, aren’t you?”

  “Impressed?” I asked.

  She returned to the door.

  I couldn’t tell if she was happy—or if she had been expecting even more. “Do you like it?”

  “I like it.” Hyunki jumped in place. His shirt was too long and stained around the neck. He was small for his seven years. “Haemi-nuna likes sucking on the bones.”

  “Everyone likes samgyetang.” Haemi straightened as her mother reached us, already shouting.

  “Look at that fat chicken!” Auntie Lee took the jar and eyed her daughter. “Come in, come in! Haemi could have let you wait in the shade, at least.”

  In the entrance room, I bowed formally. “It’s nice to see you again, Auntie.”

  “Call me Mother.”

  “Don’t,” Haemi said.

  Auntie cradled the jar. “My daughter’s embarrassed. Let me prepare the barley rice. You two keep Jisoo from running away.” She walked past a strung-up blanket that separated the entrance and small sitting room from the rest of the house.

  On my earlier visits, I’d never been allowed beyond the front door. I’d waited at the low table outside while Auntie brought us tea. The sitting room was spare, more miserable than I’d expected. The hanji paper had been ripped off the walls and windows, revealing bare clay and open frames. But I appreciated their effort to make it a home. A bowl of dried flowers decorated a small desk. Straw floor cushions were piled neatly in a corner. The open windows brought in a soft breeze. I smiled. “A real home. You’re lucky.”

  Hyunki pretended to lift something heavy from the ground. “I’m going to eat this chicken and grow strong.”

  “Are you going to share with the rest of us?” Haemi asked.

  “Nah.” He poked her stomach. After a moment, he decided to poke mine, too. “Are you my brother now?”

  I spun Hyunki around. “Maybe if your nuna’s lucky. Or is it maybe if I’m lucky?”

  Haemi grabbed his legs. “Put him down. He’s not feeling well today.”

  “I’m fine!” Hyunki reached for the ceiling. “Lift me higher?”

  “Just once, before your nuna gets too mad.” I threw him into the air.

  “I’m serious, Jisoo. Stop it or leave.”

  I set him down, surprised by her anger. She pulled Hyunki behind the blanket partition. They whispered together. I couldn’t hear their words. He bowed to me when he reemerged. “I’m sorry, Hyung.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” I turned to Haemi. “What’s wrong?”

  She squeezed her braid between two fingers. “I told you he didn’t feel well.”

  Hyunki rubbed his face against her hip. “Mother said chicken’s good when you’re sick, so I get the biggest serving. Right?”

  “Always.” She hugged him, and the image made me soften. I could picture her as a mother.

  “You can have a whole drumstick, Hyunki,” I said.

  Swinging his sister’s hand, he smiled at me. “You should bring us chicken all the time.”

  I laughed. “I’ll try.”

  “Let’s sit.” Haemi gestured to the low table in front of the house. “It’s nicer to eat out there.”

  As we waited outside, Hyunki unrolled a large rush mat and asked if I was comfortable before I had even found my seat. He slipped a knot of straw under the table’s rickety leg, tested its steadiness with a grim look on his face.

  “Looks like he’s courting you,” Haemi whispered.

  When he finally sat, a quick throat clearing turned into a loud heaving, and his tiny body curved over until his head touched the ground. Haemi caught him in her lap, stroking his back and whispering as spasms rattled through him. The coughing sounded like more than a cold. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

  “Can you get some water?” She pointed to a jar beside the front door. A hollowed-out half gourd hung from a nail on the wall. I dipped it into the shallow supply of water and brought it to her.

  Once Hyunki finished drinking, Haemi held a strip of cloth against his mouth. “Breathe slowly and spit it all out,” she said. Each hack brought up thick green mucus, some tinged with red.

  “Is that blood?”

  She shielded him with her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have swung him around so much. I’m going to lay him down until Mother’s ready.”

  “No!” Hyunki wriggled in her arms. “I want to stay and talk to Hyung.”

  “I’ll take you. How about that?” I glanced at Haemi. “Is that all right?”

&nb
sp; She touched my wrist. “Be gentle.”

  “I will.” I picked him up. “I’m sorry.”

  Inside, Haemi swept the first blanket curtain aside. They had partitioned the rest of the small house into chambers using cardboard and more blankets. Haemi guided me to the only real room in the back. “Put him in here. I’ll tell Mother he’s not feeling well,” she said.

  In the room, I laid Hyunki down as carefully as I could on a thick sleeping mat. I felt his bones, the sweat on his neck and legs. “I’m sorry I threw you around like that.”

  “I’m sorry I’m sick.” He picked up a knotted handkerchief and held it to his face. “I wanted to play.”

  “We can play when you’re feeling better. After the war, you can meet my little sister in Seoul. Hyesoo’s younger, but she likes games, too.”

  “I could teach her how to spin tops.” Hyunki rubbed his face into his pillow. “Wake me when the chicken’s ready?”

  I fingered the handkerchief he held under his nose. Herbs, roots, and twigs. “How long have you been sick?”

  “I don’t know.” He squeezed my hand. “Will you stay with me?”

  I looked around the room. There was no furniture, yet the space felt cramped and messy, with scraps of twine littering the floor. Haemi’s hanboks were stuffed into a corner. “Does your nuna sleep here with you?” I asked.

  Hyunki nodded.

  “I should go back outside. They’re waiting, but I’ll wake you soon.” I found a cornhusk doll and laid it by his head. “You should rest.”

  Outside, I found Haemi arranging wooden chopsticks on the table. Her curved spine pressed against the fabric of her white top. I stared at the round knobs of bone aligned in a row. They seemed too sharp and distinct for her small body, as if her skeleton were stretching through her skin. I wanted to press each bone back in. I wanted to bring her all the food I could find.

  I shuffled by the door until she straightened. “Hyunki’s napping now,” I said. “Is he getting medicine?”

  “We’re taking care of him. We spoke to an herbalist.”

  “Medicine from a real doctor,” I said.

  “Where would we find one of those?” She fiddled with a chopstick. “You can sit.”

  I walked toward her. “You could try the field hospital.”

  “Get past the guards and then what? Speak to the Americans? Swing my hands around until they understand what I’m saying?” Haemi’s shoulders stiffened around her pale neck. “The barley rice is almost ready. We can eat without Hyunki and save his portion.”

  “I said I’d wake him.”

  She looked at me, her chin jutting with annoyance. “I know how to take care of him, all right? We’re going to let him sleep. Sit down, please.”

  “You’re upset,” I said.

  “You didn’t listen to me.” She gestured to the cushion across from her. I sat next to her anyway. “What are you doing? Go sit over there.”

  “I’ll behave.” I smiled. “I’m a gentleman.”

  She moved to the other side, but it seemed her resistance was waning. A small smile tugged at her lips. I pulled the sweet potato I had saved from my pocket. “I brought this for you. Your favorite.”

  “Who told you that?” She tried to sound angry as she grabbed the treat.

  “You. When I came for tea last week. You said if you had to eat one thing for the rest of your life, it’d be sweet potatoes.”

  Haemi bit into the yellow flesh, hunched and eager. I touched her shoulder, for the first time, and she smiled. She was tiny, nearly as frail as Hyunki. It affirmed what I had felt upon first meeting her—that she was a girl I wanted to care for.

  “Slow down. I can get you all the sweet potatoes you want,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrows, gave a mock bow. “Show-off.” Then she held out the treat, offering me a share.

  Once the meal began, Haemi’s mother ate loudly and hurriedly. She asked questions while chewing openmouthed, slivers of jujubes mashed against the molars she still had. Haemi was quiet, though. She concentrated on the chicken, shredding each portion with precision. She didn’t suck on any bones.

  “My daughter tells me you know a lot about the war,” Auntie said.

  “I try to stay informed, but it’s hard to say what’s really happening. The radios only tell us so much,” I said.

  Auntie spooned barley into her soup. “I think those radio men speak a different language from us. I never understand what they’re saying.”

  Haemi raised her head, her face warm with color. “I heard the United States is talking about a truce.”

  I tried to nod at them both, to even out my attention. “There are talks in Kaesong, but I don’t think a truce will happen.”

  “Pessimist.” Haemi squinted at me. “Let us believe what we want.” Her braid fell across her shoulder as she picked at a side dish of soybeans. She jerked her arm away from her mother. A secret pinch, maybe.

  “I’m an optimist,” I said, smoothing an imaginary knot on their wooden table. “That’s why I’m here courting you in the middle of a war. Family and future over fighting. We don’t even need matchmakers.”

  “That’s because they’re all dead.”

  Auntie slapped the table. “Haemi—”

  “You’re eating without me?” A little voice.

  We turned toward the door, where Hyunki stood with the herb handkerchief still against his nose.

  “Come join, now that you’ve rested,” Auntie said.

  “You promised to wake me.” He stamped his feet. “I wanted to eat with you all.”

  “We saved you the biggest piece.” Haemi rose from her seat. “Guess who gets a whole drumstick?”

  “But you didn’t wake me.”

  She wrapped her arm around his shoulder. “You’ll turn into a statue with all that anger.” She tickled his neck until he loosened. “Come eat with us now.”

  It surprised me, how easily a child’s temper could change. He walked to the kitchen on his tiptoes, talking about the chicken. Haemi followed.

  “I’m sorry about the difficult behavior tonight,” Auntie said once we were alone.

  “Haemi’s a good older sister,” I said.

  Auntie touched my elbow from across the table. “You treat Hyunki right, and Haemi will follow.”

  I separated the rest of my money into stacks the next morning. If we were careful, the bills would last a few more months. I should have paid better attention last year, when Father had given me too much for one summer. It was frivolous, even for him. “Go take care of our wayward family,” he’d said. Kyunghwan had moved out of their home, leaving Uncle alone, and I was supposed to reunite them. I’d accepted the money without a thought. We had heard about the border skirmishes by then, and Father suspected danger with an intuition even our own ROK had lacked. And I, eager to see my younger cousin for the summer, had left without thinking.

  I added three extra bills to leave behind. Without me here, Kyunghwan would steal from Uncle. For myself, I counted out enough for the medicine and a week’s worth of travel. The thin paper of the won felt weightless in my hand, insubstantial. I understood what the auntie in the marketplace had meant—money guaranteed nothing.

  I found Kyunghwan facedown on his sleeping mat in the room he shared with Uncle, the stink of makgeolli in the air. “We’re going to be late. Wake up,” I said.

  Kyunghwan rolled over and groaned. “I feel awful.” He pinched the sides of his nose.

  “Where’d you get the alcohol?”

  He nodded at the wooden planks separating his sleeping area from Uncle’s. “Go look. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  Emptied bowls cluttered the floor on the other side. Uncle slept around the mess. He was a small brown man with drool crusting his lips.

  Before I left, Father had told me his cousin was a drunk. That he was the kind of man who would rather piss in his rice bowl than leave his alcohol. Father had been wrong. Uncle had changed in a different way. He had become th
e kind of man who couldn’t see beyond the hour, who didn’t believe there was a point.

  “Let’s go!” Kyunghwan called from outside. “The sun’s killing me.”

  “Piece of crap wall.” Uncle covered his head with his arms and turned over.

  I nested the bowls, pulled a blanket over Uncle’s shoulders, and left the money at his side.

  As we walked to school together, I imagined what Kyunghwan would say. That I was rushing into an uneven match. Or that I was trying too hard. I could ask her mother and she’d approve. But I wanted Haemi to say yes. I wanted her to see that I could help her and her family.

  “So.” Kyunghwan held his hand above his eyes and squinted into the light. “How was dinner?”

  “They loved the chicken. I’ll find something hearty for us to eat, too.”

  “That’d be good. Father’s getting frail. I think he might be staging a hunger strike.” He elbowed me until I chuckled with him. “We’re all staging hunger strikes, right?”

  “I wanted to ask you about Hyunki,” I said, once we were climbing the hill. “He’s sicker than I thought.”

  “He’s been like that for a while.” Kyunghwan wiped his face on his sleeve. “You and them. What’s next?”

  “Hold on.” I stopped. The school tent stood ten meters away, its walls flapping with the wind. Trees hid us from Teacher Sung’s view.

  “Don’t be late!” Youngshik called as he passed.

  “I’m not going to class today.” I handed Kyunghwan my note. “Give this to Sung.”

  He stared at the tent, then back at me. “Don’t be stupid. You don’t want to end up a one-day officer.”

  “I’m not enlisting yet. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

  He studied me, trying to concentrate despite his hangover. “Where are you going?”

  “To find Hyunki some medicine. Make sure Uncle stays alive while I’m gone, and don’t let him drink too much.” I offered Kyunghwan a few bills. He ignored them.

  “You’re doing this for her,” he said, using my note for Sung to pick under his fingernail. “You’re serious about courting her.”

  “The kid’s really sick.” I tucked the bills into his pocket. “Don’t steal from Uncle.”