On the afternoon of the eighth day, a storm broke. The sky turned black, roiling with ominous clouds, and a heavy downpour rained on us. Thunder hit with such force that the palace shook, lightning splitting a tree just inside the courtyard, a large tree that had stood there for centuries. And the Prince, who was afraid of even the character for thunder, how did he endure this terrifying storm? Before this, we knew he was still alive because we could hear him muttering, but after the storm, all sound from the rice chest ceased.
The next morning, the King had the rice chest opened and it was discovered that the Prince was dead.
I tell you this story, Sir, in order that you may know that nothing in life is to be taken for granted, not even the love between a father and son. And that you may know something of our lives here, how we lived, and how we suffered. Do not judge us nor the King harshly. Because the King had the strength to kill his son, many countless lives may have been spared, as surely discord and chaos would have ensued at the crumbling of the dynasty.
Was our King right or wrong? Hearing this story, good Sir, what might you have done?
Goodbye, Goodbye
A pretty bird fly in the sky.
Pretty bird with a pretty red ribbon.
Pretty red ribbon to put in my hair. My hair is black.
Unma put the pretty red ribbon in my black hair. Her fingers pull at me. It hurts! It feels good. She tells me about the other side of the world, where there are girls with hair of yellow and brown and red. Girls like me. Girls unlike me.
Red! Red like blood?
Red like orange. Red like pink. Red like fire. Red like flower.
Red like my suitcase I’m taking.
In red suitcase: 2 undershirt
2 underwear
blouse with pearl button
tiger pantsuit
book of calendar from Yoon-mi
Math test (100%)
Hangul test (100%)
pink plastic telephone
toothbrush
Today I am six. Tomorrow I go to America.
Unma said no to the doll with no head. Doll with no face. Sometimes she has black hair, sometimes yellow, sometimes red.
She used to have a head. Used to have a face. Big eyes and eyelashes that used to poke me. Small, almost no-nose and pink open mouth. Waiting for nipple.
No. Waiting for words. A string in her back makes her say, “Mama, I love you.”
Mama, I love you. Mama, I love you. Blink blue eyes.
Ma-ma, I rrove yu. Ma-ma, I rrove yu. Blink brown eyes.
Mama is the same as Unma. Unma is not the same as Mama.
Doll with no face used to have hard brown hair and round blue eyes. Pretty blue eyes.
Used to have a name too. Cindy.
Opa says she has stupid blue eyes. Stupid dead eyes looking at the sky. He says he can turn his eyes blue. Watch.
Opa lies down on the sidewalk in front of the pharmacy. Opens his eyes, looks at the sky. Unma yells at him from upstairs. Asks if he wants to go blind. Asks if he’s stupid. He’s the oldest and supposed to teach me things. Not stupid things.
She is not Cindy. What happened to her.
Opa said she had stupid blue eyes. He turned her head round and round and pulled and—pok!—the head came off. Pretty blue eyes blinked. Surprised. Opa threw her out the window of the pool hall. Down three floors to the street. To the middle of the sidewalk. An ajima gave a small scream. We run to the window.
She touches her forehead, then chest, then shoulder to shoulder. She sees us. Do we want to create bad luck for her? Bad luck children!
Someone kicked Cindy’s head near the hole where the rain goes down. All day she looks at the blue sky. Her hair gets dirty and wet. Somebody spit on her. Next time she’s gone.
I steal Opa’s Mickey Mouse watch from Disneyland.
“Do you want to create bad luck? What do you have against me? Bad luck children, that’s what you are. Miserable bad luck children.” That’s what the ajima said.
Opa calls me by my name, Hee-jung, but I have to call him Opa.
Opa-ya! Opa-ya! That’s what I sound like when I run to catch up.
The doll with no face and the Mickey Mouse watch come from Hadabuji and Halmani. Unma’s unma and abuji. From Disneyland. From Cal-i-for-ni-a. Sometimes Hadabuji has to go to America for con-fer-en-ces. Con-fer-en-ces for che-mi-cal pro-fess-sors.
“Did you see my watch?”
“No.”
“You lying sneak. I know you have it! Give it!”
“I don’t have it.”
“You’re going to die.”
“I curse you with bad luck, you miserable bad luck baby.”
Unma says when I was a baby (before I remember things) Opa used to kiss me when I slept. But I would cry because he was bothering me. Now he doesn’t bother me. He won’t let me go with him anywhere.
Unma takes both of us to the hospital for our shots. She lies, says we are going shopping. Two blocks around the hospital is a hospital smell. Even though Opa is eight, he drags his feetand whimpers. Before he was walking ahead, now he falls behind. Unma has to pull him by the arm through the door. When Opa sees the doctor with the needle, he cries louder. Unma says, You’re not a baby. You’re a big boy. Be a big boy.
Opa’s a big boy but he cries anyway.
When it’s my turn, Unma says, Look at me, look at me. See, I’m smiling. When Unma smiles, she looks nice. Smile. Smile, she says. Opa rubs his
